Writing is difficult. It requires a drive to create that many people simply do not have. To write, one must desire something—in this case to write a story, a book, a poem, and they must have the initiative, the persistence, the patience, the work ethic, to make it happen. A writer must sacrifice time. She must sacrifice certain things that others are not willing to sacrifice. She must know that writing is rewriting, that first drafts are a starting point, not the end product. She must be willing to take criticism, and to be willing to throw away all that she has written, if what she has written does not work for the sentence, the chapter, the novel. None of these things are easy. Not for anyone. But writers who want to see their works published understand that writing must be taken as seriously as any other job out there. Just like in any industry, writers must take the hits as they come. They must continue past those hits, whatever they may be. Sometimes those obligations are familial. Other times they are work-related. Other times they are unforeseen circumstances that throw one’s writing schedule into an abyss for extended periods of time. But when the writer is at the desk writing, she should know the common mistakes she’ll face in the actual writing of her shorty story or novel or. Today's post, Back to the Basics – 5 “Mistakes” Writers Make, provide a few.
Allowing self-doubt to win
All writers doubt their abilities. We question if we have what it takes. We write what we think are masterpieces, then realize what we’ve written isn’t worth the paper it’s been printed on. We think, “I’ll never be as good as [enter your favorite writer here].” We talk ourselves into believing that we’re hopeless, that we’re uneducated in the ways of writing, that our stories are boring, our characters dull, our plots unoriginal (this last one is probably true, but that’s beside the point). All these things may be true. But they’re true only if you let them be true. It’s irrelevant if you never become Hemingway or Rebecca Makkai or Tolstoy or David Baldacci. You should aim to become the best you that you can become. Don’t worry about what you can’t control; control what you can and put your best effort into whatever it is you’re working on. Your self-doubt it normal. It’s what’ll help you write the best story you can write. Without self-doubt, you’ll think that everything you write on the first go is good to go. Hint: It ain’t.
Following all the writing rules
Now, this is a tricky one. When I say, “Following all the writing rules,” I don’t mean you should ignore them—you shouldn’t. But before you start breaking the writing rules, you need to know the writing rules. That doesn’t mean necessarily that you should know what a dangling participle is or that you should instantly recognize a misplaced modifier. There are plenty of writers who just intuitively know how to write and can identify when something is “wrong.” I’m one of those writers. I have multiple degrees in literature and am published, but I’ll be the first to admit I don’t sit there with the Chicago Manual of Style beside me at my writing desk. Over decades I’ve come to realize what works for me in terms of getting the words down on paper. I know there’ll be lots of revisions ahead of me, but I also know that I am decent at dropping adjectives or adverbs in at the right time in my novels to add a little flair to a sentence. And I know that when I’m doing that I’m breaking a “writing rule.” Writing rules are meant to provide solid guidance. And they’re great guideposts. But not all of them need be followed. At least, not once you know what you’re doing.
Not having a plot
Now, short stories may be different in a number of ways, but they still need plots like novels need plots. While you may be a genius and believe your avant-garde piece is the best, most innovative thing since sliced bread, the likelihood of that work being a masterpiece without a plot is slim to none. That’s because readers need something to follow. They need to know what your character wants, what gets in your character’s way, and how that character or characters overcome (or don’t) those hurdles before them. If you have characters that just wander around talking or thinking, drinking coffee and proclaiming the government is bad and art is grand, and they aren’t taking any action towards fulfilling some goal, then you don’t really have a novel (or short story). Novels and fiction must have a plot. But novel X, Y, Z, you say, don’t have plots. What about them? Well, maybe they do and maybe they don’t, but if you know about them, most likely they do have a plot and you’re not aware of it for some reason, or there is no plot but the writing was so strong that it carried the book. Either way, my advice: have a plot.
Not writing/waiting for inspiration
Inspiration is great. It makes you happy. It gets the blood pumping, the pencils sharpened, the world before you opening up as if it’s your oyster to do what you want with it. But it’s also something that doesn’t come around all that often. At least not as often as it needs to for you to produce what you need to produce. My advice: don’t wait for inspiration to strike before sitting down at the table to write. Just write. Sit your butt down in the chair every day, whenever you can. I tend to do it daily from around eight in the morning until noon or one in the afternoon. If things are going well, I may write all day and into the night. But I usually get tired and stop before I’m writing complete garbage. Remember, treat writing as a job. Put the time in every day, even if that only means ten minutes before bed, five minutes on the subway, or an hour before the kids wake up. Progress is made through work—not by spurts of inspiration that may or may not come.
Inspiration is great. It makes you happy. It gets the blood pumping, the pencils sharpened, the world before you opening up as if it’s your oyster to do what you want with it. But it’s also something that doesn’t come around all that often.
Not Revising Your Work Enough
I’ll admit it, rewriting and revising aren’t my favorite parts of writing. Not that I don’t enjoy these things at certain point in the process; I do. I find it almost magical when you discover some new avenue for your characters to take, some plot point that you hadn’t figured out before, some revelation in your story that wraps things up nicely when you’d been struggling for months or years to figure out. Details are a big one for me—the color of a certain flower at dusk, the way a love interest looks at the object of their interest in a reflection in a Paris Tabac, the memory of a long-deceased relative being revived by a song playing across the rooftops of a town in Andalusia. But all these things need revision. Your first draft is a good start, but it’s not your final draft. It’s the clay you mold into the statue. Your novel or short story should be revised as many times as needed for you to get the work in the best shape it can be. You should revise, rewrite, share your work with others for their feedback, revise some more, rewrite, etc. for as long as it takes. You don’t have to listen to your readers; that’s up to you. But listen to what they have to say. You want your work to be bullet proof. You don’t want holes in your plot. You don’t want clunky dialogue. You want to smell the perfume in the air, see the vibrant yellow, orange, and reds of the Blanket flowers (which you know are also called Gaillardia because you’ve done your research) sitting amongst the boulders on a Montana hillside. You want to gaze upon the pinks and purples of the Clarkia in Southern California, feel the tension as Orlando pulls his knife out of his waistband and puts it to Sherry’s chest. But you won’t get it right the first time or even the second or fifth time. But you’ll keep revising. You’ll keep rewriting. Because writing isn’t writing; writing is rewriting. Writing is revising. It’s carving out the statue in the block of clay and you’re willing to do that because you’re a writer and because you’ve put the time in to learn the rules. To learn what works and what doesn’t. To come up with your own style, your own take on things, your own voice. And you know the only way to do it is to keep on trucking when everything within you tells you to give up. To take up fishing instead. To watch movies or play video games or spend your time doing anything but writing. But you won’t. You can’t. The page calls you and you answer. And you answer every single time no matter what.
Cully Perlman is an author, blogger, and Substantive Editor. He can be reached at Cully@novelmasterclass.com
I learned from your previous post to "sit my ass in the chair," and it seems to be working for me. Thanks