I’m writing this on my last night in Venice, which is, yes, a city built of water and light, but is also one of the great loves of my life. For almost thirty years, I’ve had a totally unrequited love affair with her. I think about her all the time, but she barely knows my name. That’s okay, really. I understand. She’s very popular. 

(Once, after a particularly bad breakup, my ex returned some of my things and spelled my name Rachel. Oooh, it rankled. Venice has been misspelling my name for thirty years and I think about her constantly, make of that what you will.)

Of course I’ve wanted to write a book about Venice for many years, but I haven’t known how to do it. Joseph Brodsky’s Watermark is one of my favorite books about Venice and is just a collection of vignettes from his collected winterings in the city. I picture my book something like his, slim and cheerfully self-denigrating, but even vignettes need to do something. I’ve been stumped. 

What was I missing?

A few years ago, I taught with Cami Ostman of the Narrative Project at a conference, and I heard her say something that made my heart both fly and sink at the same time. She spoke about the need to find both your What and your So-what in your writing. 

• The What: Simply, what are you writing about? What’s the plot? What happens? 

• And the So-what: Why does it matter? What does it mean? What will it mean to other people? 

Ah, crap. That was why I couldn’t come up with what to do with this book about Venice. Sure, I had plenty to tell about my time in there. 

But the What doesn’t make a book. 

I was missing the So-what. 

So what that I loved Venice? So what that I’d been writing a collection of nice little stories about the city? What was the real meaning that I wanted to share? 

I didn’t know. 

I kept chasing the So-what. Kept going back to Venice so that I could write some more, in search of the answer. (It might have gone faster had Venice been easier/cheaper to get to!) 

And on this trip, I’ve found it, the reason I kept being drawn back. I don’t quite understand it all just yet—it’s still being revealed. It’s there, though. I can see its outline, and I know it’s right.

I was patient, and I kept asking, What’s my So-what? 

Some of you might already see a potential danger in this line of questioning—Come on, is my book even good enough to have a So-what? Or: I don’t have a So-what, so this book is a stupid idea. Think I’ll go eat dirt. 

But no, I think it’s the opposite. Knowing we need a So-what means we write toward understanding what it is. I’ve been writing this Venice book on and off for years, always moving toward the understanding I trusted would come if I kept working. And it has. (Finally.)

For my most recent novel, The Seven Miracles of Beatrix Holland, the What was Beatrix is told she’ll experience seven miracles but then she’ll die. I wrote and revised the whole book in about four months, and because I was so focused, I quickly uncovered the So-what: Love for chosen family is the thing that makes you brave in the hardest moment of all. 

But did I know that when I started to write it? Heck no! I didn’t suspect it until I was done with the first draft, because that’s when books finally get comfy enough with us to start showing us their soft, furry (and sometimes matted) underbelly. 

Have you found your So-what yet? 

Here are a few things that I’ve found that help with the locating. 

First, write the book. Badly. Sloppily. Messily. Quickly. I am sorry, and I do hate that it’s true, but this is the best way to find it. If you try to find it ahead of time, before you write the book, you’ll prejudge everything you come up with and not write your book. 

And while actively in the search for my So-what, I find simply putting a Post-it on my computer helpful. “What’s my So-What?” This keeps it front of mind. Please don’t write “JAYZUS SO WHAT ALREADY?!?” —that’s not as kind a question to ask of your sweet writer self. 

If you’re really stumped, and you’ve finished the first draft, try journaling/free writing around the idea. Chase your So-what ideas around the page by hand. What rises? 

If you’d like a guide next to you while you chase your What and So-what, that’s exactly what my 90-day courses are for.  They’re open now for the June-Aug session, and they’re filling fast. I’d love to help you. 

All the details are here:

90 Days to Done (for drafting)
and
90 Day Revision (for revising).

Please remember to go easy. You don’t need to try to find that So-what until most of the book is drafted. Trying to find it too early can actually work against you. (What if you think it’s one thing but it’s actually different? Don’t get too attached while writing that first, surprising draft!) 

Ciao from my last night with Venezia, who still can’t spell my name but finally gave me the gift I wanted most,

Rachael 

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PS - Do I regret not writing these emails reminding you the classes are open before I left? Absolutely not. If I’d pre-drafted them, I wouldn’t be thinking of you from this canal-side apartment and it’s been very pleasant sitting here with you. (And now, sending it from Le Marche, where I’ve just made pasta with three generations of women and eaten it with writing friends.)

PPS - I’ll be sending my thoughts about my Venetian revelation to my Patreon members soon, in case you’re interested in finding out what it is. 

PPPS - 100% human-written, please forgive the inevitable typos!