More and more I’m allowed the benefit of corrupting the minds of creative writing students out there in the world, which is awesome for me, and probably disturbing for them.
Regardless, as I am occasionally mistaken as some kind of “person who knows things” when it comes to writing, I feel like I have a few things I’d like to say to you Young Penmonkeys out there — those of you between the ages of, mmm, say, 16-21. Not to say this won’t also apply to others who want to be professional writers when you grow up, but it is aimed specifically at that age range both in terms of what I remember being like then (ugh!) and what I see when I meet these amazing, ass-kicking creative writing students.
I’m about to be 38 next week (my mantra being a loudly hooted NOT YET 40 WOOOO) and I had my first short story published at 18, and my first taste of professional writing work at… age 21? Or something like that? So, I’ve been out there quite a while. Which means you should listen to me.
*whacks you in the head with my old man cane*
LISTEN TO MY WISDOM YOU YOUNG PUNKS
You Do Not Require That Degree
You don’t get a creative writing degree because you need it. You get it because you want it, and because you have chosen a program that holy crap does what it’s supposed to do — teach you how to write a goddamn story. But don’t go for this degree hoping it’s some kind of Magical Wonka Ticket to the Dreamy City Of Authoropolis in the clouds — in all the writing I have done over the last 18 years, over the literal millions of words I’ve written, nobody, not one motherfucker on the paying side of the fence, has asked me about my degree. They want to know: “Can you write?” And then I write. It is a pure and wonderful relationship.
I’m not saying your degree is worthless. I’m happy I have mine because I really did learn how to hone my wordsmithy as a creative writing student. And besides, these days almost no degree is a Magical Wonka Ticket. Hell, I’m pretty sure most college degrees double-up as placemats and paper towels (though not particularly absorbent, I am sad to report).
And if you’re thinking about an MFA…
If you need it, great.
Otherwise: just get out there and write, yeah? Student loan debt ain’t awesome. That money is better spent on travel, life, experiences, crates of Ramen noodles, porn, boxed wine.
You’re Not That Good
Sorry! Nope. Not that good.
This will frustrate the vibrating fuck out of you because you want so badly to be good. Anybody does when they begin an endeavor, particularly when they’re young — you pick up a guitar or sit down at a video game or Try To Do The Sex and you’re basically clumsy thumbs and inward screaming and then a lamp breaks and someone is crying. You’re looking at published work. Or the work of your peers. And you want to be instantly that awesome. It’s frustrating to be not-that-good because you feel like, this is what you want to do, and you need to justify that desire now by putting out top-shelf, high-octane writing. And you’re young, so life feels shorter than it really is. You have time. This is, as I have said many-a-time, a long con, not a short game.
Ira Glass actually said a wonderful thing about this:
“Nobody tells this to people who are beginners, I wish someone told me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. For the first couple years you make stuff, it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you. A lot of people never get past this phase, they quit. Most people I know who do interesting, creative work went through years of this. We know our work doesn’t have this special thing that we want it to have. We all go through this. And if you are just starting out or you are still in this phase, you gotta know its normal and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work. Put yourself on a deadline so that every week you will finish one story. It is only by going through a volume of work that you will close that gap, and your work will be as good as your ambitions. And I took longer to figure out how to do this than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s gonna take awhile. It’s normal to take awhile. You’ve just gotta fight your way through.”
But You’re Not Supposed To Be Good
You’re not actually meant to be good. Not being good is how you get better. Not being good means you’re in that formative, fundamental blobby parthogenesis period where The Authorial You just starts to emerge. Not being good is how we are forced to take the time to not just Get Good, but also Become Us. You’re not yet the Author That You Will Become. This is all normal. Be bold enough to suck with gleeful abandon — but also know that your critical urge to be better-faster-now is a good one. Don’t quit. Don’t rest. Force yourself to improve.
And You’re Still Probably Better Than You Sometimes Think
Let’s be honest. The Internet is mostly writers. We’re everywhere. Like roaches inside a hoarder’s house, feeding on whatever old pizza and dead chihuahuas got trapped under that collapsing stack of National Geographic magazines. We’re breeding like cats and rabbits. (“Crabbits?”)
Thing is, if you’re actually in a creative writing program, you’re probably better than a lot of the yahoos on the Intertubes who want to be writers. I’ve read some really awful things by some truly deluded people — people who do not have writing professors tell them, “This is actually very shitty. D-minus. Do better, for Chrissakes.”
So, no, you’re not that good.
But you’re probably better than you sometimes think, or fear.
