ideas just keep multiplying.
SM: Yeah. I hate to travel, but I see so many stories in airports. We were in, I think, Chicago, waiting for a flight, and this whole story just played out right in front of us. There was a man and a woman, and she kept leaning toward him and touching him, and he was always shifting away from her just a little bit, and not meeting her eye. And it was so clear, the inequality in their feelings, and where I imagined their future was heading, I felt I could just run with it. When you spend time around people, you know, there are so many stories that it just can make you crazy when you want to write them all down.
SH: Yeah, there’s never a problem with finding ideas; it’s just finding the time to write it, and the words to tell it.
SM: For me, it’s time. I don’t usually experience the kind of writer’s block that people talk about. My kind of writer’s block is when I know what needs to happen, and I just have a stumbling block—some transition that I can’t get past.
The longest part of writing
Breaking Dawn
was writing right after all the action sequences. Bella becoming a vampire—that was very easy—but after that section I had to skip four months ahead. And that transition took me more time than any other section of the book. It’s only half a chapter long—it’s not verymany words—and the amount of time per word put into that section is probably ten times what it was in any other part of the book.
There are just some things that are not exciting, but I like to write minute by minute. And when I have to write, “And then three months passed,” it kills me.
SH: [Laughs] I don’t believe in writer’s block. I sort of embrace it, which feels good. And it doesn’t mean that writing isn’t hard, and sometimes I can’t come up with the right way to do it. The way I get over it is by allowing myself to write really badly, and then I rewrite a lot. The first draft for me is the worst. I hate writing first drafts—it’s so painful for me—but the story time for me comes in the rewrite. I already have some clay there to work with, and then I rewrite. But your first drafts, I think, are different for you.
SM: I love writing first drafts. I don’t think about what I’m doing. It’s hard for me to go back and reshape it. I can see it needs help, so I have more trouble—maybe because it doesn’t feel like clay anymore. It’s more like marble—I have to chip it off.
SH: Then you know what we need to do? [Laughs] You need to write first drafts, and then I’ll rewrite them. And then we’ll be happy.
SM: We’ll combine forces.
SH: But then you’ll see the book that I’ve turned it into, and you’ll be like:
What?!
SM: Well, then you’ll get the rough draft and think:
I don’t want to do anything with this!
[Laughs]
If I don’t care about the character, I can’t finish it.
SH: Would you ever collaborate with another writer? Do you think you could do that?
SM: I don’t know if I could. You know, sometimes I wonder,because it looks like a whole lot of fun. I really enjoy other writers, and their ideas and their processes. It’s fascinating. Maybe if it were something where we were switching off voices… But I just don’t think I could write another person’s character, because I have to really care to be able to write. If I don’t care about the character, I can’t finish it. Or if, for some reason, the character has become an unhappy place for me, then I just can’t go there.
I had one draft of about five chapters of a story that really was human—no fantasy, which is always a drawback for me—and then something happened in my family that made it a very painful place to be. It wasn’t something I had seen coming. I didn’t think it would ever have any relevance in my life that way. And it became too painful a place to work.
So I have to be in just exactly the right place to be able to write. With someone else’s character… I just don’t
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