Writing Versus “Imagineering”

Omega: The Last Days of the World (1894)

Writing is work. It is hard work. Especially such unglamorous parts of it as editing and marketing. It is a job, and very frequently it can be arduous.

The more quickly and better this is understood, the better your chances of succeeding at writing.

This real work of writing can be contrasted against what I call “imagineering.” To understand what this is, consider how often someone has a good idea for “a great book,” but they never get around to writing it? This is borne out by posts I’ve seen on writers’ social media sites:

“I have a great idea for a story, but I don’t know how to get started.”

“Looking for someone to partner with or ghost write my fantasy series.”

“What causes writers’ block?”

“I started my novel five years ago. I stalled out halfway writing in. Now I can’t stand to look at it.”

“Why is editing so hard?”

“None of my books ever sell or get reviews.”

“Every time I start a story, I get distracted by other ideas.”

They say that ideas are cheap, and that is true, but saying so overlooks the reality that an idea is worth only the amount of work you put into it. People are always concerned that someone might “steal their idea,” but really the only value of an idea is the work associated with it.

THE EDSEL VERSUS THE FIRARI VERSUS THE VOLVO

Imagineers tend to rank their ideas. Ideas become “good, better, and best” in their minds. To an imagineer, all you need is the right idea to succeed. However, “Build a better mousetrap” does not mean “Imagine a better mousetrap.” The “Build” part is the most important element. And the most frequently overlooked.

Consider the 1958 Edsel, an automobile that has been ranked one of the worst ever produced. In a way, this car was “all idea.” It was marketed as having an “all new look.” But in reality it was a terrible car because it was badly engineered. The manufacturer did not pay attention to the mechanical details in design, only the “look.” The result was a disaster.

Contrast this with the Firari, an automobile which for decades stood at the pinnacle of the industry. It too had a “new look,” but it also had superior engineering.

Now, both the engineers who built the Edsel and those who built the Firari had a specific task on their hands. Some designed the “look,” which in both these examples were very new and (in the case of the Firari) even sexy.

But an even greater number of engineers had to design a lot of mechanical parts in both cars which were not very interesting, such as the Transmission Filtration System. These uninteresting mechanical systems are even more important than the “look,” because they are what makes the car mechanically sound. They make it “go.”

In the Firari, even though the “look” (or, the “idea”) is wonderful, equal if not greater precedence was given to the boring mechanical bits, and so it is a superb car. With the Edsel, precedence was given to the “look,” and so it was not.

As a further example, consider the Volvo automobiles produced in the late 1980s. These were not “sexy” cars by any stretch of the imagination. Yet they were well-built very reliable. (The 1990 film Crazy People imagined an advertisement for these cars: “Volvo. They’re boxy, but good.”)

Volvo would be the opposite of a car built for “looks.” They weren’t really ugly; just not “sexy” or exciting. A Volvo is not like one of those stillborn projects which languishes under the hands of an “imagineer.” It is like an average story which has thin ideas yet gets churned out quickly and precisely.

It is like serial fiction, or even a romance series. The mechanics of the writing is good, it is produced very quickly and edited well—sometimes by a small team. But the idea is formulaic, with little originality or substance.

THE BALANCE

 Imagine the thrill of telling your friends that you helped design the Firari, but all you worked on was the Transmission Filtration System. That is what working on the “boring” parts of writing such as editing or marketing must feel like. Yet these “mechanical” parts of being a writer are what makes a project work. It is what brings success.

The writers of serial fiction and even romance deserve our respect. They are able to find the thrill of working on what amounts to a Volvo. They can be highly successful at what they do precisely because they understand the work and mechanics. This means unglamorous things like editing and marketing.

It is possible to consider their work in a less-than-fair light. Romance writers often don’t mix with (for example) fantasy writer groups because their writing has an entirely different set of concerns. Yet we rarely hear of a romance writer trying to seek someone to ghost write for them, or stuck for an idea for their next project. Their success may depend on serial production, so a concentration on mechanics is crucial and necessary to “getting them out quickly.”

It seems like we should take a page from their book. This does not mean injecting romance elements into other genres (although that is a growing trend, for other reasons I can’t get into right here). It means that we should not neglect the “boring” parts of writing. Things like editing and marketing.

We should build more Firaris and less Edsels, if we want to succeed. That means getting excited about the boring bits, the “Transmission Filtration Systems.” We should balance these bits with the “imagineering,” with the ideas, and wherever possible, give them even higher precedence.

EPIC FANTASY

A final anecdote and I’ll be off with this one.

A few years back, I was attending conference at the PNWA. It was between pitch sessions, one of those free times when attendees were encouraged to “mingle.” To facilitate this, a number of tables were set up in the lobby, each with a sign on them indicating a genre. The idea was that writers of that genre should mingle there.

In those days my writing was atypical regarding genre. I wrote in no particular genre. So, there was no table I might gravitate towards. It was, I figured, “multiple choice.” (Except for “Romance.” I knew that nothing I wrote could be considered Romance.) For a lark, I drifted over to the Fantasy table and sat.

Two authors were already sitting at the table. I gathered that they were writers of epic fantasy. Real “Game of Thrones” kind of stuff. They were engaged in a lively discussion with one another, which verged on argument.

The discussion involved types of magic systems to be used in world-building. One author said he preferred a hard magic system, with naturalistic extensions, and a symbolic representation of power. The other argued for a soft magic system, without any expressed hermeneutics, with actual representation of power.

I was equally bored and fascinated. It seemed these two fellows were on opposite sides of a fence. The argument went on for over thirty minutes, neither gaining any ground, until finally one of the two fellows rose and said he had a pitch session coming up. The two shook hands congenially.

I took the opportunity to talk to the fellow that was left. I think I asked him about some other details about his book, such as the name of the MC. I remember his response: “Oh, I haven’t got the characters lined up yet. I’m still working on the world-building.”

He showed me all he had: A notebook stuffed with charts and lists of symbols. All this work must have taken him months, if not years. I remember thinking at the time, “Did Tolkien start this way?”

I also wondered how this gentleman would fare in a pitch session. Can you impress a publisher simply with world-build? With magic system design? A pure idea without any human characters?

I resolved then and there, I would not step down the same pathway, not a single step. Stories are about people. Even if they hurl heuristic magic at each other, even if they are aliens from another world, or talking animals, or pure mathematic forms—they are people, or human analogs. A story without characters is meaningless.

The further we get from the balance, from the intersectionality between mechanics and engineering, the less our stories are about people, and the less interested people will be in reading them. They will be difficult to sell.

We should never forget, no matter how desirable a Firari is, it can go nowhere without a skilled driver. That driver is our reader. The most crucial part of our design.