And you’re almost certainly better than the delusional sub-layer of authorial treacle found on these here Internets. That’s gotta be worth something, right? Hell, most people can’t string together a cogent Facebook status update, so.
Worry Less About The Business Now
You want to ask about publishing and payment and all the perks of being a writer, I get that. And yes, every writer does get a special Members-Only jacket to begin with, and after that it’s like leveling-up your character in a roleplaying game. You can choose new Talents and Tricks. I can actually type with my tongue, for one. I also can transmogrify coffee into words!
But the publishing industry right now is like Los Angeles: it’s sitting squarely atop a giant trembling fault line, and constant earthquakes big and small continue to move the crusty mantle beneath our feet. So, by the time you’re ready to actually sell words, who knows what will happen? PERHAPS WE WILL ALL BE HUNTING EACH OTHER IN A DOOMED WASTELAND. Or maybe it’ll be limousines and eight-figure book-deals, I have no idea.
Point is, don’t sweat it. Don’t sweat genre. Don’t sweat medium. Learn as much as you can about the actual process of writing — think about narrative construction across multiple formats and aim to be well-read and well-taught across the spectrum. The industry will be what the industry will be when you get there. You’re not there. Worry about you and your work, not where you or your work will end up. Think present more than future.
This Is The Time To Write Whatever The Fuck You Want
Not thinking about markets or industry yet means: you can and should go bug-eyed apeshit cuckoo bananapants when it comes to your work. Write anything. Anything that itches so bad at your fingertips that to not write it would constitute a drug withdrawal reaction. Any genre. Any genre mix. Any medium. Any mix of media. Whatever. Fuck it. You are afforded an early chance at play-time. That’s what this stage is. It’s sand-boxes and cheap wine and you making your own toys without anybody telling you what your toys should look like.
It’s Okay To Ape The Voices Of Others
You will try to sound like the authors you love. This is normal. This is okay. This is also perhaps often expressed as fan-fiction, and that is very rad. Again: this is play-time. So? Play.
Write Often And Write Enough And Your Voice Will Find You
You will chase your voice like a dog chasing a car, but you’ll never catch it. Because you were your voice all along. You were never the dog. You were always the car. You were never Jack. You were always Tyler Durden. And yes, Fight Club is just one big metaphor for becoming a writer. (Okay, maybe not.) (But maybe?) (Nah.) (Buuuut…)
You find your voice by doing. And by rewriting. You won’t want to rewrite now. You won’t want to edit. Edits feel like you’re not good, like you’re being insulted, like having to fix it means it was broken to begin with. But recognizing broken things is a value. A skill. You get as many shots at the goal as you want. Let that be freeing, not punishing.
In writing a lot and rewriting a lot, your voice will find you.
One day you’ll say: “Oh, so that’s what I sound like.”
And it’ll be amazing.
The World Will Lie To You About Being An Artist
Almost nobody in a position of Adult Responsibility thinks you should be a writer. Even your professors will probably, if pressured whilst drunk, quietly whisper: hurry, go learn accounting.
Being an artist is not a path that accords a lot of respect, which is almost ironic given how much our society is driven by art and artists — it is a monster-sized industry, and yet somehow everyone seems to think that it’s tiny and impenetrable, like an old-timey bank safe. A lot of this doubt comes from a good place. They want you to be safe and taken care of and admittedly, being an artist is a risk. Society all on its own doesn’t support artists very well (though it’s getting there, and I swear to Sweet Saint Fuck if anybody tries to take away my new guaranteed healthcare I will shiv them in the pancreas), and so people tell you not to be an artist and the cycle continues.
But creative work exists. It exists, and pays.
You have to get good doing it.
You have to learn how to make money doing it.
Art isn’t just Doing Art all the time, and this is why you should also learn other skills that your creative writing classes probably won’t teach you — from marketing to editing to business practices to how to budget and balance your bank accounts and pay your taxes. I know, ew, taxes. But this is how being an artist is done. Your parents or whoever will tell you just not to bother. I’m telling you to bother, but gather the skills needed — skills that go well-beyond writing, painting, singing, or other art-making.
(A small rant of mine is that so many creative writing programs are way over-focused on writing — particularly writing literary books rather than genre-flavored anything. Art programs in general need to teach more than just the creative stuff. Because you have to also survive at being an artist, and in that survival, practical skills are key.)
Finish Your Shit
But then it all comes back to this.
You will never be the writer you want if you cannot complete what you begin.
Ironically, some of the professors who are teaching you have not yet mastered this.
