If you’d like to receive my blog in your in-box each week, click here.
My husband and I are different types of travelers, in ways that reflect our very different personalities.
I am a planner. I like to learn as much as I can about a place we’re planning to visit, what there is to do there, and something of the history and culture. I make long lists and create extensive files. I study the language, wanting to at least understand the pronunciations and basic phrases and communicate (as much as possible) with those who live in the area. And I carefully map out a schedule, figuring out when to fit in the most important things I want to see.
The hubs approaches travel much as he does everything else, what he calls a “show up and throw up” mentality. He might poke around a bit beforehand in learning about a destination, but for the most part he likes to get to a place and then just wander. He seeks out conversation much less than I do, as he’s more of an observer. He’s likely to walk around, get on a subway, or rent a scooter and see where it takes him, stopping where he sees something interesting and just watching things unfold.
But oddly our styles jell together well. Once we arrive in a place, I’m generally happy to ballpark windows to do the things I most want to make sure not to miss, but I also enjoy following wherever our interests may take us in the moment. As much as I enjoy my planning and scheduling and orienting myself to a place and what I might like to do there, some of the most enjoyable experiences we’ve had have come from operating loosely within that structure.
Like on our recent trip to Stockholm. I had a few things high on my list of things I wanted to see, including the changing of the guard at the Royal Palace.
The guards’ schedule runs from April to the end of August, which meant that upon our arrival we had only two days’ opportunity to see it. It was one of the items anchoring our itinerary for our first day, when we arrived in the morning after an overnight flight, exhausted and jet-lagged but determined to power through and try to get right on the local time zone.
We checked into our hotel and immediately started walking, headed for Gamla Stan (the old-town district of Stockholm) and the Royal Palace.
But almost immediately we heard marching-band music somewhere nearby. Because I’d read about the changing of the guard, I knew that they marched from one location across the city to the palace, and I realized they must start at the Armémuseum we’d passed on our walk from the train station to our hotel.
We hustled down the block and to its entrance, where along with just a handful of people we had an intimate front-row seat to their formation (the first photo), and then once they finished their drills they started marching—and we started following them (see the banner photo).
We wound our way behind the guard through the streets of one part of Stockholm, across a bridge to another, and all the way up the plaza leading to the Royal Palace. Here it was packed, people crammed in so tightly that police officers had to wrangle the crowd behind barricades to allow the guard to pass (the second photo above). We got to watch the actual changing, but from a distance and behind hundreds of other heads. If we hadn’t happened upon the beginning of their drills and march it would have been a lot less intimate and immediate.
But if I hadn’t known from my research that they did the march across the city at all, we might have walked away from the music without thinking much about it and missed that wonderful opportunity to be up close and intimate with the guard for their drills. It was the fortuitous intersection of planning and spontaneous exploring that gave us this memorable experience.
Balance Your Destination with the Detours
Most of us in our writing tend to prefer one of the poles of the creative process: plotting or pantsing. But I would argue that few of us are exclusively one or the other. Like everything in nature, creativity is on a spectrum, and rigid adherence to a single approach can hamstring the freedom and space that can result in magic. Whichever approach you lean toward, blending in more elements of its opposite can ignite your writing and your stories.
While I always say that if I know exactly how a story is going to go then I’m no longer interested in writing it, I also can’t sit down in front of a blank page with absolutely no idea where I might want to go or wind up—or who I will be traveling with—or my journey is likely to be plodding, rambling, and pointless. As with my actual travels, I like to ground myself by orienting myself to the world of the story and have a basic idea of what landmarks are essential for me to hit, then balance it with the kind of aimless wandering that allows you to discover these fortuitous detours and happy accidents that make it vibrant, unique, special.
There’s always the chance you’ll wind up lost, or in a dead end, or simply somewhere you never meant to go. But you might also discover something you’d never have seen or experienced that might add immeasurably to your journey.
On our way back from exploring after we’d witnessed the changing of the guard, as we walked back to the hotel I noticed a tiny storefront with a sign I translated as book bindery. “I’ve never seen a book bindery,” I said to the hubs. “Let’s stop in.”
This was a working shop, not a customer-facing retail facility, but one of the shop’s coowners (and bokbindarmästare, a certified master craftsperson) happened to be sitting on the front step. When I expressed my interest in and connection to her craft and told her why I was in Stockholm—to speak at a writers’ conference—she kindly invited us in.
