Method Writing

on something I made up, but not really

“Method acting” is when an actor immerses themselves fully into the world and persona of their character to play them better. Daniel Day Lewis is probably the most well-known example. He’s undergone this process many times in his career including situations such as living on a farm while foregoing bathing for months, spending three days in solitary confinement, fluently learning other languages, or living in the wilderness for months while learning how to survive on his own by building shelter and hunting. And probably also not bathing. Seems to be a theme.

It’s an extreme and maybe unnecessary process to put oneself through, but if Lewis feels it helps him play a part better, I can’t say I blame him. There’s something admirable about trying on the skin of another person so fully, imitating their experiences as closely as possible, for a full empathetic and compassionate view of their life. Some of us can’t even put ourselves in another person’s shoes for ten minutes, let alone confine ourselves without food or water for three days for the sake of a movie.

But, on a much less extreme level, I get it. I have a decent amount of acting experience myself. Most of which on stage, not in the movies, but a girl can dream. The theory of method acting has always been incredibly intriguing to me and although I never went so far to recreate the life of any of the characters I’ve played, I certainly felt the connection stronger when wearing their clothes, their makeup, or holding their possessions. When I played Jo March, I felt like I was Jo March. I’d always identified with her since reading Little Women for the first time in elementary school. Not only because she was a writer with a fiery temper, but in the book she’s described as an “independent tomboy” with “big hands and feet”. A lanky tomboy writer with an independent and fiery heart could have be written on my tombstone if I died at twenty-five. (I’m not so lanky or fiery anymore, but my hands and feet are still huge and I am no stranger to dirt.) Regardless, it was by far my best performance. So I know there is something to the theory of method acting. And it’s why I also believe in method writing.

I didn’t set off at sea to become a pirate to write The Dare Sisters, or disappear on the Appalachian Trail to write The Hike to Home, and I certainly didn’t fight any fires to write Send a Girl!. (I did experience a fire, however, not voluntarily so.) But I did write about places I’d been many times, towns I’ve lived in, and/or other experiences I’ve had that fit into these stories and my other books. In other words, I lean into and write what I know as a form of method writing. And I make up the rest.

I also almost always buy a couple trinkets that my characters “own” which I will wear, or use depending on their purpose, as if I am that character. For the very first book I wrote, around 2005, (which will never be published but I consider my “proof I can write a book book”), I bought a necklace with a jade pendant that was wrapped in silver leaves to represent a magical necklace in my story.

For another early story, I bought a tiny round music box that played Swan Lake.

For another, a celestial ring-set that unfolds into a globe as a replica of navigation device.

I’ll listen to instrumental soundtracks or create playlists that fit my character’s personality or talents in some way. I’ll have conversations between characters in my head when I’m daydreaming or lying in bed early in the morning. And most importantly, I will hole up somewhere for days in order to completely disappear into whatever fictional world I’m creating.

That’s my favorite part. And the most necessary. Although I can, and do, write regardless of circumstances because life demands to be lived and words demand to be written, whenever I can escape my life for a short time to pretend the novel is the ONLY thing I have to do, it’s magical. No dogs to tend to, no people to converse with, no bills to pay, no meals to shop for or make, no reason to get dressed, absolutely no interruptions—that’s my method writing. Pretending the urgency of my fictional world is more important than my actual world is what brings out my best writing. I can feel my character’s wants and fears and goals so much clearer. I can stay fixated on the puzzle pieces as long as I want without feeling guilty when my husband asks me a question and I’m so lost in a daydream I have to ask him to repeat himself. And I don’t have to juggle three jobs at a time while trying to write a novel. 10/10 don’t recommend.

Next month I’m taking myself into the woods (yes, I live in the woods, but these are different woods!) for a week of such method writing, thanks to a generous friend who has offered up her vacation home. Although I am crushing this rewrite—currently at over 35k words after only three weeks and writing about a chapter a day—I can’t wait for several days of literally staring at my project like we’ve just met and we’re falling in love. I’ll cuddle up to the new document in progress, consult my notebooks and the older relationship (version), arrange and rearrange notecards and post its into countless positions, and have an affair with this story until I push it through the second act and land it solidly in the third. Possibly all while never bathing. Daniel Day Lewis style.

Kinky, right? Writers certainly know how to have a good time.

What’s your process like? Do you buy trinkets your characters would carry? Are you like me and require some (or a lot) of solitude to finish a novel? Do you have props or rituals or tricks to stay immersed in your fictional worlds? Or are you one of those weirdos who writes in a coffee shop and can somehow tune out all the cup and dish clatter, conversation, and TikToks people play on their phones? (Just kidding, you’re not weird, I really wish I could!)

Whatever your process, whatever your methods, whatever your kinks, happy writing my friends!