ca597c827972533ef024671902fd2f6ae4b8f33b8db3003c4ed541c407dd970aYou’re Too Dumb To Be A Writer
(Or So You’ve Been Told)

“Imagination is intelligence with an erection.”

~ Victor Hugo

My mother once said to me: “You’re not smart enough to be a writer.”

When she saw the look on my face, she clarified. “I didn’t mean it like that. You’re a very intelligent boy. But there are plenty of people out there smarter than you.”

She believed, like many other people, that intelligence equates to good writing. She was wrong. Clearly, you need a modicum of brains: someone with an IQ of 50 will barely be able to tie up their shoelaces let alone construct a 500-page novel. But in a wider sense, you don’t need to be Einstein to write a classic — so if you can’t work out X or Y in an algebraic equation and don’t know about bio-nuclear science or marine biology, it’s okay.

Unless you’re a particularly ambitious novelist, the majority of you won’t be writing anything overly complex — smart and intricate, maybe, but not mind-boggling. If your work is to be accessible to the average person, you can’t write your book like it’s some kind of paradigm-shifting brain-twisting puzzle that no one will understand. Your book will need to connect to an audience. Your plot can be intelligent without being pretentious. 

Either way, if you can write, you can write. Brains don’t mean anything.

It’s a common fallacy: people assume published authors are geniuses. And I guess some of them are. But there are many idiots, too. So if you’re using your lack of education or your mediocre brain power as an excuse not to write, then stop it. Slap yourself.

If you can read these words and understand them? You’re smart enough.


“If we encounter a man of rare intellect, we should ask him what books he reads.”

~ Ralph Waldo Emerson


Stephen Fry is considered to be a genius. He’s written a number of published novels, but his intelligence doesn’t necessarily translate into an enjoyable reading experience. I suspect that his fame lead to his book deal rather than his writing skills. I’ve attempted a couple of his books and never been gripped by his work. Others might love his style — entertainment is pretty subjective after all — but I don’t see it.

The point is that he’s not internationally recognised as a novelist. His name isn’t synonymous with books. His career has a wide-range of functions, and he’s a man of many talents. However, in my opinion he’s a mid-level writer at best. His intellect amounts to nothing in the reading world. It’s certainly not a handicap, but it isn’t much of a boost either.

If a graph were to be taken of all the bestselling authors in the world, I suppose most of them would have above-average IQs. Most writers are readers and deep thinkers, which naturally adds to intellectual capabilities and aids in the processing functions of our brains. The more we tinker with novels, changing structures and sentence fragments, learning our craft to a sub-molecular level, the more our brains are working and growing. In that case, most writers may have a certain level of innate or developed intelligence.

But that doesn’t mean all writers are geniuses with IQs off the chart. Someone with Einstein’s brain has no better chance of writing a great novel as anyone else. A writer’s toolbox is filled with so many disparate elements: experience, insight, wisdom, information, sense of humour, darkness, lightness, morality — there’s a large spectrum to be tapped into. A humourless man with a genius IQ will be missing something. As would a hilarious man with the brain of a fish. It’s all about finding a good balance and a unique style. Why is your writing different? What makes you stand out? What’s so special about you?

That’s the important thing. Not your ability to solve mathematical equations, but the way you use your thoughts to infuse your work with tension, gravitas, and emotion.

You don’t need to be book smart or street smart or emotionally smart.

You need to be writer smart — and that entails observation.


“I am so clever that sometimes I don’t understand a single word of what I am saying.”

~ Oscar Wilde


novelist doesn’t need to know how to build a rocket. He does, however, need to know how to build (at least on the page) a realistic human being. He needs to know how to manipulate emotion in the readers; how to build tension in his scenes; how to raise the stakes of his plot; how to weave together multiple elements and plot lines towards a satisfying climax. All of this requires observation: of the outside world, of the people around him, and also of the books he reads (learn more about this here). He must keep aware of his surroundings, and remain open-minded to everything around him (or her).

If you can do that — if you can soak in that knowledge — it doesn’t matter whether or not you can add two-plus-two, you’ll be fine. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. 

If you complete a novel, you’re a fucking genius.


“The difference between stupidity and genius is that genius has its limits.” ~ Albert Einstein


Sometimes people think they can’t write because they were never good at English in school. They see this as a mountain they can’t climb. But that’s bullshit. It’s another excuse to not put any effort in.

I’ve always had a natural ability in English — my reading level as a child was the highest in the class, years ahead of my friends, and my spelling is impeccable. And yet I scraped by in my English GCSEs with a C, and that’s after my mother wrote all of my coursework. If I’d bothered to do it myself, I probably would have failed. 

Even now, with the millions of words I’ve written over the years, I still don’t know what a split-infinitive is, or a dangling participle. No matter how many times I read up about it, for some reason it never sticks. And yet, when I look at the page, I know where words go and where they shouldn’t. I see it like code: to everyone it might seem like gobbledegook, but I instinctively know where to place a comma or semi-colon or em-dash and it all flows properly. This wasn’t achieved overnight. It took years of practice and refinement. Not only did I pay attention to how everything was set out in the books I read, I also researched grammar in numerous guides, such as Writing With Style by John R. Trimble and The Elements of Style by William Strunk Jr. and E.B White. These helped immensely in the early days.

For a long time I worked on structuring my scenes properly. Then I toyed about with sentence construction. I’d end some sentences with semi-colons, some with colons, others with full stops, and I’d experiment with all the different grammatical techniques, using the books as a guide to help me find my own way. It took a lot of effort at the start — and looking back a lot of my work was grammatically destitute — but eventually, I was able to shape my writing naturally. My grammar skills improved. Like with anything, I learned the right thing to do and the wrong thing by just doing it.

So if you’re currently unable to differentiate between a comma and a colon, don’t worry. You have plenty of time to learn. And that’s from someone who’s been writing for over fifteen years and still barely knows what a noun is. I just know how to use them.

Pick up a guide and start practicing today. In months, you’ll master it.

Learn the rules and then you can break them (read more about this here).


“Intelligence is the ability to adapt to change.” ~ Stephen Hawking


Having said all that, being a grammar expert doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll write well. There are plenty of grammatical kings who can’t pen anything worth reading. They lack something: personality, passion, whatever. This is the same in any field: people who are proficient but don’t have the cutting edge. Freestyle footballers are a perfect example: they can do unimaginable things with a football — it seems attached to their feet. They loop it over their ankles, around their back, on their neck; they balance it when it seems impossible for the ball not to have hit the floor. And yet, you hardly ever see them playing for a big football team. They have the innate skills, but nothing else. There’s no point doing backflips with the ball on a pitch if you can’t do anything substantial.

Ronaldo, one of the greatest footballers on the planet, learned this the hard way. When he first arrived at Manchester United, he was a rough version of what we see now; he was full of trickery and youthful inexperience. Over time he moulded himself: he stepped past the technical stuff and added to his game — power, pace, vision — and now he’s one of the best to ever play. You need to do the same with your writing skills.

Learn grammar, then learn how to adapt it with your unique style. Add more to your writing repertoire. Grammar is the foundation for you to build your novel. You need walls, a roof, windows, a heater, an interior. You need it all.

This is just step one. But it’s the most important: without a foundation, everything else will crumble around it.

And once you have that foundation in place, you’ll be in a position to build whatever you want.


“There are some ideas so wrong

that only a very intelligent person could believe in them.”

~ George Orwell


So remember: don’t let anyone tell you you’re not smart enough to be a writer. You don’t need to be a genius; you don’t need to be super smart. You need to work hard. You need to learn the craft. You need to constantly add to what you know: grow, learn, soak in knowledge of writing, and one day it’ll become second nature and flow from your tap.

And that’s when it feels magical. When the words talk through your fingers.

Just try not to be like me: I’m over here still wondering what a verb is.


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tumblr_nkuq3yW4QQ1t2tnzvo1_500Writing With A Hangover
(Alcohol As A Creative Aid)

“Long before I became ‘rich and famous’

I just sat round drinking wine and staring at the walls.”

~ Charles Bukowski

Many authors believe that alcohol is the mind’s natural lubricant — a creative tool that unlocks worlds. They sip from a flask of Jack Dee whilst penning their novels, thinking the juice is giving them inspiration. If anything, it’s dulling their senses and taking the edge off their creative faculties. Alcohol’s only useful function is to strip fear from the writing process.

By killing the critic in a writer’s mind — drowning out the sound of you’re terrible at this stuff, just give up and stick to your day job — the whiskey enables the writer to open up a pipe and flood the page with words, free of anxiety.

To this extent, it can be helpful. But all the writer is doing is hiding his problems, refusing to confront where this fear emanates from. Crippling self-doubt can stop many aspiring authors in their tracks. Before they’ve even put pen to paper — or electronic words to a computer screen — they’re incapacitated by the seemingly gargantuan task ahead: writing a cohesive four-hundred-page-or-more novel that holds itself together.

Common limiting beliefs may rear their ugly head: I’m not good enough, I’m not smart enough, I’m not interesting enough, I’m a terrible writer.

Alcohol can keep these voices to a whisper, but that’s like wrapping a bandage around a broken leg — it may help to support you in the present, but it’s not a longterm solution; eventually you need a cast on it. Otherwise the bone will fuse at the wrong angle and you’ll be in for a life of pain. Same goes with your writing: don’t drown dissent with alcohol. Learn why the voices exist in the first place.

