in sequence
I love it when a plan comes together. —"Hannibal" Smith, The A-Team
Sequencing is an essential skill and one of the unsung benefits of real-world experience. Take cooking: If I'm following a recipe, I have to understand how the whole process works before starting at "step 1." Step 1 is never step 1! By the time I'm chopping the onions in step 3, I should already have gotten the water boiling for step 7. Now it won't be ready when I need it, and the whole thing will go bust. The marinade mentioned in step 5? That needed to start yesterday. For everything to come together when and where and how it should, you've got to figure out the step before the step before the step. I've learned from experience to review every recipe before beginning it. This small habit has transformed my relationship with cooking into something approaching basic competence.
The recipe for a book is equally holistic and interwoven. Aspiring authors dive straight into drafting chapters when they should be planting seeds for a platform, seeds that might take years to germinate. Even then, proposal first, then agent, then sale, and only then manuscript. (And various other steps before, during, and after, don't get me started.) The real first step is: understand the sequence. Don't just plug your destination into the GPS and hit the gas pedal. Think through the whole route.
(Lately, I've been down the "day in a life of a surgeon" YouTube rabbit hole. Every surgeon operates this way. While scrubbing in for surgery, they mentally rehearse the plan, step by step.)
With books, another insidious sequencing error happens at the idea stage. Don't decide on your argument and then seek evidence to support it. The problem with that is: you'll find it, no matter how bad your idea might be. Thanks to confirmation bias and the anchoring effect, beginning your research with even a tentative thesis will warp and filter your discoveries. Even if you think you're being careful and comprehensive, you'll cherry-pick evidence that supports your idea and discount what doesn't fit. Then you're surprised your ideas are trite? Sure, contradictory facts complicate the argument, but they also enrich it. Arguments that take all the counterarguments onboard honestly are so much more surprising—and convincing.
Decide on a general area of exploration, but then let it marinate before settling on your tack. Come at it from all sides. This takes longer than you think. That's why it goes early in the sequence.
Working backward helps avoid these traps. Start with the end goal—a published book that makes a substantial, meaningful contribution. What does that require? A compelling argument supported by thorough research. What does thorough research require? Months or years of reading, interviewing, and analysis. What does that require? An open mind and the humility to follow the evidence where it leads, even if it contradicts initial assumptions.
This approach surfaces hidden prerequisites. Where a complex dish might require specialty equipment or advance prep, a successful book might require the building of specialized expertise, the cultivating of relationships with a wide spectrum of experts, and the development of a devoted following. These things take time, and none can be rushed or compressed into the writing phase.
The next time you embark on an ambitious project—whether it's preparing a feast or writing a manifesto—resist the urge to start at "step 1." Visualize your desired outcome in detail. Then, work backward methodically, identifying not just what needs to be done but when. Like the scrubbing surgeon, rehearse the whole process mentally before entering the OR.
If you're already underway, you can still change course. You might discover that step 1 should have happened months ago—the second-best time to plant that tree is today.