“It is failure that guides evolution; perfection provides no incentive for improvement, and nothing is perfect.”
—COLSON WHITEHEAD, FROM THE INTUITIONIST: A NOVEL
All writers experience the frustration of being unable to steer a piece of writing in the direction they want it to go. You don’t get the story “right,” so you crumple up the pages and toss them across the room (or smack your laptop or yell at your iPad). Or maybe you’ve worked on a short story for months or even years, and you still can’t bear to submit it. After all, it might not be “done” yet. You’ve spent all this time shaping and reshaping that one piece, and it still isn’t finished and thus your critical voices say you must have failed.
You haven’t failed. Let me reassure you: Your work will never feel done, not even after it’s bound between two book covers on a bookstore shelf. Writers don’t ever finish work; they just let it go. You are not a failure because your large, bold vision didn’t easily distill into a finished work with just one pass. But for those of you who can’t even get to the “letting go” stage because of one of the following reasons, this chapter is for you.
Do any of these reasons sound familiar? No matter where you are in your level of writing craft, there is always another lesson to learn, and that should be a welcome feeling; it means you can continually learn to improve and polish your work and impress yourself (not to mention readers) with your level of craft.
It’s okay to be ambivalent about feedback, and lack of money and time are very real issues. But writing is a craft, which means you need not be perfect right this moment; you can continue to hone it. And the more you work on your craft—that is, the time you spend consciously apprenticing yourself to become better at your area of writing—the more invested you will feel in your writing practice and the more it will shine with the burnish of your hard work.
In the rest of this chapter, we’ll tackle the common myths writers use to put off pursuing the craft and break each myth open to show you it’s possible to improve, no matter what your obstacles.
Time and time again I’ve seen a popular artistic myth stymie writers: You either have “it”—meaning natural writing talent—or you don’t. Those with “it” go on to be successful and famous, the myth states, while the rest flounder in obscurity. That is utterly false. The most successful writers are not always the most “inherently talented” but rather the most persistent, who work the hardest at their craft. Lots of talented writers let their demons squash their art and do not persist at the practice, devote time to the craft, or pursue publication. I’ve worked with students and clients over the years who started out writing middle school–equivalent pieces only to improve their craft with dedication and persistence to publishable quality. And I’ve also worked with those who let a few hard words halt them in their tracks.
Frankly, believing that you must be “talented” before you even start is a form of procrastination. If you believe you can’t or won’t improve, there’s no motivation to get started or keep at it. Don’t give up so easily. Remember that you are called to write for one reason or another. Maybe you have only one story in you, or hundreds. Quantity is not important, but commitment to your craft is, not just for the product you may produce but for your personal fulfillment.
We all live in the real world of material objects and responsibilities. Most of you do not have a large sum of disposable income lying around, and you may not want to take on debt to attend a writing program. What’s a writer to do?
There’s this marvelous invention—you may have heard of it—called The Internet. And on this Internet are some truly wondrous free opportunities for writers to improve their craft.
Before I ever thought that earning a graduate degree in writing was a remote possibility for both time and money concerns, I scouted out local writing groups via my college bulletin, my local paper, and arts and entertainment magazines. In the years before I earned an MFA, I took “classes” led by hardworking writers who didn’t teach at universities but wanted a writing community: in a barn, in a granny unit, in a warehouse, in more than a few coffee shops, in several living rooms, on a beach, in a yurt, in a jazz lounge, and even in someone’s car. I hungered for knowledge and improvement, and when local options weren’t enough, I joined a listserv group for writers. I think I found it through an Internet search or on a flier at my college. At that time there were no avatars or photos, no video chat, no fancy profiles full of photos and information. We were all just represented by names, in text, on a white screen, like so:
JordanR: Hey, what are your thoughts on first-person point of view?
SamanthaA: I love it. I use it all the time. See?
For an entire year I conducted writing-related conversations with faceless friends, exchanged feedback, and learned a whole heck of a lot without spending more than a few bucks for coffee or gas.
