How Does Hank Green Describe His Writing Process For Novels?

I still get a little giddy telling people about these — Hank Green has two novels out and they come as a pair that really stuck with a lot of readers. The first is 'An Absolutely Remarkable Thing', published on September 25, 2018. It follows April May and the surreal, viral-phenomenon mystery that springs up around her discovery of giant statues, and it reads equal parts social satire and sincere character work. It landed with a lot of buzz, and I remember seeing it on bookstore displays and on bus-stop ads — it felt like a book that belonged to the internet age, which is fitting. The follow-up novel is 'A Beautifully Foolish Endeavor', released on July 7, 2020. It continues the story from the first book and pushes deeper into questions about technology, community, and what it means to be human when systems begin to feel almost alive. Both novels were published by Dutton and are written in that energetic, modern voice that mixes humor and earnestness. If you liked one, the other is a must-read; if you haven’t tried them yet, they’re a compact, thoughtful two-book arc that stuck with me long after I closed the covers.

I get excited every time someone asks about Hank Green's novels getting the movie treatment — those books feel so cinematic to me. Right now, though, there's no confirmed release date for a film adaptation of 'An Absolutely Remarkable Thing' or its sequel 'A Beautifully Foolish Endeavor'. From what I've tracked in fan communities and Hank's own social feed over time, there have been whispers about interest from the industry, but nothing that amounts to a publicly announced, scheduled production with a studio, director, and release window. If a project does get picked up, the timeline can be annoyingly slow. First someone options the rights, then a script gets written (and rewritten), talent gets attached, and a studio decides whether to greenlight production. That whole chain can take a few years even for a fast-moving property — and it can take a decade if things stall. Given how layered and topical those books are, I personally think they'd either make a tight feature film that trims some arcs, or — my hope — a limited series that preserves the satire and character development. For now, I keep an eye on Hank's posts, the publisher's announcements, and trades like Variety for the first signs. If you want the same, follow his socials and sign up for the publisher newsletter; those are the earliest places news usually drops, and it’s fun to watch the speculation build while sipping tea and re-reading favorite passages.

Honestly, I got hooked reading her interviews and blog posts — her description of the process feels like a warm, efficient routine rather than some mysterious lightning strike. She talks about starting with people: not plot points first, but the emotional shape of a character and the moments that will change them. From there she builds a loose map — a scaffolding of scenes and beats — that lets her wander. That mix of planning and discovery is the heart of how she writes: enough structure to keep momentum, enough freedom to let surprises appear on the page. Her drafts, as she describes them, are deliberately imperfect. She prefers to push a full draft out relatively quickly so she has material to wrestle with; revision is where the real writing happens. She mentions carving up the manuscript into scenes, testing each scene’s purpose, and being ruthless about cutting what doesn’t forward emotion or stakes. She also leans on reading aloud and small writing tests — trying a scene with different POV or voice — to find the right tone. She talks about sharing work with trusted readers to catch the parts that feel flat, and that community feedback helps her see blind spots. I like how practical she is: discipline around routine, room for play, and a respect for revision as the place where prose and plot align. It’s the sort of process that makes me feel like any messy first draft is just one step toward something sharper and more true.

I still get a little giddy when I spot a new episode with Hank Green in my feed — he’s one of those people who pops up more often than you’d expect, but mostly on shows he actually runs. If you want podcasts that regularly feature him (as host, co-host, or main voice), start with 'Dear Hank & John' — that’s the weekly show he does with John Green where they read questions, riff, and sometimes bring in guests or interview people related to their topics. Another steady place is 'The Anthropocene Reviewed', which is Hank’s more personal, essay-style podcast; while it isn’t an interview show in the traditional sense, episodes sometimes include conversations or guest contributions tied to the subject matter. Beyond those two, Hank is a frequent voice on science-adjacent podcasting projects from the SciShow family. 'SciShow Tangents' is the closest fit: it’s casual, conversational, and Hank shows up regularly to discuss odd science topics and occasionally speak with guest experts. The broader 'SciShow' network also releases podcast-format episodes where Hank’s involvement can be recurring, depending on the series. If you’re hunting for guest appearances rather than his own programs, those are more sporadic — he pops onto other people’s shows from time to time. My advice: follow his social feed or subscribe to his channels so you’re alerted when he’s a guest, and use podcast search engines like Listen Notes or Podchaser to filter by his name. I usually queue things up on long train rides and discover half my new favorites that way.

