Emilio Iasiello's Blog - Posts Tagged "advice"
Best Advice on Writing I’ve Received
I have had many influential people that have helped guide me on my path to becoming a full time writer; a journey that has not been quite reached to date. Nevertheless, they have given me some good advice over the years. Here’s a “greatest hits” list from these individuals; some prominent authors, some not so prominent; but all their words, valuable and necessary. In no particular order, here are ten memorable lines from these men/women:
· Start your story as close to the end as possible. No one cares about how a watch is made, only the time it keeps.
· Write and read every day. Doesn’t matter what it is, or how good it is, but write. If you don’t write, you aren’t a writer, plain and simple.
· There are no final drafts, just ones that are good enough. Most writers are not even content with their published work, always seeing something more that could be done.
· If you can’t give up everything else to write – a party, a date, a chance to go out with friends – than you probably shouldn’t be writing in the first place.
· Always carry a pen and paper to jot down notes, thoughts, and observations. If you don’t have paper, use the back of your hand. That’s what skin is for.
· Do not start rewriting until you have a finished draft. If you start to rewrite before you get down a skeleton of a story, you’ll lose the essence of what you were trying to write in the first place.
· Listen, don’t speak. Observe, don’t look. A writer is that individual who sees everything but is ignored by everyone until someone picks up his book, poems, whatever. Then they know someone was in that room with them.
· Take criticism gracefully. Listen to everything. Apply only what you think is needed. And at the end of the day if it sits in a drawer, know that its completion was accomplished according to your standards and no one else’s.
· Don’t write for an audience. Writing is not meant to attract friends. Admirers, maybe. Enemies, certainly. But at the end of the day, your writing should stand on its own for its own.
· Edit your work with a hatchet with the intent to draw blood. No passage, no word, no character is sacred. Only the story is important.>
· Start your story as close to the end as possible. No one cares about how a watch is made, only the time it keeps.
· Write and read every day. Doesn’t matter what it is, or how good it is, but write. If you don’t write, you aren’t a writer, plain and simple.
· There are no final drafts, just ones that are good enough. Most writers are not even content with their published work, always seeing something more that could be done.
· If you can’t give up everything else to write – a party, a date, a chance to go out with friends – than you probably shouldn’t be writing in the first place.
· Always carry a pen and paper to jot down notes, thoughts, and observations. If you don’t have paper, use the back of your hand. That’s what skin is for.
· Do not start rewriting until you have a finished draft. If you start to rewrite before you get down a skeleton of a story, you’ll lose the essence of what you were trying to write in the first place.
· Listen, don’t speak. Observe, don’t look. A writer is that individual who sees everything but is ignored by everyone until someone picks up his book, poems, whatever. Then they know someone was in that room with them.
· Take criticism gracefully. Listen to everything. Apply only what you think is needed. And at the end of the day if it sits in a drawer, know that its completion was accomplished according to your standards and no one else’s.
· Don’t write for an audience. Writing is not meant to attract friends. Admirers, maybe. Enemies, certainly. But at the end of the day, your writing should stand on its own for its own.
· Edit your work with a hatchet with the intent to draw blood. No passage, no word, no character is sacred. Only the story is important.>
Writing’s Post Partum Depression
Over the past couple of days I’ve been in a fit of desperation and melancholy. After publication of my book of short stories, I’d initially had a “runner’s high” of accomplishment that has since dwindled down to a post-partum depression. Now, it’s not entirely a clinical thing I’m sure. I’m very happy and proud to have been able to publish a book of my original work and happy to see it out in the world to be consumed by those who love the written word and in this case, literary fiction. On the other hand, the sentiment feels melancholic in that the initial jolt of euphoria has passed and I’m left to either try and sustain the momentum as much as possible (and by doing so, not embark on new or current literary efforts), or return back to started but hardly finished writing, such as my – cough, cough – first novel, which resembles memoir entries rather than a cohesive bit of self exploration. These contrasting forces make me wonder if other writers feel the same way when they’ve accomplished a long held goal only to find themselves still “wanting.” While this may be an entirely selfish feeling, it nonetheless is one rooted in a desire to do what I’ve always loved to do – to write. And by that very notion, the inability to do so whether brought on by my own inhibitions (can’t I read a book or watch a movie from time to time?) or those wrought by outside influences (e.g., the full time job, the family, taxes, the business of living, etc.) weighs heavy on my shoulders, and even heavier on my conscience. Did other authors I have long admired suffer similar moments of ennui? After all, some made their entire incomes from their ability to transform a piece of blank white paper into something magical, or at the very least, entertaining. Fitzgerald used to write short stories to earn a living. He couldn’t afford the luxury of “lag” time, or a day off. Bukowski wrote volumes at a time and often in one or two sittings. Kerouac knocked out the first draft of his great American novel in three weeks thanks to a long roll of paper and Benzedrine. So it leaves me to think, what’s my deal? Why am I having problems with this? The answer was proffered to me on Friday by a long time friend and an admitted hater of books summed up my predicament: you’re thinking too much, he said. Have a drink. And lo and behold, after a good weekend of celebrating the life of a friend who had passed, here I am with a topic for a blog. Is this the pages of that novel still sitting in one of my folders? Not even close. But what I’m doing is sitting down and actually laying down my thoughts on paper. And you know what? That’s a good start. The empty page is not so intimidating any more, and the staccato rhythm of my fingers on the keyboard is a welcome reassurance that things may not be so bleak all the time.
