Your 2016 Authorial Mandate Is Here: Be The Writer That You Are, Not The Writer Other People Want You To Be

That blog title is way too long, but fuck it.

A handful of weeks ago, some presumably well-meaning tickledick posted a comment here at the blog. It was a comment that I chose not to approve because, really, I don’t need your shit, Rando Calrissian. This blog is my digital house, and I don’t let strangers inside just so they can take a dump on my kitchen table, especially so we can all sit around, smelling it and discussing it. But the comment was a splinter under my nail, working its way up into the finger-meat. And then reading George R. R. Martin’s end-of-the-year message about not finishing the newest SOIAF also was something that crawled inside me and starting having thought-babies.

Being here on the Internet is a bit like hanging out on a clothesline — some days are sunny and warm, other days are cool and breezy. Some days it pisses rain and the wind tries to take you, and other days it’s daggers of ice or a rime of snow or smoke from a wildfire or some pervert streaking across the lawn and stropping up against you with his unwanted nasty bits.

Being on the Internet means being exposed.

You’re just out there. A squirming nerve without the tooth surrounding it.

That’s good in some ways because you’re exposed to new people, new ideas, new ways of doing things. You’re not an isolated creature here. You are an experiment being observed and are in turn an observer of countless other experiments, and that makes a subtle-not-subtle push-and-pull. But can also be erosive or corrosive — it can wear off your paint a little bit.

As a writer in particular, it has its ups and downs, too. Here, you’ll find yourself surrounded by a gaggle of ink-fingered cohorts who know what it is to do what you do. You’ll have a herd, a cult, a clan, a tribe. You’ll have smaller communities who know what it is you write or want to write, too, whether it’s young adult or epic fantasy or erotic sci-fi cookbooks. And here on the Digital Tubes, everybody is has an opinion, everybody is an expert. And that’s extra-true with writing. Other writers have their processes and their hang-ups and their wins and their losses, and they share it all. Which is, on a whole, a good thing. Information is good. Camaraderie is good.

That, though, can muddy the waters at the same time. This Person is doing This Person’s thing, and That Person is doing That Person’s thing, and Other Person is really loud about what WILL SURELY WORK FOR EVERYBODY (translation, will probably only work for people who are or are like Other Person). And advice gurgles up around your feet like rising floodwaters. Do this, do that, don’t do this, don’t say that, don’t write this, this isn’t selling, that is a no-no, publish this way, sell that way, don’t publish that other way, drink this, wear houndstooth jackets with elbow patches, drink that, snark here, snark there, with a fox, in a box, wearing socks, eating rocks, with a bear, without hair, anywhere. We have a whole lot of writers trying to figure out who they really are, and in the process, do a very good job at also telling you who you should be in order to conform to their notions of who they want to be. To confirm who they are, it’s easy for them to also confirm who you should be, too. That’s not sinister. That’s just human nature. It’s easier to become something when others are along for the ride. And it’s also the joy of confirmation bias — what worked for me confirms that I WAS RIGHT AND SO YOU ARE A HEINOUS DIPSHIT IF YOU DO NOT FOLLOW PRECISELY IN MY FOOTSTEPS. I do it. You do it. Most of us do, I think.

It then gets further complicated once you have readers. Or, Uber Readers, aka, fans. Because they, too, have opinions on you and your work. They will have opinions on your process. And it’s not that they’re wrong, it’s that they’re — no, wait, they are wrong, never mind. They’re totally wrong, because they’re not writing the stories. They’re right about what they want to read and when they want to read it, but not about how to create it. It’s hard to tell someone how to do their job. It’s extra-hard to tell them how to make their art. Because process and prose and authorial intent are all intensely personal to the creator. Personal and twisted further by the pressures of creation and the potential mental stresses that come along with it — remember, a great many writers and artists also suffer from depression or anxiety or other ghosts in the gray matter.