As you well know, since 1999 the online world has exploded with life and depth that none of us could have fathomed at the time. And now, with just a few keystrokes, you can find a bevy of writing resources for low to no cost. Here are just a few.
When browsing online, you can also refine your search to the most specific criteria.
“writers’ group for paranormal writers of romance (vampire)”
“editors of historical sweet westerns”
Or, better yet, if you know the area of craft you need to work on but don’t especially care to work with others, try a search on a specific area of craft.
“tips on point of view for fiction writers”
“writing strong scenes for memoir”
There are so many quick and easy resources for online classes now. Some writers even offer free webinars and mini-courses via their blogs. There are so many, in fact, that I’m not going to make you a list, but I do recommend that you search for a particular area of craft, check for testimonials, and ask other writers where they’ve taken classes. Online classes often have live components in the form of video, audio, or chat streaming (or all three) and can simulate a “live” classroom with a great deal of accuracy. Even classes with static chat boards offer self-paced interaction that holds you accountable to deadlines and offers instructor critique.
All in all, you have more free and inexpensive methods of improving your craft at your disposal than you can spend the rest of your life taking advantage of. There’s no excuse not to improve, both for the sake of producing a result that makes your work better and for the interpersonal satisfaction, discovery, and joy that comes as a result of working hard.
The information is out there. No excuses.
It’s true: Work, and specifically improvement of your writing craft, is hard in contrast to not trying to improve at all. But that doesn’t mean that improving your craft is grueling, miserable work. It can even be fun.
Not improving doesn’t take any effort, though it does take a mental and emotional toll to sit on unfinished, unresolved writing that you wrote in a burst of inspiration, passion, or purpose. When you leave things left undone, it puts the taste of regret and longing on your palette. I know a few people who left their writing dreams by the wayside to pursue other careers, and their regret lingers like a faint trace of smoke around them always. You write your life as you would any other story—it’s your choice. No one will force you to write.
But if you keep the following things in mind, it will make the work of writing and improving less strenuous—and far more enjoyable.
Writers who plan to self-publish often feel that they need less craft technique, but this is not only untrue, it’s also a bit of an insult to your own best effort. I have a lot more to say about self-publishing in chapter twenty-three, “Go It Alone,” but for now, consider this: In the life of a book produced by a mainstream publisher, a team of people in addition to the writer is responsible for its birth, production, and quality. Editors, copy editors, designers, and publicists all stand as partial parents in the life of the book.
Self-publishing reflects primarily on one person: you. If a mainstream book suffers typos or some problem with content, people might say, “I can’t believe that author’s editor let her leave that in.” Someone other than the writer may have influenced the final result. In self-publishing there’s no one but you at the front line—sure, you may also have a team behind you, but the public won’t know that. Which means that the work you send into the world (and I have become a strong advocate for independent publishing in the right ways and at the right time) is, in essence, your vision of your best work at the time. That doesn’t mean you don’t have room to learn or grow, but it does mean that if you decide to self-publish in lieu of improvement, your audience will pick up on that. And it will only reflect poorly on you.
As I said above, there are no excuses not to find the information you need or the readers, critique partners, and editors that will help you take your work to the next level; it’s all out there at your fingertips. You would be amazed at what an online search will reveal.
You might be asking: Why should I bother to polish and improve my craft at all? What’s wrong with the raw, unkempt ideas that come to me on muse-born drafts of inspiration? My answer to that is: Nothing at all. But if you seek to connect your work to an audience, then you are, in essence, making your readers a promise that you will guide them toward a particular kind of experience in a satisfying way. Perhaps the experience you’re offering has a predetermined label: Romance Novel or Short Story or Historical Fiction. Whichever it is, once you lead readers to the marquee, you are now in charge of making good on that feature. Writing, in other words, has rules. Rules that can be bent and manipulated by deft hands, and rules that are, I must say, extraordinarily fun to both learn and break. But they are rules that need to be learned and applied nonetheless. And how do you get to engage in this kind of literary play? By improving your craft.
Where do I start learning all this valuable craft when I’m so overwhelmed?
