How to Succeed in Writing VIII: Elements of Style


One of the questions a writer answers throughout his writing career is: How am I going to write?  What is going to be my style?  Most writers will not discover “their style” until they are well into the process, but that doesn’t stop them from talking about the process of writing.  When I was a new writer, I spoke about the process all the time.  I told people about my artistic mindset, my artistic setting, and everything but my work, because I didn’t have a lot of work to speak of at the time.  Talking about the process was fun though, because it made me feel like a writer.  It gave me a complicated characterization that my friends couldn’t understand at times.  I was purposefully moody and sullen, but that was all a part of “my process”.  There did come a point, however, when this mystique I created was counterproductive.  I wanted to be a writer more than I wanted to write in other words.  Every time I wrote, I received more evidence of the fact that I probably wasn’t as good as I purported.

A lot of new, and longtime, writers write, speak, and hypothesize about the process of writing.  They speak about having post-it notes all around them to capture the ideas of the moment, or a moment, before they forget them.  They talk about the tools they use to create, the mood they need for proper creation, the setting, the mindset, and everything that they’ve defined as the characteristics of being a writer, but are they writing?

One thing I’ve found in the course of my writing is that a true writer doesn’t need post-it notes, recording devices, or anything more than a well-honed brain to record that which is memorable, or noteworthy, material.  If it is, in fact, noteworthy material, it will stick.  It will gestate in your brain, until you have a completed idea of that which you have experienced.  Post it notes and recording devices are for people that enjoy the process.  “Why do you have that recording device on when we speak?”  True writers only need a honed brain that continually processes information for years to retain, process, and germinate all that great material we experience in the course of our days.

james-joyceAre you Kerouac or Joyce?  One style of writing that new writers, and complicated artiste writers, laud is the Jack Kerouac and James Joyce style of writing called stream-of-consciousness (SC) writing.  SC writing is a style of writing that plays out exactly as it sounds: An author sits down and composes 300-700 pages of prose in a matter of months.  The SC author does little to no editing and revising, because in the strictest definition of SC writing there is no such thing as mistakes in a contextual or conceptual sense.  Contextual mistakes, according to those that pursue this form of writing, and the painter Pablo Picasso, are subconscious leads.  What could be seen as an errant stroke by some was something to build on for Picasso…and Joyce, and Kerouac when it came to writing.  They saw mistakes as the subconscious guiding them down a path they hadn’t consciously considered before.  Both of these writers were forced to fight off editors and publishers in the belief that their works should remain as is.

kerouac“I write to entertain myself,” those that adhere to the Joyce/Kerouac style would tell you.  “If anyone else is entertained, that’s gravy.”  The reason we started writing in the first place was to see if we could take all of our influences and combine them with our inner voices, to achieve stories that would entertain us.  Too much editing and revising takes the spontaneity right out of an artistic creation, and trying to make my pieces relatable to all is impossible, so why would I spend too much time trying to correct conceptual and contextual mistakes?

Have you ever attempted to read James Joyce’s Ulysses?  How about Finnegan’s Wake?  Most normal humans, of adequate intelligence, need a guide to help them understand all of the references and allusions Joyce makes in these works.  All of Joyce’s jokes and provocations were “in-house” references that he understood, and that you can understand too…with a reference guide that’s almost as lengthy, but they’re not enjoyable books as a standalone.  No one will know what the heck you’re talking about, in other words, when you write in Joyce’s SC manner.   You will know, as Joyce and those that lived in Ireland at the time knew, but your reader won’t know.  You will get frustrated with them.  “Can’t you see that A led to B, and C was the result?”  Oh ok, they say, now I get it.  As frustrated as you were with them, it wasn’t their fault that they didn’t get it.  It was yours, and you need to edit and revise more.

Most new writers should be advised to follow the editing and revising school of thought for just this reason.  This line of thought suggests that a story matures in the editing process.  It suggests that the framework of a story can be borne in the stream-of-consciousness (SC) stage, but that the marrow of a story is created when we go back and live through the story again and again, until we reach a readability stage.  This theory also suggests that editing and revising stories gives the author greater objectivity than he can achieve in the creation process.  Objectivity gives the author the chance to attempt to read the story in the manner a reader may read their story.  It gives the author some distance from the relatively narrow position one is in while creating the piece, and they can correct some of the errors of flow and characterization that may not be apparent in the creative process.

We “editing and revising” writers find it hard to believe that Kerouac and Joyce were able to develop their story, their characters, their pace, and their setting on the fly in the manner they suggest.  It just doesn’t seem feasible—no matter how brilliant they may be—that they could make all of the connections, and all of the asides mesh well into a story on the fly, but if you believe the Kerouac myth—that Kerouac created—he wrote his classic On the Road in a drug-frenzied three weeks on a scroll of paper.  How much of this myth is true should be left up to historians to debate.  What cannot be debated, however, is the fact that Kerouac and Joyce submitted relatively raw pieces of work that achieved historical status.  What also cannot be debated is that—if everything they’ve said about their process is true—they should be held out as the exception to the rule that editing and revising are the keys to achieving a complete and readable story.

Most of us are not a “Man of Golden Words”, to borrow a phrase from lyricist Andrew Wood.  Most of us write stupid things, bad scenes, flat characters, sloppy sentences, too much setting, unnecessary asides, and our flow isn’t quite right the first time through.  We also write “great scenes” that appear foolish in revision.   Most of us need advice, a second reader, and a vocal read-through.  Most of us are not spontaneous, artistic geniuses, and our work could use a lot of sprucing and pruning.  If you are an artistic genius—and I’m not one of those that claims that no one is, out of spite for not being one—God love you.  I wish I was one that could create spontaneously without having to work so hard at it.

Editing and revising are definitely not the fun part of artistic creation.  They are, for the most part, tedious activities that require training and discipline, and training and discipline are not the artistic principles that complicated, non-writing writers want to endure when they think about, talk about, and write about the process of their creations. The Joyce/Kerouac process appeals to them, because it makes them feel more like an artistic genius.  Writing should be about writing, they are likely to say.  It should be about spontaneous creation, and when they can’t spontaneously create, they tell people they have writer’s block.  Writer’s block is a fundamental element of the complicated, non-writer’s writing life, and they all have their processes to help them out of it.  True writers, in this writers’ humble opinion, never experience writer’s block.  They may have moments in which they are more inspired than others, but to be unable to think of anything to write just seems impossible to those of us that have written so much that we’re now disciplined enough—after hours of exhaustive training—to always write something.

