11 Steps from Your Big Fat Mess to Your Next Draft

Today’s post is by author Audrey Kalman.

Generative writing can be the foundation of a writing practice. Approaches like Natalie Goldberg’s keep-your-hand-moving freewriting or Julia Cameron’s morning pages unlock creativity, spur energy, and yield insights. And, of course, they contribute to word count!

But after weeks, months, or sometimes years of generating new material, many writers reach a point at which the sheer volume of accumulated words overwhelms them. My conversations with fellow writers often revolve around questions like “What do I do with all this?” “I know there’s a story in there, but how can I find it?” or “How do I figure out what belongs and what I don’t need?”

If you view writing purely as process—a way to understand yourself, your experiences, and your place in the world—feel free to stop reading here. If, however, you aim to shape your material into a work that others can comprehend and respond to—a book, a series of essays, even a blog or website—then generation alone isn’t enough. You need a follow-on practice.

These steps have worked for me over the course of writing five novels, as well as for many writers of fiction and memoir I’ve worked with as an editor or coach. The steps blend the psychological/emotional and practical sides of the creative practice. They’re loosely sequential, although you can start anywhere that makes sense given where you find yourself at the moment. 

1. Reconceptualize “writing”

For years, I resisted analyzing, organizing, and editing my work because I thought if I wasn’t putting new words on the page, I wasn’t writing, and if I wasn’t writing then I must not be a writer. But our writing lives have seasons and cycles like those in the natural world: creation, growth, harvest, dormancy. Editing and organizing aren’t distractions from or detours around writing; they’re a part of the route that gets us where we want to be.

2. Switch brains

Shift from creator to analyzer, or, if you prefer, writer to editor. Applying the lens of editorial judgment uses a different part of your brain. Allow yourself to come out of that dreamy flow state many writers love to remain in. Don’t worry if this feels uncomfortable; you’ll get back to creative flow when the time is right. And some of the steps here ask you to tap into that state.

3. Organize

Physically locate all your files. Sometimes this is the most daunting step, especially for writers who have accumulated years worth of journals or who work intuitively, without outlines. Take it slowly. Break tasks into manageable chunks and tackle one at a time. For example, step one could be Move three boxes of journals from the garage into the house or Gather electronic files into one folder. 

Don’t hesitate to use sticks and carrots—e.g. I’ll have a piece of my favorite chocolate when I finish reviewing this chapter—and use a support system for accountability. You could buddy up with another writer or attend a group writing accountability session like Shut Up & Write and use the time to organize, not generate new material.

4. Inventory

You can’t analyze what you don’t know you have. Once you know where your material is, create a chapter-by-chapter or scene-by-scene list using whatever method is easiest—an electronic document, a spreadsheet, or good old-fashioned pen and paper. Note characters, locations, time periods, and other important details about each piece. Consider renaming document files to include words that will jog your memory about what the file contains, e.g., “Cake baking with mom in 1973.” Working electronically can be helpful for later analysis, especially using an organizational tool like Scrivener.

5. Summarize

Create brief summaries of each scene or chapter, focusing on elements like theme, character arc, conflict, and major plot points. To continue with the cake-baking example, you might summarize as follows: “One winter afternoon in 1973, Audrey baked a cake with her mom. As they worked side by side, her mom shared a secret that 19-year-old Audrey had never heard: her mom had a brief marriage that ended in divorce before she met Audrey’s dad.”

6. Analyze

Specificity and sensory details are vital in the generative and editing stages. But when you’re analyzing, you need to visualize the entire forest, not just the single towering, red-barked, fog-shrouded redwood right in front of you. Now is the time to move to a higher level of abstraction. Further extract from your summary by jotting a key word or two or a phrase that represents each scene or chapter. Aim to boil down that deliciously detailed cake-baking scene into a few words that represent its content and meaning, e.g., Mom shared a secret with Audrey while they baked.

7. Review and group

Look at your list of keywords or phrases. Do you see patterns? Can you group them according to themes, character, time period, mood, or another characteristic? The cake-baking scene might go with scenes involving family secrets, cooking scenes, or other activities the narrator shared with her mom. Especially note groupings that surprise you; those often indicate where the creative fire burns brightest.

8. Rest

Take a short break—emphasis on short—and let the work you’ve done so far settle in your subconscious. Unless you truly need an extended period of recuperation, a few days or a week should be enough.

9. Toggle

Now re-engage the creative, intuitive part of your brain. Use free writing or journaling exercises to help make sense of what you’ve gleaned so far. I’m a fan of personifying the writing itself as a playful way to engage with ideas that might otherwise seem daunting, like “what’s my theme?” or “what do I want to leave readers with?”

Try engaging in a dialogue with your book. Ask “What do you want to be? Where is it most important for me to put my energy? What do people most need to hear from me?” Then respond in the voice of the story. If this strikes you as a bit woo-woo, treat it as a craft experiment and have fun with it.

10. Share

It may seem too early to begin moving from the safety of private writing to imagining a reader for that writing. New work can feel tender and it’s natural to be protective of ideas in their infancy. Some writers keep a close hold on their works-in-progress out of fear that sharing might dilute their creativity or unduly influence them. 

But if you’re ready for the vulnerability of sharing, the discipline of communicating about your work can be an indispensable tool for clarifying your vision. 

Write a simple “My book is about” elevator statement, no more than two or three sentences. Don’t focus on plot points. Instead, aim for a big-picture, thematic statement. For example, a book containing the cake-baking scene could be about “the consequences of one generation keeping secrets from the next, told through the eyes of the daughter whose life falls apart when her mother’s first husband shows up.”

Then test your statement—with fellow writers, store clerks, librarians, the mail carrier, and anyone else who might be interested. This process will reveal where you could clarify or amplify.

11. Iterate

Once you’re satisfied with your draft book statement, type it up, print it out, and hang it where you can see it when you work. Remember: you’re early in the process, so don’t sweat getting it perfect. The statement can, and likely will, change but it can serve as your north star as you edit and reorganize your material.

When you encounter a chapter or scene that might or might not belong in the book, ask whether it fits with or supports your statement. If not, set it aside—or revise the statement to include it. The process is iterative, an evolving conversation between the book and the statement. As the book develops, the statement will change, and vice-versa.

I don’t mean to say that any of this will be easy. But this somewhat prescriptive approach is one way forward on what otherwise can seem like an intimidating and harrowing journey. These actions can bring you eleven steps closer to the ultimate joy of seeing your work alive in the world, and, along the way, the satisfaction of knowing what your work is and why it matters.

Audrey Kalman

Audrey Kalman writes fiction with a dark edge, often about what goes awry when human connection is missing from our lives. She is the author of the collection Tiny Shoes Dancing and Other Stories and two novels available on Amazon. She co-created the Birth Your Truest Story writers’ community, where she supports other writers with editing, coaching, and teaching. Her next workshop, Concept-to-Draft: Birth Your Short(est) Story, begins March 4, 2026. Connect on Instagram or via her website.

 

three novels: What Remains Unsaid and Dance of Souls (both available on Amazon) and The Last Storyteller, available on Kindle’s Vella platform. Her fiction