There are an endless variety of writing styles. In fact, for a specific type of project, one might find a particular method that works best for them; however, all methods have their merits and shortcomings. Two methods have endured much debate, especially in the context of creative writing. I’ll use recent popular examples to illustrate their relative strengths and potential weaknesses.
The gardener method involves planting the seed of an idea, watering and nurturing it, and seeing how it grows. A writer might not know how many branches and leaves their work may end up having, or even what kind of plant it will develop into, but they welcome its growth. A rather popular example of this method is the A Song of Ice and Fire series, upon which the show Game of Thrones is based. The writer, George R. R. Martin, has discussed these methods at length and acknowledges himself to very much be a gardener when it comes to his writing. He had originally intended the series to be a trilogy and began writing with only the most integral of plot points already determined; everything else was allowed to grow up around them, giving a natural shape to the world and characters. One of the potential benefits of this style is that, instead of micromanaging every detail, the world Martin creates can flourish and expand in unforeseen directions, adding a rich depth of culture and history that continually expands beyond the limits of the books’ pages. The world feels alive, but with that comes the risk of it growing beyond the writer’s control. As fans of the series will already know, this ever-expansive method can ultimately cause the writing process to slow down. There are now so many characters, so many plot lines waiting to intersect, so many arcs that require concluding, that as time goes on it seems less and less possible to tie everything back together into a cohesive, satisfying conclusion to this epic story. The first three novels were published within five years, the fourth was five years after that, and the fifth book took another six. The show began a few months after the fifth’s book release, managed to catch up to the books, and continued on through eight seasons to reach its own conclusion well before the sixth book was completed (which was still the case as of the time this is was written). Some have complained about the slowness of Martin’s writing, but I think the issue is not that Martin is slow to write, rather that the story has grown so expansive, developed so many expectations, and given birth to so many fan theories, that each ensuing book requires exponentially more meticulous review than the last. It has gotten to the point that some fans are doubtful that the series will ever be completed. Whether or not it ever does reach its conclusion, it is speculated that Martin’s passion for the books has waned. As the approaching conclusion becomes more set in stone and fans figure out the upcoming twists and reveals, there is less expansion and growth to the world, and more tidying up of loose ends. I think it is a fair assumption to say that creating and nurturing is, for many writers, a more exciting process than concluding. Perhaps, if Martin pruned his garden earlier on, removed or resolved extraneous elements to the story, the difficulties he is facing now would be somewhat eased. It might have been easier to focus on the primary conflicts and bring them to a close. Like any garden, the creator wants it to flourish, but it is still within a confined space, and must be trimmed where necessary before it grows wild beyond control, and the gardener finds themselves at the behest of their creation.
The architect method, by contrast, involves meticulous planning of details ahead of time, like constructing a house. Before even laying the foundations, an architect must determine a plan for exactly where all the pieces go and how they will fit together. Before they even begin construction, the writer knows precisely what they want the end-product to look like. One of my favorite examples of this is the Harry Potter series. From the time that the idea first became clear in J.K. Rowling’s mind, she took over five years to plan out the story and the particulars of the world it takes place in. This is the first main obstacle to this type of writing; it takes time. Rowling was the first person to become a billionaire by writing novels, but in the years of preparation that preceded the publishing of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone (yes, it was originally “philosopher’s,” not “sorcerer’s”) she nearly became homeless. I don’t think most people in such financial straits could have maintained a comparable dedication to their writing, especially considering how little assurance there is of success in the industry. The amount of care and concern she had for shaping the “wizarding world” is evident in how widely beloved her series became. Had she not planned things ahead, such as the truth about Snape’s motivations, then the twists and reveals in the latter books might have felt unnatural, undeserved, or simply out of character. However, because she knew her characters, their journeys, and the ends toward which they were all heading, the pieces all seem to come together. The story, even with the larger “wizarding world” it presents, feels properly self-contained; it feels complete. Some fans have debated the validity of her extra-textual writings and their retroactive effects on the series, but that is an entirely separate issue. Of course, no person is a perfect planner, and a primary danger of the architect method is realizing only too late that there is a piece missing, or that certain pieces seem to conflict or expose a gap in the logic. Fans of all kinds will debate these sorts of minor inconsistencies until the universe ends. No matter how carefully one plans out the architecture of a project, it must be expected that some things will end up going overlooked. The architect writer can do their best to provide a definite and sound structure to their project, but small overlooked details can compound, potentially weakening a piece of writing’s structural (or logical) integrity.
It can be very helpful in any sort of writing, not just creative, to examine one’s own method. How does it compare to the gardener and architect methods, or a different method entirely? What potential faults might be reoccurring, and how can a person take steps to fix them? Examining the overlap between different writing methods and finding out what your own writing tendencies are can be extremely helpful in figuring out how to strengthen the basis of your own writing projects.
By Alex Habib
fresno state graduate writing studio 