Not only did we proceed to get a step-by-step tutorial on the art of bookbinding, but it turned out the shop, Leonard Gustafssons, was a very old and respected book bindery catering to collectors and exclusive organizations throughout the world—including the Nobel prize foundation.
Friends, the owner very kindly let us see up close and personal the custom binders her shop made each year for the diploma the prize is awarded in, and the custom-made boxes that hold the medals, and even a blank of the prize itself, forged exactly to size and dimension and weight. We stood before the motherforking Nobel prize in Stockholm, Sweden, as she showed us pictures of previous years’ original artwork and design for the diplomas.
It was a one-of-a-kind experience and a highlight of our trip, the most intimate, personal, behind-the-scenes introduction to something meaningful to me that I could ever have asked for and never have planned, brought about by having taken the time to learn just enough Swedish to guess at the meaning of the shop’s sign, combined with the happy accident of wandering past and deciding to go in.
Later the owner showed us a book-binding design she’d been working on for a local ad agency launching a campaign against book banning, a powerfully impactful and compelling visual. While we chatted, the designer who commissioned it happened to stop in to look at the mockup, and when the owner told him what I did we all struck up a long conversation and wound up exchanging contact information. I’m not sure how our paths might cross again, but none of us could get over the serendipity of happening upon someone involved in our industry and with many of the same concerns and priorities about censorship within it.
And without this happy accident of an encounter, then later in our trip my husband and I would not have chased the book binder’s recommendation to a chocolate factory that turned out to be more than a hundred years old and a Purveyor to the Royal Court of the king and queen of Sweden. The woman working the candy counter told us about this history, sixty years of it in the same location (note the pics of its history in the photo, and the official designation from the king and queen over the counter), and how the chocolates and candies were made on site in the back, and offered us a taste of Queen Silvia’s favorite candy (“gelehallon,” a potently flavorful jelly raspberry rolled in delicate sugar).
All from the confluence of accident and intention.
Chart Your Course—and Explore Uncharted Territory
Without planning and research on our trip we might not have gawped at the wonder of the Vasa, a stunning 17th-century warship commissioned by King Gustav II Adolph that sank on its maiden voyage before it fully made it out of the harbor, and was perfectly preserved for hundreds of years until raised almost intact from the sea floor, now residing in a custom-built exhibit in a museum in the Djurgården district (see photo). But it was serendipitous wandering that took us afterward to a charming waterfront bakery in an off-the-beaten-path area down the street, where we sat alone on the porch enjoying delicious fika and watching the boats bob in the little harbor.
In an unexpected alcove in the warren of cobblestoned streets of the old-town district, Gamla Stan, we happened upon one of our best meals in Stockholm at Under Kastanjen (“under the chestnut tree,” as in fact it was): lush and fresh salmon for me and a delicious classic Swedish meatball dish for the hubs with mashed potatoes, pickled cucumber, and lingonberries. But we might never have decided to stop and eat there without my having read about it in my advance research so that I knew to choose it from among the countless options lining the cobblestone streets.
It was research and planning that took us to the extraordinary view from Mariaberget in the Södermalm district (below), a lovely waterfront expanse of Stockholm skyline spreading out in front of us—but the delightful scooter ride that got us there over tiny, teeth-rattling uneven cobblestoned streets (below photo) while navigating opaque Swedish traffic rules was a hilarious spontaneous decision.
What made the trip so special and memorable was a mix of the advance research that oriented us to the area and its attractions, along with these lovely wanderings that led us to experiences, encounters, and opportunities we might otherwise never have had: the many fascinating conversations I had with authors at the writers’ conference that weekend, a fantastic evening at a pub with the conference organizers and volunteers; afternoon fika and coffee on the balcony of its founder’s charming attic apartment; an aimless ride on a commuter ferry through the Swedish archipelago; a chance encounter and conversation at City Hall with two women visiting from Serbia who wound up being professors at the university there, in accounting and economics, respectively, one of them a Fulbright scholar who had studied at Harvard.
I don’t want to tell you how to travel, and I certainly don’t want to tell you how to write. But I do encourage you to allow for a mix of planning and puttering. Let the happy accidents happen in your writing, but also have an idea where you might want to go and what you might like to see along the way—in life and in your stories—so you don’t wind up aimlessly wandering somewhere you never meant to go, or missing out on experiences and sights and encounters that might have added much to your journey.
As with all things, there’s room for a mix of approaches, and availing yourself of the immeasurable richness of that variety can create the most memorable writing and stories…and life.
