Two years ago, my husband and I fulfilled a longtime dream when we bought a small fixer-upper in the lovely city of Victoria, British Columbia. It’s not a particularly handsome house — just a boxy 1940s cottage. But I was smitten with it, especially the kitchen with its vintage farmhouse sink and glass-fronted cabinetry and the giant island that I knew would be perfect for prep.
Until I actually had to cook in it.
Everything, it turned out, was in the wrong place. The lights cast a shadow wherever I stood. The range had no hood vent and was jammed against a wall so there was nowhere to place a spoon. The island was situated so the workspace was in the middle of the traffic flow. Those cute cabinets were hard to open, harder to close and not have enough room underneath for even a toaster. No dishwasher and hardly any electrical outlets. And that sink? The less said, the better. Not only was it gruesomely stained, it had a slope that sent cutlery sliding down a wide and stinky drain.
It would have been an annoying situation for any cook, but for me, it was unbearable. As well as being a magazine editor, I’m a cookbook writer. I need a functional kitchen where I can test recipes, create new ones and feed my friends delicious things.
But here we were, living on takeout and hostility.
We quickly realized that we’d need to renovate. And it would be no simple cosmetic zhuzh-up. Nope, we’d be tearing things right down to the lath, plaster and studs.
The whole process has made me think of those stories — you know the ones. They’re the ones that never quite come together. Sentences are clunky. Logic is flawed. Crucial information is missing. Words are misused and malapropisms abound. There’s no flow, no structure, no functional narrative. And they are riddled with problems; you fix one and it just reveals two more.
I’ve handled those stories as an editor and I’ve written a few myself. At a certain point the only solution is to tear them down and start afresh. Just like my kitchen.
You need a plan
As with any significant renovation, you first need to get rid of everything that’s impeding the telling of the story. “Kill your darlings” is a cliché, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true. Sometimes you just need to cut those oh-so-clever lines that are getting in the way of the narrative. Sometimes you need to cut more than that. A lot more.
Then there needs to be a plan. What is the story you need to tell? Who do you need to interview? What research do you need to gather? What is the deadline for the piece? The word count? What extras — fact boxes, sidebars, pull quotes — do you need to supply?
I knew my kitchen had to have space for prep, baking, photography and plenty of storage. It needed to be functional, but it also needed to be attractive. So,before we did a thing, we spent hours doing research, browsing through showrooms, scrolling through Pinterest and meeting with our designer. Likewise, before you start writing, you should do your research and conduct your main interviews.
Related stories
Our kitchen reno came with blueprints and a schedule. That’s a good idea for your stories, too, although you can probably skip the fancy architectural drawings.
Most kitchens are designed in one of six layouts, such as the work triangle, the galley or the L-shaped space. Similarly, there are a handful of traditional ways to structure a story, for instance: the reverse pyramid where information is organized in descending order of importance; the chronological tale; or the classic, five-part narrative story (exposition, rising action, climax, falling action, resolution).
Decide which works best for the story you want to tell. But no matter which structure you choose, you need an intro, body copy and a conclusion. To create your own story blueprint, consider:
- What is your story about? That’s the framework for the intro, which should end with a nut graph that sets up the context of the story or poses the question it will answer. For a space reno, that means defining the purpose and style of the space, whether it’s a cheerful family hangout, a sleek entertaining centre or, as in my case, a kitchen that combines semi-commercial practicality with rustic French charm.
- What are the main points you need to cover? That’s your body copy — the plumbing, the electricals, the flooring and the cabinetry, all of which need to be placed in logical order (electricals before drywall, and flooring before cabinetry).
- Have you answered all your questions? That’s the conclusion to your piece, which should circle back to the intro. Think of it as the appliances that make it work.
- Now your space (or story) is functional. But you also want it to be beautiful, and that’s where the finishing comes in, the baseboards, paintwork and decorative items, the well-crafted sentences, compelling details and helpful display copy.
Talk to your editor
One last thing: From the very beginning, our renovation has been a collaborative process that involved regular check-ins with the designer, builder and trades.
That’s good advice for a writer working with an editor, too, especially if there are problems with a story. Better to discuss them early on and trouble-shoot together than to discover a massive flaw right on deadline — or a major structural feature that has to be moved after the lighting has already been installed.
Our reno is still a few weeks from completion, but already we can see how beautifully it’s coming together and how much better the space will be. I couldn’t be more thrilled. Heck, I might even have to write a story about it.
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Joanne Sasvari is a writer, editor and award-winning cookbook author who lives in Victoria B.C., Canada. She is the editor of YAM, Douglas, Spruce and Vitis magazines, and her most recent cookbook is “Okanagan Eats” (with Dawn Postnikoff).
