How to Write an Idea

This is the fundamental skill of every writer: turning the thoughts inside your head into prose on the page. It surprises me, therefore, that this is never talked about. It is somewhat assumed: if you want to be a writer, you’ll probably be able to write down your thoughts.

But that’s simply not true. It’s a skill. Yes, some people are naturally more gifted and have an easier time doing this, but the real skill comes from loads of practice. That’s why seasoned writers giving advice often “forget” that they started out struggling to formulate their thoughts as well.

Practice

What kind of practice? Pick whatever you like to do or whatever suits you. Below are some ideas.

• Write reviews of things you love/hate. These force you to analyze what you did or did not like, and then write that down (in a clear way).
• Keep diaries. These might be a general diary for your life (which allows you to just write your thoughts and feelings at that moment), or diaries for specific projects (like writing down what you did and explaining why).
• Write opinion pieces. Pick a current topic, or something you feel strongly about, and try to write down your exact thoughts, arguments and reasoning for your point of view.
• Write stories (obviously). The reason I put this one last, though, is because it takes a much larger commitment and requires you to already know how to plot a story.

As you might notice, all of these things actually practice two things: reasoning and communication. To me, these are the only two skills that truly matter and that every human should train.

Training how to write any idea automatically trains how to think—how to get better ideas, with no holes in them. The two go hand in hand.

That’s why I have done all of these for years now. And I recommend you do the same. The writer who is comfortable thinking any idea through and expressing it in clear language, will be miles ahead of anyone else. Both fiction and non-fiction, both opinion and fact.

Basic Grammar

A requirement for such practice, of course, is knowing the basic grammar to construct a sentence. The rest of this article will explain that theory.

But remember: at this point your prose is allowed to be terrible. We’re not trying to write the prettiest paragraph people ever perused—we’re practicing getting that first draft on the page. As long as your sentences convey your idea, as long as their meaning is clear, you’re good.

We communicate through action

The first thing to notice, is that our language is based on action. (That refers to all of them, not just English.)

Every sentence you write means you either …

• Create new information (“The book is about unicorns.”)
• Or describe an actual action (“The unicorns run through the woods.”)

Even when there is nobody “doing” the action, we still put it in this structure! For example, we say “it rains”, not just “rain”. Alternatively, we might say “rain falls”, which again describes it as an action.

Written communication is always an action.

This is a natural consequence of our physical world and how we interact with it. Early humans, those who developed the core of language, were only concerned by what was happening around them. By physical movement and action.

And we stuck to this structure, to this day. Because even though society has radically changed, our brains have not. It’s still a natural way for us to store and communicate information.

A sentence

A sentence …

• Starts with a capital letter (A vs a)
• Has a subject (the one who does something)
• Then a verb (the thing being done)
• And ends with a period (.)

Now you know why. Because every sentence is an action, there must be a verb for the action, and a subject that executes it.

For getting your thoughts onto the page, I’d highly recommend sticking to this structure. Subject first, then verb, then the rest of the sentence. This is also called “branching to the right”: as the sentence continues (reading left to right), more and more details are added. But the core of the sentence? Those should be right at the start.

This structure leads to clear sentences.

Keep subject and verb together. Any time you want to express a thought, ask yourself: “what happens and who is making it happen?”

This might seem obvious, but it really isn’t. Many writers get lost in the woods trying to construct these overly complicated sentences, perhaps because they think it sounds more poetic or it’s what a “good” writer is supposed to do.

No, consistently “branch your sentences to the right”, and your writing will be clear as glass.

It will also be robotic and repetitive, yes. But keep in mind that the prose is allowed to be terrible right now!

Punctuation

If your sentence is a question, you replace the period (.) with a question mark (?). If your sentence is an exclamation, you replace the period (.) with an exclamation mark (!).

If a sentence has multiple distinct parts, you combine them with a comma (,). There are other types of punctuation, and the rules for when to place commas are more strict than this. But for now, for your rubbish first draft, just use a comma every time.