Then isolate the doubt and eradicate it.


“One danger is that cocaine gives you the illusion of being creative; you get into this vicious circle of feeling so inspired by this chemical in your system that you do write. Then you come down and the next day you look at what you wrote and get depressed. What you see before you is yesterday’s rush transformed into burbly bullshit, at which point you start to panic because now you’re really behind your deadline or whatever and you better get cracking, but you’re too depleted, physically and mentally, and therefore what you realize is, in order to jump-start yourself, maybe just a wee hair of the dog would be in order, so you go out and score again. And (then) comes another day’s worth of deluded flop-sweat trying to pass for art. I mean, you might be able to squeeze out a dazzling paragraph or two, but it’s the law of diminishing returns. In the end, the coke will overwhelm the work. I got to the point where I had to do a line to write a line. You might do coke in order to write, but by the end you’re writing in order to do coke.”Richard Price.


Back in my mid-twenties I spent many nights in a drunken stupor.

Looking back, most of those nights are a blur. My first brush with alcohol was on my wedding day at the age of twenty-one. I downed a glass of champagne — which tasted like fizzy nails — and went on to finish another bottle within the hour, my subconscious clearly aware the marriage was a mistake and wanting to erase all memory of it. Thankfully I never acquired a taste for alcohol like plenty of tortured artists before me.

I saw it as something to do on a night out — a part of the process, a relaxant that stripped me of responsibility. I could act a fool, be as reckless as I want, say dumb shit to everyone, and on some level I didn’t have to feel accountable for my actions. And for partying purposes, that worked fine: I had a great time. For years I created friendships over cocktails and built up a network of acquaintances. The drink heightened my experiences and lowered my inhibitions. Inevitably I felt like crap the morning after and vowed to never drink again, but I always did. Alcohol seemed to be the key to success.

When it comes to writing, however, the thing that made alcohol so alluring to the club scene, is also what makes it toxic to the creative process: a lack of responsibility.  

If you aren’t accountable for your words, who is?

You can’t pass the manuscript to your agent and say: “If it’s bad, don’t blame me. I was drunk the whole time I wrote it.” She won’t excuse your bad writing as a vodka side-effect. She’ll still view it as your work. And if it’s bad, you’re the person to blame.


“I’ve never written anything good on coke. I mean, I’ve written good paragraphs and good pages, but if I were to write a story for one hundred days on coke, I might write one hundred good pages, but they wouldn’t be pages that belonged together—a hundred pages for a hundred different books. Unfortunately, with a novel they’re all supposed to be for the same story. Nobody can write well using cocaine. It’s the worst drug of all for an artist.”Richard Price


When I wrote Crimson Sky (a crime-detective Young Adult novel set in a high school), I was at the height of my drinking-and-clubbing career. I spent endless nights drowning my liver in vodka and chasing women with my friends. A lot of the time I ended up writing when drunk. My friends would be pouring out vodka and I’d slam the shots back and type away at the computer, trying to hit a specific self-imposed word count before we left for the club, knowing I’d be too messed up to write anything later on. I wrote the final few chapters of the novel while under the influence.

This wasn’t me writing when drunk due to fear; it was writing when drunk due to idiocy and unprofessionalism. But the end result was the same: a disjointed and badly written book. The prose didn’t suffer too much — and even drunk my spelling was impeccable; I’d spot only a few typos the next day — but the plot and story itself lost out massively. Without accountability, my mind played tricks on me. One night I killed three of my main characters in gruesome ways in a drunken fit. I remember laughing about it with my friends, like I’m about to kill this motherfucker right now for no reason.

I was drunk and didn’t care.

I was serving my ego, not my story.

And this is where drinking to write can be dangerous.


“Take marijuana: when you’re stoned you know you’re stoned and you stop smoking. When you’re shooting heroin, you don’t keep shooting. You don’t think, Maybe I should shoot some more. You’re nodding. You stop. You put down the needle. When you’re drinking, you can’t drink endlessly. You’re going to vomit or you’re going to pass out. You stop. Cocaine is the only drug that you can take and take, and nothing stops you except running out of the stuff. And when you’re blasted you don’t realize that you’ve got garbage for brains.”Richard Price


There may be plenty of high-functioning alcoholics who can write when stoned or drunk out of their mind. Numerous musicians claim to be aided in their process by smoking marijuana. Many authors have also written some great works whilst drunk or drugged up. But the key is how they wrote when they weren’t on drugs: most times it was no different. Stephen King didn’t lose his edge when he stopped taking coke. He was just as capable of producing moments of genius without using liquid or powder stimulants.

If you find it hard to get started without alcohol, force yourself to sit at the screen and type something. If you’re blocked, ask yourself why. Your first answer might be: I’m blocked because I didn’t drink anything. Challenge that. Question yourself extensively until you reach the root cause of your block. You’ll most likely find that it’s fear; fear you’re not worthy of publication, or you’re not good enough, or that nobody will care about your writing anyway. Ask yourself if the alcohol makes any difference to those beliefs. Do you feel like you’re a better writer with it? Do you feel smarter? Or do you use it as an excuse for inferior work? 

Once you get down to the source of your anxiety, it should be easier to alleviate it without needing drink or drugs. If you’re addicted to them, that’s a whole different issue. Contact your doctor and book an appointment for help with that.

If, however, you’re merely dabbling for creative reasons, it’s a slippery slope that could one day lead to addiction, and worse: death. So be careful what you’re getting into.

If you can write it drunk, you can do it sober. You don’t need the bottle. You don’t need the validation. As long as you like your work, you have a fan. Your biggest and most loyal.

So for your own sake: put down the bottle, push aside the crack pipe, and write.

You’ve got this. The world believes in you.


“One of Elmore Leonard’s characters came across with the awful realization that addiction not only destroys your body and brain, but also dominates your consciousness. Twenty-four hours a day an addict is thinking about where they are in relation to their drug. They are thinking about how high they are. They’re thinking about the fact that they’re not high. They’re thinking about scoring. They’re thinking about cleaning up. They’re thinking about cutting back, about getting better stuff. Endlessly thinking. Twenty-four, seven, three hundred and sixty-five. It simply dominates your thoughts around the clock.”Richard Price


In short: be accountable for everything you put on the page. It will help you to gauge what’s good, what’s average, and what needs to be worked on. Keep writing and learning and growing. In the long run, you’ll improve naturally, without the need for alcohol.

And when you sell your début novel for half a million pounds — then you can drink.

Crack out the bubbly and drown yourself in fizzy needles.

After all of that hard work, you’ll need a damn drink.


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Allison M. Dickson

STRINGS Front CoverAbout a year ago I started adding writers on Facebook. I didn’t discriminate. I sent a friend request to anyone with “author” in their bio, or anyone who posted on writing forums. I figured it would be nice to have some like-minded people on my news feed. I wanted to see less anger and relationship issues and more posts about books and writing.

Allison M. Dickson was one of the writers I added, and she stood out early on. I could tell from her posts she knew how to write. But even though I looked out for her updates, I didn’t think about purchasing any of her work. I’ve been burned too many times in the past. I usually only pay for authors guaranteed to entertain me, such as Stephen King, Ben Elton, Dennis Lehane, etc.

Then one day Allison offered up her novel, Strings, for free. I downloaded it and left it on my Kindle for another three or four months, thinking I probably wouldn’t enjoy it anyway. Otherwise I would have heard about her, right? She’d be on every bookshelf in every shop or library. Well, that was my mistake. When I finally got around to reading Strings, I realised how wrong I’d been. It had everything I liked in a book: mystery, horror, gruesome murder scenes, a twisted sense of humour, plenty of swearing, and most importantly: great writing. If she hadn’t offered it for free, I might never have read it. But now I’ll definitely be parting money in the future for Allison’s books. And I hope some of you will check out her novels too. 

I recently got in touch with her and she was kind enough to take time from her schedule to answer some questions about Strings, her upcoming projects, and her writing process. Check it out.


GK: I got through Strings pretty quickly. It’s a great book, but probably the most gruesome and twisted thing I’ve ever read (I mean this in the most complimentary way). What’s the response been from people who know you? Were they surprised by the content? Did anyone try to section you?

AD: Overall the response to Strings has been incredibly positive, which has surprised me. Even my mother loved it, and I mean in an effusively praising way, and not the pat response of, “Nice job, dear.” Yeah, a lot of people are surprised by the visceral content, but what I’ve found with this book in particular is that people tend to enjoy it despite the gruesomeness. They surprise themselves by their ability to weather it, and it feels like an achievement for them by the end. That was actually one of my goals when setting out to write a book like this. Could I make people put aside their squeamishness and stick with these frankly awful characters all the way until the end? I think I’ve more or less succeeded there.

GK: Strings started off as a short story. What inspired you to expand it into a novel?

AD: The original short story, “The Good Girls,” ended when Nina had her first encounter with the freak in the Ballas house, with Ramon sitting outside listening to it all go down business as usual. It was intended to be a short tale about how people suffer from inertia. They go into something terrible expecting it to be different, only to find they’re not all that special after all. There were readers who wanted to see what happened after the events of that story. Where does Ramon go? What was the Madam’s story? Does Nina actually survive? These turned out to be really easy questions to expand upon.

GK: And in-line with the last question, what was the original inspiration behind the story? A lot of stories start with a WHAT-IF . . . Were you like: WHAT IF I WROTE THE WORLD’S MOST FUCKED UP BOOK?

