I’m going to try to wrap up my thoughts on the mischievous missive delivered by Mr. Porter Anderson at Writer Unboxed. The first part of my response is here. The second part is here.
There are three issues outstanding:
Issue 3 – Is the Party Over?
Issue 4 – What Counts as Writing Success?
Issue 5 – Can Fiction Writing Be Taught?
Last week I upheld the view that this is the best time on Earth to be a writer. Lest you think I only mean because writers can now self-publish and make real dough, here’s some news that rippled outward from the traditional side of things: Sci-Fi writer John Scalzi inked a $3.4 million deal with Tor Books. That’s for thirteen books over a ten-year period. I’d say that counts as good times. Mr. Scalzi explains his thought process here.
Ah, but is the party over? Or about to be? Has there been a “tonal shift” in what Porter calls the “palaver” from the indie writer sector of the publishing world?
I do sense a shift, but not a negative one. It is, rather, the natural maturation of a revolution. During the Early Konrathian period of indie publishing, the talk was all about waking people up and stirring them to action (“Give me liberty, or give me death!”). There was an exuberance. There were fight songs around the campfire. Free beer.
It was Thomas Paine and Patrick Henry time. Yes, there was plenty of vitriol, too, which is always part of an uprising. What the American colonists said about the tea tax was not intended for polite society. Nor were the words of indies when reacting to representatives of the Authors Guild.
Now, it seems, the tone has changed from revolution to constitution. From muskets to quills. Giddiness has been replaced by plans and purpose and increasing success.
But just what is success? This is Issue #4.
One type is, certainly, traditional, bestselling, A-list status. Another type is having the freedom to publish what you want, when you want, and making steadily growing income. When you read surveys of traditional authors and how frustrated they can be with their publishers, this type of success might even be all the more attractive.
For some writers the “validation” of traditional success is the most important thing. Others find more satisfaction going directly to readers…and to the bank.
We are all free to define success for ourselves, and should. What does it mean specifically to you? Talk about it in the comments.
Finally, Issue #5. The title of Porter’s post was The Dreaded Training Debate: What If It Can’t Be Taught?
The question implies that a negative answer might be possible. Or, worse, that there is a possibility the whole enterprise of teaching fiction is little more than a racket. That’s what brought me and a couple of my teaching colleagues—Donald Maass and David Corbett—into the comments with some admonishments.
Porter, I’m happy to say, qualified this impression, kindly mentioning my name and my two fellows (and others) as exceptions. But he added this in a comment:
It’s been interesting to see some of these folks I’ve mentioned struggle with this piece. On the surface, of course, that looks natural in that no one wants to be painted with too broad a brush. But you note that I mentioned none of them, nor would I — they’re not the kind of problematic how-to players I’m talking about. And yet, to some degree, they seem unsettled by even the discussion of the problem.
This makes me think (I’m speculating here, they have not told me this) that the problem of “the toadstools” — who are NOT these writer/teachers — is much on their minds.
I can’t answer for my colleagues, but I’m happy to clear up any confusion on my part. No, “the toadstools” were not on my mind at all. What set me off was even entertaining the notion that writing can’t be taught. In point of fact, virtually all writers have been taught how to write in some form or fashion. It’s just that not many talk about it. As good old Ernest Hemingway once said, “It’s none of their business that you have to learn to write. Let them think you were born that way.”
Writing is taught in many ways.
It is taught by editors who know what they’re doing.
It is taught by teachers who know what they’re doing.
It is taught by books by people who know what they’re doing and how to teach others to do the same.
It is taught by critique partners and beta readers.
It can be self-taught by reading novels and analyzing what other authors do. That’s fine. What I do when I teach, however, is save writers years of trial and error by showing them right away what successful authors do, and how they can do it themselves.
The proof of all this, I add as a former trial lawyer, is in the testimony of credible witnesses. The successful writers who themselves give credit to writing instruction.
Let me offer just one example. This from critically acclaimed author Sarah Pekkanen, who gave an interview to NPR about getting published:
I needed advice before I tried to write a novel. The usual axiom — write what you know — wasn’t helpful. I spend my days driving my older children to school and changing my younger one’s diaper — not exactly best-seller material.
So I turned to experts. Three books gave me invaluable writing advice. One, by a best-selling writer [Stephen King]; one, by a top New York agent [Donald Maass]; and one, by a guy who struggled for years to learn how to write a book and wanted to make it easier for the rest of us [some joker named Bell].
The full interview is here. That was six years ago. It’s nice to see how Sarah’s career has prospered since. I’d say she’s offered credible testimony that writing fiction can indeed be taught.
