What I'm Glad I Learned about Writing
1) No choice is a strong choice.
One of the more
common factors in two-dimensional dialogue is when the character doesn’t have a
lot of opinions. In most cases, making strong, active decisions about what the
character thinks of things tends to be more interesting. It’s not just a cup of
coffee, he gets only the best beans, and people who add cream are monsters!
Sometimes people
want to be more realistic: He’s just ordering a cup of coffee to wake up.
Which is a valid,
though restrictive, choice, but even if his opinion isn’t a big one doesn’t
mean he isn’t experiencing subtle little judgments throughout the day. Everyone
has at least fleeting opinions on most things in their life, and though he
has “no problem” with Starbucks, if two coffee shops are standing right next to
each other, equal distance away, he’s going to either choose Starbucks or
intentionally not, and he’s going to have a reason, even if he can’t verbalize
it. Likes the vibe of Ma and Pa shops,
he shrugs.
When your
character is doing a perfunctory daily activity with a person he doesn’t know,
that interaction made him feel something. Is it a chore? Does he like talking
to people? Is he made uncomfortable by strangers? If you decide it is so common
that he’s removed from the situation (not mentally present in the room) that’s
a reasonable choice too, but it is a strong one that needs to read in his
character.
This applies to
everything. An “absence of style” is a style, not the default, not the
norm that will work for everyone. An absence of opinions is a distinctive
personality trait. A non-existing prior relationship will highly alter the interaction.
Humanity is created by complexity, and absence of something will not go
unnoticed.
Most decent
writing needs to make stronger choices in order to achieve that intangible mojo
of great works, so if you’re going to defend passivity, do so with vigor and
creativity. Your character is not just not something. He is REALLY not
something.
2) Subjectivity is a real
thing, and it’s a pain in your ass.
The word
subjectivity is thrown out there as sort of an excuse to not listen to other
people. “Writing’s subjective. Leave it as is.”
It’s
actually more of a problem than most authors realize when we first start. Most
people tend to assume their tastes are universal, and it can be an obstacle. At
one point, I struggled with drastically conflicting opinions from a myriad of
readers. When I tried to dig deeper for their perspective, my critique
partners thought I was saying they were wrong and shut down or got angry when I
asked questions like, “Do you mean…”
Because most
people don’t think you’ve gotten other feedback, and if you had, those critique
partners would agree, right?
The more you
write, the more you’ll find that subjectivity is real. People simply don’t have the same tastes, goals, pet peeves, or life
experiences and so your stories will affect them differently.
Unfortunately,
this is a pain more than a blessing if you want to improve because the first
step becomes defining what you think good writing is and realizing that there’s
others who vehemently disagree. It’s hard to tell if you’ve taken a wrong step
in the right direction or need to change your goal completely.
3) Have fun with form while worrying about subtext.
Contrary to
popular opinion, I say it’s great to play around with form. Use big words, long
sentences, passive-sentences, exclamation points, short and choppy, weird
descriptions and anything that you want to convey a visual. Just be honest if it
actually worked or not and make sure that you’re also experimenting with the
opposite. Keep in mind what is supposed to happen in each scene and use your
form as a diverse palate tool to achieve different effects. Sometimes short is
better. Sometimes long. Use both, figure out when.
However, playing
with style is more for fun and getting out of your box than actual improvement.
Style falls strictly into the subjective realm, and so even if you do learn how
to write non-invasively, it doesn’t actually mean you’re writing better. It takes a lot of skill to be
sure, however if you have simple, ignorable words it doesn’t matter if there’s
nothing behind them. Some people honestly prefer Shakespeare to Hemingway, yetlovers of both would claim it’s because of the unspoken humanity in their work.
Most mediocre
writing (or even pretty good writing) struggles in its depth. Whether it’s the
poor dialogue or narration, flat characters, uninteresting plot, unengaging
description, I’d say the issue isn’t really the word choice, rather
directly in the narrative: What is this actually saying?
A lot of times,
the subtext in poor fiction is meta: The writer wants me to think…
This dialogue
moves the plot forward, yet the characters lack chemistry. I have no idea what
they’re feeling at the moment. There’s no sense of life other than to deliver
the necessary information.
The narration
clearly and concisely shows me images, but it’s spoon feeding
me everything I need to know. All information is laid out clean and simply.
