by David Bethel
Keith Richards, the mumbling singer/songwriter/guitarist with the Rolling Stones, along with Mick Jagger, has written some of the most memorable music in rock and roll history. According to Richards, his process is simple. He begins with a “riff” – or refrain – and builds his songs around that riff. Anyone who has heard “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction”, “Paint it Black” or “Gimme Shelter” no doubt understands what he means.
That’s how I write. I approach the computer with a “riff,” or slip of a story in mind, and I go from there.
Many writers work from a detailed outline and prepare elaborate backstories for each of their characters. This provides a solid foundation that takes them from the first sentence to the final one knowing where they are going and how they are going to get there. I tried that approach initially but found it took the fun out of writing for me. I wanted to write the way I read. Being surprised about what is around the corner. About how characters are going to react to their situations. I discovered early on that the outline and backstory process would not work for me. When I begin writing I have no idea where I’m going. I have the kernel of an idea – a “riff” — and begin writing.
For example with Mapping the Night, I began with a scene I read about in a newspaper article covering the investigation of serial murders in New York City. The police found the young son of a victim applying ice to his dead mother’s forehead trying to revive her. He said it was what she did when he was sick and he wanted to “make her better.” That scene haunted me and it was my jumping off point for the novel. I had no idea where I was going with it.
Every novel provides a lesson on writing and a foundation of knowledge on how to build an 80,000+ word tome from a “riff” of a story.
The path to Mapping the Night led from my novel Blood Moon. Prior to this I was writing primarily political thrillers. Blood Moon is based on a true crime of kidnapping, torture, extortion and multiple murders. The details of this horrendous crime were brought to me by Ed DuBois the private investigator who solved the case and brought the men responsible to justice. He originally wanted to collaborate on a true crime book and he put me in touch with the victim, Marc Schiller. Given my background in fiction, I got permission from DuBois and Schiller to write a non-fiction novel using the information from Schiller’s journal about his captivity, and the voluminous files on the investigation provided by DuBois. This first-hand information from the victim and private investigator, plus hours of interviews with Schiller provided me with a “fly on the wall” perspective of the crime, or the “riff” I needed. It also took me inside Schiller’s life at the time, experiencing a small dose of his fears, anxieties and even his pain.
It was invaluable as a lesson on how to write crime fiction and influenced my approach to Mapping the Night. Two of the protagonists in this recent novel – the very definition of “innocents” – have no experience with the situation they encounter. I mined much of what I learned from Schiller about his experiences with his captors to describe how these crime novices would react and harness their fears and anxieties so they would not be paralyzed into inaction.
“Riff” in place and leading the story, the biggest challenge going forward is the actual writing. The “sit down and start pounding on the keys” work. It requires a tremendous amount of discipline to dedicate hours of your life to plopping down in front of a keyboard, alone with your thoughts, and not getting up until you have exhausted yourself for the day.
For me, it means no less than four hours no matter what else is going on. That is a chore not only for me but for those in my life. As my wife says, “You’re gone not only during the hours you’re holed up your office, but for most of the rest of the day because your mind is still on what you’re writing.” And that means that I’m unavailable to those around me for at least six months.
There have been times when events caused an interruption in my writing. A death in the family, for example, or relocating to another city. Periods when my routine was disrupted. It was not only frustrating being away from the story, but reinserting myself and picking up on the train of thought – the flow – was difficult. There are usually false starts before the engine is humming again. The only way to get that engine humming smoothly is refusing to give in to any frustration or desire to get out of that chair.
I close myself in a dark room, away from any outside stimulation, and channel the various characters in my novel. And there you have it. How this writer gets from the first to the last word in a novel. Start with a “riff,” slip into zone and let it flow.
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