Whew! That’s three full posts all sparked by the incendiary flying fingers of one Porter Anderson, provocateur and good sport. If you bump into him at a conference, don’t dislodge his keyboard…buy him a Campari instead.
Now I’m done. Next week we return to our regularly scheduled program!
On issue #5…can fiction writing be taught?
I’d say, “Absolutely,” when referring to competent, professional writing, but perhaps great writing cannot be taught. Seems to me that no matter how many years I study the craft and put words on the page, I won’t ever win a Pulitzer. (I have another excuse: I’m Canadian.)
I think some people are born with more talent than others, however, whether it be for finding the right word and rhythms, or whether it be for storytelling. I see this in writing groups: one novice writer will take feedback and make huge leaps in progress, and others will be turtles, plodding along for years until they finally take another step forward.
Sheryl, this is a good sub-topic and I wish I had time to do more with it. Maybe in a future post.
I’ve known gifted, natural writers who failed, for one reason or another. Fear, arrogance. I’ve known many more writers who reached higher levels because they studied the craft and wrote, wrote, wrote.
It’s like the gifted athlete who lets indolence keep him from his full potential, while some grinder who never stops working surpasses him on the field.
Another part of this sub-topic is the question: what makes something “great”? We can tell at the outer edges what’s great and what’s trash. But there’s a big cross-over middle where both Gatsby and The Maltese Falcon live.
Good thoughts, thanks for sharing.
Excellent post! Thanks for this. I should expand but I have so much reading, writing, and learning to do.
You mean you’d rather write your own stuff than comment at TKZ? The very idea!
I don’t think feelings and insight can be taught. What is writing, a story, without those?
Yet we all have feelings, don’t we? And even insight, if we’re over 18. On that aspect, another kind of teaching applies: coaxing those things OUT of the writer. Teaching writers how to ask the write questions at the right time. Giving them ideas how to bring expression. A good writing teacher or editor knows how to do that.
On the flip side, readers don’t care about an author’s feelings or insights unless they are filtered through a story that actually works.
‘Yet we all have feelings, don’t we? And even insight, if we’re over 18.’
To varying degrees, yes, we do. Maybe writing can be taught, but not the ability to write well.
I love music, took guitar lessons over the years. I still cant play the guitar
You may not be able to play “Brown’s Ferry Blues” like Doc Watson, but I’ll bet you can play a folk tune or two as well as early Bob Dylan. And sing better.
Thanks. Give me your home address and I’ll send a demo tape for you to hand out to those LA types you rub elbows with
My writing has benefitted from instruction. Perhaps what can’t be taught is storytelling. How do you create a story from scratch versus how to you the right prose to explain the story in your head.
I have learned from my editors, my first readers, Stephen King ( I hear him scream every time I use an adverb), and an audiobook from a University of Iowa creative writing professor. I’ve learned something different from each of them.
I’ve also accepted that I won’t write like some of my favorite authors. I love Louise Penny’s use of the English language. She says on her website that she takes a year to write a book and plods along at 250 words a day. I lack the patience to take that long to finish a story.
As for the definition of success, my bar is low. All I need a few 4 or 5 star reviews from complete strangers saying they loved my book. After all my favorite classic, Lord of the Flies only has a 3.71 rating. Reader tastes vary widely. I have been trying to read a recent Edgar award book for 6 months and it’s just not drawing me in. My taste is not always aligned with the award readers.
It’s the best time of earth to be a writer!
And our favorite authors can’t write like us, either. I do believe there is benefit in copying (as an exercise) passages we admire. Also in reading poetry. It’s all about expanding our mind’s use of language.
As Terry Pratchett once put it, “This book was written using 100% recycled words.”
I think writing can be taught, especially if the mind is open and wanting to learn. Even if the writer toils away by themselves, teaching themselves by dissecting their own work, they are still learning how to write better.
Of course, learning from other people does cut some of the years off the learning curve. I floundered for a while, knowing something was wrong but not knowing how to fix it until I start reading books about writing and then I had light bulbs moments.
There is some criticism toward bad writing advice or people giving advice that haven’t finished books themselves, but as in all things you need to be a smart consumer and evaluate each thing before you embrace it dismiss it.
Great post as usual!
Elizabeth, I had exactly the same experience. I didn’t know how to “fix” what was wrong. I really hit the books, and one day got an insight that immediately shot me strides ahead of where I was.
Great post, Jim.
I loved your analogy of a “maturation of a revolution” for the “tonal shift in the palaver from the indie writing sector.” I read your FORCE OF HABIT series this past week. I believe there is some analogy there for the establishment vs. the independent. Loved Sister J. I’m certain she’d have a few choice lines for Mr. Anderson.
