I’ve long wanted to become a better and better writer. I’ve sought to learn more about the craft and process of writing. So, it made sense for me to major in English and creative writing in undergrad and grad school. Inside and outside of school, I’ve pursued and received a lot of writing advice. Over the years, I’ve read dozens of writing craft books and I’ve asked for advice from tons of industry professionals. There’s a lot of wisdom, if you go looking for it. Everyone has ideas, and there are commonalities in the advice out there, but eventually, all the advice contradicts itself.
Write every day. Don’t write every day. Schedule your writing time. Write at an hour the story doesn’t expect. Write as fast as possible. Take your time.
Pay attention to the genres that are selling. Write only what you love.
Read in your genre. Read outside your genre. Read only the best. Read everything. Read while you’re drafting. Don’t read while you’re drafting.
Always create a detailed outline. You don’t have to bother with a detailed outline; you’ll scrap it anyway. The best stories follow a formula. Formulas are overrated and stale.
Set word count goals and beat them. Any progress is good enough.
Write what you know. Do lots of research.
Show, don’t tell. If it’s not on the page, it’s not on the page. Edit as you go. Don’t edit a draft until you’re finished.
Take writing seriously. Don’t take writing too seriously. Writing is supposed to be difficult. Writing isn’t worth doing if it isn’t fun.
One Spring, I heard about a particular writing craft book. I read many of its glowing reviews. Several writers I knew personally sang its praises. Some said it changed their process and made them think about writing in a different way. Naturally, my curiosity got the better of me, so I picked up a copy.
I hoped this book would guide me toward a streamlined process and improved story quality. At the time, I was dissatisfied with my work. I knew my stories could be better. I knew there had to be a different way of doing things. I knew I could be a more confident, talented, consistent, prolific writer. Maybe all I needed was a new book and a new perspective and a new process and finally I’d start creating more of the stuff I was truly proud of and eager to share with the world.
I took notes—pages and pages of handwritten notes. There were so many promising ideas and actionable takeaways. I quickly understood why, for many people, this book was paradigm-shifting.
After I finished reading, I sat with my notes. The longer I considered what I’d learned, the worse I felt. I began to wonder if, this whole time, I had been doing everything wrong.
The craft book showed me lots of things that my current project lacked. My process to brainstorm and prepare to write was nothing like what the author proposed. My drafting process was nothing like the author’s either, and at the time, the author’s process seemed more practical than mine. The craft book even articulated weaknesses in my project that I instinctively knew but didn’t have words for yet. It was no wonder I was dissatisfied with my work, and this book told me exactly why I was unhappy.
This craft book had finally outed me as a fraud.
Instead of being comforted that someone finally validated my imposter syndrome, I was completely demoralized. And at first, I thought I deserved to feel that way.
I stopped writing for a while and read other books to cope with this new hole in my life. Strangely, some stubborn part of me resisted entirely giving up on writing. Perhaps it was just sunk-cost fallacy thinking, at first. I had already put so much into this writing dream that quitting would mean I’d wasted my education and I’d forever be marked as a washout and a phony. It was a strange time; not only did I feel like a failure and an imposter when I was writing but I felt guilty and restless when I wasn’t writing. I wanted to replenish my creative energy, but that goal had zero metrics for success except maybe starting to write again. If there was any hope that I would write again. After all, I was doing everything wrong. Or was I?
My biggest problem wasn’t that I was dissatisfied with my work at the time. My biggest problem was that I had forgotten the most important thing about writing advice. The dizzying array of varying opinions out there is just that: an array of opinions. Each opinion is an option, not an absolute. Not all advice has to be followed. Not all advice works for all people. Grand pronouncements about how every writer should work are only indicative of what has worked for some writers sometimes.
I had taken that one writing craft book’s advice so seriously that I had stopped taking myself seriously as a writer.
My return to writing was slow at first. I went into the following month with zero expectations of writing anything, but after one week, I was back to brainstorming and recording story ideas. Before the end of the month, I was writing drabbles and using prompts. The month after that, I reread one of my favorite books and averaged over 1,500 words—of story or non-story-related writing—each day. The month after that, I started a new document with the word “experiments” in the file title, and it turned into a full-fledged novel draft. I finished that draft in just 44 days. A couple days after that, I prepared to rewrite that novel.
I won’t pretend that my writing life has been smooth sailing ever since, but I have learned to make a habit of questioning any advice that makes me think my writing process is broken or that I am an imposter and not a writer. I am a writer because I am writing. My process can change over time, I can try new ways of doing things, and I can reject whatever doesn’t work for me. You can do the same.
I’ll keep you posted on my writing life and pursuit of publication, and as always, LET’S GO PIOS! GO AVS GO!
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