Why You Should Ignore Most Writing Advice
(Including mine)
I was recently reading the fantastic novel, Beach Read, by Emily Henry. In it the romance author heroine ponders what it means to be an expert at writing:
I’d read somewhere that it took 10,000 hours to be an expert at something. Writing was different, too vague a “something” for 10,000 hours to add up to much. Maybe 10,000 hours of lying in an empty bathtub brainstorming added up to being an expert on brainstorming in an empty bathtub. Maybe 10,000 hours of walking your neighbor’s dog, working out a plot problem under your breath, would turn you into a pro at puzzling through plot tangles.
While the 10,000-hour rule has been roundly debunked, this paragraph struck a chord with me. It named something I’ve long known to be true about writing.
Writing is a mystery. Writing is personal. What works for me might not work for you. And so most writing advice, when followed too rigidly, can end up making you feel like you’ve tried to dress up in someone else’s clothes. The fit is awkward, the style is wrong, and things just don’t feel right.
A toolbox, not a blueprint
The question of whether writing can be taught is one that has been debated in MFA programs and coffee shops and magazines for many years. On one side, the “genius” school, who believe that innate talent is everything. On the other side, the “craftsperson” school, who think hard work counts beyond all else.
Of course, as with many binaries, the truth may be closer to something in the middle. Talent counts. Drive counts. Willingness to try counts.
It may surprise you to learn, given how I started this article, that I teach creative writing for a living. How can I take people’s money and teach them writing if I believe that they shouldn’t follow my advice?
How can I take people’s money and teach them writing if I believe that they shouldn’t follow my advice?
Here’s the thing. Of course, I believe there are certain pieces of knowledge that can be imparted. I can teach you about the three-act structure. I can help you identify the different points of view, and why you might want to use or avoid each. I can introduce you to common archetypes and story tropes. I can even teach you strategies for tapping into your creativity or developing story ideas.
But I can’t tell you whether you should use any of the things I teach you when it comes to your own writing.
With my students, I often tell them that what I’m offering them is tools to put in their toolbox. Some they might find helpful. Some they might never pull out again. Some they might find new ways to use, ways I’d never even have imagined. That’s the joy of a writer’s toolbox: it contains infinite possibilities.
You are the only explorer
There’s a poem by Mark Nepo that starts “Let no-one keep you from your journey.” The final stanza of the poem (which never fails to bring a lump to my throat) reads:
You are the only explorer.
Your heart, the unreadable compass.
Your soul, the shore of a promise
too great to be ignored.
The problem with a lot of writing advice out there is that it tries to keep you from your own journey.
Get up and write at 5am!
Write every day for at least an hour!
Outline! No, don’t outline!
This kind of advice is showing you a map of what worked for the writer. It’s teaching you their journey. Sure, you can fold up that map and put it in your toolbox if you want to — you may find something useful there, something that helps you on your own journey. But if you try to follow another writer’s map, you’ll never truly uncover the mystery that is your own creative process.
Writing (and art in general) is too mysterious a process to be broken down to a series of rules or routines. I genuinely believe that a creatively fulfilling life is possible only when we go through the hard work of finding out what works for us when we commit to being an explorer, and not a blind follower.
But hey, what do I know? Perhaps this is just the tool in my toolbox that has worked best for me. And so if what I’ve said here makes zero sense to you I’ll give you the same encouragement I always give my students: ignore anything I say that doesn’t work for you.
