The Right Way to Write?

What is the 'right' way to write? Is there such a thing?

The advice for budding writers (and professionals) on how to actually go about writing creatively is as contradictory as putting a freezer in a greenhouse.

I remember a famous writer telling me that if at least one draft of a story wasn't completed within a few weeks, then the writer obviously wasn't passionate enough about telling it and, therefore, the whole thing was doomed to either (a) blandness or (b) never being written. Yet some of the best books have taken years, sometimes decades, to write.

Two other writers offered starkly different approaches to writing: one suggested working on about five different projects at the same time, insisting that the different characters, formats, genres, etc. will feed into each other and keep the writing fresh. Another said never, under any circumstances, attempt more than one book at a time.

Who's right?

The above are extreme examples of an otherwise broad range of writing approaches, but you get the idea. Every writer's Holy Grail is the 'right' way to write: a method that will achieve, first and foremost, a publishable piece of work, and secondly, a satisfying, sustainable writing practice.

Julia Cameron's book The Artist's Way takes a holistic approach to the subject of writing. She advocates 'morning pages', or a daily practice of writing 3 pages in long-hand every morning, no matter what. These pages are geared towards emptying the brain of its 'internal chatter' (Cameron admits to filling her own pages with rants, shopping lists, and variations on the phrase 'I don't know what to write') so that the creative mind can be stimulated.

Cameron's idea of morning pages is hot stuff. Some writers, such as Noelle Sterne, praise them for combatting writer's block. Ellen Klages gives credit to her own 11-year effort at morning pages for doing more than shutting up her internal chatter: Her story 'A Taste of Summer' came straight out of her morning pages. Of her everyday scribblings, she says, 'It's all material.'

This notion hits a chord with me. Writing seems to be about the rule of 1000-1: 1000 pages of rubbish to every gem. I've deleted, scrumpled up, shredded, and actually burned writing that I deemed particularly tripe. But then there's the famous story of Stephen King's wife digging an early draft of 'Carrie' out of the bin. He'd obviously thought it wasn't very good; his wife (Tabby) argued otherwise. The rest, as they say, is history.

Even if everyone's laptop detritus isn't the next Booker prize winner, it's a good rule of thumb not to delete ANY writing material. This is, I'd say, the only 'right' way to write: to rewrite. Some pieces can sit for years before they're ready to be taken apart and rebuilt as shining masterpieces. Others might contain a single line that can be used later as the opening (or close) of a stunning story, script or poem. Mslexia, the women's magazine for writing, publishes a brief interview in every issue with a published writer, describing a book that she never published: interestingly, many of these writers admit to trawling old unpublished manuscripts for characters and plots with which to furnish works that went on to be published, win awards etc.

The 'right' way to write is a notion that I try to encourage writing students to think against. I spent years thinking I was doing it all wrong, having taken on advice from other writers that contradicted my own writing practice. It's taken an equal amount of years to trip over a nugget of sense: writing is as simple as pen and paper. Write ten books at a time, if that's your cup of tea. Write in the bath. Write all night long, every night, for months - it paid off for Cecelia Ahearn. Write only what you know, or write about what you don't know. Write entirely against your 'natural' style, according to Anne Enright.

But above all, if you must, write.

Image credit: celestindevilla