AD: Actually, that’s not too far off. One of my main drives, thematically, was to see if I could write an entire book where there are no heroes or good guys, but where you root for them anyway. I love stories that challenge our sympathies. Even the worst people have something relatable. But the initial seed for the story was talking about hermits and social isolation with a friend of mine, and what an experience would be like for a working girl to visit someone like this. The visual elements of the “web” in the Ballas house was inspired by scenes from The Aviator, the biopic about Howard Hughes.

GK: I read somewhere (it might have been your Facebook) about a possible sequel. Do you have that planned out yet, or is it still in the idea stage?

AD: The sequel to Strings is called The Moon Gone Dark, and it’s near completion and scheduled for release in April of 2016! I’m excited to show people what these characters have been up to since the first book wrapped. There are a lot of surprises.

GK: If you found yourself trapped in the Hank Ballas residence and he gave you one last request before he (or his spider-son) skewered you, what would you ask for?

AD: Drugs. Lots and lots of drugs.

GK: For some reason, the madam reminded me of Yzma from The Emperor’s New Groove. I kept picturing her in every scene. If Strings was turned into a film one day, do you have any actors or actresses in mind for the characters?

AD: I would love to see the madam being played by Frances Fisher or Tilda Swinton. Those were the two I had most in mind while I was writing. Ramon, I always imagined being played by Jimmy Smits. Krysten Ritter would make a smashing Nina.

GK: I noticed a Stephen King influence throughout the book, especially during the inner monologue stuff. Who are your other influences?

AD: You’re definitely spot on with Stephen King. He’s always been a huge influence on my work. Gillian Flynn is also a really big influence of mine. We both seem drawn toward creating dark and difficult characters.

GK: I’ve seen you post a lot recently about a Ted Bundy novel — it’s an interesting concept. Could you explain it for those who don’t know?

AD: I’m very excited about this one (and so is my agent!). Several months back, when Ann Rule passed away, I decided to finally pick up her most famous book, The Stranger Beside Me, which is the definitive Bundy book. In it, she discussed her time working with Bundy at a crisis hotline at the University of Washington. Particularly, she mentioned how great he was on the phones with people and that he might have very well saved a number of lives during his tenure there. I immediately started to think about one of the lives Bundy might have saved, and how dark legacies and unintended consequences tend to be born from seemingly good acts. It bounces across several decades in time and follows three generations of a family in the aftermath of Bundy’s unwitting influence of saving the life of someone who maybe shouldn’t have gone on living. In many ways, it’s darker than Strings, though the gore level is quite low.

GK: Do you have any other novels on the back-burner? I sometimes find I have five or six ideas and I’ll be flipping between them until I finally decide which one to go ahead with next.

AD: Oh yes, there are several irons in the fire at all times. After I finish the Bundy book in January, I have to put the finishing touches on the Strings sequel. After that, I plan to get some more short stories written. I will then have the next book in the Colt Coltrane series to start working on in the spring of 2016. Hopefully in that period of time, my agent will be able to find a publisher for the books of mine she currently has.

GK: You co-wrote a novel (The Oilman’s Daughter) with Ian Thomas Healy. How did that come about?

AD: Ian and I have been friends for a long time, and we had always wanted to work on a book together. The concept of a steampunk space opera originated in his mind, and we took it from there. We’re really good at bouncing ideas off of one another, so the actual plot and story outline came together really quickly for us.

GK: How did you find the process of co-authoring? And how did you work it between the two of you — a chapter each? A character each?

AD: He took on the role of the dashing young hero, Jonathan Orbital, and I took on the brash and gritty space pirate, Phinneas Greaves. From there, we alternated chapters, following the outline we put together. Once one of us wrote a chapter, the other would edit it and then he would assemble it into a master document. Though we had a number of things come up that forced us to take a hiatus (I moved from Washington to Ohio the year we started it, and so several months went down the tubes), the actual writing time was pretty quick and streamlined.

GK: When you went back to edit it, were there any arguments about what to keep in and what to change, etc.?

AD: That’s one place where I think we had some growing pains. The first finished product went around to some agents and publishers and beta readers, and that’s where we were finally made aware of some flaws in the book. We couldn’t quite agree on what needed to be fixed. Most of it was character development related. In the grander scheme, not that much work, but we agreed to trunk it because we each seemed to be going our own separate paths in our careers. I had Strings coming out and his Just Cause series was finally taking off. But after a couple years we agreed to revisit it and release it ourselves under his Local Hero Press imprint. So the book was a very long time coming, but we’re thrilled with how the book came out and hope people love it.

GK: How long were you writing for and how many books had you written before you had something traditionally published?

AD: Well, I was very lucky in that when I returned to writing fiction in 2008, I had one of my first short stories (“Aria”) accepted into an anthology a few months later. Not long after that, I had a few more short stories published in online magazines. I didn’t actually finish writing my first novel until 2009 or thereabouts. I self-published my first two novels after they’d been rejected by many agents (I don’t recommend doing this, by the way), and eventually took them down from the market. They will likely remain in the trunk for all of eternity. My first traditionally published novel was Strings in 2013, and it was the fifth novel I’d finished. In many ways, it was the right debut for me.

GK: What’s your writing process? Are you a morning person or a night owl?

AD: I’m both, actually. I don’t have a regular day job, so that affords me the ability to get a chunk of writing done in the morning and afternoon. When the kids get home, it’s all about them. I don’t pick things back up until after my husband goes to bed, and I work for a couple hours and call it done. It really depends on the book whether my day sessions or my night sessions are more fruitful. Right now, the Bundy book seems to be a daytime book.

GK: Sometimes I read a book and think — I wish I wrote that. Can you think of any novels you wished you’d written?

AD: Oh so very many. Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn, The Road by Cormac McCarthy, The Dark Tower Series by Stephen King. So many.

GK: Finally, what are 5 books you’d recommend?

AD: Some recent favorites of mine have been Luckiest Girl Alive by Jessica Knoll, Save Yourself by Kelly Braffet, A Head Full of Ghosts by Paul Tremblay, and Bird Box by Josh Malerman. I am also currently loving a number of the stories in Stephen King’s latest collection, Bazaar of Bad Dreams.

If you enjoyed the interview and would like to find out more about Allison and her upcoming books, you can check out her website here. Also, you can buy her books, including Strings, right here.

She might not be on every bookshelf of every shop and library . . . but she should be.  


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imgresYou’re Allowed To Be Selfish 
(In fact, it’s necessary.)

“Reading at meals is considered rude in polite society, but if you expect to succeed as a writer, rudeness should be the second-to-least of your concerns. The least of all should be polite society and what it expects.”

Stephen King

The above quote by Stephen King is one I abide by, and one I constantly mention to people if they accuse me of being rude or disrespectful (for instance, when I’m disappearing on Christmas day to do some writing).

If one of the bestselling authors of all time tells me it’s okay to be rude in aid of my craft, then goddammit, it’s okay. Get off my back. Uncle Stevie understands my plight. And I advise you to go along with it too. Writing is a discipline that takes years to build up. Don’t let pressure from your loved ones get in the way of your career. 

Friends can be the worst. You tell them you’re working on a novel and they think you’re doing nothing: sitting at a computer and tapping away, as if you’re just on Facebook. They’ll pressure you to come out to parties, get drunk (even though alcohol will kill your next few days of productivity — more about that another time), or ask to come around, or take up time on the phone talking about their issues. If you don’t answer your calls they may bitch that you’re always busy, or you don’t make time for them, or any number of things. Friends, for the most part, are selfish: they don’t want you to be busy working. They want you to be available 24/7. If you’re not, they’ll feel neglected. And because of that, they may invalidate your work or not take it seriously. That’s normal.

But you shouldn’t give in. Be clear that this is something you take seriously and make them understand that it’s no different than if you’re at a job — you won’t accept calls or visits during that time. You wouldn’t go and get drunk if you had a big meeting the next morning, so that means you won’t do it when you have a self-imposed deadline either. The more seriously you take it, the more seriously they will take it too. Sometimes, if you’re lucky, you’ll find a friend who understands straight off the bat: they’ll be supportive, caring, and even offer to read your work. Appreciate these people. They’re a rare breed of friend and should be acknowledged as such. Thank them for their patience and understanding. However, you should always find time for friends in your busy schedule or you won’t have any left. They’ll finally leave you alone — for good.

And a life without friends or family is like a book with no characters.

Boring.


“There is no friend as loyal as a book.” — Ernest Hemingway


One time, when out with an ex-girlfriend, she told me off for writing in a notebook too much. Apparently I’d “ruined” our night out. She’d dressed up specially and spritzed herself with perfume, just to be “ignored” by me. Well, that was an exaggeration. I did, from time to time, flip open my notebook and scrawl down an idea (during our journeys to and from our destinations, never at the table or during dinner), but I didn’t spend the majority of the night inside the book, unlike many couples nowadays who go out with their other half just to waste most of the night on Twitter or Instagram.

Either way, the amount of time I dedicated to my ideas was irrelevant. She’d decided I was being neglectful. She felt unloved or unwanted or whatever. And maybe she had a point, but she approached it from a negative viewpoint. She saw my notebook writing as a waste of time, as if I was merely playing a Game Boy on our date, just toying around with a hobby. That’s not the kind of person you want in your world.

