There is a unique magic to epiphany. That “A-HA!” moment when all of the elusives tumble into perfect place, and the picture is illuminated. We live for those moments of sudden, and often precipitate, clarity. Indeed, sometimes it feels as if the universe is fed up with our ignorance and, like a weary and sighing parent, holds out the “eureka!” to us in a neatly wrapped gift box of blood, sweat, tears. Yes, “eureka!” is good, necessary, and with consistent work, inevitable in any endeavor. Its children are confidence and momentum, two elements that must offer themselves up to any process if there is to be success (however you measure it).
I recently had an “eureka!” about the creative writing process, a process that has been a part of my routine for nearly two years now (since I began drafting my first novel in December of 2015). I’d been waiting for this one for quite some time when there it was, late to the party, wearing a tired expression of amusement. When I finally could grasp it in my hands, I understood something that both terrified and exhilarated me––when it comes to writing a narrative (or really, anything)––there is no “eureka!”
A well-written story has the following:
- A tangible, developed setting,
- Rich and dimensional characters, each with their own relationships (to the land, to each other, and to themselves),
- A plot driven by the characters themselves, growing as they do, and never falling victim to the many cheap cliches .
Each scene should be compelling in its own way, depicting detailed action either in a simple conversation between two human beings, or in an epic battle in a war to save the world (whichever is your cup of tea).
With all of these moving parts, I became overwhelmed by the sheer amount of stuff I had to keep track of while drafting my story.
Movement of characters, natural dialogue, plot holes, pacing. I knew the masters did it, the talented authors I’ve looked up to for years, the genius storytellers that inspire me to create as they do. They could keep track of it all.
Somewhere in their process, there was that “eureka!” moment when they could see how everything could be tracked and connected to weave a great tale. In short, I knew that at some point, things would finally be completely developed on the page, the story reaching its own kind of epiphany.
But that is not the way of… well, anything. There is never a moment of completeness in a story. No character is ever “finished” (even when he/she dies). Just as in life, development itself is perpetual, evolution an unstoppable force. If you do not change, you do not live.
Stories know this same truth. In terms of character, plot, pacing, stories are never truly finished and there is never a “eureka!” moment of completeness. You may finish a novel, pleased with the results and the hard work that infused the process of its creation, but no writer, artist, creator is ever completely satisfied with their work. We all know that our work is still developing, changing. This truth is the familiar ache in our bones. It sits in us through the duration of our grandest endeavors.
If the story does not change, it does not live. My “eureka!” was the realization that there would be no “eureka!”, the whole story would never come together completely. It will always be transitioning.
After my first “eureka!” moment, I had another, more subtle one, and it has been my battle cry every time I sit down to engage with the page: there is no “eureka!” moment, and that’s a good thing.
Yes, nothing would ever truly make full sense. There would be characters whose motivations still eluded me, pieces of the plot that seemed too contrived or shallow. Mysteries of the world would keep both my characters and myself up at night, pondering and postulating. And it was not just okay, but good.
Let the simple fact that you’ll never truly know what you’re doing (as odd as that sounds) make you more confident and free in your writing. It’s the only way to write any narrative. Once you accept that there is no “eureka!”–– you accept that there is no right process, no right set of rules for reaching fruition.
Accept this fact, and watch how free your writing becomes (and how sane you remain). Never think you know more about your characters than they do, and never believe your story will follow the set path you initially create for it. It will veer, float off to new places, breathing in new ideas like some beautiful, fascinating beast. Let it.
BIO:
Aidan Laliberte is a non-union actor and creative writer living in North Kingstown, RI. He began performing at eight years old when he was cast as Baby Wilbur in a local community theater production of Charlotte’s Web. After secondary school, Laliberte, originally intending to pursue a career in medicine, dropped out of college after one semester and began building a career in performance, more specifically, in film. Laliberte performed both lead and supporting roles in several short and feature-length films. He currently works as production coordinator on a YouTube variety series for one of the world’s largest brands. After years of journaling and dabbling casually in writing (he won several academic awards for his various short stories and essays throughout his schooling), the craft has became more than a frequent outlet, but a creative and career priority. In December 2015, he began drafting his first fiction novel and is expected to finish in the coming months. Apart from drafting his current novel, Laliberte continues to journal every day and write in a variety of formats, including scripts, short stories and essays. He has many projects in development.