A paragraph

Now you can write sentences. Your next task is to group them into paragraphs.

How? I like to remember this simple rule.

Each paragraph is one idea. It should only contain sentences related to the same idea.

For example, say you want to describe the appearance of a character in your story. What do you do? You start a new paragraph and fill it with multiple sentences that share this common goal!

Some writers have the “wall of text” syndrome. They forget to add paragraphs, which means the whole page is … a wall of text. This is daunting and hard to read. It’s even harder to edit in your second draft.

Don’t do this! Any time you want to steer the text to a new general topic, start a new paragraph.

Others have the inverse problem. Their thoughts are jumbled, jumping from one thing to the next every time, which leads to paragraphs of only one or two sentences. They would rewrite the example above by moving those three sentences (about her appearance) far apart, interspersed by short paragraphs about completely different topics.

Also don’t do this! As your brain considers a topic, try to add everything that’s relevant to your current paragraph. Then “close” this thought, if you like, and start a new paragraph for a new thought.

A simple example

Say I want to write a scene in which our main character—James—explores a dark forest.

I’d think about the setting:

The trees faded into darkness. Only some were visible, thanks to the faint moonlight. An owl cried out above my head. A strong breeze rustled the leaves and whipped strands of hair into my face.

Notice how these sentences use the simple subject + verb structure. It is very clear what I’m trying to convey, even though the prose isn’t great. I repeatedly think about a subject (in the setting) and an action (something they could be or be doing), until I feel I’ve said enough.

After this paragraph, I start a new one. Now I think about James and his objective here.

James searched for twigs. He crouched. He placed the palms of his hands to the dirt and felt around. His first task was to get a fire started. Without it, he would never be able to find the treasure. He could be standing right on top of it and he wouldn’t know.

You might even split this into two paragraphs. Because the first three sentences are the action of searching twigs, while the second is the explanation for searching twigs. (I mainly write for younger audiences, which means I would probably split the paragraph in two. But it’s up to you what you consider “one topic” or “one idea” explored in a paragraph.)

Then I start a new paragraph, thinking about the next step: James finds those twigs and tries to get a fire going.

Once I have that paragraph, I move to the next step: as the fire starts, it suddenly reveals that a monster stands very close to him. He goes on the run.

I leave this as a challenge to you! Write those two paragraphs. Try to go further than that: get a new thought for the story and then put it into words.

And remember, it doesn’t need to read like beautiful prose (yet). For example, in my second paragraph the first few sentences are very robotic and repetitive. (“James searched … He crouched … He placed …”) That’s something I would edit for the second draft.

What if nothing comes?

What if you really can’t express your thought? What if it’s just a vague idea, or a summary of what’s supposed to happen, but you find no way to turn it onto prose?

Don’t fret! Many authors use a simple technique I call leave a summary for later.

When nothing comes, just write down the quick summary of what you would have wanted to happen.

Mark these summaries with a simple, unique identifier (such as @SUMMARY:). This way, you can easily find them all later and turn them into prose. (Without missing one and leaving an awkward mistake in your novel.)

The important part is to never stop your momentum. With your first draft, keep writing, keep going fast, keep getting the story out of your head. If something forces you to a standstill, write the quick summary of what should be there, and continue.

And a later moment, fill in those summaries. Usually, the “solution” presents itself in the next hours or days. (Your brain likes to keep thinking about issues while you’re busy doing other stuff.) Try to listen to your brain telling you it has a solution. If you leave all these summaries for later, it might create a new problem that overwhelms you.

Conclusion

That’s my best advice on putting your thoughts into writing.

• Practice it a lot. Practice it in different ways.
• Don’t worry about ugly prose, just focus on getting it out of your system.
• Apply the simple basics of prose. (Figure out your subject and verb. New paragraph for new topic.)

It really is a somewhat magical process. Researchers are still discovering how we’re actually able to use language this precisely, how our grammar and alphabet really helps us process text more easily. That’s why I can’t give any more tips or tricks than this.

Next chapter, let’s dive into the four types of prose you’ll typically write in a story.