10 most common pieces of writing advice
Posted on July 28th, 2010 in Writing | No Comments »
If you’ve been reading about the writing process for any length of time, you’ve come across each of these tips as a standalone article, probably many times. Here they are, condensed into more quickly digestible chunks, all in one place—with my own take on which ones make sense and which ones will steer you wrong.
This post won’t stop people from rehashing the same 10 pieces of common writing advice many more times, on many more blogs, in the future. But maybe it will make those posts easier for you to skim, in your pursuit of the good stuff.
1. Editors are busy.
At any given time, an editor has at least 200 manuscripts to read. Most of those manuscripts aren’t going to be bought. The job requires that the manuscripts destined for the “No” pile be identified and discarded as efficiently as possible. So yes, editors are actively looking for a reason to reject your manuscript. Poor grammar or spelling, clunky dialogue, and overly familiar plots all qualify as reasons. Make your writing very, very good before you send it out for publication.
2. Focus on technique, not all the incidental stuff.
If you’re relatively new to the writing game, the most important thing you can spend your time learning is how to write a great story. Not how to network with editors and agents, not which software or which brand of pen to use, and especially not how to protect your copyright. (A copyright notice on a manuscript submission is the mark of a rank amateur—an almost infallible sign that the manuscript isn’t going to be any good. Get over the paranoia. Nobody wants to steal your work.) After your fiction becomes staggeringly brilliant, some of that other stuff will matter. Until then, it doesn’t.
3. Writing is rewriting.
This one is endlessly debatable. The advice goes: Just get a complete first draft finished; push straight ahead until you’re done. Don’t look back, don’t polish yet. Just to figure out the structure, the skeleton of your story. Then go back and revise as many times as necessary to put some meat on those bones. Layer in the personal details that bring your characters to life, the witticisms or metaphors that make your writing special, the foreshadowing of plot points you didn’t know were coming on the first pass.
Personally, I think different methods work for different writers—and if you’re one of those who work best by writing a rich, detailed first draft, then by all means, do your thing. But this advice is put forth so often that the list would be incomplete without it.
4. Bickering isn’t conflict.
Conflict, the driving force behind a good plot, is about characters struggling against obstacles to achieve a goal—obtain something, escape something, change something. Characters who are just bickering about how much they dislike one another, or complaining about their unsatisfying lives, are not engaging in conflict—or anyway, not the sort of conflict that propels good fiction forward.
5. Ignorance isn’t suspense.
Suspense is created when the reader knows that something bad is happening or about to happen, understands pretty clearly what that bad thing is, and worries that the characters won’t be able to stop it. Suspense is not created by keeping the reader ignorant of what the protagonist already knows. “My heroine has decided to ask her husband for a divorce, but the reader doesn’t know what she’s going to do” . . . is not suspense. On the other hand, “My heroine has decided to ask her husband for a divorce, but the reader knows that the husband recently stopped taking his anti-psychotic meds and bought a gun” works a little better. The reader can see what’s coming, and it ain’t pretty.
6. Show, don’t tell.
The more advanced version of this advice is: “Know when to show and when to tell.” There are times when a quick line or two of telling is more appropriate than a chapter’s worth of showing. Years passed. Johnny dated dozens more women after Catherine, but never really felt a connection with any of them. But a beginning writer usually errs on the side of too much telling. Julia was a chronically depressed, mean-spirited person. She could turn the most festive of parties into an ordeal. It was impossible to have a good time while she was around. Yeah, that’s bad writing. Show me an actual party with Julia in attendance, with character interactions, body language, and plenty of dialogue. It’s more work that way, turning the generic into specifics, but nobody ever said this was going to be easy.
7. Read, read, read.
It’s just slightly amazing that some people think they can write stories without reading stories. If you have a gunshot wound, you don’t want the surgeon who’s just returned to the profession today after three years’ vacation. You want the guy who has operated on five gunshot victims per day for those last three years. If you haven’t been reading stories, then you haven’t been conditioning your brain to do what you’re asking it to do. (Besides, reading is fun!)
8. Insert butt in chair.
Don’t wait for the mood to strike; don’t wait for inspiration. Set aside time every day when you aren’t going to be doing anything except writing. During that time, put words on paper, or onto your screen. Even if the words are crap, at least you’re there, writing. Mark off the days on a calendar if you must, so you’ll see how well you’re sticking to the regimen. Eventually, you’ll finish something this way. You won’t finish many stories if you never get around to working on them.
9. Write what you know.
Ugh. And double-ugh.
Sorry for that gut reaction, but this advice is so easily misinterpreted that even the people giving it often don’t understand it properly. Of course, I approach this question from the perspective of a science fiction & fantasy writer. Most of the writers who’ve written about traveling through deep space at 90% of the speed of light, or about sorcerers battling dragons, aren’t doing it from personal experience—and yet, some of those stories are very well written, and great fun to read.
So, what are the real, useful takeaways from this overused expression?
First: If you’re writing about a real place, research what the place looks like, the customs, the laws, the climate. If you’re writing about a real-world activity (police procedures, prostitution, computer programming), again, you’ll want to know how it’s really done. Then if you deviate from the truth, you’ll be doing it consciously to make a better story, as opposed to getting it wrong out of ignorance.
Second: Write about emotions you can really understand. Maybe you’ve never won a gold medal in the Olympics. Fine. If your character wins one, search your memory for experiences that might have made you feel the same way. Or, for example: there’s not much else that feels like parenthood. So if you’re not a parent and you want to write a character who is, be careful. Take extra pains to get those emotional details right.
10. Kill your darlings.
In case you haven’t heard this line before, it simply means: Delete the clever lines, the parts of your own work that you like the best. No one else will like them as well as you do.
I hate, hate, hate this advice. It fundamentally assumes that the writer to whom it’s being given has bad judgment. What if you don’t? I have read my friends’ stories and pointed out passages that I especially enjoyed reading—and sometimes discovered that one of those passages was the writer’s “darling.” Other writers have called out my darlings approvingly and drawn smiley faces on the manuscripts. Yes, be willing to remove your favorite bits—ruthlessly—if they don’t serve the story. But don’t deprive us of all the good stuff, just because of institutionally reinforced self-doubt.