“Unnecessary” details are left out, and it becomes a clinical summation of
events.
If you want to
write better, find questions about the world that you didn’t even think to ask.
Answer them and use that information to imagine a fuller, more complex
situation, which will integrate itself into the writing without you forcing it.
4) Experiment, take risks,
and remember it’s darkest before dawn.
You can’t make
an omelet without breaking a few eggs. You can’t find out what you’re missing
if you refuse to change what you have.
You do not have to constantly be a good writer, especially if no one’s reading your work. When you
first start, you’re often relearning how to talk. You no longer have things you
depended on before (like body language). Meanwhile, you have gained some tools you’ve
never had (like time to choose your words carefully.) It’s a totally different
culture, fiction, with alternative expectations and norms. Just test things
out. Make decisions and if they’re wrong, learn from them; you’ll be
surprised to find out the vast world of options you have at your disposal. Most
decisions work in the right context.
You will learn far more from messing up and making
mistakes than you ever will from
sticking to only what is said to work, and once you understand the choices at
your disposal, you will best know when to use them.
5) Confidence comes from
either self-awareness or delusion. Only one of those can be learned.
Writing is a lot
more fun when you have confidence. Pretty much everything is, in fact. Getting
to that point takes most people a long time, and some never get there. I
believe, however, that you can actively work to be more confident and enjoy
your writing more, even if you’re not that good at it. Which will, in turn,
make you better at it.
How?
I didn’t gain
confidence because I realized I had my shit together. On the contrary; the more
you learn, the more you realize you don’t know. I feel confident in my writing
because I feel confident in my self-awareness. I know the kinds of mistakes I
tend to make. I know what my strengths are. I know my weaknesses. And while
I’ll still learn something new every day, for the most part, I’m never really
taken back in shock by someone’s opinion.
That awareness
means that I’m not nervous when I give people my writing. That when they tell
me something isn’t up to their standards, I typically know what they mean, and
if I don’t, I’m confident that it’s because I’m missing something—not that my
ego is fighting it.
Because I’m
aware of what that feels like when it is.
Delusional
people are confident too, and there’s something to be said for it. Some of the
most creative individuals are those with their heads up their asses.
Unfortunately, you can’t
force yourself to be a delusional egomaniac. You can, however, figure out what
your insecurities are, what your talents are, and have opinions about your
work.
6) Your opinions matter. So
do other people’s. Just not as much.
How can I say
that?
Okay. Here’s the
thing: Egomaniacs are a pain in the ass and can sabotage themselves right along
with our teammates pretty consistently. Listening will enable you to improve
yourself far faster than being stubborn, and most of the breakthroughs you’ll
have will be something that people have been telling you all your life.
I know. I am
that egomaniac.
I’m not
worried about those types of people. I care about their success as much as
anyone else’s—it’s in my personality, strangely enough. I truly do want to
solve everyone’s problems and for everyone to be happy.
BUT! Egomaniacs
usually do fine. They tend to get a reality check after some point, someone
finally tearing them a new one. Or two. Or three. Or sixteen. Their
hard-headedness made them impervious to the jackasses who try to tear others
down (sometimes being those jackasses, of course.) If they do quit, the dream
usually died in its sleep, abandoned to other interests. I rarely have a moment
of seeing a I’m The Real Writer Here have a fall to Earth where he realizes
he’s “a failure and will never succeed.”
That is far, far
more likely to happen to those who are kind. Those who believe in solidarity.
Those who care about the opinions of others. They are the ones who are likely
to get beaten, chewed up, and spit out. That’s who I’m most concerned for.
It’s your book.
We don’t need just another good one, we have plenty. We need the one that
encompasses your unique perspective and tastes. You just need to figure out
what that is.
Other people are
invaluable to helping you get there. It’s pretty much impossible, and not
really beneficial, to solve your complaints without having another brain to
puzzle it out.
Despite that, you’re still
trying to get to where you want to
be. No one else gets to decide it for you. You might end up compromising,
deciding ‘where you want’ to be is a published author, so you do something
you’re not fond of to make your editor happy. That’s a valid choice, but it’s
still yours. You always have control. (Unless you’ve signed a stupid contract.
Always know what you’re signing.) You get to order your priorities, find
solutions to problems, and even define if something actually is a problem in
the first place.
