The secret to writing fiction
"You only learn to be a better writer by writing. I don't know much about creative writing programs. But they're not telling the truth if they don't teach, one, that writing is hard work and, two, that you have to give up a great deal of life, your personal life, to be a writer." ~Doris Lessing
Every so often (okay, just about every day) I have this little crisis of faith with regards to writing. What am I doing, is this any good, why didn't I go to law school like my dad wanted. I ask myself: are you happy doing this? The answer is yes, most of the time. I love writing poems and in my journal and these rambling blog posts that mean nothing. Fiction? Fiction is different. Fiction, to me, is like a sleight of hand that I haven't yet perfected. When I'm writing here or in my journal, the only person I have to convince is myself. With fiction, the trick is to convince everyone else.
I came to writing late. At 24, most of my writing experience was limited to what my college courses required. I could write a pretty decent critical essay for English Lit but I had no experience with "creative writing". Then, one day, completely on a whim I said, "I know, I'll write a poem." So I did and yes, it was terrible. But the next day, I wrote another one and the day after that, and so on. Then, I thought, "I know, I'll write a novel." So I started writing it. It was a totally cliched idea that I won't even share with you here for fear of being laughed out of the blogosphere but you get the picture. I had no idea what I was doing but how hard could it be?
Fast forward a bit. I'm still writing, although not every day. At this point, writing's kind of like a hobby, this little thing I do when the mood hits. I'm still working on the "novel" and in the meantime, I get an idea for a short story. I write it, I revise it, I send it out, and....of course, it is soundly rejected. At the time, I thought it was the end of the world but now I can see all the flaws that I was blind to then.
A year goes by. I'm getting bored with the first thing I started and so I get another idea, a this-is-going-to-be-an-instant-bestseller idea. I start writing. I write some more. This one ends up on the shelf with the other one, abandoned and half-finished. Of course it stinks just as bad but I can't really see that yet. I write some more poems. These are marginally better than those first ones. Another year goes by.
Most of 2004 passes with me writing in spurts, here and there. I get bored with something and start something else. I end up with a huge pile of unfinished, undeveloped junk. I submit some of my poems, which I consider to be earthshakingly brilliant, and am rejected, again. In December of 2004, I write a short story in three days, with no clue what I'm doing. I submit it to a contest. Seven months later, I find out I win. In September 2005, I officially become a Published Author. I don't write much else for the rest of the year.
Skip to 2006. I tell myself that this year, it will be different. I will write poems and stories and a novel. I will work at it every day. I will devote myself to writing. It will become my sacred cow. So, how's all that working out for me, you ask? Well....
When I first started writing, I didn't realize the amount of practice, effort, and skill that it required. I went into it without really knowing what I wanted to say or how I wanted to say it. I wrote things that were amateurish, lacking depth. I didn't take writing seriously, I hadn't developed a passion for it. I didn't realize that it is an art and like any art, it takes time and energy and yes, talent.
I know that at 27, I'm getting started late. I know that there are younger writers out there who are doing it way better than me. I know that I need a lot more practice, maybe years of practice, before I'll be any good. I know that in the end, I may never get good at it. I know that I could quit and no one would be hurt by it except maybe myself. I know that I still have a lot to learn.
The secret to writing fiction? That's one I haven't figured out yet. But I'm working on it.
Every so often (okay, just about every day) I have this little crisis of faith with regards to writing. What am I doing, is this any good, why didn't I go to law school like my dad wanted. I ask myself: are you happy doing this? The answer is yes, most of the time. I love writing poems and in my journal and these rambling blog posts that mean nothing. Fiction? Fiction is different. Fiction, to me, is like a sleight of hand that I haven't yet perfected. When I'm writing here or in my journal, the only person I have to convince is myself. With fiction, the trick is to convince everyone else.
I came to writing late. At 24, most of my writing experience was limited to what my college courses required. I could write a pretty decent critical essay for English Lit but I had no experience with "creative writing". Then, one day, completely on a whim I said, "I know, I'll write a poem." So I did and yes, it was terrible. But the next day, I wrote another one and the day after that, and so on. Then, I thought, "I know, I'll write a novel." So I started writing it. It was a totally cliched idea that I won't even share with you here for fear of being laughed out of the blogosphere but you get the picture. I had no idea what I was doing but how hard could it be?
Fast forward a bit. I'm still writing, although not every day. At this point, writing's kind of like a hobby, this little thing I do when the mood hits. I'm still working on the "novel" and in the meantime, I get an idea for a short story. I write it, I revise it, I send it out, and....of course, it is soundly rejected. At the time, I thought it was the end of the world but now I can see all the flaws that I was blind to then.
A year goes by. I'm getting bored with the first thing I started and so I get another idea, a this-is-going-to-be-an-instant-bestseller idea. I start writing. I write some more. This one ends up on the shelf with the other one, abandoned and half-finished. Of course it stinks just as bad but I can't really see that yet. I write some more poems. These are marginally better than those first ones. Another year goes by.
Most of 2004 passes with me writing in spurts, here and there. I get bored with something and start something else. I end up with a huge pile of unfinished, undeveloped junk. I submit some of my poems, which I consider to be earthshakingly brilliant, and am rejected, again. In December of 2004, I write a short story in three days, with no clue what I'm doing. I submit it to a contest. Seven months later, I find out I win. In September 2005, I officially become a Published Author. I don't write much else for the rest of the year.
Skip to 2006. I tell myself that this year, it will be different. I will write poems and stories and a novel. I will work at it every day. I will devote myself to writing. It will become my sacred cow. So, how's all that working out for me, you ask? Well....
When I first started writing, I didn't realize the amount of practice, effort, and skill that it required. I went into it without really knowing what I wanted to say or how I wanted to say it. I wrote things that were amateurish, lacking depth. I didn't take writing seriously, I hadn't developed a passion for it. I didn't realize that it is an art and like any art, it takes time and energy and yes, talent.
I know that at 27, I'm getting started late. I know that there are younger writers out there who are doing it way better than me. I know that I need a lot more practice, maybe years of practice, before I'll be any good. I know that in the end, I may never get good at it. I know that I could quit and no one would be hurt by it except maybe myself. I know that I still have a lot to learn.
The secret to writing fiction? That's one I haven't figured out yet. But I'm working on it.
posted by writingblind at 7:36 PM
13 Voiced Concerns