Authors, I want to hear about your approach to writing (and travel! and life!). Are you a meticulous researcher and planner, outlining where you’re headed and every step of the journey in advance? Or do you find your way in the light of your headlights in the dark, ten feet at a time, as E. L. Doctorow suggests–or some blend of the two? Is your technique the same with every story? What does it offer you that benefits your writing–and have you ever experimented with leaning more toward the opposite approach? And I’d love to hear your most memorable “happy accident” story.
If you’d like to receive my blog in your in-box each week, click here.
14 Comments. Leave new
Love this 🙂
🙂
As usual, your post is inspiring and thought provoking. Thank you for that. My father once told me that most of the major innovations and discoveries in this world happen by serendipity, something that happens by accident and that we don’t expect. Stephen King in his book “On Writing” suggests an approach of: define your characters very well, have a general idea of where they are headed and then let them go. I believe this is the essence of good writing. Then the serendipity happens along the way. To me, that serendipity is what makes the difference between a good book and a great one. As I struggle to learn how to write, I often wish it was as easy as King makes it sound!
Well, this brings us full circle to your Velcro story, doesn’t it? 🙂 I’m with you–I think we have to leave space for the unexpected (in writing and in life) or our work (and our life) can become stiff and regimented. That said, I confess to craving some measure of structure and plan as well–a balance works best for me.
Oh, Stephen King. Damn that man and his write-365-days-a-year mentality, even on holidays, unless you are recovering from a life-threatening accident. 😀 He does make it seem effortless, doesn’t he? (But I bet it isn’t….)
Thanks for the comment and kind words, Jeff!
I love Jeff’s Stephen King reference — to “define your characters very well, have a general idea of where they are headed and then let them go.” This worked for me very well in drafts two and three of my first and only novel. Now that I’m geared up for the third draft, I’m finally taking some plotting advice from your books, Tiffany. And I’m also reading Chris Pavone’s thrillers to help my wisecracking, if meandering, story get itself in gear.
There’s a quote from King that I SWEAR I read in On Writing, but have never been able to find since. He describes the writer’s job as setting the stage for the play and then loosing your characters on it. What happens next? he asks. “You don’t know; they will come onstage and tell you.” (If you can locate this quote, PLEASE tell me where! I swear it was him.) I adore this approach, and the acknowledgment that if we’re doing our job of character and story development, at a certain point the thing takes on a life of its own. Thanks for the comment, Elena! Glad to hear my books are useful for your revising.
There’s a vacation I’d love to take, among many. Loved the pictures! Thank you. I’ve only traveled internationally once, not counting Canada, and it wasn’t a vacation.
Almost everything I do for book prep is via narratives, which is a loose term I use to describe character backstory stories, narratives about locations, and so on. Eventually, it’s all consolidated into a general narrative that is the story.
Thing is, that narrative is a straight line from point A to B, a crow’s flight, but what I actually write is a wandering line that wanders off the path and back, doing so over and over again. When I’m done, I have the basic story I’d expected to have, but it’s also full of surprises.
This approach has evolved over time, and each book is a little different, but this is the method that not only works for me, but that I absolutely love doing.
Stockholm was better than our imaginings of it, and better than my pictures do justice to it. We loved it.
I love that you have found the process that works for you. That can be some of the hardest work of learning our craft–realizing that there’s no “right” way to do things, just the way that works best and is rightest for us. I also think it’s valuable, especially in unusually structured stories like you describe, to have a clear idea of how the events unfold chronologically. That gives you so much more knowledge and grounding for how you decide to unspool it on the page. Thanks for sharing, Christina!
In writing a story of any length I need to know ahead what has to happen to get from one scene to the next, but not necessarily how. I approach travel similarly. I want to have one thing in mind each day to see or do, when or how—or what else happens is up for interpretation. And sometimes a chapter has to move to accommodate some new happening, like a rain storm or a closed exhibit, and things get shuffled.
My husband is also more seat-of-the-pants kind of traveler. I make the plans. He shows up. I love going into a local restaurant or sitting at a bar with him, because he will get the waiter or bartender to chat about the area and what we should see that might not be in our plans. I’m the one who tries to learn the language, but I’m not as outgoing as he is. Sometimes I wind up translating or whispering in his ear with responses.