Fruit and Flowers: On that note, for those of us that don’t constantly receive divine inspiration for artistic creations, there is a cure: “Paint fruit and flowers!”  Flipping through various collections of art, I was surprised to find so many benign and boring creations by artistic geniuses.  Flip through any Van Gogh collection, Picasso collection, or Matisse collection and you’ll find them—relatively boring and seemingly benign paintings of the sky, shrubs, trees, fruit, and flowers.  I was shocked at how many of these paintings there were in the anthologies of these artists.  Why would such talented artists waste their time painting such seemingly benign and boring paintings?  Answer: They were keeping their artistic muscles taut and honed.  They were learning color and contrast, and prominence and shadowing.  They were finessing their God-given talent.  They were becoming artists, in other words, and they were getting better, and when divine inspiration eventually struck they would be ready for it.  Some of the complicated, non-writing writers have this Hollywood image of writers that tells them they need to be inspired to write.  These writers know that their best material will occur when the Danube River is just outside their hotel’s window sill at a time when the first storks make their appearance in Petrovaradin.  These writers know they can’t be too happy, or too sad, and that they need the finest Columbian coffee scents in their nose to receive divine inspiration.  A drafty writing room with Gatorade and Diet Sunkist is just not conducive to inspired writing.  They’ll tell you that they have writer’s block, when you ask them what they’re writing.  “Well,” I want to scream at them.  “What are you doing about it?!  Try writing Fruit and Flower stories!”

“That’s easy for you to say,” will be the theme of the “complicated” writer’s reply, “But I can’t write when I’m not inspired.”  If I were to see something they wrote that was at the artistic genius level, I would have no ammunition in these conversations, but they’re usually just boobs like me that want to purport some sort of artistic genius persona.  They’re usually not writing anything at all.  They’re usually just lazy, complicated, non-writing writers.  “Write something stupid,” I want to say.  “There are fruit and flowers everywhere.  You don’t need to write Crime and Punishment every time out, but if you continue to write your Crime and Punishment may fall out from between the cracks.”

Therein lays the key to great writing, in my humble opinion, that in your discipline and exhaustive training, something may eventually fall out.  Others (most) will never have a Ulysses, a World According to Garp, or a Crime and Punishment fall out, and they may be so frustrated that they don’t want to continue.  Maybe they shouldn’t.   Maybe, they’re not cut out for all this, and they should consider quitting.

This may seem antithetical to everything I’ve written over the course of these eight blogs, but the question is a vital component to writing fiction. Do you enjoy writing, expression, and artistic creation, or do you want to be famous?  Have you created a number of good works, but none of them are of the highest quality?  How do you handle that?  Do you feel like an utter failure, or are you aching for more?  If you’re a complicated artiste that hasn’t achieved the fame you believe you should’ve at this point, you may want to give up.  Maybe you just weren’t meant to be a writer in the first place.  It’s a very important crossroads for you.  If you have the temerity to push ahead, there are a number of things that you can do to keep ‘it’ all shiny and honed until you receive divine inspiration.

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How to Succeed in Writing VI: Follow guidelines, and let your freak flag fly!


Mike Patton

“There’s a right way to do things, and a wrong way!”  My Dad used to say. “And you always choose the wrong way!”  All artists have a natural proclivity to doing things the other way, a different way, and “the wrong way”.  Those who want to write a best-seller, sing a top 40 song, or sell a mainstream painting, study up on the trends of the market, and they have all their formulas for success spelled out for them in the various “self-help” guides that are available in the marketplace.  Artists, true artists, are the freaks, the odd balls, and the weirdoes of our society.

If these artists didn’t have certain predilections in life, they probably would’ve been better athletes in high school, and more popular, and less inclined to eventually have the angst that drove them to do what they would ended up doing.  They probably would’ve made better employees, better spouses, better parents, and better people.  Their people probably would’ve enjoyed their company more if they fell in line with the practiced repetitions that led to better muscle memory in all these avenues of life.  They probably would’ve been happier people and fit into society better, but they chose a different path in life.

Marcel Proust

“Everything great in the world comes from Neurotics.  They alone have founded our religion and composed our masterpieces,” –Marcel Proust.

To say that an artist chooses his path in life is a bit of a misnomer, for most artists fell into expression as a form of therapy.  They’ve usually had an incident, or a series of incidents, that they couldn’t quite get past in the accepted ways, but they made decisions on how to deal with them in their own way.  Most artists didn’t “reach out” for others to help them deal with that which plagued them, or if they did they recognized the fact that most people don’t care about other people’s problems.  Either that, or they didn’t receive any satisfaction from sympathetic responses.  Most artists internalized their pain, until it exploded into some form of expression.

Expression meant free-form expression to them early on.  It meant being outrageous, and offensive, and playing the game by their own rules.  If they had good mentors though, they learned that much of this resulted in sloppy and undisciplined work.  The whole reason they entered this field of expression was to expunge the toxins they had coursing through their veins, but their mentors told them there were rules and guidelines to doing this properly.  Most artists angrily accepted that fact.  They believed that artists should think outside the box, but they learned that true artists would eventually have to know what was in the box is if they ever hoped to violate it properly.

A friend of mine is not artistic, but he reads a lot of novels, and he knows their rules.  He also gets bogged down in details.  He circles offensive material, and he suggests that I delete, or edit, those portions.  He doesn’t know art in this sense, and he doesn’t care.  He knows the rules of society, and how those rules were applied by Hemingway and Faulkner, and he knows I’m offensive.  This friend wouldn’t be able to write one word of fiction.  He could get so boxed in by the rules that every word would be written, edited, and then deleted.  He would write a novel that would be as entertaining as an instructional manual for a park bench, or the proper use of fly paper.  He would’ve made a better editor, if he came to that crossroad.

The differences between an individual who knows the rules, but doesn’t know how to apply them in an artistic manner, are the differences between an artistic writer and an editor.  Take a look at some of the names of the people who have written the articles on developing the perfect character, or the most dynamic conflict.  You’ve probably never heard of them, for they know as little about writing an artistic novel as you do.  Some people are excellent editors and teachers, but they know little to nothing about being an artist.  The opposite is usually true of artists, and this is why freelance editors are making such a great living in the age of the rule breaking, freelance eBook writer.  It is also why the advice of most artists, such as myself, is to just do it.  Don’t talk about writing, don’t hold yourself up as a writer when you don’t write, and don’t complain about the arduous process involved.  Just do it!  Doing it, will help you figure out why you can do it or not.  The other important note on this topic is that those who teach can’t teach you how to write your novel.  They can give you general guidelines that you’ll need to know, but they can’t teach you the art of writing, and the art of letting your freak flag fly, in the vein that you’ll  learn by just doing it.  I’m not saying that their advice is without merit, but don’t let yourself get bogged down in the detail.

