SLOWING: On Structure
SLOWING: On Structure
Notes on structure—both on and off the page
In recent years, I’ve thought a lot about narrative and structure as it pertains to writing and the writing life. (As Elisa Gabbert poignantly writes in her essay “Infinite Abundance on a Narrow Ledge” in Any Person is the Only Self, “I obviously didn’t become an architect, but I do think of writing as spatial. I think essays, like buildings, need structure and mood.”)
Part of that work is reflecting on the structures that have been instilled in me: What should a day, a schedule, a life—or, in this case, a story—look like? What gives it a solid foundation? How do you know it’s moving in the right direction? Where does it begin and end? What is a beginning, a middle, and an end?
The latter was a central question I considered when organizing the stories in Slowing. (Every story, conversation—life—has them, after all.) Writing to this framework, I considered, questioned, and interviewed others about how we defined these benchmarks. I shared ordinary life stories that laddered back to these three chapters as I knew them then.
If I’m being honest, there’s more I could say about them since finishing the book. But that’s the beautiful thing about time—with enough distance, an ending suddenly reintroduces itself as a new beginning.
So, here is what I’ll say for now: I’ve always loved beginnings and endings: the first (especially last!) day of school, the early days of a crush, the last glimpse out of a plane window before landing, a compelling opening line in a novel, a film scene that swells towards a climactic resolution before the end-credits roll.
In reading and writing, beginnings and endings have always felt like tent pole moments. They are periods I can envision clearly, bookends that could draw people in and ultimately bring them home.
But over the years, I’ve come to appreciate the middle and all of its vast unknowns. The heart is in the middle of the body—and the story. It’s the period many of us have been conditioned to fear or dread. It’s where the mistakes or missteps become something from which you can extract meaning.
Yet, throughout the process [of writing Slowing], I still had to combat the idea that I was somehow late to this moment. It was my first book…but was it a beginning, or had the story been writing itself all along?
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Slowing is officially in the world! You can order a copy anywhere books are sold. I've reached a critical point in my life and work, so your support in this way would mean the world to me. (And if you’ve ordered the book already… Thank you!)
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“The first half-sentence I fell in love with was ‘Worries attach themselves to mailbox keys,’ and everything that followed was a considered balm, though one that provoked such varied thought. Slowing holds awareness and secrets and a close attention, but more than anything, it is such a soft place to land.”
- Ella Frances Sanders, New York Times and internationally bestselling author and illustrator of five books, including Lost in Translation and Everything, Beautiful
Speaking of Slowing…
I’m thrilled to be launching Slowing at P&T Knitwear with the incredible Brandon Stosuy! RSVP here and learn more at the link below. (You can also revisit my podcast interview with Brandon and his collaborator Rose here.)
For Your Next Chapter
If you enjoyed this Slowing Process diary, check out the previous installments…
