What Writing Advice Do You Actually Need?
My best guess is you’ve read a few pieces like this before. I know I have. That juicy title beckons you in and you fall for the promise that this article might just unlock the work you never knew you could write.
But how much does reading about writing help?
“Write often”. “Kill your darlings”. “Show don’t tell”. “Bear the reader in mind at all times”.
For those of us who’ve taken to the writing path, these insights aren’t always new — nor are they especially revealing. They are often the bread and butter of the craft, the tools for getting the job done well. But often, we want more than that.
Now, I’m not knocking the good work that goes into these posts, by helpful, well-meaning writers who, in giving back, help make Medium the supportive creative space that it is.
I’m just pointing out that reading about writing is not enough.
I don’t know why, exactly, but my writing has only ever got better by doing these two things:
1. Reading.
Reading widely. Reading novels, articles, short stories, poems. Reading anything and everything. Reading what you love, especially. But reading what stretches and challenges you too. Devouring it all so quickly the words start to blur; stopping, now and then, to go over a passage that hit deep.
Sure, reading about writing counts towards this — you’ve got me there. And I won’t deny that certain rules of thumb are useful polishing tools, especially when editing.
But on the whole, writing is a creative act. It’s cognitive, sure. You have to stop and think from time to time, picking one word over another, checking tone, fact, pulse. But when you really get going, when the words fly from your fingers to the page, it’s a spontaneous thing. For that reason, the act of writing flows from a subconscious place. And for that reason, I think, our writing improves when we consume the work of others without thinking all that much. By reading wildly, we absorb differences in mood, style, pace, poetry into our own psyche, from where it spills onto the page as our own.
By reading wildly, we steal without knowing it.
The act of editing is different, though. When we edit, we step back and put on a different pair of specs. Here, the right brain comes back into play, critiquing and methodically improving our work (ever looked back on a piece you initially thought was genius and wanted to hit delete?). Here, we can benefit from those more rational rules of thumb, as we polish and refine.
2. Writing
I can’t get away from Nike’s Just Do It here, because it’s true. No amount of reading can replace writing: it can only feed it. There’s now a wealth of research on why we learn best in context — when we adapt to the challenges of doing something in real time — and writing is no different.
The simple, therapeutic act of putting pen to paper — of returning to the page time and again — is what makes us better writers.
It is in the act of writing that our ideas take form. Not in the act of reading about what makes good writing. Not in the dusty recesses of our mind, when we dream and deliberate over what we could write, away from the page.
But when we actually sit down to write and, in doing so, figure out how to express ourselves. It’s a spontaneous thing. You get going over the initial block of blank canvas, and suddenly the words take shape on their own. They flow naturally, without much effort — even without much thought — at all.
To borrow Ray Bradbury’s words here:
“The faster you blurt, the more swiftly you write, the more honest you are.”
When we actively write, we figure out what we want to say and how we want to say it, there and then. By doing this, over and over again, we start to develop our own way with words — and with it, a body of work that reflects who we are. In other words, we develop not only the skill of good writing, but the art of authenticity.
The thread underlying these two activities is the same. Learning about the mechanics of craft is useful to a point, but it can only take you so far. The real goal of writing — what we all crave when throwing words on the page — is to create something authentic.
To create writing that comes alive with style and, by leaving even the smallest footprint on the sands of time, can testify to the fact that you were here.
How do we find that style? That’s the question. And it’s a question which — the more you write, the more you read, the more you live — will start to answer itself on the page.
