One thing that felt evident in all the craft talks during my residency in Italy was that often, we think we have a story, when really we only have an idea. I feel like this happens when we’re pitching too, nonfiction work. What is the actual story you are trying to tell?

I think about this a lot in loglines. If you’ve never heard of a logline, it’s that simple summary of a tv show or film that you read right before you hit “watch” on your streaming service. It boils the series or the film down into one very simple line. Some examples:

Insecure: Follows the awkward experiences and racy tribulations of a modern-day African-American woman.
Brown Sugar: Friends since childhood, a magazine editor and a hip-hop record executive stumble into romantic territory.
Love Is_: Follows a young black couple, two people from opposite worlds, as they go through the trials and tribulations of chasing their dreams and learning how to follow their hearts.

In my very humble opinion, having a true command of your story, whether fiction or an article pitch, is having the ability to break it down into the simplest form for someone else to understand. Sure, within this summary there will be so many other themes and plot points, but at the basis, a logline helps you to understand your story at its foundation, quickly.

Part of what even encouraged me to go to residency in Italy was the fact that I was a little stuck with a work in progress because it was only an idea. “What if a woman meets this guy,” in a certain work situation. But what I had the opportunity to do in the residency was to dig a little deeper into the real motivations of this character. Some of this revelation came through the exercises we were given during the workshops.

I have been extremely tied to productivity in my writing up until now. How do I get it done? Which is very much my nature as a person. What I seem to be learning in this part of my writing journey is that there is a need to add practice to my process.

In my head, it can feel frivolous. Like my book came out two years ago and I haven’t yet sold my next project. Do I have the time to practice writing without racking up word count? But the reality is, yes, I need to. This type of practice might actually ensure that I am able to sell another book. Getting better, identifying my gaps, is too important to the process to ignore.

Exercises, and workshops are things that may not feed exactly into the content of your work, but surely get your brain working in necessary ways. I think someone referred to writing books as solving a puzzle every time and I wholeheartedly agree. With each story, I’m trying to figure out so much, all these pieces until I get to the completed picture. Practice gets those parts of the brain moving.

We were given a wealth of ways to approach this type of practice during the residency, and you know me, I’m here to share the information. Here are just a few ideas that you may want to consider in your own practice for whatever you may be working on at this current moment.

Re-writing first lines. The first line is so clutch when it comes to storytelling. It’s a hook. Will the reader want to continue or will they put your story or book down never to be seen again? What I loved about our discussion on first lines was this question of what does the first line ask? In Paradise, Toni Morrison writes, “They shoot the white girl first, but the rest they can take their time.”

What questions immediately come to mind for you when you read that? For me:

What white girl?
Who is shooting?
Who are the rest?
How did we get here?

This is a great device that keeps the reader intrigued to read more. While we were in session, Chris Abani mentioned that he’d been re-writing the first line of something he was working on maybe 20 times. While I’ve revised whole introductions, I never quite did the practice of just re-writing a first line. So I tried it for myself.

The first time Derek tried to kill himself there was jazz, then there was nothing.
They’ll tell you that you have a gift, but never that it will kill you. Or try to.
Derek thought he would see Savannah when there was only darkness.

This is the practice. I don’t know if any of these are it. But it got my brain working about how I can introduce this story in a way that immediately gets the reader to question, “what happens here and who are these people?”

Writing letters from your characters. This was offered by Laura Warrell in her workshop. She mentioned that she sometimes writes letters to herself from her characters. For our reading, one of the participants did this work for their own characters from a WIP. I’ve talked before about writing diary entries from a character’s perspective. These are all ways to begin to understand the depth of our characters and help them come to life in a much more 3-D way.

Focus on an object to further your story. This was also an exercise from Laura’s workshop that I found so helpful. What I’m working on in my craft is my ability to take my time in scenes. The same unfocused mind that shows up for me as a person, at times shows up in my writing where I haven’t given the thing enough time to unfold. Here, Laura asked us to think about an object, and how that object might be able to help tell more of the story. Here was my excerpt.

“Milan was fixated on the blue and white ball, nestled among blades of grass in the center of the yard while she waited for the cool glass of lemonade promised. Each hushed word they shared behind the screen of the sliding door seemed to deflate the ball little by little. Or maybe it was her deflating, the reality of the ball staring back at her, taunting her to pick it up in a life she was borrowing. Very much owned by the two figures walking back toward her with trays and glasses, and shortbread cookies. Ainsley kicked the ball out of view as he approached, much like he had done with the whole of his life, of who it was she thought she knew. But the ball would always be etched in her mind now, it belonged to someone, and she belonged to herself.”

Maybe some of these things will end up in my stories, maybe they won’t. But the practice is valuable nonetheless. I think there was a comparison at some point of how basketball players don’t just show up to the game ready to play. There is practice involved before each and every game. Even shooting around right before it starts. Writing is a craft much in that same way, that involves the practice of certain skill sets, repetition, and time.

I find myself releasing the pressure of getting my next book out and leaning into the process of writing. Who I want to be as a writer. How to tell stories in a better way each time. Slowing down, letting go of the productivity mindset, is allowing me to add practice and exploration into the process which I think will only benefit the work in the long run. The whole long haul thing I’ve often discussed.

How are you incorporating practice in your process as a writer?

The Garlic Press is accepting submissions. Submit unpublished poetry, short fiction, creative nonfiction, and hybrid-genre work. (Closes Sept. 30th, Unpaid publication.)

Midnight & Indigo is accepting submissions. Are you a Black woman writer with a passion for storytelling and music? We are excited to announce an open call for submissions for short stories and essays inspired by music. (Closes Sept. 1st, $150).

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MacDowell is accepting submissions for their Spring Residency Season. (Closes Sept. 10th).