Firstly, you should always make time for the people you love. That’s a given. But that doesn’t mean they can monopolise your life. If, for instance, you’re at dinner and suddenly a great idea clicks in your mind and you feel you must write it down, she (or he) should be understanding. However, if your head is in the notebook all night, your partner will naturally feel aggrieved. It’s about finding the right balance between rudeness and romance. You should be able to gauge when an idea can wait, or is okay to simmer in the back of your mind, or isn’t worth capturing at that moment. Only the thunderbolts direct from a higher-being need to be documented right away for fear you’ll lose their powerful edge later on as your memory of the inspiration-flash diminishes.

If you’re unsure about how much is too much, talk to your partner.


“No matter how busy you may think you are, you must find time for reading, or surrender yourself to self-chosen ignorance.” — Confucius


Communication is key in any relationship, so confer with your partner in advance to clear up any possible future issues. Agree on something you can both accept. Maybe your partner would prefer if you go to the bathroom to write down your ideas, or wait until he or she goes. Or maybe they want you to go outside, as if taking a cigarette break. Just like with smokers who date non-smokers, you’ll need to find a common ground and a compromise. But that doesn’t mean they can bully you into dropping your lifestyle.

Don’t ever let a partner stifle your creativity or your work ethic. If you’re an inattentive workaholic who never takes time to spend with your significant other, they have a legitimate reason to be angry; in any other case, however, they’ll need to understand you won’t be available to their every whim all the time. They may be pissed off occasionally, but what are you meant to do — let all your ideas escape into the ether?

Be careful not to go from one extreme to another: if you constantly ignore your partner in search of your muse, he or she may end up sleeping with the gardener. But for the most part, keep those ideas. Let them simmer. Jot down notes for future reference. Meanwhile, tell your spouse how much they keep inspiring you, so they don’t feel left out of your process.

My fiancée gives me plenty of ideas merely by asking questions. Find something your partner does to help, and praise them for it.

Make them feel wanted, loved, and most importantly: involved in your work.


“We need to make books cool again. If you go home with somebody and they don’t have books, don’t fuck them. Don’t sleep with people who don’t read.” John Waters


If you were a bestselling multimillionaire novelist, do you think your friends or family would complain? No. They’d encourage, support, ask about your work, and show nothing but enthusiasm and positivity. Most family and friends complain because they don’t share your confidence. While you know this latest idea you’re jotting down could be the kingfish that sparks your career, they only see you as a time-waster, someone just doodling and messing about with a hobby. Before long, these people will discount, discredit and silently invalidate almost everything you do.

Eminem reportedly used to zone out when people were talking to him (for all I know, he still does that) because they’d say a word he hadn’t heard before and he’d be rhyming it with other stuff in his head, adding it to his repertoire of rhyming syllables. He worked as a short order cook and used to rap orders and scrawl down rhymes on the kitchen slips, or on receipts, or on any scrap of paper he could find. During my time as a retail assistant, I found myself doing the same: scrawling down ideas on the backs of unclaimed receipts. People probably thought I was neurotic, but do you think anyone questions Eminem about his idiosyncrasies anymore? If he zones out during a conversation, they’ll understand — he’s a world-renowned artist, he needs his headspace.

Your most powerful tool is shaping the psychology of your friends and family. Once they view you as a superstar, you’ll be given a lot more leeway to pursue your art.

But it takes time, effort, and determination.


“I cannot live without books.” — Thomas Jefferson


The most efficient and beneficial way to bring your friends and family on board with your writing lifestyle is to show them how seriously you take it. That doesn’t simply mean sitting down at the table to write every day, although that should be number one on your list as a writer. It also means adjusting your attitude. If every time your friends pressure you into going out for a few drinks, you let them persuade you, they have no reason not to keep calling and applying pressure. Be stern and explain to them you’re on a deadline. Let them know you take this seriously and they should as well.

You need to act as if you’re a professional full-time author (or journalist or screenwriter) already. By doing that, people will soon fall in line. Firstly, picture what your life would be like if that were the case. How would you change? Would you write more? Waste less time on games and TV shows? Eat healthier? Go to the gym? Whatever you think you’d do in that position, start doing it now. Create your website, build a blog, interact with fans, grow a following on social networks, print business cards, call yourself a writer. Show the world you’re a somebody and they’ll believe you.

But acting like you’re in a position of power and have authority in your field means nothing if you don’t back it up with real work. When they see proof of how hard you’re working, their belief will grow. Your own belief will fortify, too. The more you believe in yourself and keep affirming this through positive actions, the more your brain will feed you. Eventually it’ll become a cyclical self-sustaining process, which not only boosts your self-esteem but helps your productivity levels, too. You are the master of your destiny.

As corny and clichéd as it sounds, it’s true — you control your reality.

So make it one you want to live in: you, as a writer, against the world.

From there, you just gotta keep climbing higher and higher until you reach the top. Then you plant a flag in that motherfucker and declare to the world you made it.

You’re finally a professional.


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print__don__t_take_offence_by_game_over_custom-d489vfsWhat If I Offend Someone? 
(Good. Fuck ‘Em Anyway.)

“I say what I want to say and do what I want to do. There’s no in between.

People will either love you for it or hate you for it.”

~ Eminem

Recently I went to visit my mum in France. I told her about a show I’d been watching and she said, “Really? Zey put zis kind of sing on TV? How do zey manage to write so it doesn’t offend anyone?” which is the type of comment she always makes. We’ll be watching something and she’ll say: This is offensive. This is obscene. This is too graphic. Why do they swear so much? Why is there so much sex? What sick person wrote this? and it goes on like that. If she had her own way, all the shows she enjoys would be watered down and stripped of the swearing, sex and depravity.

And yet she still continues to watch them week after week.

Just like everyone else.


“I believe in absolute freedom of expression. Everyone has a right to offend and be offended.” ~ Taslima Nasrin


There are people who’ve suffered through terrible incidents in their life: rape, back-alley abortions, drug and alcohol addiction, murder, amputation, war, etc., and if a show or film portrays those hard times they’ve been through, whether done mockingly or with compassion, some of those people can’t watch those scenes (or read them in a book). It brings back horrible memories they’ve been trying to suppress or deal with. Some of these victims get angry at the show for approaching the subject. They write diatribes on social networks and the IMDb forums to express their outrage at such explicitness. They get angry that the writers have deviated from the course they’d chosen for the character in their own mind. They’ll micro-analyse every character, and claim sexism or racism or homophobia by the show’s writers or directors. They’ll write ten-page negative reviews after every episode they dislike. The amount of people on the internet who find offence in something is endless; they’re everywhere. They write letters, post YouTube videos, they tweet, they type out Facebook statuses. They’re offended by so many things. For a show to please them, or for a book to be up to their high moral standards, the creators would need to tiptoe through a minefield.

And they’d still get blown up. 

To an extent, I understand the backlash occasionally. Sometimes a show I enjoy will piss me off with their decision-making — a character I like will die or act like a massive prick. In Scrubs I hated that JD kissed his best friend’s wife, even when drunk. I didn’t like Jesse Pinkman’s heroin addiction storyline in Breaking Bad, or the out-of-nowhere tone-shift in season 7 of Entourage which I felt ruined the mood of the show. In House, the main character frustrated me with his inability to get his shit together — eventually his self-destruction lost its appeal and just became repetitive and predictable. The ending of Lost felt cheap and didn’t answer any of the five millions questions I had. But so what? I kept watching.

Because no matter what I hated, a thousand other people probably loved it.


“Offendedness is just about the last shared moral currency in our country. And, I’m sorry, but it’s really annoying. We don’t discuss ideas or debate arguments, we try to figure out who is most offended.”

~ Kevin DeYoung


If you stick to your own personal vision, without allowing everyone’s perceptions and prejudices to veer you off course, eventually you’ll piss some people off. Along the way you’ll lose some audience members, but you’ll gain others to fill in their spots. For every 100 people who hate seeing or hearing the word Fuck, there are another 1000 like me who hate not seeing it. Some will say “Swearing is unnecessary” or “Swearing is proof of a stunted vocabulary” and then others will say “I can’t believe it without the swearing — it’s watered down.” Some will tell you there’s not enough Christian characters, or there isn’t enough diversity in your cast, or your female protagonist isn’t slutty enough, or she’s too slutty, or your script will offend feminists or humanists or activists with your depiction of women or men or animals or whatever.

Read the comment section of any YouTube video and the hundreds and thousands of bored people shouting into the ether trying to feel like their opinion means something. Sometimes I’ll read a comment that has 2000 likes on it and think “You’re all idiots. I enjoyed that scene” — which just means I might be the idiot, or blind, or it could mean the 50,000 others who liked it couldn’t be bothered to write a comment about it. Other times I’ll agree with their opinion. The fact is, it’s impossible to please everyone at once, and you shouldn’t try to. That’s an error of judgement and ego. You’re not being true to your vision or your art if you’re watering down for someone else. Or if, on the flip-side, you’re making something shocking or offensive for the sake of it.

Above everything, write for yourself.

Because ultimately, your own opinion is the only one that truly matters. 


“Every day we have plenty of opportunities to get angry, stressed or offended. But what you’re doing when you indulge these negative emotions is giving something outside yourself power over your happiness. You can choose to not let little things upset you.”

~ Joel Osteen 


Truth is what you should aim for when you write. Forget everything else, just have that in mind. I must tell the truth. If you’re personally offended by the F word, but your story is set in an inner city neighbourhood and your characters are a gang of drug dealers, you’re going to have to follow the truth of your story and step out of your comfort zone. You’re not just writing for yourself — although that’s important — but you also need to connect with your audience. Which means they need to suspend their disbelief and immerse themselves in your world. If they don’t believe in your story, they won’t believe in your characters and they’ll stop reading. You’re more likely to grip your reader with reality, no matter how gruesome.

