So You Think You Can Write

by Anne Walsh

You’re right, you can. Anyone over the age of eight can write. Writing well, though, that’s a whole 'nother kettle of fish, a whole different ball game, a whole . . . you get the idea.

I’d tend to describe myself as an advanced journeyman writer. I’m not an apprentice anymore, but I’m not worthy of being called a master yet. I served my apprenticeship writing worshipful stories based on my favorite books and movies, in which the heroes usually fell madly in love with women who had enormous power and a surprising lack of self-confidence. Fortunately, the act of writing the stories and the impressed reaction from the people I dared to show them to increased my self-confidence tremendously, and my heroines became far less annoying from that point on.

My journeyman work, still in progress, consists of stories set in two or three different fantasy universes. One of these, a world called Trycanta, grew faster than its compatriots, in the process giving rise to what I think will be my masterpiece, in the original sense of the word—the work by which the journeyman proves to her peers, and to the world, that she has passed her final tests and can truly be considered a master of her craft. This is my novel, Dangerous Truths, currently in pieces on my hard drive (though I recently came to a conclusion about one of the main characters that I think will speed revisions tremendously).

One more point before I get to the advice part: If you just like to play with words every so often, or you’ve toyed with the idea of writing a novel because it sounds like fun, that’s wonderful. You have my admiration and my encouragement. However, my experience has been more from the “mustwritenownownow” side, and my advice is tailored more towards that group.

With all this in mind, read on!

1. Read. Read, read, read. Read everything you can get your hands on, every genre you’ve ever wanted to try, and even a few you’re not sure about. You might surprise yourself. When you find an author you like, read more of his work. Read people who have collaborated with him. Read people who mention him as inspiration, or whom he mentions as such.

2. Obviously, enjoy what you read, but think about it as well. What makes this book so enjoyable for you? The well-drawn, rounded, believable characters? The strong plot which carries the story along swiftly? The music of the language itself, whether it be a rock song or a classical symphony or a hymn? All these are desirable in writing, but which is the most important to you?

3. Write. Write, write, write. Write about anything and everything. Describe your dog so well that someone on the other side of the world would be able to draw a picture of her. Turn your day into an action movie, a romantic comedy, a Shakespearean tragedy. No matter if you think it’s horrible, if you will never show it to anyone, if you put it all on a flash drive marked “DESTROY ME”, write something every day.

4. Listen to people talk. Dialogue and description must work side by side in a story, and properly handled, dialogue can both advance your plot and round out your characters. So pay attention to the speech around you. Have three different people—a child, a friend, and an older person—tell you about the same thing or event, and notice the differences in their vocabulary, their pacing, the structures of their sentences. Tune in on the way men talk to women and vice versa, and then on the way men talk to men or women to women.

5. Get some critics you can trust, and be prepared for pain. It hurts to have someone tell you you’re not perfect, even when you’re expecting it and you know they don’t mean you real harm. You’ll be mad, you’ll feel betrayed, and that’s normal—but do your ranting and raving in private. When you’ve cooled off, look again at the criticism. Is it valid? If it is, what can you do about it? Good criticism can do more for your writing than anything except practice, if you let it.

6. Always think of your audience. Who will read this? Your cat, Ted? Your mother and aunt? Your teacher and classmates? Your little cousin and her rambunctious ten-year-old friends? Even if you had the same outline in front of you, you’d write very differently for each of those groups. Think about the audience you intend to read your work in the same way. What will they expect? Should you fulfill those expectations? If not, what will you give them that’s better?

7. And finally, enjoy yourself. Yes, writing is work, and very hard work at times. There are days when getting a chapter finished feels to me like giving birth, and taking out a word like having a tooth pulled. But by and large, I love to write. When my fingers are on the keyboard, my mind is somewhere else, somewhere that exists only to me—and I can bring it to other people, help them to see what I see, or a close approximation of it. By writing, by creating, I confirm to myself that I am made in the image of God the Creator. (My incredibly profound apologies to any atheists, agnostics, polytheists, or people of undecided spirituality who may have been offended by the preceding sentence. I suggest you never read my work.)

So do I think I can write?

I certainly think I can try.

Yoda, eat your heart out.

Anne Walsh is the author of Dangerous Truths and related stories.