Projects that Pivot

From the Creative Lab series - Graham Greene, life turns, my latest novella, and Mr. Banks (my elementary school gym teacher)

I remember the lessons when Mr. Banks¹ taught us how to pivot in gym class. Probably fourth grade? As a tiny athletic kid, I never dreamed of playing basketball, but I loved the feel of the basketball and the joy of making a shot.

Those technical kinesthetic discoveries that could be improved through rehearsal always enticed me. I guess it’s what led to all the field events I competed at in track and field as well as my ability to spin a basketball on my finger, which is not an especially admirable feat but comes in useful while trying to make small talk at children’s birthday parties in parks.

The pivot, though, felt to me like a beautiful strategy that — when perfected — could elevate not just the outcome of a game but also the aesthetics of the experience. Additionally, the strategic puzzle piece felt both geometrically effective and artistically apt.

Photo by Wyxina Tresse on Unsplash

In life, too, sometimes it’s better to change directions while still keeping one foot on the ground. I’ve learned not to fear pivots. They’ve brought me to different countries, jobs, relationships. Sometimes the ride isn't smooth, but keeping that anchor makes it work, whether it’s people, a home-place, or the real self within.

So when I think about creative projects, I try to be just as bold. What’s the point of carrying through if something isn’t working or you’ve thought of something better? (Of course, there are exceptions! Feel free to share them…) Perhaps the mantra of killing your darlings by editing out a lot of your original drafting is getting at this concept. But I’m thinking on a slightly larger scale.

I’ve changed novels drastically in the middle of the process by shifting the ending or switching the narrative voice and recall deleting a whole chapter of my dissertation to start it again. A lot of writers do this. When you don’t like the direction a creative project is going, it can often be easier and more effective to pull the plug rather than using patchwork.

Recently, this strategy has been enhanced by publishing online whilst still drafting. I began serializing a novella this summer called The Man from Brooklyn. Instead of completing everything and scheduling far in advance, I thought that I might respond to both comments and how the writing played back to me in publication. Rather than seek criticism, I tried to listen to what was working, the threads that were most effective, and what was perhaps not.

What began as a short fiction about relationships, academia, and the Maine Woods (with nod to Thoreau), became still that but also a more surreal and mysterious story. I began playing with mind games in the protagonist who narrates himself in third person. I started thinking that channeling Olga Tokarczuk and Haruki Murakami but with Annie Ernaux energy somehow worked better. The mini elements of mystery became the most interesting parts of the story for me and several readers. Perhaps it was because I was coming off of writing a thriller or perhaps it had more to do with the teaching of so many crime stories this past year for one of my classes.

Our course focused on non-traditional crime stories: Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Atonement, and Brighton Rock. The latter of which, Graham Greene’s² novel about Pinkie and his gang in Brighton, England, and an ensuing investigation of evil alongside social commentary, struck me as delightfully odd as I read it for the first time in preparation. What was odd about it was both Pinkie’s darkly perplexing character (also known as ‘The Boy’) and Ida Arnold’s avant-garde independence and arm-chair-detective-like position in the narrative. Only she’s not. The story starts as a Golden Age Detective Story with Ida as the one you imagine will figure out the whodunnit but turns into a psychological thriller, layered in mystery.

This element of the genre bending crime story is evidence of Greene’s ‘mistake’ and his genius. It’s what makes Brighton Rock unique. (By the way, if you’ve seen either film adaptation, each changes the ending slightly but drastically, also changing the effect of this bold move.) After writing the first fifty pages, Greene changed his mind about both narrative arc and genre, switching to psychological thriller. You can feel this shift after reading the first part; the Agatha Christie expectations melt away in the strong diction, complicated sentences, and shifting limited omniscience. The structure of the writing down to this level feels the change in Greene’s project. Perhaps he realized there was something greater in the seed of what he had started. He took the instinct to just go with it.

Some have reasoned that Greene was just lazy or unbothered to change the first fifty pages, but as Brian Diemert writes in “Ida Arnold and the Detective Story,” he was right to keep it in. The detective story is still “woven into the fabric of the novel and cannot be taken out by surgical removal of a fixed number of pages.” There is no this and that, but a weave of genres and ideas to keep us guessing at the puzzles Greene presents.

So I, too, find myself in the process of redoing even the early drafting of the second half of the story but without the routine of everyday life to execute it. I want to keep the essence of what I started and add this other layer. Speed would make me remove too swiftly. We are nearly two months into our move to Japan and new jobs. I do think that rhythm is coming very soon…as the weather is turning to autumn today, so is my mind. So, this story will come, but it will take a little longer than expected. Maybe it’s not a bad thing to wait a little, to give it time so that I can respond freshly to what was already there and consider what the deeper message is and what aesthetics can help me to achieve this.

🧪 Creative Lab

What projects have you changed midway and what was the result? Or, have you finished something where you wish you had?

Back to basketball for a moment: after an eight-year hiatus from the court, I did play on a non-competitive intramural team with my high jumper friends at college. (You don’t have to be tall to high jump, but that’s a different story.) Luckily none of us got injured before our coach got wind of the endeavor and required us all to at least wear ankle guards — we decided to just give it up at that point. Around that time, one of our star runners broke his jaw playing touch football or rugby, and we didn’t want to keep Coach up with worry. I easily moved on from the need for Mr. Banks’ pivot while still keeping the essence in the many changes then and in the years to follow.

Pivots shouldn’t feel stressful and anxiety producing. Instead, if it’s right, it can release us into the project that’s possibly already taken shape in our minds somewhere. The path is sharper and more purposeful. It is free.

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This post is part of a new series called Creative Lab — behind-the-scenes essays on the process of making fiction: what I’m reading, noticing, and shaping into story. Join the discussion and share your projects.

1. I found this article about a difficult accident Mr. Banks had before his retirement, but it also demonstrates just how loved he was in my hometown.

2. Matterhorn readers, remember Graham Greene? Who I went on about in my build up to An Interpreter in Vienna? He was my largest literary (and filmic) inspiration for the tale. Here’s the podcast episode where I discuss Greene’s work.

Vienna in Fiction | Episode 52