And the opposite is true: if your book is from the perspective of a prim and proper lady with an aristocratic background, having her walk around saying Motherfucker and Cocksucker might not go down well. Unless, of course, that’s a point of her character: that she breaks rules and contradicts the nature of her heritage. In any case, the truth is the important thing: follow it, chase it, grab it, and then write it.

If you do that, you’ll be okay. Anything less and you’re cheating yourself.

And you’re offending not just me, but your entire audience too.


“We should be too big to take offence and too noble to give it.”

~ Abraham Lincoln


That’s it for this week. If you liked this post, you can subscribe below and get my newest blogs straight to your inbox. And if you want to share this, or any other blog from my site, that’s great. If not, I’ll, like, totally be offended . . . 


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HardWorkAheadSign_thumbWrite The Second Book
(Right Now) 

“Do you know why Albert Camus was so prolific?

He wrote to keep from screaming.”

Henry Rollins

You’ve finished your first novel. Now what do you do?

Breathe, relax, have sex, take a day off if you really must. But then get straight back on it. You might feel spent from the weeks, months or years of work — if it’s been a particularly long and draining experience, one that has sapped your energy and will, and you’ve been working on the thing for long enough that your baby is now a toddler, then maybe take a week or two off, but no longer than that. Go on holiday, perhaps. Turn off your brain for a fortnight and chill out with drinks and good company.

But then start on it again. You probably won’t want to go directly to your next novel. Not so soon after finishing the last one. That doesn’t mean you can’t keep your writer mind sharp and able. Jot down an article, write some short stories, review a book or movie — the important thing is to keep writing. 

On the side, begin to scribble down ideas for your next book. If you already have an idea of what it’s going to be about, that’s great: write down brief outlines, ways you plan to construct it, character profiles, whatever you can think of to build this novel in the background while you’re on a mini-break period. You’re merely keeping the engine lubed. After a month or so, or once you feel like you’re fully recharged (you might not ever feel like this, so don’t rely on some magical feeling to perk you up), you can then write your second book. Don’t even go back to look at the first until the second is over.

Then during the aftermath of that book (your second effort), take off another week or two (again, depending on the size of the task: a novel written in a month usually requires less recharge time), and then instead of writing articles or short stories like you did before, you can take these few weeks to edit your first novel. Work hard on it, pick it apart, but take time to jot down notes for your third book. Begin the same process as before: gradually building layers and outlines. Once you’ve finished editing the first, you can now write the third, knowing that after you complete that book, you can edit the second. If it’s too daunting to get into just yet, lay it aside and go back to writing short stories or articles. Alternate between the two, but never spend more than 8 weeks on the small stuff. If you devote too much time to casual writing, you might end up as a casual writer — producing short pieces of work and nothing else.

Essentially you want your writing world to be an endless revolving door.

And I’ll tell you why.


“Success is a function of persistence and doggedness, and the willingness to work hard for twenty-two minutes to make sense of something that most people would give up on after thirty seconds.”

~ Alan Schoenfeld


Too many aspiring writers fixate on getting published. Their first thought, before anything, is about their novel being bought, sold and put on the shelf. This is a typical example of running before you can walk. Instead of taking the time to write a decent novel, you’re rushing ahead to the end zone, cutting corners on the way — sometimes without even knowing it. You need to practice your craft and you also need space from your last project. You’re too close to it, and you’ll find it hard to be objective about what parts are bad or unnecessary. You’ll tell yourself certain scenes are good enough even if you know they need rewriting. Or sometimes it’s the opposite: you hate every scene and want to tear the whole thing to shreds and start all over again. Both ways are wrong.

You shouldn’t be sprinting through the creative process just so you can see results. It’s like the Tortoise and Hare race — you’ll become complacent, sending out half-finished manuscripts, rough edits, etc., and the guy who took those extra few months to distance himself from his work and then thoroughly edit it, will surpass you at the finish line. Ironically, those who don’t move on to another writing project often spend longer on editing overall: they’ll work on the same novel repeatedly, constantly reading and re-reading; sometimes liking their work, other times hating it. The more they think about publication, the more they try to perfect their story and undo everything they’ve done up until that point. Or, on the flip side, they’ll think it’s great as it is, send it off too early, and then wonder why they’ve been rejected by every agent and publishing house.

That’s why you should move on to another book. Or short stories, or articles, or whatever will help to maintain your sharpness. Keep your mind occupied on something new. That will wipe your memory of its connection with your old work and free up your critical faculties for when you go back to edit it later on.

If you’re always looking ahead to the next book, rather than to finishing this book, there won’t be so much pressure on you. You won’t overthink every edit, every scene. You’ll know you can rewrite it, send it off, and that you have more to follow after. In a way, having more completed novels is freeing: it takes the pressure off your back. The more books in your arsenal, the more possible chances of success. And if it does sell, you’ll have another couple to sell straight after it.

Also, there’s another reason for steaming ahead with something new.


“If you always put limit on everything you do, physical or anything else. It will spread into your work and into your life.
There are no limits. There are only plateaus, and you must not stay there, you must go beyond them.”

~ Bruce Lee


Objectivity is something that you cultivate. You can’t do this by repeatedly reading over your own inferior work and praising yourself for it (or worse: beating yourself up about it, which will only put you off writing anything else in the future). The fact is, most first novels are terrible — yours probably is too. Unless you’ve been writing short stories all these years, if this is your first major writing project, it’ll no doubt be a waste of paper. 

I wrote about four or five novels (some finished; some half-completed) before I wrote anything decent. Even now I’m on my eighth “good” novel and I still think most of what I’ve written is trash. My goal is to keep learning, to strive to be a better writer, and that doesn’t come easily. But what helps is my forward momentum. I file one project and start on the next. I let the first one breathe for a while with the plaster off; later on I go in with the gauze and scissors and bandage up the cracks. 

On top of that, with every new book, story or article I write, I learn more about the writing process. I notice mistakes in my construction or a lack of characterisation or an overabundance of swearing or repetitive angles or scenarios that crop up in my work. This means that when I return to edit my earlier stuff months down the line, not only do I have a clearer vision of what’s wrong (having been away from it for so long), I’m also able to see the story with a stronger eye toward revision. That way my old work has the powerful attributes of my newer stuff. 

With the influx of self-published novels these days, I’m sure there are many amateur or over-eager authors who look back on their early published work and regret having sent it off to print without setting it aside for a while. In hindsight, they spot all the mistakes and issues they’d been too close to see before. And now they can’t take it back. Their book is forever in the world, unedited, uncut, in all its horrible nakedness.

Don’t be that guy. Don’t look at your baby and wish you’d aborted it.


“If people knew how hard I had to work to gain my mastery, it would not seem so wonderful at all.”

~ Michelangelo


There’s another issue with just sticking on one project: once you get past the insecurities and procrastination aspect of it all, the problem is that you’re thinking about fame and money above all else. You’re not thinking about writing beautifully, or doing anything productive. You’re beating a dead horse and expecting it to get up and dance for you. A writer writes. Don’t hone your first book a thousand times hoping to catch a million-pound book deal. Just write and write some more. Then move on, go back, go sideways — always be working. Writing, editing, sending off, alternating between the three until you have a body of work.

By the time you start novel three, novel one will be in circulation. If that sells, you’ll already have novel two to go out for sale by the time you start on your fourth.

That makes you one step ahead of the game every time.

Which is the smartest and most lucrative place to be.


“The average person puts only 25% of his energy and ability into his work.”

~ Andrew Carnegie


Why are you still here?

File that novel of yours, have a small celebration, and move on to the next piece. It won’t write itself. And if it does — well that’s a freakish story I’d love to hear about.


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UntitledHow I Got A Literary Agent
(The Easy Way)

“Hell hath no fury like a hustler with a literary agent.”

Frank Sinatra

Whenever I talk to aspiring writers about craft or technique or anything related to the nuts and bolts of fiction, they invariably brush it aside and say, “Yeah I know all that, but how did you get your agent?” That’s all they care about. They ask the question as if they expect me to present them with a secret formula, or a cheat code they can tap into an ancient Sega Mega Drive controller or something. If I mention discipline, hard work, writing every day, the fundamentals of success, they wave that away like: “Yeah yeah, I get all that. But how did you get your agent specifically?” Everything else is just noise.

To many aspiring writers, penning the novel is the easy part. Even before they’ve attempted it, they think it’s as simple as putting words down on a page, just like painting The Sistine Chapel was as simple as throwing paint at a ceiling. They think catching the attention of an agent is the difficult part. But the real struggle is writing something marketable. And if you’ve laid the foundation by working hard, perfecting your craft, and producing a quality manuscript, everything that comes after is a lot easier.

So for those who care, this is the very straightforward story of how I managed to capture the eye of an agent*.

(*Not her actual eye; I didn’t kidnap her eyeball and hold it hostage, although kidnapping an agent’s eyeball might get you signed quicker. I don’t know. Try it and get back to me).


“Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.”

