*if you write, then you are a writer.
*write to please yourself.
*write the book/story you want to read. the one you wish already existed.
*if you are called to the page to write something, there is a reason.
*if you ignore the call, it won't leave you alone. so you might as well comply.
*the best way to improve your writing is by commenting on the writing of others.
*Bilbo was 10x the Hobbit Frodo will ever be.
*write to please yourself.
*write the book/story you want to read. the one you wish already existed.
*if you are called to the page to write something, there is a reason.
*if you ignore the call, it won't leave you alone. so you might as well comply.
*the best way to improve your writing is by commenting on the writing of others.
*Bilbo was 10x the Hobbit Frodo will ever be.
My Philosophy
I can't tell you how many times I'm told "I want to be a writer."
So many times that my eyes blur when I hear it. My ears blur. I'm not sure what it means anymore.
"Do you want to write?"
"Yes."
"Do you write?"
That's when the face burns, aw heck, the ears turn red. Because the answer is yes, but they say, "No. Not really."
I take a deep breath and continue. "Let me ask you something. First, I am going to guess that you are a writer, already, but let me ask you this first."
Grown adults at this point are studying the pattern of the flooring. I try to bring their eyes back up.
"Do you write long emails to your friends? Long Christmas letters? Constant Facebook posts that are actual words?"
There is a subtle nod at this moment.
"Are you the guy at work who writes the Executive Summaries that are longer than the reports? The person who writes up the funny thing that happened on the way to work today and sends it out to your friends?"
"Do you journal or write really bad poetry when the going gets tough? I mean really serious stuff -- break-ups, losses, grief -- does that drive you to scribble in a notebook or type into a hidden document that you would never share with anyone?"
By now their eyes are up off the carpet -- beaming into mine with that "HOW DID YOU KNOW??" look.
"I figured as much," I say. "You are already a writer."
I have disappointed them, like the Wizard disappointed Dorothy. This is not what they wanted to hear. They wanted me to say, like the Wiz, here's a diploma you can get, here's the wisdom and courage you lack, here's the instruction book that the Greatest American Hero lost.
BUt I continue, "A writer, by my definition, processes the externalia of life -- the shit that happens to them -- by writing about it. That's how they come to understand it, make sense of this crazy world and keep sane."
"Now," I say, "how about we talk about how you can be writing the way you want to. Let's start with what you love to read and go from there."
So many times that my eyes blur when I hear it. My ears blur. I'm not sure what it means anymore.
"Do you want to write?"
"Yes."
"Do you write?"
That's when the face burns, aw heck, the ears turn red. Because the answer is yes, but they say, "No. Not really."
I take a deep breath and continue. "Let me ask you something. First, I am going to guess that you are a writer, already, but let me ask you this first."
Grown adults at this point are studying the pattern of the flooring. I try to bring their eyes back up.
"Do you write long emails to your friends? Long Christmas letters? Constant Facebook posts that are actual words?"
There is a subtle nod at this moment.
"Are you the guy at work who writes the Executive Summaries that are longer than the reports? The person who writes up the funny thing that happened on the way to work today and sends it out to your friends?"
"Do you journal or write really bad poetry when the going gets tough? I mean really serious stuff -- break-ups, losses, grief -- does that drive you to scribble in a notebook or type into a hidden document that you would never share with anyone?"
By now their eyes are up off the carpet -- beaming into mine with that "HOW DID YOU KNOW??" look.
"I figured as much," I say. "You are already a writer."
I have disappointed them, like the Wizard disappointed Dorothy. This is not what they wanted to hear. They wanted me to say, like the Wiz, here's a diploma you can get, here's the wisdom and courage you lack, here's the instruction book that the Greatest American Hero lost.
BUt I continue, "A writer, by my definition, processes the externalia of life -- the shit that happens to them -- by writing about it. That's how they come to understand it, make sense of this crazy world and keep sane."
"Now," I say, "how about we talk about how you can be writing the way you want to. Let's start with what you love to read and go from there."