Surprise! My previous article here on Forbes.com – “If You Want To Be A Writer, Start Writing” – must have had a global appeal, as I’m still seeing the viewership numbers and emails pile up, from literally all over the world: Stockholm, Singapore, Kazakhstan, Canada, New Zealand, and so on.
Most meaningful was an email from Caroline in London, saying she was “inspired and… still early in my writer’s journey but super excited to do more after that read.”
“Never stop writing,” I immediately replied in the best single piece of advice I could ever give. Becoming a great writer is evolutionary in every Darwinian sense of the word. Not only did the finches Darwin studied on the Galapagos Islands survive from generation to generation, they also displayed superior and diversified physical and behavioral traits. In other words, they figured out how to prevail. And they worked at it.
The most commonly referenced example is Malcolm Gladwell’s book Outliers, in which he put forward his “10,000-hour rule” that states that it takes about that much time to master what you do. He cites the Beatles’ playing in a bar in Hamburg, Germany for seven years and Bill Gates having secret access to a school computer, from the time he was 13 in 1968. For perspective, if you work full time, 9-to-5, you’ll work 2,000 hours a year.
There are some holes in Gladwell’s theory, but it holds water. One of its weaknesses is that these examples gloss over the difference between gifted and talented people. The Beatles were developing their talents in that Hamburg bar; their gifts emerged as they evolved. Same thing with the Grateful Dead, Vincent van Gogh, and Dr, Jonas Salk. Joan Baez’ voice, Kareem Abdul Jabbar’s height, and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s sweet soul were gifts.
That’s what we writers must do: develop. I was always a pretty good writer, from fifth grade on, and I rode that horse through my Liberal Arts degree, but not until I started writing professionally every week, often multiple times weekly, did I feel I could consider myself any more than just a pretty good writer. I have internalized my writing by engaging regularly and often in the following practices:
Write, whether you want to or not.
Your output doesn’t even have to be any good. That’s what delete keys are for. Write short stuff – 200-250 words. But writing regularly does two things (1) develops your writing skills and (2) reduces the frequency of writer’s block.
Stretch your outer limits.
Try writing the longest coherent run-on sentence you can. William Faulkner – in his 1936 book Absalom, Absalom! – gave us a 1,288-word sentence, nearly twice the length of this essay. Faulkner has since been surpassed but still remains the standard.
Tighten your restrictions.
Try writing the shortest paragraph that offers an idea, defends it, and offers a conclusion. Any subject will do; the exercise is the point.
Debate yourself.
Write a persuasive argument for something you believe in: a product you use, a political candidate, an idea, an opinion. Then write a counter argument with equal zeal and commitment.
Write about what you don’t know about.
Research it, write it, and give it over to an expert for critique. How’d you do?
Revise.
Write something, Put it away overnight. Take it out and revise it, Think of the Latin origin of the word revise. Re = again, visus = again. Revise = too see again.
Inject synonyms and antonyms.
There are so many ways to say the same thing.
Go back in time.
Randomly select an article you wrote a week, month, year, or more ago. Redo it.
Read great writers.
Great writers are great readers. When I read great books, I double read. That means when I read a particularly good passage, page, or more, I’ll read it a second time. The first time is for what was written; the second for how it was said. It’s like savoring a great Cabernet Sauvignon. You miss so much if you just gulp it down.
Stay away from AI.
No comment necessary, right?
Look for inspiration everywhere.
Like from Caroline’s email, for example.