Writing female characters and the fear of being called a misogynist


Most male writers fear writing female characters do stupid things. Most male writers fear offending female readers, and most female readers tend to get offended when men depict female characters committing the most trivial errors. No writer wants to offend their readers, and females get offended when a male writer portrays women as anything less than a Lara Croft type of character.

The fact is that women buy more books than men do, so it is in the financial interests of all involved in the publication of books that male writers become “enlightened” and avoid the ‘M’ word at all costs. The ‘M’ word is misogyny. Misogyny, as defined by Dictionary.com, is the hatred, or dislike, of women or girls. This, of course, is the strict definition of the ‘M’ word. The loose definition, or that which is thrown at any author, be they novelist, screenwriter, etc., is that which depicts a female character as anything less than Laura Croft.

Some have said that those critical reviews that contained pervasive use of the ‘M’ word might have affected sales of Tom Clancy’s later books. Although I’ve only read a few Tom Clancy books, and I stand open to correction from those that have read a number of them, Clancy has only written female characters in supporting roles. That’s a big no-no in modern fiction. In modern fiction, an author can have a female in a supporting role, but that character is required to be an individual in a seat of authority over the main character. Anything less, the modern literary critic suggests, is misogynist. Anything less is less than modern, offensive to women, and earmarked as limited. Those female characters must also be flawless, and they must be Laura Croft. Writing the line “I don’t understand,” and attributing that line to a female character, can provide an unsuspecting author the death of a thousand cuts from critics and readers around the nation. This constant bashing of Clancy’s work, some have theorized, has resulted in the diminishment of his brand.

Other critics say that Clancy’s prose was so pedestrian, in its reliance on technical knowledge, that the “one-trick pony” of Clancy’s fiction was bound to see a slide in sales when readers tired of it. If that’s the case, and I’m not saying it is, why have modern literary aficionados dismissed Ernest Hemingway’s cannon as misogynist? After reading some of Hemingway’s stories, one could argue that although females do not play a prominent role in most of his fiction, but the females he does depict are not weak. If a reader determines that some of the female characters are weak, they should be ready to admit that they are as weak as the male characters in his stories.

Are those who dismiss Hemingway’s cannon, the all or nothing crowd that suggests that every female character he ever wrote must be a Lara Croft type character or the body of work is tainted? Does every writer now have to have every female character out of the house, defined as unilaterally independent and without even the slightest weakness, and never NEVER as a side character to define the writer’s main, male character better?

Misogyny is also defined in current fiction (be it in books, TV, or movies) as depicting a woman who defines herself by what men think of her. In a review of HBO’s Girls, Alyssa Rosenberg writes the following:

“(The main character) Lena Dunham is hungry for sex but not grateful for it. She has no need for (her sexual partner) Adam or anyone else to teach her that she deserves to be treated well: Hannah knows that, demands it, and negotiates her shaky way towards it.”{1}

The ironic twist that Alyssa Rosenberg doesn’t recognize in her review is that the main character of Girls defines herself through men by being anti-male in the manner her character reaches definition. The fact that Lena “doesn’t care” so strongly only shows how much she does care. She reminds one of a teenager that so strongly claims that they don’t care what anyone thinks of them, that any listener knows that this is their primary concern. When this Lena character puts so much effort into “not caring”, what Adam thinks of her, she ends up thinking about him all the time. She constantly calls on him for sexual activity, and he only shows up at her place when she assures him that sexual activity will occur. The intent of the authors of this show is that this dichotomy defines the Adam character, but the objective members of the audience believe it also defines the main character. When the Adam character treats her like crap, Lena ends up putting herself in a position of less respect by putting up with it. This Lena character is also defined as unattractive, and this is repeatedly made apparent throughout the show, so the show depicts her as one that can’t be picky when it comes to her choices in men. She’s unhappy throughout the show (as most unattractive women are in Hollywood movies based almost solely on the fact that they’re unattractive) which defines her as an unhappy woman that can’t meet a proper fella to treat her properly.

Some have defined the “traditional” feminist as being an individualist, or an individual that succeeds regardless the hurdles placed before them. Whereas the “modern” feminist blames the male for their subordinate role in a patriarchal society. If we still exist in a patriarchal society, and that’s debatable based on the changes some of us have witnessed in the workplace in the last twenty years, then the traditional feminist learns the mores of her society, whether she likes them or not, and she then learns how to succeed beyond them. The modern feminist looks at the same mores of society, folds her arms in the corner and decides that “The world stinks!” In modern feminist arenas, such as those presented in the show Sex in the City and the music of Alanis Morrisette, attempts are made to define the modern female in an anti-male world, by lashing out at their mistreatment by men. In the subtext of their material, they incidentally display an obsession with men that provides the men more power in their lives. They are so obsessed with how men treat them that they end up relegating the power of their moods to men. They also sound inferior to those traditional feminist, individualists that succeed beyond them, and the men that mistreat them.

Just about every book written after 1992 depicts female characters as stronger than men are, smarter than men are, and more independent than men are. I wouldn’t suggest that women are inferior to men, but that doesn’t mean that they don’t do incredibly stupid things too. Numerous studies have suggested that women are just as prone to do stupid things as men are, just as prone to have individuals within their gender that are idiots, and they are just as prone to fall prey to stereotypes and generalities of their gender. Writers cannot depict these truths, however, if they hope to generate sales, develop a following, and receive critical praise. If a writer were to buck the old guard and defy these edicts, they know that that piece they write and any future pieces they dare to write will receive a scarlet letter ‘M’ branding.

The question that I’m sure many readers are asking at this point is if an author knows that women are more sensitive to how fiction portrays them, and the author knows that women buy more books, why would this author purposefully set out to offend them? The point is that unless an author seeks to offend with their material, most authors do not seek offense. The point is that writers, editors, and all of those in the chain of production now have to comb through material to find any sentence that could possibly offend a female, or a critic, if they hope to make a sale. It’s also this idea that authors now have to change every general pronoun we might incorporate into our writing from a “he” to a “she” or to a “he or she”. The current incarnation of Microsoft Word even flags “theys” when we writers use it in the form of a plural generic pronoun, and they offer a “he or she” correction to assure the reader of total gender equality. One can only presume that the use of “they” because it has an ‘H’ and an ‘E’ in the word. As a result, of the inadvertent exclusion or marginalization of women that “they” appropriates, “he or she” is the correct term. Next up, is the word “the”. The correction may entail an (s), as in t(s)he, or a, an, we, etc. In these quarters, it is deemed acceptable to simply supplant he with she, however, for they deem she to be more inclusive.   

