Writing “Right”: Is There One Way?

Once, at a convention, I heard one famous author comment on another’s writing style. The second author wrote more material than ever made it into her books; the first author (a fan of the second) commented that the she would put out more material if she wrote his way, which was more efficient. My immediate thought was, “Yes, but quite possibly her books wouldn’t be nearly as good.”

I’ve done my fair share of workshopping, since I was fourteen years old. I’ve taken college workshop classes, even tried an online workshop. Some of these have been very good experiences and some of them have been very bad. I’m currently in one which has been helping me write what I want to write to the best of my ability. What characterizes the less helpful ones is the insistence that all the aspiring writers follow a particular pattern of writing. That pattern varies depending on who is leading the workshop, but the message is the same: “Write like I write.”

What the bad experiences have taught me is that some writers, especially if they are successful, are convinced that their way is the best and most perfect way to write. I’m not quite sure why; I, for instance, enjoy a wide variety of writing, and would not care for it if every author I liked were identical. It’s that diversity, that range of ways in which different writers see the world, that I enjoy. Whereas it’s true that I primarily read fantasy (with the occasional science fiction or mystery or classic thrown in), the books I choose to read within the genre vary widely: high fantasy, urban fantasy, children’s and young adult fantasy, dark fantasy, cross-genre fantasy, Idon’tknowhowtoclassifythisbutIlikeit fantasy. I occasionally go on binges of re-reading all the books by a favorite author, but I find something interesting happens if there are too many of them; I start to top out, and find myself wanting to go and read something else. Something different.

And that’s the heart of the question. Would I really want all my favorite authors to write alike? And if I don’t, what does that say about the writing process?

Because authors don’t arrive at their own unique voice by slavishly following a rule. They don’t develop a style by copying someone else. Whether their prose sings with the beauty of language, or the wording is quiet and works to get out of the way of the imagery, or whether it is short and sweet and to the point, conjuring imagery in the reader’s head, all of these authors have something paradoxically in common: the use of their own individual voice. When a reader finds a voice that speaks to them, they have found a new favorite author. But reading the works of only one author is a little like listening only to the music of one band; at some point it will probably get tedious, no matter how much you love it.

I don’t say that writers who are insistent on their own style are totally useless. I’ve learned quite a bit from those who do; mostly technical things, but things that are very valuable. One of the most important may be, “If you break a rule, know what rule you’re breaking and do it with intent.” But the question of what are “rules” and what are guidelines is more than a little nebulous, depending on who is insisting on the “rules”.

It’s not reasonable to assume that if a writer is a unique person, has a unique style, and has unique things to say, that they will produce unique works by using the same writing process as everyone else.

For instance, there is a “National Novel Writing Month” where writers are encouraged to produce at least 50,000 words toward a novel they want to work on. I think this is a great motivator for some. Working in a sort of solidarity with other writers can be a strong driver for getting serious writing done. For a lot of people, not for me. My output is usually a steady 12,500 to 15,000 words per month. At my most productive time in my entire life, I was producing about 25,000 words per month. Great, you may say: why not pump up the output and do twice that? But the thing is, I have tried writing furiously and putting out a massive amount of work. What actually happens to me when I do this, is that I get a lot written and then have a counter-reaction where I can’t write a word for a long period of time afterward. What works much better for me is to write a specific amount per day (I can write more if I am feeling really inspired, but often don’t). This is sustainable for me, and I can do it 6-7 days per week without burning out. Nanowrimo works wonderfully for some, but not for me.

One of the reasons that a steady pace works well, is that I do struggle with depression, and it can be very hard to even want to write. If I have a well-known, well-gauged amount that I know I am writing, I can get something on the page; even if I am so uninspired I have absolutely nothing in my mind, I can still put down a number of words on the page. They can be awful: I’ll revise them. For me, it’s the act of writing in the first place that pulls my creativity free, that enables me to reach that place of inspiration and fluid words. Even in the midst of depression, I can tell myself, “Just 500 words, and you’re done for the day”. And those 500 words, done consistently, add up pretty fast. I can’t write a novel a month, but I can write one a year.

This does not mean that everyone with depression should write this way. Again, it depends on one’s particular issues, and particular mind and even brain chemistry. For me, this is the most productive possible strategy. For others it would simply not work.

A by-product of my strategy is that I sometimes forget what I wrote two weeks ago and repeat or alter something. That’s not a major problem, however; that’s something I can fix in revision. A more common occurrence for me is that – like the author I mentioned at the beginning – I write more than I need for a lot of scenes. On more than one occasion, this has been because I was uninspired and in order to get myself moving, I researched the details about something, added too many of them, and then had to trim them back. This is how three pages of herb sorting became one paragraph in revision, and two pages of sword-sharpening became a few sentences. I don’t feel as if this is wasted effort, because it both got me actually writing, and because even in the revised version, I have a much more believable scene. I could not have written either scene the way I did, had I tried to compact it in the original version.

So what is the takeaway? Don’t listen to anyone else’s views of your work, but simply write what you feel comfortable with? Not really. I think it’s tremendously important to listen to others, even when what they have to say isn’t comfortable, weigh their words objectively, and decide if what they have to say is valuable. But sometimes you have to stand by your own work. Learning when that is appropriate is part of the writing process.

But next time someone, even someone famous, tells you that you must write like them, consider: is that the work you want to write? If not, then it’s not the right path for you.