The writing process begins as a dense, impenetrable fog surrounding the writer. They may stand, slightly disoriented and perhaps even overwhelmed, in the midst of this fog, peering out in all directions and seeing nothing tangible. They may cast their gaze every which way, with not a single detail piercing that all consuming haze, no hint of the world beyond showing through to the writer’s eyes. Herein lies what makes the writer who they are, and what defines their craft: though no hint or detail may reach them in the beginning, the writer knows with absolute certainty that a vast and complex world is contained within that fog. They need only set out from where they began to find it.

So it begins with each new writing project. There I stand, with QWERTY machete in hand and strong coffee in my canteen, ready to blaze a trail into the heart of the mist-shrouded forest before me. It is usually dark, however, and a dim headlamp provides my only source of inspirational light. Moreover, while I do have an idea of what it is I hope to discover, it is usually just that: an idea; a ghostly specter of what I know (or at least, hope) actually awaits me. I may shuffle back and forth for a bit, constantly glancing up into the fog in hopes of glimpsing some hint of where to start. I’ll check and recheck my equipment too, distracting myself from the fact that, at that moment, I’m going nowhere. Keyboard machete? Check. Concept map?  Check. Theme compass?  Check. Water, coffee and snacks?  Check. This mulling around, checking and glancing will continue until, finally, something catches my senses. I may glimpse some hint of an idea through the fog, or hear snippets of dialogue in the distance. Something, some miniscule feature of the world before me to mark what direction I should head in. Then, I set off.

Once I finally begin writing a first draft, I try not to stop or even break stride. The longer I write, the more my momentum will grow until finally, I’m in a headlong charge toward my goal. This reckless pace is needed, I have found, as it grants me the speed necessary to leap over, slide under, or simply crash through any obstacle that may be in my way. I’ll bounce from one paragraph to another, with little more than a large gap in place of a transition between them. I’ll sprint across vast open fields without noting a single detail outside of the path I took. What I can’t neatly carve with my keyboard I’ll simply plow through, leaving a barley intelligible detritus of words in my wake. Every stride I take, every swing of the machete and every bit of path cleared causes the fog around me to lighten more and more. My headlamp is fed by my momentum, and the faster I move the brighter it shines, cutting through the haze and revealing even more of what is around me. The goal of any first draft that I write is simple: connect point A to point B. I start at the beginning, and set out with the end in mind. My first task is to carve the most rudimentary of paths between the two. My second task, after I’ve charged into the very heart of my goal, is to make my way back out.

Revising my first drafts, and transforming them into something coherent and legible is an arduous process. Although the fog of the unknown has mostly lifted at this point, and a bright sun shining overhead has replaced my headlamp, the actual path I took is in tatters. I may try to camp out at this point, taking a break from the mess around me and letting my mind recuperate from the frenzied charge it has just completed. “I need it,” I’ll tell myself, “and I deserve it.”  However, this notion of needing a rest is a conceit. “Mulling around did nothing to help at the beginning of this journey”, I’ll swiftly remind myself, “and it won’t do anything now.”  So on I’ll push, working toward my next goal.

To begin with, I sought to simply connect the beginning to the end. Next, my goal is to give coherency to that connection. I’ll set out again on the trail, retracing my steps but this time at a more deliberate pace. Sections of brush previously crashed through need to be cleared. Gaps need to be bridged, or if that proves impossible, worked around. Most importantly, the trail itself needs to be clearly marked. A constant procession of blaze marks will be laid out, each new mark visible from the previous one, to give an unerring course to follow independent of the trail itself. These blaze marks chart the underlying progression of my writing. No matter how rough or rocky the trail may seem at times, no matter if it seems to be winding in a circle or off in the completely wrong direction, the blaze marks will be there to assure you that it is indeed moving toward something. On this process goes until I have retraced every step that I first took, until the trail is cleared and marked from beginning to end. This is the foundation on which the final piece will be built. At this point, the trail could provide any number of different experiences to those who would follow it, and the distinction between one experience and another is all in the details.

In actually trailblazing a section of forest or mountain side, it is at this point that I would take into consideration exactly who the trail is being crafted for. Will this be used by advanced hikers, or beginners?  How will they be traveling?  On foot? Bike? Horseback? Perhaps even snowshoes or cross country skis. More importantly, I have to decide what it is about this section of forest or this region that I want to highlight, and what purpose the trail itself serves. If the trail is serving as a pass between two major tracks or roads, then it needs to be as clean and easy to traverse as possible: large rocks, roots and debris need to be pulled off of the path; branches and vegetation need to be trimmed back to allow for easy pass; large obstacles that need to be climbed over, crawled under or leapt across must be avoided. If, however, the trail is to be used for an adventure hike, or as a workout trail, then a rougher terrain may be more appropriate. One trail can be crafted for a variety of different purposes, depending upon how it is cleared, groomed and shaped. A completed draft, to me, is no different.

The foundational draft, while technically complete in that it is a coherent path from beginning to end, is essentially lifeless. It lacks the personality and depth that separates a strictly functional read from an enjoyable one. Just as the trail has to be tailored toward its intended user, so too does the piece of writing have to be tailored to the targeted reader, both in structure and in feel. The vocabulary used can make the piece more enjoyable for some readers, but alienate others. The overall presentation of the piece is also affected by the vocabulary:  humorous or anecdotal descriptions may have no place in a serious research paper, but be perfectly suited for an essay of one’s summer vacation. While the experiences may be the same in both papers, they may have both come from the same foundational draft, the difference lies in how that foundation was built upon. Once the desired audience is known, and the desired feel if the paper is decided, the building onto the draft can begin. Step by meticulous step, the final product will begin to take shape.

With trail and paper both, at this stage I will make the trip from beginning to end and back, time and time again. I will reread and rewalk the path over and over, each time focusing on something new:  the brush reaching into the trail; the punctuation; the roots and rocks I’m stepping over; the transitions from one idea to the next; the ease of passage; the flow of text. What began as a headlong charge toward the end finishes as a slow and calculated stroll, with focus not on the destination, but rather on each and every step of the journey there. Inevitably, I will reach a point when the journey is second nature to me, and I find less to tweak and adjust. When I at last reach the point when I see nothing more to change, nothing more to improve or alter, then I know that it is finally time to bring others along on the journey. With the final draft done, the new trail completed, it’s time to share my experiences and discoveries with others.