Let's face it; we all want to be able to say something worth hearing. If it weren't for an audience, one would have a dreadful writing experience. We must craft words in such a way that they're easily understandable but dynamic enough to rouse interest. That's the goal of crafting good literature.
This mission isn't as simple as it seems. No cookie-cutter methods seem to measure up to raw know-how and experience. However, everyone must start somewhere. No one is a published writer out of the gate. Well, technically, I suppose they could be. With the power of free blogs and relatively affordable web space, there's little limitation on one's ability to broadcast their ideas. Years ago, you'd have to submit manuscripts to publishing houses or write to your local newspaper. There was a lot more guesswork in the process. Now, you type up your ideas, hit send, and the world grabs on to your work as it sails past them.
Many people think they're incapable of penning solid prose. This simply isn't true! Everyone has a story to tell. Usually, it isn’t that the ideas don't work. Instead, the voice used to convey these ideas needs a little fine tuning. Luckily, there are a couple simple things you can do to help strengthen your writing.
1) Write practice sentences
Admittedly, it sounds absurd to try and convey something in a mere sentence. But the challenge gets the writer’s brain to shoot neurons that would otherwise have gone unfired. It doesn’t need to be a masterpiece. It’s honestly better if your single sentence is concise, but revealing. Try to keep it simple but engaging.
Ex: The dog’s ears draped over its pouting face like curtains drawn across a stage after an unspectacular performance.
It’s just a simple exercise. Not everything you write is going to be published somewhere. Besides, when you’re honing your craft, they only person you have to impress is you.
2) Beat down your inner critic
Our inner critic is obnoxious and downright cruel. S/he likes to masquerade as our friend when we’re in the process of creating. Then, after the piece is complete, our inner critic likes to smash any hope we may have had.
Let me tell you though, our inner critic is merely a drunken step-father that’s jealous that you finished the fourth grade. My inner critic rarely takes breaks and is always there when deadlines come up. His true purpose, as far as I’m concerned, is to give me something wicked to vanquish. He gives me an enemy to focus my efforts on. That’s not to say I’m vengeful. I like to prove that punk wrong is all.
The sooner you come to terms with your inner critic the better. Your inner critic should cower in fear when the thud of your mighty boot comes clomping down the hall. You’re better than s/he knows or expects you to be. Don’t let them win, ever.
This isn’t to say you should never second guess things. Sometimes ideas are worth letting go. But, that doesn’t mean you should go through more garbage bags than postings or publishing houses. For every idea that’s worth throwing away, there’s at least a dozen worth clutching on to for dear life.
3) No dreams are bad dreams. All dreams are good.
If you have dreams, you have material. These are normally unique enough to be compelling. Also, they’re usually relatable. Don’t shy away from a “weird” dream. Embrace it, smother it, and wring the very soul from it!
The best reason for using dreams as source material is simple – it’s a renewable resource. Every time you sleep, there’s a chance a new story will be there when you wake up. It’s like the cobbler who was visited by elves who did the work for him. The main difference is that there’s no true outside influence required. This means not having to write an acknowledgment for assistance received.
That’s not to say I don’t sometimes reward my brain for a job well done. Sometimes I treat it to spicy food before bed so it can think up another horror story for me. Well, I guess that’s more of a treat for me, but my brain’s going to have to suck it up and move along.
4) Nothing is too boring when said right.
Many people seem to think they have boring, uninspired material. Nothing is too boring. Trust me on this. I’ve written essays about not having anything to write about. Much like the saying, “the absence of evidence is not the evidence of absence,” the absence of an idea doesn’t negate the possibility that there is an idea. Nothing is something; something is nothing. Let me remove myself kindly from my soapbox.
Yes, just because you might not have the best idea doesn’t mean it’s not workable. J.D. Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye is a perfect example of how nothing spectacular need happen. The story is hundreds of pages of inner monologue from an angst filled, bitter teenager. It’s not about spies or space travel or even torrid romances. It’s just a simple story told in a way that draws the reader in.
Also, Seinfeld was pitched to be a “show about nothing.” Seinfeld was on for nine seasons and was one of the most watched television programs in American television history. Again, a simple or mundane plot doesn’t negate good writing.
The stronger you write, the weaker your premise can be. What a great incentive, right?
I hope this helps you burgeoning writers bust through. I really wish everyone the best in their endeavors, literary or otherwise. If anyone has any questions, please don’t hesitate to post me a comment or e-mail me. I’m open to constructive criticism, which I suppose ought to have been number five, but we’ll be all right.
Since this is my first post, allow me to say: I’ll try to continue filling this blog on a somewhat regular basis. Also, I am only published - professionally anyway – in about three publications. I am not claiming to be the world’s greatest writer. I know there’s no such thing. All I intend to do is walk into the room you cultivate your writing in and throw open a couple doors or windows. If you’ll allow me in, that is. Thank you for reading. I enjoyed your company!
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