Writing isn’t always an intuitive process, especially when working on my current book Barons, Brewers, and Bootleggers.
Lucy Sante, who taught writing for 27 years, penned a blog post about being identified as an intuitive writer. Her anecdote made me think about how I approached writing, whether penning a magazine article or writing a book.
Sante was a panelist at a small literary festival, where an attendee described her writing approach. She thought of herself and others as innately intuitive as a writer. After being called out, she realized that’s not the case.
“I realized that no, many writers are procedural or mimetic or discursive. They are raconteurs or reporters or haranguers or intellectuals. They employ front-brain operations to render a story or an idea into words, translating straight across from one to the other. Nonfiction in particular draws the reporters, the haranguers, and the intellectuals, people who have something definite to say,” said Sante.
Sante’s description aligns more with my writing process.
As an author of four nonfiction books, freelance writer, and experienced reporter, I focus on gathering information through interviews and research. I observe and record notes during site visits. I gather quotes from people interviewed in person, by phone, and email. Particularly in person, I also capture notes about appearance, setting, action, pace, and sensory details that may or may not be useful later.
I use this general approach to prepare for writing chapters of Barons, Brewers, and Bootleggers: A Social History of Beer in Missouri. For example, I needed to research Heim Brewing, a 19th century brewery once located in Kansas City’s East Bottoms. I visited J. Rieger & Co., where the distillery operated on the former brewery’s grounds, and met with distillery co-founder Ryan Maybee (below). We discussed the distillery’s museum exhibit, featuring Heim documents, artifacts, and biographical details. If you haven’t been, visit, take a tour, and sample spirits, if you like.
I jotted quotes and scrawled notes about events, logistics, and objects. Shooting photographs of sections of the exhibit provided helpful visual reference later. The site visit and interview supplemented online and book research about the Heims.
Part vacuum, part detective, I pay attention to what my senses encounter during an interview and site visit. Other details not tied to the senses matter, too. I might detail the order of a process or sequence of events or sketch the layout of a room that will help paint a visual picture through words for the reader.
When I’m fully engaged, multiple activities occur during an interview and site visit. Last December, I visited Boulevard Brewing’s barrel-aging facility. Simultaneously, I wrote quickly while chatting with two people, including barrel program manager Quinn Reeder (below), to capture quotes and facts. I scribbled notes which forced me to make decisions in the moment about what details matter, sometimes circling back to clarify.
We walked past barrels and tasted samples. I tapped into my senses to hone in on color, aroma, flavor, the sound of a voice, or the openness of a space. Meanwhile, I processed information during the interview. I listened deeply, thinking about a followup question, or chasing an idea or detail down an unexpected path. In other words, the interview process and observational note taking was and is not a passive experience.
Recording and gathering this input also supplements mental notes and impressions that aren’t physically recorded. Often there isn’t time to pause and thoroughly write every detail on paper. It’s not always practical (or sometimes allowed) to use a camera or recorder to capture photographs and audio as a reference.
This hybrid process of collecting information and impressions aids me later. I settle down at my desk, open the laptop, flip through pages of notes, and begin to shape ideas, observations, and recorded data into the form of a story.
Not everyone works this way, of course. Every writer’s process is different. I developed my methods over time. The process remains flexible as the situation and scope of work dictates.
Sante stated that some skilled writers are able to express in a concise, concrete fashion. Others “will produce reams of text that have to be mined, like quartz, in order to extract the veins of meaning from the surrounding masses of clay and dirt.”
Between minimalism and exhaustive writing, I lean toward the former. Writing a thousand words of notes requires sifting later to find 300 useful words of material. It is time-consuming and counterproductive. I record what might be useful and interesting. At the same time, I automatically edit mundane, less relevant, and stray threads of conversation and information. Intuitively and from experience, I know what doesn’t fit the direction or vibe of the story.
Sante acknowledges that she’s an intuitive writer. “Intuitive writers, by contrast, do not quite know where they are going. A lot of my writing is basically this: I have a strong but complicated emotion about something. I couldn’t easily explain it in conversation,” she explained.
Her writing process was a means to “manifest the thought process in itself.”
Most of my actual writing process feels like assembly. I figure out how to arrange the notes, quotes, and details into an order. What sequence makes sense, what to leave in or out, what serves the story? Having ample notes (but not too much) provides adequate material to construct the story or write a chapter.
Sometimes I get stuck with expressing an idea or observation beyond citing a fact. Context, word choice, clarity, tone, and other factors matter, too. That’s when the intuitive, more creative aspect of my writing kicks in. Putting quotes and facts in meaningful order is important for understanding. Shaping the feel and momentum of the text matters as well. Intuitive writing can help create structure, add tension, build toward an emotional payoff, or simply deliver a satisfying conclusion. Writing, revising, making adjustments, and filling in the facts and quotes with flourish and rhythm can help a story or chapter resonate.
My aim with Barons, Brewers, and Bootleggers is not to produce an encyclopedia of entries. The book isn’t a categorical or exhaustive presentation of facts, dates, times, and sequence of what happened. The exploration of history can sing and move the reader with emotion, enlightenment, and understanding. My approach to these selected stories involves a human-centered approach. Yes, some facts and details of a person’s life matter. Context about their motivation, dreams, fears, and challenges play a role in their direct life and against the backdrop of the times that shaped Missouri’s history.
Whether you’re reading about the Heim family, a barrel-aging program manager, or bootlegger, these passages go beyond the factual and tap into a deeper, more meaningful experience that ripples across time.