Craft Tip

Finding the Sequence

Hi, Friend,

Recently I shared a Sparks & Starts post with early drafts of “Deer Field,” a poem from my third book, Good Bones. In that post, I talk about exhaustive drafting—getting it all down, and by “all” I mean more material than you’ll likely need—and about how to find the poem in the many pages of notes.

My drafts are full of circled sections and arrows indicating where parts of the draft should be moved. I often number sections, too, to start mapping out the sequence of the poem or essay: what ideas and images come first, then second, then third. A starred section on a draft is usually an indication that the line or metaphor may be where the piece wants to land—but of course I never know until fairly late in the process where it will end. Often I don’t see the whole clearly until I’m well into revisions.

Looking at the early handwritten pages that became “Deer Field,” you might say, “I see what you're doing, but how do you know what should come first or last? How do you decide on the best sequence?”

You know from your own experience that writing is a layered and recursive process—multiple steps happen simultaneously, then repeat, and sometimes it’s three steps forward and two steps back—and it’s not one-size-fits-all. But this is how I often find the poem or essay in the notes:

1. Get it down

   The first thing I want to say is that for me, thinking about sequence doesn’t happen during the first go-through. I’m not numbering or drawing arrows at first. I really do try to unpack all of the potential material before I start shaping the piece or deciding how it might unfold, so first things first: get it all down.

2. Note the “hot spots”

   Once I have my notes, I look for the most charged, interesting pieces, and I might circle or underline them. There is certainly, as you can see with the notes for “Deer Field,” a lot of extra stuff on the pages—phrases not worth keeping, ideas that won’t make the cut. But there will also be moments that spark.

3. Look for the way in

   Chances are, one of those “hot spots” is a contender for the opening, so I look at those—and also at other quieter moments in the draft—and “try on” each of them as the beginning. I love when the first line of a poem or the first sentence of an essay or chapter grabs my attention and invites me inside. (You can see in the early handwritten draft of “Deer Field” where I’d planned on beginning, and you can see in the final version that I changed my mind.)

4. Map out a possible sequence

   Once I have an initial idea of where the poem or essay might begin, I look through the draft to see what might be a natural (or unexpected but interesting!) next step, and then the next step after that, and so on. Here is where I tend to number, circle sections, and draw arrows as instructions for myself, so that when I type up the draft I can begin typing it in the order I’m gravitating toward. (Yes, that order may change! All of it may change!)

5. Experiment with exit strategies

   This happens nearly simultaneously with mapping out the overall sequence, and often by this point I’m off paper and on my laptop. As I’m discovering how the piece may want to unfold, I see various options for how it might end. The resonance and “takeaway” of a piece—what the reader carries with them—depend so much on the last move, so I try to stay open-minded. I don’t want to be too wedded to the ending while the piece its still finding its way.

6. Try other options

   I may, based on my own notes and mapping of sequence, think I know where the poem is going…but then as I begin playing with option A and option B, out of nowhere SECRET OPTION C makes itself known. This surprise is not a curse. It’s a gift.

My two cents: When you’re trying out different options for how a piece of writing might unfold—where to begin, where to leave the reader, and what happens in between and in what order—keep a soft grip. No white-knuckled holds allowed! Let the piece surprise you.

This week, maybe look back at some notes or a rough draft and seek out the “hot spots.” See if you can find a new way in, or a new exit strategy. Maybe even try out the ending as the opening, or vice-versa.

Changing one thing changes everything.

Happy writing (& revising)—
Maggie