I would think that the purveyors of these claims of offense would know that they risk over reaching. If their goal were to garner more respect for women through language, and various fictional characterizations, they would stay within defined borders. They would locate examples of egregious violations, and hold them up as examples of what they declare a violation of modern characterizations based upon those borders. Unfortunately, when arbiters of an offense begin to hold sway, they begin playing king of the mountain, claiming that they can find offense in the most benign vehicles. The result of this is that valid charges of sexism, or misogyny, fall under the same umbrella in as benign offenses, and everyone that attempts to write anything is as misogynist as someone that actually is, until it’s impossible to define the borders, and no one is a misogynist in the pool of popular opinion.     

If a writer wants to write a modern, risky, and challenging piece of social commentary in their fiction that’s fine, as long as it only offends members of group A. Group A in this scenario contains the white male demographic … or is listing them as Group A misogynistic, sexist, and patriarchal? Let’s transpose the words and call them a group to avoid offense. So, let’s say that you can offend a group of people, because those people have generally shown that either they aren’t offended as easily, or if they do get offended that offense doesn’t show up in bottom line sales figures.

The problem is that writers have to have bad guys (correction: hes and shes) to define their good humans and huwomans. Writers, particularly those writing stories, also have to have some sort of conflict between good and evil, so it’s recently become advisable that a writer’s bad homo sapiens be Caucasian males, and that your good homo sapiens be those of a descent other than Caucasian, preferably of the female gender. One preferred good person duo in modern fiction, and movies, is to depict a member of the subfamily of the Homininae, the Hominidae, otherwise known as the Homo Sapiens hominid, be that of the Caucasian persuasion, and a gender that is female, battling alongside a member of the Homo Sapiens of African-American descent against the male Homo Sapien males of Caucasian descent. This will allow writers to have bad hes and shes with no one finding offense in their characterizations, or if they do find some offense, somewhere, it might not show up in bottom line sales figures.

Another problem that we readers have with these very specific, politically correct parameters is the predictability they place on storytelling. We all know by now that when a conflict arises between male characters and females characters, the female character’s rationale will always win out … for current and/or future sales. We all know by now that when a female provides a method through which the two of them can escape conflict, the female’s advice will prove correct, even if she appears to be initially mistaken. We all know by now that the male will eventually realize that his chauvinistic impulses are what landed them in their predicament in the first place, and if he would just listen to the female, he wouldn’t keep running into the scary monster of the story.

We also know that it used to be 180 degrees different. We know that 1950’s era movies depicted the female as a screaming, hysterical child that needed to be slapped occasionally to arrive at a rational state of mind, and that wasn’t right either. I’m sure I would’ve been screaming about the misogynistic parameters the hes and shes forced me to portray back then, but it flipped in the modern era to such a degree that most male writers are afraid of portraying even the smallest transgression against women. It’s tedious is what I’m saying, it’s limiting creative expression, and it’s becoming cliché.

A solution that I propose that we readers develop a universal asterisk that declares that as long as an author generously distributes these flawed, inept, and idiotic characterizations to all genders, races, and religions that we do not permit a friend to declare some sort of offense. I propose that we develop a “Get out of charge free” card for creative writers whose sole intent is to express their definitions of the human being through flawed, stupid, and inconsistent characters, when it can be determined that that author’s intent was to add definition to those characters, so that their readers might better identify with their characters. I know this is a foolish request, however, and I would not risk a career on it. I know that women no longer identify with flaws anymore, when those fictional depictions of flaws concerns a human being that the author suggests might have similar reproductive organs. They only want Lara Croft-type characters, and anything less is something they consider an insult to their gender. The thing is women always tell me that they’re tougher than men are. They tell me that the grit and temerity it takes to get through childbirth and various other events of life, just makes women stronger than a men. Yet, when the most venial depictions of a female character’s flaws lead them to start a letter writing campaign, boycott the author’s work, and to unilaterally dismiss everything a writer has done previous to that venial depiction, it leads me to wonder which gender has the stronger constitution in the long run?

How to Succeed in Writing part IV: Steal your Way!


“Where do your ideas come from?” has to be the dumbest question a reporter/interviewer can ask an author.  If they asked the author where did your idea for this particular novel come from, that might be a question that could yield some interesting results, but if an author were to give an honest answer it might take some of the mystique away from the piece their trying to promote in the interview.  The honest answer, most assuredly, would be that these stories had humble and inconsequential origins.

The more general question is a dumb one, because no writer has a personal vault of ideas from which they draw inspiration.  They’re just making stuff up as they go along like the rest of us.  They’re no different than us, they’ve just focused their energy in one particular area for so long that some ideas popped out. I don’t know what the interviewer expects, but the answer they receive is usually vague and long.  The author usually doesn’t know anymore what to do with the question than the interviewer.

Some authors use the question to mystique their piece up a bit, but most of these mystique oriented answers are as fictional as the writer’s pieces.  Hemingway liked to tell interviewers that he traveled to exotic hotels in Paris, France to write his novels.  It could, quite possibly be true, but I’m thinking that the birth of these novels was a lot more mundane.  I’m thinking that the truth is that his novels were born in dark, dusty basements where he sat alone thinking about all of his adventures.  I’m thinking that most of his grand ideas came from the same place most authors’ ideas come from: long, laborious hours spent doing nothing but writing–only to have some little gem pop its little head out of all of the clutter that he’d written through the years.  He did, after all, say that 99% of what he’d written was wastebasket material.  The truth, that is not as mysterious as most writers want to admit, is that great writing leaks out the cracks of laborious hours spent alone, reading and writing, and crafting, editing, and editing again.  That’s how it’s happened for me, anyway, and I think if you stripped away all of the promotion and mystique writers try to add to their productions, most writers would agree, but writer Austin Kleon doesn’t agree.  He says that all ideas come from other people’s ideas, and if you’re not stealing them now, you probably should be.

Originality is dead, Long Live Creativity

Austin KleonAuthor Austin Kleon has a book out called Steal Like an Artist.  The book declares there is no way to be original anymore.  It’s all been done before, so why is everyone climbing all over themselves trying to be original?  “Get over yourself,” he says, “and this idea that you’re a creative genius, and get busy writing something good.”

Author Christopher Booker’s book “The Seven Basic Plots: Why we Write Stories states that there are only seven basic elements to stories: 1. Overcoming the monster.  2. Rags to Riches.  3. The Quest.  4. Voyage and Return.  5. Comedy.  6. Tragedy.  7. Rebirth.

