U is for Unicorns

Am I the only person who hasn't read the Steig Larsson trilogy?  I haven't because I've heard they're extremely violent, and I don't like reading violence.  But my avoidance doesn't seem to have made much of a dent in their popularity.  I've not read much misery lit either, or science fiction, and even in genres I do read I have big gaps.  

One writer I like reading is Anne Tyler.  My least favourite book of hers is Breathing Lessons.  It won the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction in 1989, so obviously they didn't feel the same as me.  

I once brought into class the opening scene to Ian McEwan's Enduring Love, as an example of writing a compelling suspense-filled beginning.  Most people agreed but it wasn't a 100% success - one person said they'd got fed up with all the hinting and would have stopped reading.  

Three examples where different people have different reactions to books.  All the books have been hugely successful, all have their detractors.  The book that everyone loves is as rare as...well, a unicorn.  

So feedback has to be taken with a pinch of salt, as does any prescription or formula for writing.  There isn't some perfect standard that we're all aiming for, a universal book.  There is only the best book that you can write at this time (which may be quite different from the book that you write next year, or the year after that).  

T is for Totalitarianism

I often begin classes by announcing that they are not democracies but dictatorships: my personal fiefdom. It's meant to be a joke (and does usually get a rather nervous laugh) but it's also a truth. What I teach is about writing as I see it. What I say goes.

The trouble is, I might be wrong.

I don't think I'm wrong for me - though I hope I'm always open to new ideas - but I'm certainly wrong for some people some of the time. For others, I'm wrong all of the time. That's just the way it is. For every writer who plans, there's another who doesn't, and another who does some of the time, and then there are those who are just muddling through writing ideas on scraps of paper. There really isn't a right, or a wrong way to write, just your way.

But there are people around for whom a totalitarian approach isn't a jokey comment at the beginning of a class. They tell you what you should do in no uncertain terms. Do this, do that - and if it doesn't work for you, then you have a problem because it works for me and I'm published and you're not.

Well, phooey.

All I - or any other writer/teacher - can do is make suggestions for things that have worked for us, and we might know have worked for others, and hope it works for you. It seems to me it's always worth having a bash and seeing what happens because it's no big deal if one method doesn't work; there's always another to try. I'm perfectly happy when a student says "I tried to to what you recommended, but it didn't work, so I followed what someone else said and that was brilliant".* I want people to enjoy their writing, and how they get there isn't about me, it's about them.

Anyway, that's enough for me for the time being. I'm taking a break over Christmas and might come back next week and finish off the alphabet, but certainly normal service will be restored after New Year. Happy Christmas everyone, and here's to a great writing year in 2012!

*Actually, not being a saint, I'm not 100% happy, it's b****y annoying and don't ever, ever do it to me - OK? Or it's time in the gulags for you.

Perfectionism is the Enemy

When I had just started secondary school one of the English teachers - the cool one under thirty who wore mini-skirts and who we all wanted to impress - set this essay title: If a thing's worth doing, it's worth doing badly. I didn't understand what it meant, so when I got home I asked my mother. She snorted. Ridiculous! They've got it wrong - if a thing's worth doing, it's worth doing well. This was what I expected her to say, having been told off enough times for my poor standards regarding the washing up and tidying my bedroom.* Confused, I chose a different essay title.

But the original title bothered me. What could it mean? I didn't work it out until much, much later when I started to see people not even try, in case they failed. I'd encourage them to send their work to creative writing competitions or out to agents, only to have them demur and say things like: it's not ready yet. I spoke to a student recently who was frozen. Complete writer's block. She couldn't write in case what she wrote wasn't perfect.

But the first wonderful thing about creative writing is that there is no such thing as a perfect piece of writing. You can't fail, because there is no absolute standard of perfection. Everybody's had the experience of being recommended to read a book, only to discover it leaves them cold. For example, I love the opening to Captain Corelli's Mandolin, but I know it puts other people off. And The Da Vinci Code wasn't a page turner for me, more a yawn maker.

So write. Write what you like. Write lots. Try this, try that. Throw away what you don't like, keep what you do. If you've got something you want to say, say it, and stuff the way it's written. Give yourself permission to write badly. And if you're aspiring to get published (and not everyone is) then send it out when you've got to the point of tinkering round the edges. Don't wait until it's perfect, because it never will be. Write, write, then write some more. If writing's worth doing, it's worth doing badly. Apart from anything else, the second wonderful thing about creative writing is you can always go back and edit.

*I gave up on domesticity early on, totally discouraged by failing against my mother's high standards. With my own children, I praised any domestic attempts to the sky, hoping to encourage them. It failed. They do as little domestically as I did. I don't know if this proves anything apart from no one wants to do the washing up.