You start by choosing a technique you are either interested in working on or that you know you are capable of working on at that time and place. You don’t have to learn everything at once. But like a toddler, your muse will probably be most committed if you start with an issue that interests you rather than one you feel you “must” learn. Whether the topic is plot structure or strong dialogue, if you’re committed to the path, it almost doesn’t matter where you start.
Then look to books, classes, online writing groups, other writers, and so on. Ask questions. By doing so, you invoke a spirit of willingness to learn by doing. You don’t have to be an expert already.
I also suggest you read widely and often, and emulate the writers you love. Analyze books: What do they do that is so compelling? How do the authors craft their stories?
Put down the writing advice guides that don’t speak to you and hold tight to the ones that do. You don’t need to follow all the wisdom you encounter, only that which actually makes you feel wiser.
How do I know when it’s time to pay someone to edit my work?
The answer to that question, which I give at conferences and workshops is: You hire an editor or book coach when you are ready to spend money to hear that you have more work to do. That may sound obvious, but I’ve met many a writer who hired an editor as a last step to validation, as if the stamp of approval would mean she could now safely publish. If you are not totally clear that hiring an editor means you will have more work to do, then you are not ready.
You might also hire someone when you’re stuck. For instance, you might receive contradictory feedback from your critique group that says vastly differing things or consistent feedback that highlights a problem you don’t know how to fix. A freelance editor or coach can provide you with an unbiased, learned perspective.
I’ve worked as an editor, a writing coach, and a writing teacher for over a decade, and I regularly exhort new writers and students to interview me until they feel satisfied that I am the right person for their job. You have the right to ask all the questions you need answered before you hand over money or sign a contract to have someone apply their personal opinion to your precious work.
This is an intimate relationship; you’re entrusting your work, and possibly paying money, to someone who will point out the flaws. The very structure of this relationship is fraught with potential issues. It’s as tender a relationship as the one you have with a therapist or a doctor, and as such, one you should enter with care.
What you want, at the end of the day, is someone you trust enough that you feel motivated to take his or her advice.
First, keep in mind the primary truth of hiring an editor: You’re spending money to have someone tell you that you have more work to do. You may think me silly for putting that in writing—twice, no less—but let me tell you, every editor I’ve interviewed has had clients who believed that the editor’s role was to pat the writer on the back for how well he’s done. I know writers who were offended at the idea that they had more work to do and were insulted that they’d paid money to learn this fact. That is why I recommend hiring an editor at a late stage in the process.
Ask a lot of questions of your prospective editor, starting with these.
It’s also smart to get referrals from the editor’s clients. And remember that it’s only one person—no matter how skilled. If the editor’s opinion doesn’t feel right, trust your gut.
1. Identify an area of writing craft for which you know, or have been told, you could use some improvement. Choose from one of the suggestions in this chapter: Join a critique group—more on that in chapter sixteen, “Combat Criticism, Seek Critique”—or find a free online course, webinar, or writing group to participate in. Participate with the intention of improving only one area of your craft. When you begin to notice improvement, pick a new area to get support for.
2. Here’s a fun exercise: Take a book you’ve loved that has a strong voice or style different from your own. Now write a paragraph of your own story in that same voice or style. If I were to do this, I’d use Cormac McCarthy’s No Country for Old Men, since I tend to write long, flowing sentences, heavy on the imagery, whereas he is terse, spare, and succinct. Yet his books are evocative and dramatic in a way I would love my own to be. Try to identify what it is about the author that is so unique. Does he write in short staccato sentences? Is the character a smack-talking bad boy? Does the writer use lots of metaphor and imagery? When you play with the style of another writer and adapt your own work to it (just as an exercise), you teach yourself a new skill in a subconscious way, without the rational mind telling you you’re doing it wrong.
Take a walk to the nearest local library, bookstore, or newsstand. The goal here is to get you up and out, but with a destination in mind. Buy or check out a book or magazine on writing craft, or even a literary journal that appeals to you, particularly if it offers information in an area you have been wanting to explore. While you’re there, select a book that’s different from what you usually read, one you think you can learn from.