BE BESTSELLING
Critically Acclaimed Author Shows You How She Does It
Eyes on the prize
As the New York Times bestselling author of the smash-hit, Why You Should Write — And From Your Toilet, I thought I’d give a brief tutorial to my countless devoted readers on how to write a poignant scene.
Folks ask me all the time, “Stephanie, how do you, a famous novelist, develop such seamless plot lines and powerful scenes for your stories?” This is what I tell them — stay focused, or don’t. Writing is an oxymoron — but not for morons. Only the brightest can write, and they do it by keeping both eyes on the prize.
The prize, you ask? The prize is the very last word of your story. Between the first word and the last word is a meandering mess, but knowing you’ll eventually arrive at that last word — that’s key.
Witness what happens in the mind of a literary master as I document my process in real time. Writing is a dance between writing and not writing. Watch how I move my scene all the way through to that last word by toggling between these two.
How I prep — Open a Word doc. Open Thesaurus.com. Open Google News in case something terrible or meaningless happens. Open Wikipedia for background research. Coffee to stay alert. Snacks for Pete’s sake.
Scene Title — The moment Robin and Sarah fall in love
Background — Robin and Sarah met two days ago on a cruise ship. They’re now on the ship’s top deck strolling under the moonlight.
Begin writing
The moon throws its shadow in front of them. It wants to show them how close each walks to the other, to foreshadow their lives together stretching decades. The moon knows.
Robin takes Sarah’s hand and leads her to the front of the ship.
“Do you trust me?” he asks in the softest voice.
“Yes,” she says.
“Close your eyes,” he tells her. She does.
Then he helps this woman he barely knows step up to the very tip of the bow. She’s unsure but trusts him.
“Now open them,” he tells her. She opens her eyes. The moonlit ocean spreads to eternity in front of her. Her arms spread wide like a bird on the wing.
“I’m flying!” she gasps, and she is. Almost.
Stop writing
[Taking a sip of coffee. Did I just rip off Titanic? Good question. Let’s check email. Harvard Gazette article here. In 2005 Justice Breyer posed a hypothetical during oral arguments of the interstate effect of ‘tomato children’. Tomato, tomahto, potato, potahto. Lol.
Better check Google News. Wait a second. Jeffrey Epstein has been dead for THREE YEARS? What’s going on with that Ghislaine woman? Checking Wikipedia. In the slammer. What’s this? She’d once started a non-profit to protect the oceans? Anyway. Back to work.
Wait. Oceans. Back to Wikipedia. Sea-level rise. Islands disappearing. Glaciers melting. Desert in the West. Flooding in the East. Check email again. Staples is rewarding me with 30% off ink and toner. I do need that. Munch on snacks.]
Back to writing
The night is still young, so Robin asks Sarah if she’d like to grab a drink. They settle into deck chairs and order champagne. As they toast the beautiful, unfolding night, Sarah says, “To the grapes! One day they’ll be raisins from the drought, and we’ll be dreaming of the days when there was wine.”
Robin wonders if Sarah is already thinking of their future. He decides to tell her his dream.
“Sarah,” he says with a short pause to muster the courage, “I want to protect the oceans. Maybe even start a nonprofit.”
She studies his face. It sort of resembles a zucchini, and his forehead has the shape of a tomato. Would their children be vegetable-like? None of this matters. Sarah sees this man is her future. She places her lips on his. The desert of her longing becomes an earth-moving flood. The climate of her soul has changed.
Not writing now
[Might as well check the news again. Make sure no nuclear plants in Ukraine have exploded. Hold up. Tom Brady and Gisele are fighting. Maybe he should have retired. How much are those two worth, btw? I’ll google it. Whoa. THAT’S A LOT. I need to set up my fantasy football team before Thursday. Don’t forget, Steph. I never did read about the funeral for QE2. Reading about burials now on Wikipedia. Say what? There’s such a thing as a mushroom burial suit? Taking a swig of coffee.]
Return to writing
Sarah looks into Robin’s eyes. They’re soft and they take her into their depth.
“Robin, I think that’s a beautiful dream. I too want to do something for the environment. Do you want to know my dream?”
No woman has ever asked him that before. He takes her hands into his and squeezes them.
“I absolutely do.”
“Well,” she says hesitantly, ‘Don’t laugh, but I’ve always wanted to have a mushroom farm where I’d grow mushrooms for natural burial suits. It’s a way for people to be kind to the earth even after death.”
Robin knew in that very instant that he had fallen in love. He didn’t know where she was from. He didn’t know where he was from anymore, but in her arms he’d found his home for the first time.
Achoo. Achoo.
[I sneeze suddenly. A good hardy duo. I grab a tissue and blow my nose. Not sure about the mushroom farm. Maybe I could have their farm desiccate. Or flood. I’m getting close to the last word of the scene, my prize! Better check email again. LiveScience sending something about a rare Florida snake choking on a giant centipede. Yo! Looks like your eyes were too big for your mouth, Snake! I should really check the news. So much there, so little time! Lots of automakers announcing EV production plans. Should I get one? I want one. I finish my snacks. No more snacks, Steph.]
Writing sans snacks
“I would never laugh at your dream,” Robin says to Sarah, gently stroking her cheek, “Especially if one day I’ll be helping you reach it.”
They look at each other in silence. One day they’d recall this moment for their children and grandchildren. This was the future family’s origin point, its very birth.
Off in the distance on the other side of the deck, they hear a woman choke violently on her crab rangoon. She took too big of a bite. Medics rush to her side as she turns blue, but it’s too late. Tragedy and love, the circle of life.
As Sarah and Robin make their way to Robin’s cabin, they begin to tentatively discuss their future.
“Sarah,” Robin asks, “What kind of car do you drive?”
“A beat-up ‘04 Toyota Tercel with no A/C. Why?”
“Because I thought maybe when we get back to port, would you want to go shopping for an electric vehicle with me?”
Sarah knows what this means. She nods her head slowly and with certainty.
“Robin, I would love nothing more than to shop for an electric vehicle with you.”
Final comments — There you have it. That’s quite a scene. I kept my eyes on the prize the whole time. The story evolved on its own. You must take it where it wants to go. My best advice to a new writer is to work hard and be open to the serendipities of thought. Good luck. Start writing!
Special thanks go to T. Kent Jones who supplied many words for this piece and who might very well like crab rangoon. You’d have to ask him.
And maybe I was kidding about the NYT best seller, but I’m not kidding about this Medium page - https://medium.com/@stephaniewilson.virginia
If you click on the skull and crossbones below you will enter into a world of endless hilarity and you will never look back.