Winston Churchill


Around the age of eighteen or nineteen I sent a completed novel off to a literary agency and was brutally rejected (Read More About That Here). After that, I didn’t approach an agent for at least another five or six years. I decided I wouldn’t embarrass myself like that again. I’d only send something off if I could be certain my work was of a high standard. Years of preening and rewriting and restructuring later, convinced I had something worth selling, I once more began to toy with the notion of a literary agent. It was time.

Unlike my first horrible (and unprofessional) attempt, I chose the smart route. With what little money I had in my bank I purchased The Writers’ and Artists’ Yearbook. If you’ve never heard of this book, go and check it on Amazon. It’s essential to any aspiring authors. Aside from being packed with tips on breaking into the business, or how to finance and market self-published novels, and numerous other tidbits from professional authors, it’s also a manifesto of every credible agent in the UK and US. Not only does it list the agencies (and vets them too, so you won’t end up getting scammed), but it also offers additional information such as their address (in case you wish to stalk any of them to work), their phone number (in case you want to cold-call them and sell them insurance), and most importantly it explicitly states the type of work they represent, and the form in which they’d like to receive that work.

This is tres important.

I’m sure a few egoists among you might think it’s cool to send a Science Fiction novel to someone who clearly states they only deal with Romance Fiction, in some blind pig-headed notion that your novel is so good it’ll make the man rethink his entire career. “What have I been doing all my life? By jove! Romance fiction? Poppycock! This Sci-Fi novel is so good I think I’ll become an agent of those instead.” Just don’t do it. Read the market, pick one that represents your work, and send it to them only.

In the Writers’ and Artists’ Yearbook, it usually states whether they want a full manuscript, or a query letter first, or three chapters, or whatever.

I approached my own submission like it was a complex equation: I spent about three hours circling every agent that dealt with crime fiction, then I wrote their names, addresses and relevant information into a Word folder. I don’t know why. If anything, I think I was stalling. Pretending like I was doing all this work by cross-sectioning people.

I then rewrote the first three chapters of my novel for the 20th time.

Once I was finally ready to send my work off, I chose (probably due to laziness more than anything) all the agents who accepted email submissions, and picked out three.

Then, for whatever reason, I narrowed it down to two.


Always bear in mind that your own resolution to succeed is more important than any other.” Abraham Lincoln


Before sending my work off, I decided to piss my money down the drain by getting Scribendi, a professional author service website, to write me a synopsis, chapter breakdown, character profile, and query letter as part of my package. I’d convinced myself (due to insecurity) that, even though I could manage to write a 500-page novel, I couldn’t quite grasp the complex intricacies of a simple query letter.

It was ridiculous, but I must have spent about four hundred pound on this needless package. There are plenty of templates on the Internet. A five-minute search will yield one worth using. You can also read my blog about writing a query letter for some more advice.

Anyway, an agent might silently judge you on a terrible query letter, but if it’s short and does the job, they’ll give your novel a try, which is all that matters. No one really cares about anything else. The synopsis might be tricky to write, but you have to work on that too. If you can write the novel, you can create an interesting synopsis.

Follow the process and you’ll already be ahead of the majority.


“The starting point of all achievement is desire.”Napoleon Hill


With the package completed, I sent off my two emails. The first to respond was an agent whose name I can’t recall. I remember him being old and pedantic. He replied with a lot of positive comments about my novel (a crime-detective book called Cutthroat City, part of a proposed series of six). He also suggested he’d be open to representing me if I could make some changes to the book. His changes weren’t plot-based and he didn’t ask to see any more of my novel; his suggestions were picky syntax-related ideas. “Change ravaged to savaged”, and small shit like that. Something about his style of communication seemed unprofessional, and after a quick search of his background I came to realise that he wasn’t the right agent for me. I could imagine him micromanaging every line of my work like an overeager failed writer-editor who lives his dream vicariously through his clients by endlessly tinkering with their every paragraph. Editorial input is one thing; manipulating my writing for his own needs is something wholly different.

The second one to reply (yay, a two out of two return rate) was Eve White, who eventually became my agent. Her first email was something generic along the lines of “We liked your initial three chapters, could you send the entire manuscript by post?” along with details for me to follow. As requested I printed off the novel and sent it to Eve. Within a week or so she called me up and we had a brief chat. She told me she loved the novel, although in places it could use some work and she could detect a little naïveté in my writing, which, looking back, was a fair comment. At the time I was only 24 (I’m 30 now), but I figured I knew everything. I’ve since learned I know nothing. Either way, I was ecstatic. An agent had validated my writing. I felt like I officially wasn’t a fraud.

However, she didn’t feel comfortable representing a UK author with an American novel as she couldn’t verify whether my fictional American town came across as authentic or not. She politely asked if I could rewrite the book to set it in England. At the time I was resolute: no way, I could never do that, impossible. Nowadays I might approach it differently. After ripping through and rewriting a couple of my novels, I realise how needlessly precious I used to be over my work. In any case, I said no but told her I’d recently completed a novel set in the UK and would she like to see it? She said she would but there was no rush. She didn’t want me sending in half-finished work.

So I moved on to the next step.


“Always be yourself, express yourself, have faith in yourself, do not go out and look for a successful personality and duplicate it.”Bruce Lee


I rewrote the shit out of my UK novel (a crime drama called City of Blades) and once again wasted £300+ on a submission package. I sent the first three chapters, and off the back of those chapters, Eve called me into her office for an interview.

From the 60 pages she’d read (including the previous novel of mine she’d read), she was certain I had something. We spoke for an hour or two, exchanging life stories, checking my writing background, finding out my influences, the usual shit. We got along great. At the end she offered me a contract with her agency. Without hesitation I said yes, but Eve told me to take the contract, get a lawyer to check it over if I wanted to, sign up to The Society of Authors, and a number of other things just to make sure everything was above board, and then if I still wanted to sign with her, we could go ahead with it. So I went home, pretended to do everything she asked, then told her I was ready to join her agency.

A week or so later I received a gold-laminated contract in the post. I still have it and one day I might frame it and put it on the wall — my first professional agency contract; validation from a top literary agent that I had talent. My writing wasn’t dog shit. Or, if it was, at least it was saleable dog shit. Or potentially saleable. Whatever.

I signed that contract one week before my 25th birthday.

It was one of the best presents I’ve ever received.


“Success is nothing more than a few simple disciplines, practiced every day.”Jim Rohn


Anyway, that’s how I got my agent. Nothing special, no tricks, no manipulations, and no cutting corners.

Although, having said all that, it doesn’t work that way for everybody. Some people might go through 100 agents before one picks them up. A good friend of mine, Rob Boffard, went through about 10+ agents and multiple rewrites of his novel before three came to him all at once and he had the choice to pick who he wanted. And now he’s got a three-book deal with Orbit. His novel, Tracer, a riveting Sci-Fi, was released in July of this year. I’ve already read it, and I highly recommend it. You can order it from here.

My point is, if you want an agent: discipline, hard work, but most importantly perseverance is what will get you there. Unless you’re a trash writer.

But even then . . .

Dan Brown, ahem.


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On a related note: I’m no longer with that agent for reasons I’ll explain in a future article. But the experience is one I’ll never forget and don’t regret going through.


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10-movies-you-wish-weren-t-based-on-a-true-story-521397Drawing From Real Life
(For Inspiration) 

“Fiction is the truth inside the lie.

Stephen King

When I was sixteen I had a massive crush on Jennifer Love Hewitt. My hormones were raging out of control at this stage but amongst all of my lurid and depraved sexual fantasies, one thing stood out: I wanted to marry this woman. The majority of my time was spent daydreaming about how I could make this happen. One of my solutions was that I’d write a bestselling novel, move to America as a famous writer, and then seduce her. The idea was stupid, but I was young, still a virgin, and I lived in a fantasy world. Within weeks I began trying to write reality. I titled the book Jenny Love — and the story was about a charming teenager who writes a bestselling novel in England and then moves to LA to hunt down a famous actress who he’s obsessed with (I wonder who that could be?). I figured if I wrote the book, life would imitate art. Headline: Bestselling author snags Hollywood star.

At some point during the writing experience I stopped liking her. I can’t remember why. I think I heard that she cheated on her boyfriend or something and because I was a puritanical self-righteous know-it-all teenager I crossed her off my wedding list. Then I changed her character in the book so that the main guy would find out he hates her halfway through and fall in love with his friend Lucy Lockett instead. The book was absolute trash, but the point is I drew from real life and turned fantasies into a reality. I didn’t know anything about LA (other than what I’d seen on the TV), and I didn’t know too much about Jennifer Love Hewitt, either, but I created a story from that seed.

I wrote what I knew, even though I actually knew nothing . . .


“The only source of knowledge is experience.”Albert Einstein


Write what you know is one of the oldest writing rules, and it’s regularly misinterpreted. Most people, unless they’re particularly adventurous, don’t know that much. Our points of reference are small. We glean masses of information from TV and movies and books, but technically we don’t know a whole hell of a lot. If I were to only write what I know in the most explicit and literal sense, I’d write a book about masturbating and eating cheesy-pasta (not necessarily at the same time).

Writing what you know is more about drawing from your experiences to create your own world. For instance, I’ve never bungee jumped (I’d rather break my own legs with a hammer), so I don’t know how it feels to leap off a cliff into oblivion. However, I have fallen off a high wall before and I’ve been on a roller coaster which seemed to be heading for impending doom, and I’ve slipped off the top of a fence (which led to one of my fingers being severed) and I’ve experienced numerous mini death-defying moments in my life. Those are moments that I know, and I can use those to write a convincing bungee jumping scene. Fear is a universal feeling and we’ve all been attacked by it at one point in our lives (unless you’re a psychopath). If your character is in a situation loaded with fear, you don’t need to know what it feels like to be at the wrong end of a gun or blade. You can simply imagine a moment in your life when you were terrified and transfer those feelings, adapting them to the scenario at hand. It’s as simple as that.

