Writing Advice: The Art, The Craft, The Cons

Sometimes the best advice is not to take it. Except this. Take this advice.

Photo credit: Virtual Typewriter Museum

As part of what I think my job is here, I sometimes wander around the internets checking out the many sites that offer writing advice. There are good ones—a lot of good ones written by excellent writers who have been there—but then there are those that are bad. They’re the ones written by people who have no right to call themselves writers. They’re marketers, they’re ‘content’ pushers, they’re con artists looking to make a buck off of the yokels.

Too much of today’s writing advice is a con. When they’re not focused on marketing (putting the cart before the horse), they’re pawning off lazy repeats of olden day writing basics, and they’re charging for it.

What could be new that isn’t already out there? What could we tell new writers today that hasn’t always been true—other than showing them the mechanics of modern-day, online publishing? The mechanics are valid lessons. Creatives who want a future at this won’t get anywhere today without mastering at least the basics of how to physically produce a piece and how to promote/market it in the internet age.

But here at Writer Everlasting I want to focus on the writing itself. You and I know we get better at writing by writing. How we say stuff is what separates us from everyone else. Once we’ve found our voice nobody else can lay claim to it. It’s ours. It’s our signature.

It’s the one thing I would want to get across to new writers: be yourself, right from the start. If you’re sure you have something to say—and you can sustain it—do it your way. (Note: There are always those gems you can pluck out of good writers’ words. You’ll know then by how they hit you in the gut.)

It crushes me to see wannabe writers as victims—and I see tons of them out there. They want more than anything to get to a point where writing pays the bills, and they don’t want it to take long. They’re ripe for the picking.

It seems to them there are a whole lot of writers no better at it than they are who are making it, so what’s the magic door-opener? There has to be a key—something they’re missing that every successful writer must know about.

And they go looking in all the wrong places, often shelling out big bucks for what this time might just be the magic bullet, the golden ring, the exact thing they’re going to need...

I’ve written about this before:

If you go to Amazon and type in “books on writing”, as I did today, you’ll find over 60,000 of them. That’s just books. That’s not magazines, conferences, courses, seminars, or webinars. That’s not individual coaching, for-profit editing, or the bazillions of internet articles, often paywalled, on how to be a better writer.

I’ve written a few of those how-tos myself. In fact, and you’ll find some of them here. But I’m frustrated by the lie that anyone can become a writer without actually sitting down and writing until the hours turn into days, then into weeks, then into months, then into years. There are no easy shortcuts, no magic elixirs, no honest way to become a writer without the required apprenticeship.

I feel the need to keep repeating that.

Just do the writing. Learn to write so uniquely people will want to read every word.

Learn to write uniquely. It’s the logical, necessary first step in order to lift us from the crowd. And it takes the most practice.

Think of it: there is no other art or craft that suggests ‘anyone can do it’ without an apprenticeship—that period when you know your limitations and you expect it’ll take hard work and lots and lots of time.

No potter looks at that first lump of clay and says, “Oh, I get it…”

No visual artist wakes up and says, “I think I’ll be a painter. How hard could it be? A few tubes of paint, a canvas, a couple of brushes…”

No musician watches a video and says, “Everybody’s playing guitar. I think I’ll play, too. Maybe get on stage tonight…”

Writing looks easy because on the face of it is easy. Would-be writers have been doing it since kindergarten or before. They’re not afraid of it like they might be with a lump of clay or a paint brush or an instrument.

They need to be afraid of it. Then they can tackle writing as an art and a craft deserving of attention and humility. We’re not writers because we say we are, we’re writers because we’ve proven we’re writers.

Writing well takes a good bit of doing, and, if I’m being honest, I resent those clueless hardheads who think because they’ve written a few thousand words that sound pretty good to them, they deserve a seat at the head table. They don’t. They’re taking up space and cluttering our habitats. The field is getting too crowded because of them and they’re making those of us who work at it less visible.

Is that harsh? My space here is called ‘Writer Everlasting’ for a reason. I’m here to give comfort and community to working writers, no matter our station or our talents, and that includes serious newbies.

I’m all for ‘paying it forward’ but I’m not here for hobbyists or amateurs. There are other places that speak to their needs, and they’ll be much happier there.

I’m not here to promote con artists who thrive on making writing look like anyone can do it by following a few simple steps.

I’m here to celebrate and encourage writers who write.

I could be shooting myself in the foot, since my goal is to build this place, but my loyalties lie with writers who have gone through or are going through the process and understand it’s not for sissies.

So again, my friends, what do you think? Comments, as always, are open. Let’s talk!

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