I’ve been thinking a good deal about writing in the dark. Not writing inside my writing shed with the lights off at 3 o’clock in the morning, but instead writing without knowing where I am going, where the story is leading, uncertain of what I am trying to say.
Writers talk about the mysteries of writing, especially fiction, a strange and powerful force that leads you to the story, that propels you to…something. Characters come alive on their own. They take on their own reality. And if it’s memoir you are writing, it’s that spooky moment when, as you write, the clarity comes out of the shadows. You finally know what you are trying to convey, a relative truth. Before then, you are in the dark and only when the ghostly essence appears does your writing start to come into its own light.
Norman Mailer used to call it “the spooky art.” “You never know,” he wrote, “where those words are coming from.” Others call this spookiness or the mystery of writing—”pantsing.” The urban dictionary defines pantsing as “yanking down someone’s pants.” But in the art of writing, “pantsing” is the act of flying by the seat. It’s the opposite of plotting, planning, or outlining.
I have never plotted a story. Don’t think I ever will. So, this makes me a “pantser.” I write and let the story take me where it will. Inevitably this approach needs an enormous amount of reworking and rewriting for the story to make sense, to have a cohesive presence. But “writing in the dark” is the purest form of the art. This is true for fiction but it is most true—I believe—when writing memoir or personal essays. Joan Didion said, “I write entirely to find out what I’m thinking, what I’m looking at, what I see and what is means. What I want and what I fear.” Joan is a bit of a “pantser.” She writes in the dark. And she may be the 20th century’s greatest essayist.
I’m currently working on a project that I have no idea where it will take me. Yes, I have a rough focus and I’m taking daily notes and jotting down thoughts many times a day. But what it will become at the end is a mystery. What I will eventually write remains in the darkness. At some point, I will gather my notes, find what rises to the surface, and start writing…start pantsing…begin my work in the dark and hope for the light.