And that can go for anything. If you’re writing a portrait of a heroin addict and want to understand about addiction, you don’t need to shoot up for two years and then attempt to quit — that wouldn’t be useful for anyone. But what you can do, alongside researching the relevant data online, is once again draw from your own well. We’re all addicted to things in small ways. For the most part we’re creatures of routine. Give up something for a month and see how it feels. Maybe you’re used to drinking coffee every morning before work. Cut that out and see how you react. Are you more agitated at work? Does something feel like it’s missing? Does it get harder as the weeks go by?

Talk to your friends too. Have they tried to give up smoking before? How did it feel? How did it affect them? The more data you collate, the wider your point of reference when you finally construct that character. And even though at no point have you had a heroin needle stuck in your arm, your account of it will most likely come across as authentic. You’ve taken feelings of addiction and blown them up in proportion to go alongside what you already know about the crippling power of heroin addiction.

But it doesn’t stop there.


“Experience is the teacher of all things.”Julius Caesar


Delving into what you know can help with story creation too. Let’s say we break it down to the fundamentals — what do you know? For instance, if you’re a plumber, you know how to fix pipes, unclog sinks, whatever. By itself that isn’t very interesting. What else do you know? Have you ever had a noisy or irritating neighbour? Okay, so let’s throw that in there. You’re a plumber working long hours with a noisy neighbour. Have you got children? Have you ever experienced the sleepless nights that comes hand in hand with a newborn? Okay, now add that in. You’re a hardworking plumber with a newborn baby who can’t sleep because of the noisy neighbour. It’s enough to make a man mad. So let’s say, after numerous letters and calls and friendly talks with the neighbour, this man (or woman) refuses to keep it quiet upstairs. Here’s where you can fuse what you know with the story world. This is where you begin to create a reality.

Your protagonist, the gentle sleep-deprived plumber, decides to break into the neighbour’s house and mess with the pipes in revenge. Now, you wouldn’t necessarily do something like that in real life, but if you build the tension enough you can make it believable that this guy has finally snapped. Then, once you’ve found a way to get your plumber in the house (it doesn’t have to be anything groundbreaking; a spare key, a loose window, whatever), you can now once again refer to what you know.

As a plumber you most likely know how to toy with someone’s pipes and sabotage their plumbing system. Have your character do it. Maybe he feels guilty doing it; maybe he feels nothing but glee, glad to give the neighbour payback. That’s for you to choose. After that, you can go in any direction. He’s ruined the plumbing. Now what?

In a short story, you can leave it with a twist: the water floods through the ceiling and the plumber realises he’s made things worse for himself. He notes the grim irony: dealing with his baby’s nappies whilst shit drips through the ceiling from the overflowing toilet upstairs. Or perhaps you want your plumber to have a win: the neighbour offers an apology, and asks if the plumber could take a look at his (or her) pipes, unaware he’d sabotaged them in the first place. They end up on good terms and the neighbour agrees to keep the noise down in the future. Or maybe you want to go dark with it: the neighbour slips on the water of a busted pipe and cracks his skull open. The plumber is regretful, but also happy to finally get a good night’s sleep. He snuggles up to his wife and baby.

It doesn’t matter. Choose whatever ending works for your story.

The point is: you can write or create almost anything from what you know. The above probably wouldn’t win any awards for story of the year, but it’s a simple template for writing something short from your own experience. It has all the elements needed: a sympathetic main character, a desire/need (silence: so he can get a night’s sleep with his family), and a bad guy. On top of that, you’ve fused your own experiences to give the story authenticity. You can do this for anything. If you want to think broader, in novel terms, just do the same — draw from your own experiences and create something that’s both true and false. Every good piece of fiction has a truth at its core. It needs to feel real, even if we know it isn’t; even if most plumbers wouldn’t go to the lengths of sabotaging someone’s pipes for a night of sleep, it works in fiction. The audience suspend their disbelief.

So write what you know if you have to — but make it interesting.


“Nothing is a waste of time if you use the experience wisely.”Auguste Rodin


If you’re not sure how to apply the above to a novel, you do exactly the same but bigger and larger. A novel needs subplots, more depth, more layers, a story big enough that can grow over many pages. But that doesn’t mean you can’t draw from your own experience for every scene, conflict, and twisted scenario. Maybe you want to write a murder mystery from the point of view of a Private Eye but know nothing about private detectives. So? Learn a little and make up the rest. If you want, fuse your plumbing experience into it.

Maybe a plumber finds blood and hair in someone’s pipes and takes it to the private detective. Plausible? Possibly, although not likely. But you can think of something. After that, as the private detective investigates, he’ll be talking to people, asking questions, meeting a crazy cast of characters. You’ve most likely met a few cuckoo people in your time — now’s the time to pick your memory. You’ve also had people lie to you (and you’ve known they were lying; sometimes from a gut feeling, other times because they’re shifty or contradictory when they talk), so you can put that into your scenes. Your private eye thinks one of the witnesses is lying, and he’s determined to find out. The possibilities are endless. Take something small and blow it up. Make things bigger and better than real life. Just make sure they retain a truth to it.

And if you can do that, you’ll be fine. Write what you know, sure. But fuse it with what you don’t know. It’ll be more fun that way. And much more interesting to read.

Now get back to work. Those pipes won’t fix themselves.


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This week’s guest blog is about video game film adaptations by Christopher Aguiar.

You can check his previous blog here: The Fear of Subtitles.


megaWill Video Game Films 
Ever Surpass Superhero Movies?
by Christopher Aguiar

Ever since comic book and superhero movies became near-guaranteed box office monsters, other attempts throughout the film industry have been made to tackle this emergence — reboots of famous franchises that play on nostalgia (Jurassic Park, Terminator, Die Hard, etc.) being one of the main forces. Yet there is one sector that struggles to get its feet off the ground, and has yet to create a widely accepted great film: the video game scene.

We’ve sat through the idiocies of Resident Evil, the mindless and inconsequential action of every single Hitman film, as well as the exposition-heavy Silent Hill, so it’s understandable when game-to-film transitions are met with a groan. But the saddening thing is that these franchises are utilised to garner easy money from hardcore fans of the games — those who, whether they love or hate it, will pay to watch. Therefore, it’s difficult to convince studios to get on board with releasing a story-heavy film that challenges the audience — even though that is what they necessitate.

Hitman is a video game series that is almost episodic, has no conclusion, and rarely focuses on its story — the beauty of the game is its stealth, and this stems from interactivity. So why did it get adapted to the big screen? If anything, the episodic structure should mean it naturally besets itself in the TV realm.


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It is regular to see, or hear, misconceptions about how video games are just mindless fun and lack story depth. Yet one glance into what has been produced in the last decade alone tells you otherwise. The storylines are far more intricate than they’ve ever been, and game developers are no longer just creating immersive worlds with cardboard cutouts; they’re now populating these vast landscapes with fully formed characters. This added realism challenges the gamer in a far more interesting way than eating dots with Pac-Man. Video games have evolved into the beating heart of new-generation storytelling. So why should they be omitted from the big screen — or, rather, why do studios opt for the decrepit toy over the shiny one?

Recently, Michael Fassbender was cast in the upcoming Assassin’s Creed film as Callum Lynch (a character created solely for the big screen). This could be the catalyst for video game adaptations to finally hit that high note. As a game franchise, Assassin’s Creed often does a great job of embroiling drama and action within a historical time period (Italian Renaissance, The Third Crusade, The American Revolution, etc.), and this means that the film is forced to adhere to the same structure — thus, the first Assassin’s Creed film will be set in 15th century Spain.

Having an Oscar nominee spearheading the project is a huge indicator that the film’s material is strong. Perhaps the most positive aspect is that Assassin’s Creed rarely stays within one confined genre; it dabbles in action, drama, sci-fi, and the stealthy gameplay often gives it elements of a thriller. Ultimately, this forces the studio to study the source material heavily and deliver a strong and coherent story above everything else.

Furthermore, director Justin Kurzel’s rendition of Macbeth, with the aforementioned actor, shows he’s no stranger to adaptations. There is a lot to be positive about with this upcoming film, and if it succeeds in becoming the first great video game film, then we can expect to see an influx of excellent and diverse stories catapult above the mundane and repetitive.


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With the hype of The Walking Dead still knocking around, there have been various attempts at an “emotional” zombie-infestation film. Maggie was the recent trial, but it paraded poor writing and too much ham acting to really hit a tone with the majority of people. One video game that perfectly encapsulated heartfelt, zombie-apocalypse drama was The Last of Us.

The film version is still in its casting process, and it recently picked up Game of Thrones starlet Maisie Williams to play the role of Ellie: a teenage girl immune to the infection, who sparks up a faux paternal relationship with Joel — a man grieving the death of his daughter. Despite feeling like a burden toward one another, the two become caring, and, what sets out to be a journey from Point A to B (using Ellie to find a cure to the world’s infection), ends up being one that teeters in the middle as Joel becomes protective over her safety. It’s a truly heartbreaking game with phenomenal world creation, character development, and a satisfying ending. This is a perfect project to stand out as a top tier video game adaptation, as well as an interesting zombie flick. The game garnered huge financial success and reaped in countless awards — there is little risk attached to studios going all out in launching this film to the very best of their abilities.


