How do you write well? That’s a doozy of a question—and heck if I know. I’ve been writing since I was seven. All I know for sure is that I have to write. That’s a natural feeling for writers—that there is something inside them (thoughts, ideas, stories) that needs to be expressed. Like eating or drinking—eventually it will come out.
I think the better question is: How do you write something that a reader will want to continue to read past Page One? (Not one of those “readers” who owe you a million favors and this is his/her payment—in full.)
My answer to that is the number one rule of writing: Don’t bore your readers. It wastes their time. In our time-impoverished culture, bored readers will find better things to do with their few spare minutes.
It doesn’t matter how fascinating your subject matter is (a cat who plays the violin for the L.A. Philharmonic—because it likes to play with strings) or how exciting your plot line is (a housewife discovers a colony of tiny wish-granting fairies living under her couch—who also love to vacuum), you have to hold your reader’s interest. In this day of 140-word messages and an ADD-afflicted population (aren’t we all there?), you have to do it sooner rather than later.
How is this done? Elmore Leonard said in his book, Ten Rules of Writing, “Try to leave out the parts that readers tend to skip.”
What parts are those? The badly written parts, of course. The good parts are those written in a clear, concise, and creative way. Good writing is bad writing that has been revised.
There is no such thing as a perfect first draft. It is through the rewriting and self-editing process that you master the art and craft of writing. You gain confidence in your writing and you know on a gut level that you’ve got good stuff on that page. This keeps readers turning the pages.
When someone asked Ernest Hemingway what he thought made a good writer, he said you need a built-in crap-o-meter. Elizabeth Gilbert has one. In an article in The New York Times (8/20/09) she explains what happened to her first attempt at a sequel to her wildly successful book, Eat, Pray, Love. The second book was tentatively titled Weddings and Evictions. While printing out a copy and leafing through the pages, she felt something odd. “It was different from just the anxiety and insecurities that you feel when you’re writing something.” She tossed out the whole book, asked her publisher for an extension, and wrote a different book (Committed: A Skeptic Makes Peace With Marriage, pub date of Jan. 2010). This was a crap-o-meter in action.
I was not born with such a device. But I’m developing one through revising and rewriting. A book that helped me spot the crap in my writing is Self-Editing for Fiction Writers, by Renni Browne and Dave King. I’ve read dozens of “How To Write” books. This is one of the best.
Here are comments about the book on Amazon:
If you’d like some quick tips right now, let’s bring in a guy who knows a thing or two about good writing—Mr. Mark Twain.
Me: “Mr. Twain, thank you so much for stopping by. We are all big fans! Do you have words of advice for us writers working on perfecting our craft?”
Mr. Twain: “Please, call me Sam. First of all, flattery will get you everywhere. An author values a compliment even when it comes from a source of doubtful competency. And secondly, tell these good but delusional folks they’re better off trying to make a living as a riverboat gambler. More secure.”
Me: “OK, Sam, we may be delusional, but we are dedicated to this endeavor. How can we improve our writing?”
Mr. Twain: “Well, I never met an adverb I didn’t want to kill. Those ‘ly’ abominations muck up the joint beyond all recognition. More words to read are not merrier. It just ruins your eyesight.”
Mr. Twain reaches for a cigar in his suit pocket. “Mind if I smoke?”
Me: “Not at all Sam, if you give us another tidbit from your brilliant mind.”
Mr. Twain: “Remember that words are not tidbits. They are the essential blocks for which to build your masterpiece. The difference between the almost right word and the right word is really a large matter. It’s the difference between the lightning bug and the lightning.”
Me: “Your words are honey to my ears.”
Mr. Twain: “That’s ‘music’ to your ears.”
Me: “Oh, right, Sam. I’m not the wordsmith that you are, but I’m working on it. Thanks for sharing your expertise. And love the white suit. You look fabulous.”
Mr. Twain: “Now you’re the one blowing smoke, young lady!”
Let’s hope we all have a writing career like Mark Twain. Or at least his sense of humor.
