This is an updated version of an article first published on 30 October 2017.

Yesterday, a friend reminded me of the concept pf “prewriting”. This was a concept or practice featrured in John Warner’s The Writer’s Practice. The context of the conversation was as follows. I was reflecting, with some puzzlement, on the fact that around six weeks ago I was approached, out of the blue, by a company wanting an article of 600 words. Fair enough, except that they further specified it had to consist of no more than 150 words on background, 200 words on something else, and so on. It ended up taking me around 3 hours to write the article. On the other hand, and article I’d pitched to an editor, and had accepted, took me 55 minutes for the same number of words. Well obviously, once my friend had pointed it out, I’d already done quite a bit of the thinking for the second article, in other words, the prewriting.

That episode reminded me of this article I wrote in 2017, about writing in my head. It’s the same idea.

I do a lot of writing, but at least 50% of it is in my head. Like Borges’ protagonist in The Secret Miracle (though happily without the conclusion), I can write reams without putting pen to paper.
It’s quite handy to be able to do that, because it means I can “write” while I’m travelling or swimming or shopping. I don’t claim any great credit for this facility: it’s just something I have, not something I’ve worked at.

So, why not publish my mental efforts? Several reasons. 

First, if I write a diatribe, I have to weigh up whether actually publishing it will have a beneficial outcome. It may help me to get things off my chest, but that side of things is taken care of by the act of writing anyway. There’s no point in fuming in public unless something is likely to change as a result. Much better, in my opinion, to weigh the pros and cons carefully, and then take the most cost-effective course.

Secondly, I would have to spend time writing it out properly, and that is usually time I don’t really have. 

Thirdly, a much more prosaic reason: by the time I put pen to paper, as it were, in all likelihood I’d have forgotten what I actually “said”! 

Nevertheless, from a personal point of view, mental writing is good exercise, it’s enjoyable, and allows me to try out different beginnings and endings without going to the trouble of actually bashing it out. 

It’s self-directed, in that doing mental writing means, in effect, that you have an audience of only one: yourself.

Nevertheless, I’d highly recommend it.