One of my favorite YouTube origin stories feels like watching two brothers turn a personal challenge into a community heartbeat. Back on January 1, 2007, Hank and his younger brother John launched what would become 'Vlogbrothers' with a video project they called 'Brotherhood 2.0'. The basic idea was really simple and incredibly human: they vowed to stop communicating by text and email for a year and instead post video responses to each other. That constraint pushed them into candid, often hilarious face-to-camera conversations about life, books, music, and whatever odd topic caught their fancy that week. I got sucked into their early videos because they were raw and honest — low-budget webcams, quick edits, inside jokes that made you feel like a fly on the wall. Hank's energy is contagious: he combined curiosity, humor, and a knack for storytelling, which hooked viewers fast. What started as an experiment morphed into something larger when the viewers showed up and called themselves 'Nerdfighters'. They developed catchphrases like 'DFTBA' and took collective projects seriously. Over time, the brothers spun off all kinds of initiatives — 'Project for Awesome', 'VidCon', educational shows like 'Crash Course' and 'SciShow' — but it all traces back to those first few months of mutual video letters. If you watch early 'Vlogbrothers' clips now, it’s like peeking at the genesis of a community that treasured curiosity and kindness. Hank didn’t just start a channel; he helped plant a culture that turned casual viewers into an active, creative crew. That grassroots vibe still shows up whenever they rally people for a good cause, and that’s part of why I keep coming back to their channel even years later.

I get a little giddy when I think about how he talked through writing — Wallace always made it feel like a stubborn, almost sacred craft rather than a bolt of inspiration. In interviews like 'The Paris Review' and the long chat collected in 'Although of Course You End Up Becoming Yourself', he talks about starting with a problem or a voice and then refusing to let anything lazy through. He rewrites obsessively, sometimes line by line, listening for the exact rhythm and cadence that will make a sentence feel true. He also treated structure and voice as moral choices. The footnotes and digressions in 'Infinite Jest' aren't gimmicks for him; they’re ways to capture how a mind actually moves, to honor attention and confusion. Reading his process makes me want to slow down and fuss over commas — not because punctuation is sacred, but because meaning often hides in the way a sentence breathes. If you’re learning from him, expect patience, brutal self-editing, and a steady work ethic more than sudden genius.

I'm the kind of person who gets oddly excited tracing the origin stories of internet creators, and Hank Green's is one of those I find endlessly charming. He and his brother started with a simple, human impulse: to communicate differently. The 'Brotherhood 2.0' experiment that turned into the 'VlogBrothers' channel was supposed to be a year of replacing text messages with video messages, but it accidentally revealed how powerful and joyful direct, quirky conversation could be online. From there, his love of science and teaching took the wheel. Hank grew up curious about biology and how the world fits together, and he wanted to strip away the intimidation around scientific topics. He treated YouTube like a new kind of classroom—one where personality, humor, and good visuals could make complex ideas accessible. That led to projects like 'SciShow' and 'Crash Course', built to explain subjects clearly and fast, but with warmth and enthusiasm. He was also inspired by earlier communicators—people who made science feel human instead of distant—and by the immediate feedback from a budding community (you could see that community later blossom into 'Nerdfighteria'). What always gets me is how practical and iterative it was: test a video, see what sticks, listen to viewers, and keep refining. Hank wasn’t trying to be famous; he wanted to make learning less scary and more fun, and the platform plus a supportive audience let that impulse grow into full-fledged science communication channels that still feel personal.

Reading her interviews feels like watching someone tidy a crowded attic—there's method to the mess and a handful of treasured oddities peeking out between the boxes. Virginia Jessica Aber talks about writing like a domestic craft: daily habits, tiny rituals, and an almost tactile relationship with language. She describes beginning with fragments—snatches of dialogue, a line of description, a mood saved in a notebook or voice memo—and letting those fragments accumulate until they hum against one another. She leans on longhand for first drafts sometimes, claiming the slowness of pen makes her notice rhythms and small surprises she would otherwise scoot past on a laptop. From there, she moves into a phase that's half-play, half-archaeology: cutting, rearranging, folding scenes into one another, and leaving sections to sit for weeks so she can return with fresh ears. Her process is also highly iterative. She talks about setting small, non-negotiable goals—twenty minutes of uninterrupted prose, a single page of revision—and treating constraints as creative fuel. She uses index cards and color-coded timelines when a piece gets unruly, and she’s honest about the messiness of outlines: sometimes they collapse into something alive, sometimes they’re paper scaffolding that must be abandoned. Workshops and readers are tools, not arbiters; she mines feedback but keeps a clear sense of the piece's interior logic. Importantly, she treats revision as excavation rather than polishing—digging toward an emotional core rather than just smoothing sentences. Beyond technique, she talks about temperament: a mix of patience and ferocity. She'll baby a vulnerable paragraph one day and excise it without ceremony the next. Music and walking feature as non-negotiable parts of her rhythm—songs that act like memory anchors for scenes, and walks that loosen tight thinking. She names influences but always brings it back to curiosity: what surprises the characters, what surprises her. Reading her description makes writing feel less like a mystical gift and more like sustained attention plus willingness to be surprised. I love that balance—practical, generous, and slightly stubborn—and it makes me want to put on headphones and start a messy draft right now.