Hey, I’m Alive!

A history of writing a history

I am entering the last stages of a work project that has been several years in the making. It’s a coffee table book/history book mashup, and while the pandemic made the whole process more complicated and slower, it also probably (I hate to say it) has made the book better. The lockdowns gave me the time to research and internalize lots more material than expected, and the book will be more fun because of it.

Nevertheless: it seems to be a law of nature that I must always sprint to the end. In fact, I must collapse across the deadline, gasping for breath.

My writing projects have typically had three stages: researching, outlining, and writing. I begin by trying to grok ALL THE INFO. I’m pretty fast, but this can be a slow-moving stage depending on the material.

I’m experienced enough to know that research is never wasted time. I’m also experienced enough to know that most writing should get going on half the research I think I’ll need. There’s a fine art to deciding when to stop researching and when to start writing. It’s tricky.

Outlining is the most fun. The world is your oyster! Everything is potential! There are a million unwritten tales in you, all bursting to get out! Put each idea in a bullet. Move the bullet. Group some bullets. Move the bullet again, change headings, indent some bullets, change the font…oh, wait.

Uh-oh.

It must be time to write.

Writing is the tough part. It is not fun, although it may be satisfying. My work writing tends to be about 30% content, and 70% transition. Transitions tell the stories; how you slot things together is what constitutes your perspective. But if you can’t keep those transitions fresh, it’s a sign that you’re not writing well anymore. Take a break, get an outside reader to look things over, go drink a whiskey sour.

This time around I’m collaborating with a designer, so as I approach the finish line for the writing, he’s only almost approaching his for the layout. I’m trying to stay centered in empathy on this rather than in schadenfreude. We are, after all, partners to the end—I’ll be doing edits, rescans, and all kinds of work with him over the next month. However, my own hardest grind is done, and I’m not really a good person. Knowing that he still has to slog through that last section is like hearing someone else’s alarm clock go off: it just makes me wiggle my toes deeper into the blankets in delight.

He knows me pretty well. I expect he’ll forgive me this failing.

Meanwhile, there’s plenty of work awaiting me on other projects. I’ll be glad to shake things up a little, step away from these outlines, maybe do some data crunching. Give me a few months and I might even be able to appreciate this book with fresh eyes. For now, though, I’ll just be standing here for a bit, blinking groggily into the sunshine.