The Internet Public Library lists seven different types of conflict:  1. Man vs. nature. 2. Man vs. man. 3. Man vs. the environment.  4. Man vs. machines/technology.  5. Man vs. the supernatural.  6. Man vs. self.  7. Man vs. god/religion.   Some have listed addendums to these basic plotlines and conflicts, but the gist is that all of the basic plots and conflicts that can be dreamt up have already been dreamt up hundreds of thousands of times before, dating back to Homer.  Your voice should be in great supply in your novel, of course, but you can stop driving yourself up a wall trying to be brilliantly original.   It’s almost impossible.

Austin Kleon’s method of stealing is to take single words from newspapers or Google.com and use them as idea building blocks.  He chooses a word, at random, and he blocks out the rest.  He then tries to build an idea from a series of these words to try to create an image.  The incredible and Bowieincomparable Thin White Duke, David Bowie, used this method, as did William S. Burroughs.  You can get visuals, and a more thorough explanation, of this method on Kleon’s website in the link below.{1}

Have you ever read a novel, a plotline, or a scene that you thought you could do differently?  Have you ever thought:  “I loved that scene, but I wish they would’ve done this…”  We’re not trying to do the author one better when we do this, we’re just trying to personalize a scene that touched us in some manner, and every author that we steal from should be complimented by our theft.  Their brilliance inspired thought in us after all, and if someone stole from us in this manner, we know we’d feel complimented.  While it’s not important that we avoid our influences in this manner, we should do everything we can to conceal them.  We do want to edit them out as much as possible, so that they might not even be able to spot the influence

Where do my ideas come from?  My favorite brand of fiction involves idiots doing stupid things, and in that regard, I have found that I am a font of inspiration.  My friends also provide me great material, as most of them are as stupid as I am.  We all do stupid things.  TV shows have capitalized on this.  YouTube went from being a video-sharing site to a staple in our daily life based on this principle.  Phillip Roth once considered retiring from fiction with the idea that even his creative mind couldn’t top the non-fiction out there.  We can still write great fiction though, we can steal great fiction, and lift from life.  We just need to see it when it smacks us in the face.

I’ve stolen stories from the water cooler at work, from within the walls of my humble abode, and the bar where I sat trying to escape the walls of my home and the water cooler at work.  They’re dumb stories that no one wants to read.  They’re senseless stories that no one will care about, because they’re so senseless that no one can follow them.  They’re accidental stories, that no one will want to read unless we put enough pluck and circumstance into them to make them illustrative, intelligent, and hilarious stories about human nature and life in America today.

SeinfeldThese little stories are everywhere in life, they’re the minutiae that Larry David and Jerry Seinfeld opened up for the world.  Those two weren’t the first to do this, and they obviously won’t be the last, so we all need to jump on board and tell the world how stupid we are.  Stupid, little stories like “The Leans”{2} are the stories I’m talking about that we ignore in our attempt to write the next The World According to Garp.  There isn’t much to them, and they don’t necessarily feed the ego that writers have of being the next great writer, but there are times in our writing careers where we need to walk softly with our big stick.

You have to feed the female dog if you ever want her to fatten up is what I’m saying.  Creating fictional accounts of what “really” happened (my definition of creative non-fiction) taught me more about storytelling than crafting original stories did.  Crafting original stories is, of course, the goal, but if you can juggle the two you may be on your way to a behemoth.

But how many original ideas strike us in one month?  How many times do we have flurried inspiration that leads us to twenty pages of excellent fiction, and how many of these stories hit the proverbial brick wall after twenty pages?  Aspiring writers need to learn how to hone that muscle that will eventually get struck by lightning.  We need to learn how to flesh out ideas.  Is there a better way to hone that muscle than stealing another author’s idea and making our own, or fleshing out our foibles and our friends’?  If there is, I haven’t found it yet.

I’m all about getting over humps.  I’m all about writing anything and everything that is entertaining.  I don’t believe in writer’s block.  When I hear someone complaining about a block that has slammed down in front of them, my first thought is why don’t you just walk around it?  It’s not like it’s the great block of China or anything that has created a border to completion.  It’s just a block, and there are hundreds of ways around it if you just settle down and look at them for what they are.

{1}http://www.austinkleon.com/2011/09/24/steal-like-an-artist-at-the-economists-human-potential-summit/

{2}https://rilaly.com/2010/01/27/the-leans/

How to Succeed in Writing III: Are you Intelligent Enough to Write a Novel?


I write one page of masterpiece to ninety-one pages of (poor fiction),” –Hemingway confided to F. Scott Fitzgerald in 1934. “I try to put the (poor fiction) in the wastebasket.”

The key to writing great fiction is streamlining your story. Cut the fat! Some of the greatest authors of all time have admitted that the best additions they made to their novel were the parts they deleted. Somewhere along the line, in their writing career, they achieved objectivity. Somewhere along the line, they arrived at the idea that not all of their words were golden. Somewhere along the line, they realized that some of their words, sentences, paragraphs, and even some of their chapters were quite simply self-indulgent, wastebasket material. These self-indulgent portions, or the “ninety-one pages of (poor fiction),” of any novel are usually found in the asides.

But asides are what we enjoy in a novel you say. Asides can provide setting, pace, and drama. Asides can also build suspense and fortify the characteristics of a character, but they can also kill your novel. Most asides are unnecessary in the grand scheme of things. As anyone who has read a novel can attest, most novels could be written in forty pages, but that’s a short story, and short stories don’t sell as well as novels. They don’t sell as well, because readers want involvement. Readers don’t usually want snapshot stories. They want a world. They not only want to know the humans that they are reading about, they want to be involved with them. They want to see them breathe, they want to hear them talk to an employee at a Kwik Shop, and they want to feel the steps these characters take from place to place. They want to know these people, so when something happens to them, they can care about them.  They want to know the minutiae of the human they’re reading about, but they don’t want to get so caught up in the minutiae that they’re taken off pace, and they don’t want to read a self-absorbed writer that thinks it’s all about them.  Cut the fat!  Get to the point already!

“I’ve met a number of intelligent people throughout my life, and I’ve met a number of people I consider brilliant. I’ve met very few that were able to combine the two.” –Unknown.

This desire to be perceived as intelligent is a strong, driving force in all of us. How many stupid and overly analytical things do we say in one day to try to get one person to think that we’re not a total idiot? This desire to prove intelligence is right up there with the drive to be perceived as beautiful and likeable. It’s right up there with the desire to be seen as strong, athletic, independent, and mechanically inclined. We spend our whole lives trying to impress people. Even those that say that they don’t care what others think are trying to impress us with the fact that they don’t care.