You’re young, and you will leave behind you a trail of unfinished story-corpses. That’s okay. No shame, there. But there comes a point when you have to stay on that bucking bull till it finally tires and dies in the dust. You can’t just keep not finishing things. Art must reach a conclusion. Stories have endings. You can always go back and edit — but you have nothing meaningful to edit if you don’t finish what you begin in the first damn place.
This is the hardest skill, I think, that I learned as a young writer. Just merely to finish. It’s easier not to. It’s easier to talk about writing than to do the writing. The work you never finish always exists in what appears to be a perfect, gleaming state — a young, preserved corpse on display, its James-Deanian potential perfectly captured in its youth and naivete. But fuck that jibber-jabber. Storm the beach. Suck if you must. But finish what you begin.
And then rewrite until it’s right.
173 responses to “Ten Things I’d Like To Say To Young Writers”
[…] Chuck Wendig: For more scary yet reassuring advice, take a look at his full post: “Ten Things I’d Like to Say to Young Writers.” You will chase your voice like a dog chasing a car, but you’ll never catch it. Because […]
Haha, it’s May, and I’m late to the party…but!
You know what? I seriously wish someone had listed and told me these EXACT same things back when I was an undergrad in a ‘liberal arts’ university, back when I WAS 18 – 21 years old. Yes, I practically BREATHED all things artsy (still do), but back then I was withdrawn into a shell of not really wanting to branch out, spread my wings, and show what I can do to the world. You’ve hit the nail right on the head about people deterring young artists from trying to become artists because of how society looks at you when you espouse the interest, and how that and ‘real life’ doesn’t support it. Some of my teachers gave me weird, tilted-head stares when it came to “wanting to be a writer” or “wanting to be an artist/painter.” They told me “it doesn’t pay,” along the same lines my parents told me “that’s awesome!–just make sure you have a job along with it.” I understand that being a ‘starving artist’ is a stupid and backwards notion, and this is why I focused academically on Psychology rather than Creative Writing, but…then as I got older I noticed what happened to so many people I know who are quite seriously talented, but was so wrapped up in society’s demands to “get a real job and steady pay” that they pressed their talents to the background and never pursued them further than as hobbies, or, as my mother used to say with her crochet, “it’s done for love.”
She’s gone now, passed away July 2013…and I miss her. I have no regrets with her being gone because I know how she felt about everything in our current life and the times, but my one biggest sadness in her being gone is that the world won’t be able to enjoy and embrace her craft–and she was a goddess at it. My Dad? He’s a great drummer, and really, he should’ve been part of a band and a lawyer. But when ‘reality’ told them to buckle down and be a “responsible adult,” the results are clear–and I’m afraid of it happening to me.
So, between that and shitty teachers being semi-racist (being Black and drawing in an Oriental style pissed off a bunch of them, because they thought it “didn’t suit me” and was “un-inspiring”), it took me up until I’m nearly…26 (this coming October) to mentally tell them to go “fuck themselves” and do my thing WHILE still carrying a job and planning to do a PhD in Psych. So, I believe strongly in your words and the words of Ira Glass (which I’ve seen his video on YouTube when he said the exact lines you quote), and hearing those is inspiring and I wish I had heard them before now, which I truly hope is not too late for me.
Also, yeah, about structured courses on Creative Writing–not really worth it. Unless one is seeking actual prompts and demands to make more writing material, you’re better off saving your money and looking for the writing motivation and genre research from within yourself. I was lucky to do a few courses in Stetson before graduating, as part of my double-minors, and both the Studio Art and Creative Writing courses, while useful in giving me something to do and SOME learning material, ultimately lowered my standards, shattered my resolve (for awhile), and was me just pissing about for a couple of semesters. I was either given undue high praise, no praise at all, or racist/sexist bullshit the entire time, and very little to nothing of constructive criticism or mentoring on my fiction, poetry, or screenwriting. So, I’d say one can pursue such venues, but don’t count on them giving you much more than you can provide yourself–emphasis on FOR FREE!
I do have a small question, for a “not-so-young” anymore beginner (because I have yet to have a lick of anything writing-related published, although art is a different story)–what do you do when you’re at a wall with your writing currently because you think you need some direction? I WANT to be published, so bad I can taste it, but with the bit of feedback I’ve gotten from, say, Apex Mag and Siren’s Call Pub, it sounds as if I need beta reading or mentoring. I know sites that have beta readers and critiquers, but it’s such a long process. You gotta find the right people, and persons well-acquainted with your genre, and…asking most professional writers to mentor you is like ramming your head into a brick wall or sticking it down a toilet just to give yourself a flusher (no offense to professional writers, as I understand they’re uber busy 105% of the time.)
What do you do?