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And even though the films above sound like they could be great, why have their predecessors been so unimpressive to say the least? Well, there is an obsession with money over quality in the upper echelons of the film industry, and unfortunately, video game adaptations tend to be helmed by said echelons due to their high budget demand in bringing their world to life. Secondly, most video game adaptations tend to be released during the summer Blockbuster period, which forces them to mindlessly entertain rather than challenge audiences. This is counterproductive because it forces studios to opt for the turgid and one-dimensional video games. Luckily, Assassin’s Creed seems set to break the mould with a December 2016 release. The issues that constantly appear in these adaptations could be eradicated once one film defies all the odds and succeeds.

The superhero franchise was often toyed around with, but never reached the consistent heights that Marvel and DC are currently producing. There were abominations like Batman & Robin that almost killed an entire franchise. And while there were some hits here and there, it was only until Batman Begins (2005) and Iron Man (2008) that superhero films became a respectable sector of film. All it takes is one big hit for a snowball effect to kick in. Since the first Iron Man — which was fantastic — we have had superior films such as Avengers: Assemble, Captain America: The Winter Soldier and so on. Now, almost every superhero film is a grand hard-hitter with its budget and subsequent box office return.

Video game adaptations will be the next in line, and far less one-dimensional than the usual “oh, look, it’s a superhero saving the world again!” scenario.


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Chris Aguiar is an amateur screenwriter (still learning the ropes) and incredibly passionate about film and TV. He identifies with Latin-American cinema and ranks The Matrix as his all-time favourite film (he is prepared to fight anybody — dead or alive — that questions this).

Find more of his work here: RCDAguiar and follow him on Twitter here: RCD.


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character sitting on the top of book's heapNever Stop Learning
(You Don’t Know Everything)

“The fool doth think he is wise,

but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.”

William Shakespeare

A lot of writers — both professional and amateur alike — fall into the trap of thinking they know enough. They’ve read numerous books about writing, or they’ve attended multiple seminars, or they’ve written fifteen bestsellers, and so they give up searching for any more education on the subject. They think they know it all.

But, the thing is, they rarely do. Writing is a lifelong apprenticeship — we will never complete it. Lawrence Block once said he learned more from teaching writing, than he ever did at his keyboard. He learned by being open to new ideas; by allowing his ego to step aside and admit to himself he might not know everything, and these students might be able to teach him something new.

Many seasoned authors think that an admission of ignorance about the craft is the same as saying they know nothing, or that they’re a hack. They feel the need to portray this image of an all-knowing omniscient writer-god to those around them. The true greats, however, know that to stay on your throne, you need to keep a constant vigil. Be aware of everything around you: never get comfortable. Never sleep on your craft.

Because someone, somewhere, is waiting for you to slip up so they can take your crown.


“Live as if you were to die tomorrow. Learn as if you were to live forever.” 

Mahatma Gandhi


They say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, which may be true: but if that dog never quits learning, never curbs his education, he’ll never have to break his bad habits. If you make sure you’re always experimenting and soaking in advice, you’ll be fixing and adapting and growing as a writer as you go along. You’ll be an ever-evolving unpredictable writing machine.

If you aim for perfection, you’ll eventually shake hands with her. You’ll never quite grasp her — perfection is slippery — but you’ll come close.


“Tell me and I forget. Teach me and I remember. Involve me and I learn.”

Benjamin Franklin


One of the arguments some writers put forth is that they don’t need to learn any more. They’ve sold a novel, their writing is widely praised, or they know they’re competent, or whatever, and they feel that taking in even more advice can only hinder their progress. It will ruin their good work, cause them to over-think and change their style. That’s a legitimate worry. There are those who take learning too far: they change their approach and end up writing something so intricate and perfect on every level that it lacks heart. Their sentences become too refined; their stories too contrived. Everything about their work is robotic and lacks passion. That’s a risk for people who take advice literally. You need to know which parts to absorb, and which to say no to. Not every snatch of writer advice will apply to you or your situation.

A perfect example of this from the rap world is Eminem. In the past, at the height of his fame and success, he wrote intricate rhymes that were somehow both simplistic and complex: rhyme patterns that twisted and turned; he constructed sentences that had rhymes spiralling within rhymes, and yet they were also accessible to the average listener. They could rap along to him and feel as if they were part of his music. Now, however, his style has advanced to such a degree of intricacy that his music has lost its flavour. It’s not easy to connect with his songs anymore. The average listener can’t understand him, let alone rhyme along with his words. He took his learning too far. He adapted and changed in order to prove he was the best rapper on the planet: by doing this, he alienated what made him so good — his ability to write rhymes fans could relate to and vibe with.

Some writers are like that: they’ll refine their craft to a point that it comes across as inauthentic. They’re trying too hard. They’ve lost sight of the bigger picture. Every adverb, verb, adjective, is so thoughtfully and wonderfully placed that the words have lost all meaning. The pages feel lifeless; the characters are manicured to an extreme.

Don’t fall into this trap. You can learn without wiping what you already know. This is an insecurity thing. You need to realise and understand your strengths — with every piece of advice you read or hear, take it into consideration alongside what you already know. If it seems like it will aid your writing, or make it stronger, or more complex, then experiment and see how it goes. If, however, it seems ridiculous or goes against how you write, then discard it. Don’t ruin who you are to please someone else.

Remember: your style is what makes you unique. Don’t lose that.


“Education is what remains after one has forgotten what one has learned in school.”

Albert Einstein


For those who think a writing education is a waste of time, what are your reasons? Write them down and analyse them. Do they seem reasonable? Or are you just being arrogant? Footballers practice almost every day of the week. Do you think Ronaldo or Messi don’t know how to kick a ball by now? You think Ronaldo needs a manager to tell him what angle to aim from when he shoots? Or what runs to make? Or when he should sit back? Surely the best player on the planet would know all of that by now? But even so, he practices every day — he stays behind for shooting practice. He goes to the gym. He harnesses his skill and hones it. And that’s why he’s one of the best.

Plenty of writers reach a level of competency and then arrogantly shrug off further education. Which is how many authors end up running into a brick wall during their career. Their sales flag, their books repeat old patterns, they lose their spark, and they have no idea how to get it back.

Only once they’re forced to, once they’ve crashed and burned, do they consider going back to the drawing board — but by that time, it’s too late. They’re old news.


“There is no end to education. It is not that you read a book, pass an examination, and finish with education. The whole of life, from the moment you are born to the moment you die, is a process of learning.” — Jiddu Krishnamurti


How can you learn? What should you do?

Firstly, read a shitload of writing manuals. Some will be informative, some will be smart, and others will be brainless and harmful if you take their advice on board. Those written by established authors are the best to start with — who knows better than the pros? — but even they tend to have advice that could be counterproductive to your writing career. Just because it works for them, doesn’t mean it works for you. Make sure you remember that. You don’t want to emulate or copy their rhythms. Just learn about them. That way you can pick and choose and accumulate a list of good ideas.

Many of the writing manuals offer similar advice: write what you know, show don’t tell, etc. It’s the stuff all of us know, and for the most part you won’t learn anything new reading these sections, although I’d suggest you go over them anyway. In some manuals they’ll approach these subjects from an angle you’ve never considered before, illuminating an otherwise dark corner. Further still, they may explain it in a way that unlocks something inside your creative brain. It might make you realise a mistake in one of your novels, or a way that can help with your future writing projects. Sometimes a small line from a writing book can trigger something and you’ll think: You’re right, I forgot about the motivation of my main character, and then you can fix it. 

Don’t think because you know that stuff, that you actually know it. Check with someone who has a master’s degree in English. Ask him what he knows four or five years on. If he hasn’t been practicing, the likelihood is that he doesn’t know much. Memory is constantly changing and recording over itself. Try to think back to school: can you remember everything you learned? Probably not. School was a long time ago.

And what you know today, you may very well forget tomorrow. So keep learning, keep soaking it in, and keep it at the forefront of your brain — simmering in hot water.

How can you forget something if you’re constantly reminding yourself?


“He who learns but does not think, is lost!

He who thinks but does not learn is in great danger.”

Confucius 


Read plenty of interviews with authors. You’ll find that in most of these interviews, they’re questioned about their writing habits and practices. Every now and then they’ll drop a gem of advice that changes the way you view your writing. Pick your favourite authors, go online, and binge on their interviews. Get inside their head, see what makes them tick. Learn how they write, what brought them to the stage they’re at. Do they write in the morning? The evening? Do they have a particular ritual? Read it and learn from it.

And read lots of novels, too. And when you’re reading them — analyse the writing. If you keep your analytical mind open, you’ll always be learning. If you close it off, your mind dulls. Even with practice, you can slip into bad habits. Picking apart another writer’s style can help to keep your mind sharp. Look at what works and question why it works. Look at what doesn’t and do the same.

The more flaws you find, the more you’ll stamp out in your own work.

And this works vice versa too: if your mind loses that sharp edge, if you begin to see all writing as flawless, you’ll view your own work in this way too, and that’s bad.

In order to write well, you must hate everything.

And then love it again.

Hate it, love it, pick it apart.

Reading’s like a puzzle: it’s no fun unless it’s smashed to pieces first.


For more on critical reading, click on this link: READING WITH A CRITICAL EYE


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