In my first era of writing, I wrote a lot of these self-indulgent asides that contributed little to the story. I was a new student to the world of politics, and I was anxious to prove to the world that I was one smart cookie. I also wanted to show that half of the world that disagreed with my politics how wrong they were. So, I put my main character through an incident, and they came out of it enlightened by a political philosophy that agreed with mine. In various other pieces, I wanted to inform the world of all of this great underground music I was experiencing. My thought process at the time was: “Hey, if Stephen King can get away with telling us about tired rockers that we’ve all heard a thousand times. Why can’t I tell a few readers about a group they’ve never heard before?” Copy the masters right?  I wanted the world to know both sides of my brain in the same artistic piece. After taking a step back, and rereading these novels, I achieved enough objectivity to realize that it was all a big ball of mess.

If I was going to clean this mess up and start writing decent stories, I was going to have to divide my desires up.  I was going to have to cut the fat.  I was going to have to discipline myself to the creed that should be recited nightly by all aspiring storytellers: Story is sacred. I was going to have to learn to channel my desire to be perceived as smart into political and philosophical blogs. I was going to have to channel my desires to have people listen to my “discovered” music into Amazon.com reviews, and my stories, my novels, and my short stories would be left pure, untarnished stories with no agendas.  By dividing these desires up, I would be able to proselytize on the role of the Puggle in our society today, and the absolute beauty of Mr. Bungle’s music, without damaging my stories or boring the readers of my stories. I learned the principle the esteemed rock band Offspring tried to teach the world when they sang: “You gotta keep ‘em separated.”

There’s one writer, he-who-must-not-be-named, that never learned this principle. This author presumably got tired of being seen as just a storyteller. This author knew he was intelligent, and all of his friends and family knew he was intelligent, but the world didn’t know. The world only knew that he was a gifted storyteller, and they proved this by purchasing his books by the millions, but they didn’t know that he was so much more. This author achieved as much in the industry, if not more, as any other writer alive or dead (It’s Not King!), but he remained unsatisfied with that status. He needed the world to know that he wasn’t just a master of fiction. He needed the world to know he was as intelligent as he was brilliant, and he wrote the book that he hoped would prove it. It resulted in him ticking off 50% of his audience. 50% of his audience disagreed with him, and his politics, and they (we!) vowed to never read another one of his novels again. This is the risk you run when you seek to be perceived as intelligent and brilliant in the same work.

thomas-mannBut politics makes for such great filler, and to quote the great Thomas Mann: “Everything is political.” Well, there’s politics, and then there’s politics. If you’re one of those that doesn’t know the difference, and you don’t think your politics is politics, you should probably be writing something political. If you’re one of those who wants to write politics into your novel simply because it makes for such great filler, however, then you should try to avoid the self-indulgent conceit that ticks off that half of the population that disagrees with your politics. You’ll anger some with this, you’ll bore others, and the rest of us won’t care that you think it’s vital that your main character expresses something in some way that validates your way of thinking. We will just think it’s boring proselytizing from an insecure writer who needs validation from their peers. Stick to the story, we will scream, as we skip those passages or put your book down to never read anything you’ve ever written again.

You will need to be somewhat intelligent though. You’ll need enough to know your punctuation and grammar rules, you will need to know when and where to make paragraph breaks, and you will need to know how to edit your story for pace, but these aspects of storytelling can be learned.

“I am not adept at using punctuation and/or grammar in general…” A caller to a radio show once informed author Clive Barker. She said that she enjoyed writing, but it was the mechanics of writing that prevented her from delving into it whole hog. “Are you a clever story teller?” Clive asked her. “Do you enjoy telling stories, and do you entertain your friends with your tales?” The woman said yes to all of the above. “Well, you can learn the mechanics, and I encourage you to do so, but you cannot learn the art of storytelling. This ability to tell a story is, largely, a gift. Either you have it or you don’t.”

Be brilliant first, in other words, and if you can achieve brilliance, you can learn the rest. You can gain the intelligence necessary to get a thumbs up from a publisher, an agent, and eventually a reader, but you cannot learn brilliance. You cannot gain artistic creativity, and it’s hard enough to prove artistic brilliance. Why would you want to further burden yourself by going overboard in trying to also prove intelligence, and thus be everything to all people?

Let the people see how brilliant you are first! Gain a following. Once you have achieved that pied piper Wildeplateau, you can then attempt to display your intelligence. The preferred method of achieving all of your goals is to ‘keep ‘em separated’, but there are always going to be some who need to prove their intelligence and brilliance in the same Great American Novel. Those people are going to say Stephen King is a much better example to follow to the best-seller list than I am, and he achieved his plateau with a little bit of this and a little bit of that sprinkled in his prose. The question you have to ask yourself is, is he the rule or the exception to the rule? If Stephen King’s model is your preferred model, and these political and music parts are so germane, so golden, and so uniquely special to your story, keep them in.  As Oscar Wilde says, “You might as well be yourself, everyone else is taken.”

How to Succeed in Writing Part II: The Search for the Great Story


Being Entertaining is More Important Than Being Honest

Do you have a great story to tell? Is it good? Is it great? Do your friends find your stories mildly amusing, somewhat clever, a little sad, and really good in parts, or do they find them great? Most aspiring writers don’t write great stories right out of the gate, and aspiring writers are a dime a dozen. Great stories litter our libraries and bookstores. Do you have a great story to tell? Most people do. There’s nothing special about you, or your “great American” story, not yet.

“I hear you want to be a writer,” a friend of mine said. “One thing about young writers (which I was at the time) is that they have not accumulated interesting stories. I don’t mean to be insulting, but at your age you just haven’t lived enough life to have interesting stories.” After a back and forth in which he asked me to tell him one of my stories, he offered me his own. His story was “part John Grisham and part Ludlum”. The story was not as great as he thought, but the two points he made about material stuck with me.  

The first was his point that the continental divide between great writers and great storytellers is entertaining material. A writer can craft a fine tale, but if it’s not entertaining, it may not make it past the sites that adore a great story. The second point he made, perhaps incidentally, was that there’s nothing wrong with embellishing, if it makes the story better.

But you are a great writer with excellent material. Your Aunt Clara told you so. You have a gift for storytelling that crushes those around you. You get reactions and laughter that others don’t and amazement is directed at your storytelling aptitude. The only problem is you may have enough material to entertain your Aunt Clara, because she knows you and she knows the characters in your life, but you don’t have the type of material that will entertain a wider audience. That’s a problem, but it’s a problem that has haunted storytellers all across the spectrum from the aspiring storyteller to the legend.