Again, AWESOME post…and it’s really beneficial to hear. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for your realism and inspirational words.
[…] me wasn’t my best work. I realize this probably has something to do with Chuck Wendig’s “Ten Things I’d Like to Say to Young Writers.” (“You’re not that good.” Thanks, Chuck. Really appreciate the support.) But […]
[…] http://warriorwriters.wordpress.com/ (This blog hits everything–writing & marketing) 9. http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2014/04/16/ten-things-id-like-to-say-to-young-writers/ (to shock you & it’s darned good!) 10. http://www.lindsayburoker.com/ (always […]
Unbefucktable timing thank you.
I paint and sing. Not much writing going on here- but this is still useful and really motivating. Thank you!
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Praises to this article! I mean at my age, I’m not really sure anyone cares about what I have to say. All in all, I’ll write and write until someone does.
I’m glad I got the chance to read this now! You have no idea how much better you’ve made me feel. Thank you Chuck for your great wisdom!
I’m so glad that I can go through and get an idea of what I need to do now, before I have even turned sixteen. In this way, I can -try- to set myself up for success as I go along, and not have to go back and restitch all of the loose threads.
This is AMAZING. I swear if you hadn’t told us your age (why the heck didja do that? Crazy old man) I would have thought you to be a lot younger. I think thats probably why it speaks to so many of the younger generation (well… us. I am including myself *shamefully* in that category). Thank you so very much!
Hi, ran across this today and I can relate to it, like, so much. I’m 21 and just decided that may be writing is not a career option for me. The light my literature teacher showed me when I was 14 of how good I was with writing seemed distant. I almost believe may be it was a lucky shot. I felt a ‘pang’ and ‘damn this is what I’m going through right now’ when I read this. Thank you for I’m now realize how normal it is to not making good stuffs. I thought I don’t have my voice, I thought I value myself too high, I thought so many negative things as my writings were unsatisfying, the unfinished stories piled up, and add up by worrying of the security this career could give in my life. Turns out I was wrong, I just didn’t do hard enough, and I’m grateful I found this today.
[…] stories rattling around. As one of my favorite “new” authors, Chuck Wendig, has said again and again and again, “Finish your shit, […]
[…] This Ira Glass quote says it best (via Chuck Wendig) […]
[…] You will never be the writer you want if you cannot complete what you begin. – Chuck Wendig […]
Love this advice! Thank you!
This is extremely encouraging. I’m 16 years old and have no clue what the fuck I want to do with the rest of my life but I want to write. I didn’t think I could do it, but now I think I can. I’ve been writing since I was little and I want it to be my life. Thanks for the encouragement.
a young, admiring, penmonkey.
And that’s what I did – I became an accountant. I really like my job. Spreadsheets, Excel, general ledger accounts, counting money, all of it thrills me. But I love writing. I’m not within the age range of your post’s target audience but I read it through anyway. Thanks for advice. I have taken it.
Thank you for this amazing article! I began writing my own stories two years ago in sophmore year, after my lovely literature teacher praised one of my essays in front of the whole class, and it has truly become my passion. I write about literally anything, and it helps that I get inspired pretty easily, but one of my biggest obstacles as a young writer is that little voice in my head telling me that I’m not good enough. So, I would like to thank you once again for being so honest and giving these tips, they’ve helped me a lot.
This was great, I needed to hear or see something like this . Because I want to be a great writer . So great that people from the movie industry want to make one of my novels into a film, a main reason why J.k Rowling is one of my idols . So thanks for this and I promise you’ll hear about me soon !
Articles like this make me want to keep going as a writer. Nice Fight Club references.
I’m a 14 year old male and have read some of the great writers. Tolstoy and Fitzgerald are some of my favs. I’m probably too young to understand them, but I try. I’ve also read Dostoevsky, Hemingway, Dickens, and I’m hoping to start Joyce. I read a little bit of the sound and the fury, but will try again when I get cliff notes. I love exploring the human mind, and I want to write something big and powerful and change this world. I just don’t know what I want to write about that’s so powerful and life changing. I’m starting writing about the hypocrisy and greed in the modern Christian church (yes I do follow the Christian beliefs) and I;m even thinking about using a little stream of conscious in there. Idk, I probably suck. I always end up throwing my writing away because it sucks so hard. My teachers say I’m really deep and a good writer but Idk. If you guys have any helpfull ideas I will take your advice. Thank you.
[…] voice sounds like — yet. But it’s not that it’s not there, as Chuck Wendig explains in his “Ten Things I’d Like to Say to Young Writers” post. It just takes time to hone […]
Thank you very much; you have indeed enlightened me.