“I often said that writers are of two types.
There is the architect, which is one type.
The architect, as if designing a building, lays out the entire novel at a time. He knows how many rooms there will be or what a roof will be made of or how high it will be, or where the plumbing will run and where the electrical outlets will be in its room. All of that stuff before he drives the first nail. Everything is there in the blueprint.
And then there’s the garderner who digs the hole in the ground, puts in the seed and waters it with his blood and sees what comes up.
The garderner knows certain things. He’s not completely ignorant. He knows whether he planted an oak tree, or corn, or a cauliflower.
He has some idea of the shape but a lot of it depends on the wind and the weather and how much blood he gives it and so forth.
No one is purely an architect or a gardener in terms of writers, but many writers tend to one side or the other.
I’m very much more of a garderner.”
Um, I’m probably exposing my ignorance here, but… who is this man, please?
*raises hand for the gardeners*
This makes so much sense! And I am definitely a gardener.
[sings “I’m a lonely little architect in a garden patch”]
I began writing as a gardener, but have become more of an architect as I’ve grown. If I don’t make at least some attempt to have the foundation, floors, and supports down, I’ll never finish it.