Find critique
partners and collaborators that respect your opinions. Trust your instincts. Be
a respectful team player, utilize the information given to you, however, make sure
to stand up for yourself and stay strong for the things you actually care
about. Don’t ever shy away from speaking your mind because you don’t think
you’re “worthy enough.”
Because you’ll
just be giving more room to us assholes who unreasonably think we are.
7) It’s supposed to be fun.
Criticism.
Writing. Editing. These are very inspiring and enjoyable parts of life.
What world am I
living in, you say?
Alright. So
admittedly, it’s ridiculous to expect that it will be all sunshine and roses.
Or even often sunshine and roses. In fact, sunshine and roses are pretty
boring, so I’d be a little alarmed if an author described his process like
that. Writing is painful and boring and frustrating. There’s a lot of anger and
uncertainty involved. I write every day and a lot of times I’m itching to quit.
My point is
though that it doesn’t have to be that way. If you’re never having fun, there’s
something wrong. You can fix it, you just got to think how.
It might be your
attitude. It might be the way you go about things. It might be the people who
you surround yourself with. Make little changes like where you work, the medium
you work on, what you’re writing, who you’re discussing it with. Maybe you
should outline. Maybe you should throw it out. Maybe you need to write on a
different subject.
I can’t say why
you’re not enjoying it, just that you shouldn’t give up and assume that’s the
way it has to be.
8) Writing rules are amazing
tools based on insight from our forefathers.
That doesn’t
mean they’re always a good thing.
As I say, if I
strictly adhered to writing rules I wouldn’t like my writing. If I strictly
refused to follow them, I wouldn’t like my writing as much.
Writing rules
are amazing problem solvers. As a foundation for a good book? Not so much. Not
a single person in the world claims a masterpiece follows all the rules. It
can’t, for one thing, some of them in existence specifically to contradict
others.
It’s hard not to
balk at writing rules when they are spewed with vitriol by frustrated authors.
It’s hard to follow them even when they’re politely discussed restrictions. However, they are useful, and while I highly, highly recommend not thinking following
the rules will automatically get you
where you want to be, they are still tools it’s self-sabotaging to
ignore.
9) If you don’t care about
something, that’s the time to pander to your audience.
I worked on a
film produced, directed, written, and starred in by the same guy. It was low
budget, an indie, and he got a volunteer camera guy who was learning about film
from the local community college.
The director was
not a man who took advice very well, and he did not care one iota about the
camera angles. The cameraman attempted to give some opinions and the director
refused to hear it.
One of the worst
parts of the film is the long, distant shots. He would set up the camera and
then refuse to move it throughout the entire location.
This is exactly
the sort of area in which he should have paid more attention to.
One of the most
infuriating critiques is when someone claims not to care about a big,
problematic aspect and refuses to adhere to his audience’s expectations. I see
this most commonly with writers who insist on having typos and other errors all
throughout their books because, “If it’s good, it shouldn’t matter.”
Of course, it’s
pretty infuriating to get it in reverse. A couple of times I’ve had someone say
to me, “You need to change this one word,” and I didn’t agree, to which I was
told, “It’s just one word!”
Then let it go.
If it changes it for the better, you can’t claim it doesn’t change it.
The point is,
pick your battles. I’m not saying to obey every inane request you get, but if
you hear that an audience typically really doesn’t respond well to something
and you’re thinking, “They shouldn’t care about that!” it’s probably precisely
the thing that will make you more trustworthy than your counterparts.
If you DO care,
of course, and disagree, that’s a different matter.
10) Be aware of what other
people are doing.
They say you
can’t be a writer if you don’t read. I say that reading makes everything a
thousand times easier, and you are a real disadvantage if you don’t. But do you
need to? That’s for your own
assessment.
Even if you
decide that you don’t read, or that you don’t read certain things to avoid
being too influenced by them, or even if you say, “I don’t care what anyone
else is doing, I’m going to do what I want!” you should still have some sort of
understanding about the conventions, otherwise your techniques might not
achieve the same effect they do for you.
I personally
believe the best way to learn the rules is by practicing breaking them. When it comes to “the rules” sometimes people just want you to be aware of what
is the current standard when you’re thinking about the effectiveness of an
alternative option.
So yeah, even if
you’re going to write a book that is grammatically incorrect, play around with
commas, and publish a book without a genre, you should still make sure you’re
informed about what you’re being compared to.
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