Let’s groove one last time:
Christopher R. Beha: …I’d emphasize, if anything, the limits to analytical reflection. As a fiction writer you don’t — at least, I don’t — start out with a list of themes or formal methods you want to explore, or a sense of how you want to stand with respect to a particular tradition. You start telling a story. As you go along, the story makes certain demands of you. If you’ve read widely and carefully enough, you have some understanding of how other, better writers have met similar demands, and this understanding can be a big help. But there are lots of problems that arise while writing that must be solved intuitively. It’s possible that too much analytical reflection on such problems can be a hindrance…
…I began with a voice… This voice was like my own in some ways, but was not my own. I also began with a situation… This too had a slight grounding in my own life, but not much. I knew that these things — the voice (or better to say the character this voice implied) and the situation — were related in some way. My first problem was figuring out what the relation was. This is typical of the kind of problem a novelist is often faced with, in my limited experience. The questions I’m constantly asking myself while I work aren’t “What is my attitude toward death?” or “How can meaning persist in the absence of God?” but “How do I get from this scene to that scene?” and “What does this character want from this character?” These are narrow questions, specific to the work at hand, and it seems to me that one of the things that separates the truly great novelist from the able and learned craftsman is an instinct for answering these questions in the perfect way.





