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Shirking and more:

Five ways to become a writer

Patricia Tate
OP Contributor

Writing—how hard can it be? When
you pay attention, you see that writ-
ing is everywhere. You notice that
some writer, somewhere, wrote
everything from the instructions on
the back of your bus ticket, to the
articles in your community newspa-
per, to the dozens of websites you
visit every week. And don’t forget
that novel or comic book on your
bedside table~

Maybe you find you're already
writing a lot, more than you used to,
because you email someone every
day. Perhaps you're also recording
your thoughts, feelings, and obser-
vations in a journal or a blog. You
may think you have what it takes.

But the writing process can be
maddening—it’s only fair that you
get some tips before you begin in
earnest. Here are five well-used (if
inefficient) ways to go about it:

1. Learn to shirk.

You must know how to avoid
writing. When you sit down and
stare at that blank paper or comput-
er screen, pay close attention to your
instincts to dart away and vacuum
the attic, scrape the ten-year-old
paint stains off the basement floor,
scrub the toilet with an old tooth-
brush. Then act on these. Most
respectable writers can accomplish
household tasks they never imagined
until they sat down to write.

Allowing distractions will make
you feel guilty, but don’t despair.
The urge to clean is nature’s way of
getting you out of your head, out of
your inner world of words and con-
cepts, and into your physical body,
your senses. Your body is where
writing really happens. If you never
live in your senses, you'll never have
anything to write about, so learning
to shirk is vital.

Here's an example: The last time I
avoided writing to vacuum the
house I discovered a spicy aroma in
the corner around the cat’s food

bowl. Then I noticed what looked
like small rusty nails on the floor.
On closer inspection, I found the
bowl was filled with these same
nails, and the spicy smell was ema-
nating from them. I picked up the
bowl and sniffed—it wasn’t filled
with nails, or with kibble, but with
whole cloves, a mistake made by
my husband on a stressful morning.
So there’s a possible beginning for

You'll be in pain. You'll want to give
up. You'll lose all faith in your abili-
ty to ever write anything. Your
despair will be unbearable, and will
force you to either quit writing once
and for all, or to approach things
differently—to trust that imperfect
first draft.

Writer and educator Peter Elbow
claims there are two stages to writ-
ing: creating and revising. First cre-

Tf you never live in your senses,

you ll never have anything to

write about, so learning to
shirk is vital.

a story or an article on stress. One
warning: Cleaning never ends. Your
life will. Make time
between cleanings.

2. Perfect your final draft first.

Don't jot down rough ideas to
trim and shape later. Why waste
time writing a first draft that will
only need revising? What if someone
were to come in, look over your
shoulder and see a sloppy first draft
on your screen—how mortifying
would that be? Agonize over the
beginning of your piece—get it
exactly right, no matter how long
it takes. Then perfect the middle
and end.

Although this is a silly approach
to writing, two valuable things
might emerge from it. First, it could
teach you to become a good copyed-
itor or proofreader—you develop a
fastidious hawk eye by scrutinizing
and fretting over every word and
semi-colon.

Second, you'll learn that aiming
for perfection prevents you from
producing. You'll spin your wheels.

to write

March 17, 2004

 

ly to your work. Also, never allow
anyone to read, edit, or comment on
your writing. No one else under-
stands what you meant to say, so
why should you trust someone else’s
opinion? You've polished your piece
of writing and have become attached
to every carefully chosen word and
clever phrase.

You must believe that what you
write is precious, sacred, and pro-
found. Nobody has the same
thoughts or feelings as you, and this
you must honour. You are as unique
as the next person—your writing
reflects your innermost self, perhaps
even God.

What good can come of following
this advice? Obsessing over every-
thing you write at the beginning of
your career could increase your pas-
sion for and commitment to your
craft. Your tentative first steps as a

You are as unique as the next

person—your writing reflects
your innermost self, perhaps

even

ate; then revise. Write freely to liber-
ate your thoughts and words
(speechwriter Colin Moorhouse
calls this “writing the puke draft”),
then apply your hawk-eyed editing
skills later. You may be surprised
to hear it, but countless real
writers think they are not creative,
so they skip that first, frighten
-ing stage. They like to take the
convoluted, arduous route. Doing
things the hard way will put you in
good company.
3. Fetishize your writing.

This will follow naturally from
step two. Give up all conversation
and activities that don’t relate direct-

God.

writer make you vulnerable, and
criticism this early can crush you.
However, if you continue to fetishize
your work past the delicate early
phase, your writing will surely
become very bad, and_ eventually
some bold person will say so. You
need feedback from readers to know
if your writing is cohesive, strikes
the right tone, accomplishes its pur-
pose. Also, if you think of your writ-
ing as too precious, it will lack
humanity. You may be unique, but
youre also just like everyone else.
And, forsaking your life for writing
is counterproductive—remember,
writers need to live in their senses.

4. Adopt someone else’s style.

Read a lot of different things and
pick a favourite. Don’t write from
your own voice. Disregard your own
history, those details from your life
that you think are obvious and
uninteresting, even embarrassing.
Maybe things you don’t even think
about anymore, like the fact that
your father hated squirrels, or that at
thirteen you stuffed your bra with
tissues to make your breasts look
larger. Who would ever want to read
about your insecurities or quirks?

Adopting someone else's voice can
actually prove to be a valuable exer-
cise. Composers and painters learn
to copy the masters in order to learn
their craft and discover their own
style. If you follow this strategy with
writing, you can learn some tech-
niques, but you will eventually come
full circle and discover that what
makes your work compelling is your
own seemingly uneventful self, your
most vulnerable moments, and your
peculiar family. In the long run, pre-
tending to write like someone else
might help you define and capture
your authentic voice. Just don't get
trapped en route.

5. Re-frame everything.

Every “mistake” you think you
make as a writer can be seen from
a different perspective—remember
step one? You're not really shirking;
you're gathering material. Cultivate
kindness toward your blundering
process.

This should give you enough to
get going. I'd invite you to call me if
you want feedback on your first big
article or story, but that would vio-
late step three. All writers stumble
through the darkness. Welcome to
our nightmare. And remember
Samuel Johnson’s warning, “No
man but a blockhead ever wrote,
except for money.”

 

 

 

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