It is a fact of life though that some of us are just better at telling stories than others. It’s a fact of life similar to the fact that some people have natural gifts that lead them to be better at basketball and football than others. Some would say that the ability to tell a story is a gift, but I’m more inclined to believe that some people just enjoy it more, and when one enjoys something more, they work harder at it. The fascinated storyteller studies it, finesses it, and learns from those around them who do it better. Even in its most primitive form, such as the sharing of memories with friends and relatives, some of us learn how to tell a story better than others, because we want to tell a story better. We mimic those that tell stories better than us, and we correct the mistakes we see in others’ attempts.

One thing I learned, through the course of my life, was to trim the fat. I used to believe that my audience needed all of the details to appreciate a story. I then learned that all of those details harmed the most crucial element of storytelling, pace. Pace is crucial for we must treat our audience as if they have a five-year-old’s attention span. Storytellers then learn, through trial and error, that if we focus on pace too much, we leave crucial nuggets out. Achieving the hybrid involved a never-ending learning process.

Before entering into these stories we tell our relatives and friends, however, we must make time for the obligatory kid and pet stories. It never ceases to amaze me that when a room full of highly-evolved, well-educated adults gather they spend so much time obsessing over pets and children. When we’re done obsessing over our kids and pets, we share memories. It’s in these moments that a true storyteller is separated from those who struggle with  details, timing, the proper emphasis, and the number of syllables to use to  punctuate a punch line. It’s in these moments that we learn the art of presentation.

Lan 1283On the art of presentation, comedian Steve Martin once compared comedy to  music: “There is a harmony to comedy,” he said, “in that three beats are always funnier than two and four beats is a bit too much.” Only someone that gets off on telling stories, and trying to make people laugh, would focus on the minutiae of presentation so much that he focuses on beats. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve changed a word, a phrase, or a paragraph to get the rhythm right, or the beat down. I can’t tell you how often I’ve changed an infinitive in a sentence because the alternative just didn’t feel right to the harmony of a paragraph. It’s that attention to detail, that Martin alluded to, that makes storytelling an art form we all enjoy so much.

Once we gain a feel for presentation, and all of the related and inter-related minutiae, the next question is how do we come up with that material that reaches that wider audience and eventually lands you on the best-seller list? Having never achieved the best-seller list, I must admit I have only one super secret, decoder ring answer to all that: hard work. Unless you find a genie in a bottle, or steal an idea from someone else, I can think of no better way to give birth to an idea than through writing a ton of material.

Creative Writing teachers say, “write what you know”, and that is an essential activity in getting us to point A. How many of us have written those “What I did on my summer vacation” stories for our English Composition teachers? How many of those of us who wanted to write the next Crime and Punishment considered these exercises pointless? “Get me to the meat!” we mentally scream. I want it all, and I want it now! Those exercises weren’t entirely pointless, however, they got us thinking, writing, and spring boarding to that something something we considered magic.

That springboard launched those of us that wanted it to take that pointless exercise to the idea that we could write something fantastic … if we honed that artistic muscle in our brain. If we wanted that something fantastic, we learned that the best way to springboard to it was to read some of the masters that sprang from their own springboards. If we wanted it bad enough, we learned that the best way to achieve it was to launch ourselves into more writing and reading, and even more writing and more reading, until we eventually and accidentally landed upon an idea. Some of us took that little springboard to greater heights and more material, and others considered it a pointless exercise required by a teacher who knew as much about achieving the best-seller list that we did.

This leads us to one of the most vital questions all fiction writers must ask themselves: “Will anyone care what I write?” The immediate answer to this question is no. Unless you’re already famous, people won’t care what you think, what happened in your daily life, or if you have a propensity for catching colds that your mom says is epic in proportions.

BullFrom  Ron Shelton’s script for Bull Durham:

“Your  shower shoes have fungus on them. You’ll never make it to the bigs (major  leagues in baseball) with fungus on your shower shoes. Think classy, you’ll be classy. Win 20 in the show, you can let the fungus grow back and the press’ll think you’re colorful. Until you win 20 in the show, however, it only means you are a slob.”

Until you get famous, and those who care about celebrities care about you, you’ll be a slob, until then you’ll need to write something that someone cares about. Nobody cares that your friend has a propensity for lying, for example, unless that characteristic can be added to one of your characters to make them more colorful. Nobody cares that your aunt is ultra-sensitive, even though everything she has in life has been given to her on a silver platter, unless you can infuse that characteristic into a character in a manner that is entertaining to a greater audience. Nobody cares, unless you can translate these characteristics in such a manner that reminds us of our lying friend, or our hyper-sensitive  aunt. Or, if you can’t make this crossover, then you must make that character so damned entertaining that we won’t care when we can’t relate.

SOLZHENITSYN“The key to convincing another person of your point of view,” Philosopher Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn once said. “Is to make them believe that they arrived at that answer themselves.”

Convincing someone that they’ve reached your point before you do, is called manipulation in the writer’s lexicon. When most people see the word manipulation, they think evil. They think of a totalitarian leader manipulating their citizens to think a certain way, but a writer can use their powers of manipulation for good, if they do it right.

How many of us have laughed at a funny book, cried during a dramatic one, or were scared by a horrific story? When a reader experiences emotions, after reading a series of words on a page, they were manipulated by the author. If a reader prefers to think of it in other terms, that is their option, but the vein remains the same. The reader was made to care about the central character in ways they considered endemic to the reader, when in all actuality it was the author’s skill to be universal that led them to that point. The author carefully crafted a visual portrait picture that trapped the reader into caring.

It’s the job of the writer to manipulate the reader into believing that they care. It’s the writer’s job to create an environment through which a reader is willing to suspend disbelief.

“If a writer can infuse a human interest and a semblance of truth into a fantastic tale,” Samuel Taylor Coleridge suggested. “The reader would suspend judgment concerning the implausibility of the narrative.”

In other words, an author could be the oddest, smartest, most sensitive storyteller that their friends have ever seen, but the reader don’t know them, and the reader won’t care about the author, or their wacky takes on life, until the reader can relate to the wacky world the author is in charge of creating.

This leads us to the next question: What kind of liar are you? When you were younger did your relatives and friends constantly accuse you of fudging the truth? If that’s the case, you may be a writer. Did they question everything you said, based upon your history of exaggeration and fabrication? If they did, you may be a writer. Were you so good at lying that they were willing to suspend disbelief for a moment, because some part of them wanted to believe your story? If that happened to you, you may be a writer. If you’re a born liar that needs some venue for channeling that inclination to exaggerate your truth to entertain those around you, welcome to the world of words. You can let your freak flag fly here, and we’ll welcome you with open arms. You can be crafty in our world. You can lie, embellish, and exaggerate to entertain. In the world of storytelling, story is sacred, as is the art of being true, even if the writer is being truer than true.