And it was good to hear your encouragement/reassurance for all of us who find some identity with the tortoise (tortoise and the hare). Your response to Sheryl’s comment about the athlete and talent vs. perseverance, reminded me that many of us follow this blog to scrounge for any tidbit that may improve our talent.
And finally you asked us to comment on what “success” means for us. To me it is the ability to “get it out there.” I am just beginning. And I have been fortunate enough to find a small publisher who wants my writing. I have no illusions about making much money, but I have the freedom to try. And if someday the small publisher no longer feels that I am worth their effort, I will go the indie route. So, as the analogous Tea Party dumps the crates into Boston Harbor, I stand on the dock and observe, knowing that I will have the freedom to publish and have more routes to that goal.
Thanks for a great post.
Freedom. It’s a good thing. Under appreciated in society and writing both. Thanks, Steve.
This:
“Writing is taught in many ways.
It is taught by editors who know what they’re doing.
It is taught by teachers who know what they’re doing.
It is taught by books by people who know what they’re doing and how to teach others to do the same.
It is taught by critique partners and beta readers.
It can be self-taught by reading novels and analyzing what other authors do. That’s fine. What I do when I teach, however, is save writers years of trial and error by showing them right away what successful authors do, and how they can do it themselves.”
I’m one of those fortunate people who’ve always been able to ‘tell a story.’ However, it didn’t take me long to discover that I didn’t have a clue how to write one. The journey was a long one with much trial and error. When I reached the point where I couldn’t ‘see’ what was wrong never mind how to fix it (in spite of taking many creative writing classes) I turned to the work of two men who’ve been there, done it and got the gold stars. Jack M Bickham and James Scott Bell. Now, I’ve reached out to James a handful of times in the past five years, mainly to tell him that I’ve dog-eared and defaced his books with highlighters and sticky notes. If Jack was alive, I’d send him the same messages, too. I really ‘get’ how Jack and James instruct and had many a ‘eureka’ moment. I can honestly say their advice and expertise has made me a better writer and competent story-teller.
I went down the indie route for a variety of reasons, but the main reason was to take control of my destiny (I’m a cancer survivor and the life lesson learned from battling the disease was to lose the fear of failure).
As for validation, I receive it from tens of thousands of readers. My writing goal is to entertain those readers. For a few hours/days my stories lift them out of whatever storms, stresses and strains life has tossed them.
Next April I’ll have twenty-one books published in two genres. I run a global publishing business, employing seven people around the world – editors, copy-editors, proof-readers, cover designers etc. – all are freelance and from traditional publishing. I have designated representatives from digital distributors to help me market my work. I’m a member of Novelists Inc. And last March became a USA Today Bestselling author. (James, take a bow.)
Today authors are free to write what they want to write when they want to write it. And if they are sprinkled with fairy dust, their readers enjoy their work, too.
As for craft, well, that’s the sheer joy of being an author. I’ll never know everything about anything. And always, always strive to utilize every tool in my writer box and not just stick the tools I’m most comfortable with, safe in the knowledge that Jack and James are right there to help me hone and constantly strive to improve. I do not know one successful author who does not practice improving their skills on a daily basis. Not one.
As ever, a wondrous post, Mr. Bell. And one day I’m going to buy you a drink!!
Wow, CC, thanks for those very kind words. And for including me alongside the great Bickham. In fact, it was reading his book Writing Novels That Sell back in ’90 that gave me my first big epiphany, and started me on the road to publication.
Congratulations on your success and work ethic. Well done.
Actually, I have a slightly different take. We are ALL taught how to write from the time we read our first books–from nursery rhymes through the Hardy Boys and on upward as we read. The difference is that for some, writing is a tool to get by with homework assignments and work related projects. For others, sparks fly and words take on a much deeper meaning and create a much different life than for the person who just wants to be able to turn in their book report or dissertation or project to their boss.
Writing can most definitely be taught. From many avenues. So the idea that writing can’t be taught is completely ridiculous.
Right, BK. You have to have the “sparks fly” desire in you. It’s not talent per se, it’s the NEED to tell a story. If you have that, you’ll find a way. And teachers will help you.
I can’t count the times I’ve heard this debate on panels and in conference bars — is it natural talent or training and tenacity? I say you need both to be a writer. We could go to the usual sports examples: Michael Jordan was cut from his high-school basketball team, didn’t get recruited by the college team he wanted and in his first NBA draft two teams bypassed him for other players. But the guy became renowned for working hard at mastering his craft, practicing longer and harder than any player in the NBA. He also often acknowleged the role failure played in making him a success. (Go watch his Nike commercial here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=45mMioJ5szc)
But the man had talent. That inborn undefinable gift that lifted him into the ether. (literally and figuratively). Talent and training go hand in hand. Or as Stella Adler once said, “Craft makes talent possible.” And I believe this is true for writers, musicians, artists and anyone in a creative field. I’ve seen too many examples in my teaching experience to make me believe otherwise. As someone above said so well: some writers learn from teaching, reading and critiques. Others plod along and just never get it.
