One of the most important lessons I have learned over years of writing is to trust the process. That being said, what exactly is the process? For me, it’s a messy one.

First, of course, is the simple (or not simple) act of moving the pen across the paper or pressing the keys. I need to trust that by doing this I am going to be able to create a rich and meaningful story. The first words are often not incredibly well-written, usually lacking depth and sensory detail, but they move me towards something true.

Much of the time I do not have a clear idea of what is going to happen, exactly what a character is going to say or do, until it is visible on paper or on the screen. The process of putting down one word after another, one sentence following another to create a scene, brings knowledge and insight and truth.

A little more than 45,000 words into my new novel, I had about fourteen chapters from three different points of view. As I learned about the lives and secrets and goals of my characters, I had written a few flashbacks throughout, images and scenes and conversations my characters revealed to me. Sometimes they blurted something out and sometimes they whispered, but it was all important and became part of the chapter, even if it didn’t fit neatly into the scene.

At one point, I thought of beginning each chapter with a scene from the past, in italics, then getting on with what was happening in the present. An awful idea.

This past weekend, I restarted the novel. I pulled out most or all of the scenes that happened in the past and used them to create new and better beginning chapters.  Now I am revising what I have so far, the scenes and chapters that come after, and they are richer for knowing what came before.

We have a good friend, Jim Lord, who digs us out at the lake house during the winter. This morning he was here at seven, plowed the best he could with my car  there, and shoveled a walkway from the car to the front door.

I put on my boots and jacket and gloves a few hours later and went outside to clear off the car and shovel the small mountain range left  by the street plow. It was windy and cold, but there were intermittent breaks of bright sunshine. By the time I finished and walked back towards the house, the path was lightly covered with snow again, the steps a little slippery.

And so it is with writing.

There are probably millions of people in the United States who belong to a book club. Although I don’t belong to one right now, I was fortunate enough to be invited to one a few days ago to discuss A Better Life.

It is an amazing experience listening to people, some I have known for years and some I just met, discussing Margaret and Jenny, Gene and even Darlene. They talked about Jenny’s family background and they asked many questions about the story which were often answered by another reader. Perhaps the most interesting comments for me were about the ending; readers have been pretty divided on whether they were satisfied with it or not. The fact that many readers want more of Jenny and Margaret’s story is a wonderful thing for this author.

What I loved sharing most was the process of writing the novel. The getting to know the characters, the characters surprising me at times, either by their actions or their reactions. People are amazed that I don’t know what the characters will do or say in advance, that there isn’t more planning or outlining involved. I explained that there are many authors who do outline and plan much of what they write and that is their process, but not mine.

People in the book club were amazed that I know and care so deeply about my characters. That my characters become so very real to me is part of what makes writing special. It is a mysterious process to people who don’t write, as well as to people like me who do.

Each time I open the document I am working on most, my new novel, a little flag appears on the bottom right, welcoming me back and encouraging me — Pick up where you left off. Then it tells me exactly when I was last there. It can be 32 minutes or 6 hours or a day, or it can be two or three days or even a week. I used to feel a little guilty, that I wasn’t working hard enough, that I had abandoned my work. I needed to remind myself that at this point in the writing process, even when I am not on the computer, I am writing.

I may be writing new pages in my notebook or I may be reviewing and editing the last chapter I wrote, or I may just be thinking, asking myself questions, picturing the characters talking or looking at something, and I wonder. As I drive to my grandson’s school in Billerica, I wonder how my characters feel about driving; as I scrub a pan or wipe down the counters, I wonder how they feel about cleaning; and as I cook dinner, I wonder how they feel about cooking. When I pick up the mail, I wonder what they got in their mail that day and if they know their mail carrier.

Sometimes they tell me right away and give me a deeper sense of who they are and I make pages of notes. Sometimes I don’t get answers right away, but it still helps to ask the questions that usually lead to more questions. And if I continue to question and listen hard enough, they will be answered in time.

I need to remind myself that until I have a first draft, much of the writing won’t be done on the computer. It will be done by hand and heart and head. After completing one novel, I have come to develop a profound respect for the process. At this point, where I left off is only part of the story.