“The hardest thing is to make something really true and sometimes truer than true.” –Ernest Hemingway on symbolism.

“All good books are alike in that they are truer than if they had really happened and after you are finished reading one you will feel that all that happened to you and afterwards it all belongs to you; the good and the bad, the ecstasy, the remorse and sorrow, the people and the places and how the weather was.” 

When writing nonfiction, we hover over a fault line of true versus truer than true, and we should always side with true. For in most cases, nonfiction is far more entertaining than fiction. It’s a feel that the author shares with the reader, a seam that will tear with wild exaggeration. We need to be careful, in other words, to avoid some exaggerations we find entertaining, because the definition is entertainment is subjective. This is where the manipulative skill of the writer comes into play, for if the author can help the reader define subjectivity, they can both enjoy some exaggerations that prove truer than true for the purpose of entertainment.      

It takes a very steady hand, but those who have written as many stories as I have know what I’m talking about. The art of being true, without necessarily telling the truth, can be found in the art of creating creative non-fiction. If the author is true to the character, the pace, the layout, etc., a fudging of the details will be forgiven if, and I want that word italicized and emboldened, if the story is entertaining.

Being entertaining is far more important than being honest in our world. An author might have interesting stories that have occurred in their life, and they may be worth telling, but they may not be great without some lies, exaggeration, and embellishment. And we won’t care about any of that as long as the author doesn’t swear all the details are 100% true, because we want a great story, and we want to be entertained.

This search for the great and entertaining story has even plagued the masters. The young Ernest Hemingway couldn’t come up with a decent story for his first novel, so he decided to document his life in Paris, in his first novel The Sun Also Rises. How much of that book was actually based on fact is difficult to know. Was he merely documenting what took place, or was he engaged in creative non-fiction. Whatever the case was, he used it as a springboard for a career that many would say contained some of our finest novels. Hemingway would eventually reach a point where he could no longer come up with great stories, and some have suggested that this search was one of the contributing factors in his decision to take his own life. Before this tragic event occurred though, Hemingway said: “Everyone has one great story in them.  The trick is to have two.” An aspiring author can find that one great story that they have in them, but it’s going to take a lot of writing, and a lot of reading to eventually and accidentally make it happen.

How to Succeed in Writing part I: Answering Leonardo Da Vinci’s Questions


I would love to tell you that you have a lot to learn from me if you want to be a successful writer in one regard: I’ve never quit.  I would love to tell you that my passion for all forms of writing has overwhelmed all of the potholes I’ve run across in the road, and that I’ve always stood strong in the face of those negatives in order that I would one day become a successful writer.

Robert Hayes sweating in AirplaneI would love to have you picture me in a Gatorade commercial that depicts me writing with colored beads of sweat pouring down my face as a voiceover says: “Rilaly says never say die!”  I look to the camera at that point.  I look mean, I look mad, and I look driven. “Quit?  The word is not even in my vocabulary!” I would say with a look of disgust for you for even asking a question you haven’t asked, “I haven’t even quit smoking!”  I would love to present that image to you, but it’s not true.  I have quit.  I’ve quit more times than I care to discuss.

I’ve grown tired of writing fiction, and I’ve felt more dejected trying to succeed in this field than I have in any other areas of my life, including my dating life.  I’ve gone through bouts of insecurity that double those I’ve endured in any other areas of my life, and I’ve worked in numerous fast-paced, hyper-critical jobs.  If you ever met me, you would know that I’m a relatively confident guy, and I love my life.  Writing novels, short fiction, creative non-fiction, political blogs, and little entertaining, philosophical vignettes has made me happier, more miserable, more disgusted, more vulnerable to the smallest criticism, and more proud of myself than anything else I’ve tried in my life thus far.

If that’s the case you say, then why should I try it?  Why do I need the headache or heartache?  Why would I even entertain the idea of writing a novel?  How do I know if I’m good enough to even start?    I’ve never done anything like this before.  The very prospect of starting down such a road is a little scary to me.  Scary, you say, and a little exciting at the same time.

writing is hardWriting a novel is hard, don’t let anyone kid you.  I’ve written four novels, and three short story collections, and just about every one of them has been difficult to complete.  Very few of them have flowed so well that I thought I made it look easy.  George Kennedy star of Naked Gun, Cool Hand Luke, and over 200 films and television productions, wrote one book in 1983.  After writing this novel, called “Murder on Location”, Kennedy said it was the hardest thing he ever did.  “I do not envy those people who do it for a living,” he said.  “It’s the most trying thing I’ve ever done.”

Just because it’s hard, and just because it may be one of the most trying accomplishments you’ve ever attempted, does not mean it can’t be done.  The rewards for completion are satisfying, enriching, and in many ways therapeutic.  With that said, only you can know if this is the field for you.  Only you!  Only you can answer the mandatory questions that need to be asked in a manner that lets you know that you are a writer.

Leonardo da Vinci had a belief that the only method through which one could answer a question is by asking questions.  That may seem so obvious it’s laughable, but he asked himself hundreds of little questions on every project he pursued.  His goal was objectivity.  He wanted to look at every project from every angle he could imagine to see if he could enhance his view of the project or find it pointless to pursue.  Some of these questions were harsh, some were leading, and others seemed to have no pertinence at all, until he asked them and tried to answer them.  You cannot worry about hurting your feelings when you ask yourself these questions.  You cannot worry if these questions change your opinion of yourself one hundred and eighty degrees.  The questions must be asked.

Most of us ask ourselves questions all the time, but how probing are these questions?  Most of these questions reveal that we have little objectivity about ourselves.  Most of the questions we ask ourselves are leading questions.  Most of us ask ourselves the questions we enjoy answering.  “Do I really need to eat another piece of pie?”  Why, yes I do.  I need those endorphins racing around in my brain like they did on the first slice.  That was nirvana!  “I deserve a second slice.  I’ve been good!”  Then we eat that piece and realize it wasn’t nearly as rewarding as we thought it would be.  Then we pay the price in sluggishness from the sugar lows, in weight gain and its subsequent effect on our appearance, and we’re a little frustrated that we didn’t display more will power.  We know now that we obviously didn’t ask ourselves the right questions.

In the coming weeks, we will be asking you the questions about yourself that you may not want to ask about becoming a writer.  These questions may be a little harsh.  We may ask you to ask yourself some questions you don’t want to answer.  If you really want to become a writer, however, you will need to ask them.