I love that too, Shannon–getting ideas and suggestions while traveling from locals. I always feel like you discover gems you might not have heard about in the travel literature about a place. (And it’s hilarious that you are Cyrano de Bergerac-ing your husband’s attempts to converse in another language…!)
I’m also with you on the writing–I need some structure and a destination, but then I want to wander my way there, discover the best path. It results, often, in a LOT of discarded pages, but I don’t mind it–it’s my process, and those pages aren’t wasted, to me. They are part of helping me learn and deeply understand my characters and story. Thanks for sharing your process!
First, congratulations and felicitations on your trip to Sweden. Sounds like it was a huge success (well deserved, of course!).
You asked about my writing process:
My first novel was a retelling of a Greek myth, so I had something to work with. But my reason for wanting to write it is that what has come down to us is only a fragment of the whole story, and it has been mangled and its meaning lost by the changes in cultural values through the ages. I, of course, am going to correct all that.
My high school English teacher emphasized outlining, and I learned all about upper case Roman numerals, upper case Arabic letters, lower case Roman numerals, lower case Arabic letters, and so forth and so forth. I tried to outline my story that way, and couldn’t. (So sorry, Ms. Clinton, my failing, not yours.)
So, I did a lot of pantsing to get my retelling where I wanted it to be, and it took much longer than I’ll admit to. I wrote an enormous amount of material that nobody ever needed to read. But, I learned a lot: cutting material that doesn’t advance the story (no matter how much you like it) is like pruning a plant in that, properly done, it makes the plant (or the story) stronger.
I also learned what a saggy middle does to a reader’s experience. Beginnings and endings seem to be a lot easier to write than middles. At least for me.
I’d always wanted to write a mystery/detective story, so I pantsed one. The middle is saggier than the Greek myth was, but it’s worth another pass or so to fix. And I think I’ve learned how.
I learned in my theater work that progression, movement of the dramatic action forward, is what keeps the audience engaged, gets us to the climax, and a satisfying resolution. I know it when I see it, and I know it’s missing when I don’t, but I couldn’t have told you what drives it until somewhere in my reading about self-editing, I came across the idea that in writing, every scene (or nearly every scene) must increase the conflict, re-emphasize or reinforce the goal(s), raise the stakes, add to the urgency, or some combination of the four to keep the story progressing. I’m sure there’s a lot more to be learned, but that’s a big enough bite to chew on for the moment.
So, I’m using those elements, conflict, goal, stakes, and urgency to outline my next retelling of a Greek myth. (As a writer, that’s where my heart is.) I’ve got something to guide me now, and I think I can make this work. I suspect there’ll be plenty of room for surprises, good and bad, along the way. ‘Can’t wait to see what I learn next.
I love how you’ve come to your process, Bob–and how based in craft and learning it is. I do think it’s a combination of expanding our understanding of style in general–and ours in particular–along with simply learning by doing, seeing what works, finding the most effective process for us. There’s no one right way to do it–I know authors who swear by outlining but it’s not my way either–but that said, like you I do have to have some idea where I’m headed and how I want to get there, and then I find my way there with guideposts based on storytelling craft.
Your story sounds intriguing! I have always been a big Greek mythology geek and am curious which story you’re retelling. 🙂 Thanks for sharing.
But did you go to IKEA? 🙂 🙂 🙂
Loved reading about your traveling adventures and all the wonderful and amazing things you were able to experience. Hubs is the one who wants very structured vacations and needs to know everything down to where to park the car for every trip. I’m a show up and see what happens kind of traveler, though, it can depend on where we’re going. Sometimes I want to plan, other times not. This is the same with my writing. Some books I want to pants, others I want to start with a structured outline.
One of my traveling “happy accidents” was when we went to Vegas to meet my brother and sister in law for a getaway, and their plane was landing several hours later than ours. Instead of going to the casinos, I suggested to my hubs we rent a car and drive out to Hoover Dam. Some might think this is not what you do in a place like Las Vegas, but I am a nerd when it comes to engineering marvels and this did not disappoint. It was the major highlight of the trip for me.
Beleive it or not, NO–but I did tell the hubs that we have to go to the IKEA here so I can get some lingonberry jam. I got hooked. 🙂
I’m with you on traveling like I write–In both cases I like a solid idea of the main points I want to make sure to hit, but don’t want to schedule or map it out till I get there, and then I wing it day to day.
The Hoover Dam sounds delightful! I have long wanted to see it–I hear it’s even more impressive than you expect. Thanks for the comment, Cate!