I always fall back on music metaphors when this discussion comes up. I can play the piano a little. I’ve taken lessons, I’ve practiced until my fingers crabbed up. I can bang out a pretty decent rendition of “Misty” and Satie’s Gymnopedies. But I will never be really good at it or make money at it. Because I lack enough talent. And as much as I want to be great, it won’t happen and no amount of lessons and hard work can make it so. And I lack confidence to play for anyone. (I’m working on that one…like writers who don’t want to submit their manuscripts for scrutiny!)
I think writers and musicians share a soul. We can hone the skills, learn the theories behind our arts, practice or rewrite for years — and we can want it so badly it aches. But if we don’t have the “ear” we can’t produce anything that will move others emotionally. And that, to me, is the bottom line. With my piano playing, I’m happy as a clam noodling around and playing “96 Tears” for my dogs. But with my writing, I want to make an audience angry, scared, sad — and satisfied enough to come back and listen to me again and again.
Good thoughts, Kris. I like your Jordan analogy. I always think of one of my favorite baseball players, Pete Rose (not one of my favorite gamblers, though). The man simply MADE himself great by hard work and always, always hustling. He never jogged to first base after being walked. He RAN. He wasn’t the natural DiMaggio was, or Ted Williams. But he became one of the all-time greats. Robin Yount, who I went to school with, had natural athletic talent. But he worked HARD (and had a big brother, Larry, who was an MLB pitcher and could really work him). We can multiply these example almost infinitely.
And in the end, what does it matter how much talent? If you want to write, you write, and you keep writing, and you don’t stop till your cold dead fingers can’t pound the keys anymore.
Music. I was pretty good on the guitar in high school. Not a lot of musical talent here, but I got to plucking pretty good. Didn’t pursue it, because I went to college to play basketball…but I think I could have become better. Now, for fun, I play my ukulele. No, I’m not going to win a gold record, but I could actually busk on Hollywood Boulevard with my had on the sidewalk and make Starbucks money.
Ha! They would pay me NOT to play, Jim. Great post. I love this discussion.
I really wanted to be a ballet dancer. Took classes all my life until my toes bled. But I was chubby, with no hip turnout, not near enough talent, and stubby legs. So I became a ballet critic. Which got me to…Michael Jordan at one point. He was in the middle of his second comeback tour playing the Heat and I wanted to do a story comparing him and Baryshnikov, how they both could float in the air. In the Bulls locker, I elbowed past the sports guys and asked him “how do you get such great hang time?” He laughed and said it was a gift. But he was fascinated when I told him male dancers bragged about their “ballon” (which is the ballet term for hang time). He was a nice guy.
And for the record, Spud Webb, who is as tall as me (five three) has the best recorded hang time in the NBA. Which says something about talent triumphing over stubby legs maybe.
Thanks for sharing your wisdom, James. You asked, “What does it [success] mean specifically to you?”
I read to be transported to another place. For entertainment, to learn, to grow, to explore other ways of thinking. My writing aspires to do the same. Success is when it does one or more of those things. And I’d like more readers for validation and valuation—that’s success too.
I like that word “transports,” Richard. I think for most writers–and actors and dancers and painters, etc.–it’s that feeling of being transported yourself, by great work, that make you want to create the same feelings in others. There’s nothing like the feeling of having a reader tell you just how much a story meant to them, right?
So we go for it. And keep trying to get better at it.
So glad to hear your take on “Can writing be taught,” Jim! Well said!
Says one teacher to another. Thanks.
Maybe a more useful way of framing the question is not, “Can writing be taught,” but, “Can writing be learned?” I first considered this in terms of acting, back when I was doing a lot of amateur theater, and I think the same principle applies. Anyone can be taught, but it requires a certain mindset to learn. First, you have to understand that there IS something to learn, that you don’t know it all. The person who knows everything can’t be taught anything. It demands an openness of mind, an honest, almost brutally honest self-appraisal.
It also requires an openness to the world, the ability to see things around you and mentally record them and let them become part of your process.
You have to be willing – even eager – to grow. That means you have to stay green, because green things grow.
