My children assume that writing is a product that may be handed to someone else, who is then free to make judgments, have emotions, create connections or perhaps even collaborate on it. They understand the performance part of writing that is most visible, but I want to expose them to what happens behind the curtain as well, which is lots of practice. As a musician, I am disciplined by practice to collect, revise, create and critique music, so the idea of a writing practice appeals to me. What I hope to teach my children is that writing, like music, is a way of seeing the world that creates habits of mind.

Like the children of many other writers, my three girls are learning how to deal with my sometime lack of availability, either because I’ve taken off for a café or, as Gail says, I have that blank look. Fantasizing about how to fit more hours into my day led me to habits that allow me to practice writing without setting words down.

My inspiration to write is most connected to character, so much of my practice involves how to recreate people on the page. Here are some ways I practice writing that don’t involve my desk.

• Play “What is the Right Question”. I see the world as rife with narrative, whether intended as such or not, so I’m the person at the family reunion who is hoping to come up with a question that will help someone share their story. The answers often tell me what a person wants or reveal something about their nature, but what is most important to me is how to elicit this dialogue and emotion. The tone, context, and body language are important, as well as the actual words I choose. In order to frame their answer, I ask myself a series of questions: What aspect of the experience am I hoping they speak about – emotion, how-to, opinion, etc. How much detail am I looking for? Am I looking to debate, learn, feel, or support? What is the appropriate amount of physical distance – should I have a hand on their shoulder or is it the sort of answer one could call across a room?

If there is no party to go to, I like practicing “What is the Right Question” when watching two characters interact on film or while reading a book – then I can see if I was close to the question the writer(s) came up with. Different questions have varying levels of influence on how the relationship progresses and whether each person moves closer to their goal.

Getting the right question helps me write believable dialogue and understand motivation. Often characters fall flat for me if the author(s) haven’t thought enough about how to ask the right question regarding dialogue, behaviour or desire.

• Have a go-to character shorthand and assess people I meet with it. We all do this, but I like to think writers are especially energetic in doing so. For me it was important to have a structured and manageable list. I like to use the Meyers -Briggs Type Indicator to understand motivations and predict behaviour, but I also like TV tropes and even the signs of the zodiac. It’s very easy to write characters who are motivated by the same things as me, so keeping a character shorthand helps me understand people who are very different.
• Keep a want list. I developed this after taking screenwriting courses with Sara Graefe. This isn’t the type of list I might refer to after winning the lottery, but a record of interpersonal interactions. If a conflict happened, I jot down what I wanted (a more thorough cleaning up of the kitchen), how I approached it (usually badly, with exasperation) and what my deeper desire was (that there be order and cleanliness so I can feel calm in my environment), what other people’s wants and desires are (to get back to Playmobil or watch a movie because finishing work and school for the day entitles one to relaxation) and what happened (most often that my husband understands the desire if not the level of the want and encourages the kids to pitch in). I often go over these moments in my mental journal when I’m walking or waiting, because characters without wants and desires are boring. I sort my wants into different groups (by situation, response, size, duration, etc.) and draw on these when I plot story ideas.
• Reading, of course. I imagine the novelty of those suspicious women of the middle ages reading in their heads, and support their quiet escapism wholeheartedly. My favourite game is to mentally rewrite characters from disparate works into the same story to see how they might unbalance each other. Right now I’m thinking Sun Moon from “The Orphan Master’s Son” getting some English lessons from an underemployed David Slaney from “Caught”.

I’d love to hear ideas that you have for how to practice writing, especially if they are quirks you’ve developed that non-writers find unusual.

Jennifer Spruit grew up in Lloydminster, AB/SK, alongside pump jacks, farm machinery, and its endless, sparkling winter sky. Her affair with writing began with a Grade One story about a tractor, but she has since become engaged in writing about people. She studied Creative Writing at UBC and now lives in Courtenay, on Vancouver Island, where she enjoys playing folk and bluegrass, teaching kids, and rowing a blue canoe. Her work has appeared in Arc, The Antigonish Review, Prairie Fire Magazine, and SubTerrain Magazine, among others. A Handbook for Beautiful People is her debut novel. She is currently at work on a second novel.