Excellent insight, John. I was an actor who learned a lot by watching…Brando, Spencer Tracy. But I also was taught because I wanted to learn. By Uta Hagen, and a local L.A. teacher named Tracy Roberts. One of the main things I had to learn as an actor was a fearlessness about being vulnerable and open. That took some time, but these teachers taught me how. Same would apply to writing, I’d say.
Well said, John.
Great post as usual Jim,
Can writing be learned? For me, as a newbie, I surely hope so.
As I ponder the question, my love of sports sends a flurry of thoughts bouncing around in my head. God-given talent is instantly recognized when watching the elegance of a pure baseball swing. Who doesn’t marvel at a soaring Michael Jordan slam dunk. “That man was born to play basketball,” folks would say. The product of innate talent is instantly recognized, in the sports world as well as in the literary world, but it would be a lonely game if no others were allowed to take the field or court, if those who honed less than ideal talent into hall of fame careers were not allowed the opportunity to play the game.
Seminars (JSB’s Plot and Structure being one), conferences, instructional books and critiques have helped me grow over the past few years as I continue to feed that thirsty writing bug stirring within. I know I’ve grown as a writer. No doubt. Perhaps one day this journeyman will look back and appreciate the hours of diligence, the nights of toil and have someone say, “that boy may not be Stephen King, but I can’t put his books down.” For now, success for me is finishing a scene or chapter and feeling like I just hit the winning three pointer in the championship game.
Thanks Jim and all the KZ writers for ll the great instruction.
For now, success for me is finishing a scene or chapter and feeling like I just hit the winning three pointer in the championship game.
Yes. Those incremental victories mount up. Good on you, M. J.
I believe structure must be taught, at least it was that way for me. If it weren’t for you, Larry Brooks, Blake Synder, and the like, I’d still be pantsing my way through book after book getting nowhere fast. So, a big thank you for all you do!
Thanks, Sue. Good names there. As I’ve said many times, structure is story’s best friend. Glad to help.
When I get into this debate, I break it down to art and craft. Yes, you have to have some natural tendency and talent. Because without that, the “art,” you’d never be willing to tackle the drudgery of learning the craft. That goes for everything from writing to car mechanics.
My late husband was a talented artist, but his brilliance was as a craftsman. He could take raw work, remake it, and then cast it into perfect form. Then paint it with the precision of a machine. Yes, he had talent. He also had the drive and willingness to devote thousands of hours to learning his craft.
What a good writing teacher does is take the raw talent and hone it into craft that is as precise as my husband painting the eyes of miniatures with a brush or dotting the I’s on a stone with a sandblast nozzle.
It’s been written in various forms, but one interview with a young violinist brought it home. He said he hated the phrase “god-given talent.” Like it just came to him. He said it was an insult to him and his teachers for the long tedious years of training and tears it took for him to be able to pick up a violin and make it sound effortless.
It goes back to the old saying, “First you make it look good. Then you make it look easy.”
As for success, I’m not there yet. The ultimate is to be able to generate income that falls somewhere between, “Enough to do something” and “Not enough to do nothing.” Although a few signposts have been passed, like getting a royalty payment every month, month after month, and having people I’m not related to ask when the next book is coming (And, yes, I took your advice on the first page critique, the part about the upcoming execution party is now in dialogue about 20-pages in and the first page is front-loaded with the job interview of the mysterious sexy waitress. Oh wait, that would be you teaching me writing. Oh no! My art has been sullied!)
See ya next Sunday! Terri
I love what that violinist said, Terri. It reminded me of that old joke about the guy in NY who walks up and asks a fellow how to get to Carnegie Hall, and the guy says, “Practice.”
And I like your marker: “…having people I’m not related to ask when the next book is coming…” That’s an awesome feeling, isn’t it?
Nicely done.
Hi, Jim,
Sorry again about the delay. The combination of BEA and the IDPF Conference there (which I programmed, a six-month project with 80+ speakers and 35 sessions over two days during BEA) sent me home with a lot of catching up and digging out to do — the week has been a blur. (And no, it’s not just the Campari, lol.)
I tell you where I am after all this back and forth — and thanks again for your long-running enthusiasm for the original Writer Unboxed post, seems like I wrote it in the 19th century now.
I’m actually left wondering whether we mean the same thing when we say “teaching writing” and ask “can it be taught?”
I see I’m not alone, either. Some of the commenters here are essentially asking the same thing.
Can you clarify this? Are you talking craft or art?
-p.
JSB here: Comments were closed by the site, so I’ll just briefly respond: a good writing teacher can teach craft techniques and prompts for getting to the art. The writer brings to the table a certain amount of talent and, more important, desire and drive. Examples abound. Thanks again for the debate you started back in Victorian England.