It’s not just one type of writer over another. This is true of new writers who are just finding their way. This is true of mid-career or mid-list writers who are out there in the wilderness surviving, not sure how to get out of the forest just yet. This is true of super-successful authors who are trapped under the magnifying lens of a massively public fanbase — the sun likely focusing into a laser-hot beam upon their foreheads. All artists of every level are exposed here.

Here, now, is the comment referenced at the fore of the post:

“There is no skill floor or ceiling to being a writer. Anyone who speaks a language, who tells a story, can write. To be published is a stricter process that requires an adherence to professional guidelines and to a standard of quality that is dictated by the publishing office. That you’ve been published so many times is no small feat, and I commend you for it.

But having read Aftermath and Blackbirds, I feel that there is…a laziness to your style that you seem to be either unaware of or have come to terms with. It’s difficult to quantify, but it gives me the impression that you don’t value writing as an art. As a job, certainly. But not as a form of expression. Because otherwise you wouldn’t spend 45-90 days on a book. A soul isn’t bared in three months. Professional or no, no book you truly care for should go from start to finish that quickly.

To know an art is to break established rules in the hopes of producing a truer version of your vision. And you certainly break the rules of writing craft. In the first three paragraphs of Blackbirds you’ve disregarded flow, used inappropriate comparisons, and introduced the main character through a mirror scene. And while these things are permissible, they are not the hallmarks of someone who cherishes what he writes.

Great writing seeks subtlety. It’s the words that are unwritten, the descriptions that are inferred, the meaning that comes across through the subtext of what is explicit that writing excels at communicating. But your writing doesn’t ask me to look within myself for answers. It asks me to look no further than the page. And that, to me, is a tragedy. Because we’re all capable of greatness. But greatness comes from being dissatisfied with how things are, and with pushing the boundaries of what you believe yourself to be capable of in order to achieve your absolute best. And even then, you won’t be satisfied. You’ll push yourself further in your next pursuits, because now you’ve touched on what you’re capable of, but you won’t be satisfied.

To release your books in such a short time frame tells me that you’re satisfied, and that breaks my heart.”

I tried for the better part of a week to conjure a more cogent response than “fuck you,” and I got as far as “go fuck yourself.” Like, I tried to go through it once and conjure point-by-point rebuttals — well, no, because of course I value art and art is not beholden to any timetable and it takes the time that it takes short or long and — but eventually my rebuttal dissolves into a gargled cry of “eat a bucket of deep-fried fucks, you squawking chicken-fucker.” With an added, “HOW’S THAT FOR SUBTLETY,” and then a crotch-grab as I cackle and yell, “CHERISH THIS.”

This is someone who wants his vision to be my vision. He has very explicit ideas about how art is made — ideas that, by the way, are provably false. (For writers in particular, looking at the daily word counts of famous writers is clarifying in its sheer variation.) Great writing is not one thing any more than great paintings are, or great music, or, or, or. The variation in art is glorious. The variation in the process that puts the art into the world is equally amazing. Music can be operatic, or punk, or dub-step. A sculpture might be an alabaster goddess or a bunch of fucking cubes stuck to a bunch of other fucking cubes. Food can be subtle and airy or unctuous and heavy or whipped into a foam or shoved between two buns (tee hee buns). Comedy can be a routine that takes years to write, or an improv session that took 30 seconds to conjure.

There’s no wrong way to do it, as long as you’re doing it.

There’s no timetable, as long as you’re taking the time.

Nobody can tell you how you do it. They can only tell you how they do it or what illusions they hold about the process — illusions that often wither under actual implementation.

They can offer suggestions. And you are free to take them, hold them up in the light, and see if there is anything there of value. And if there isn’t? Then you can fling it into the trash compactor on the detention level where it will be ogled and eaten by the one-eyed Dianoga.

That’s not to say there aren’t people you should listen to — a good editor or agent, a trusted friend, a beloved author. But even there, you want to find people who will clarify and improve your process and your work — not substitute it with something that isn’t really yours.

So, in 2016, I advise you to give your middle fingers a proper workout and elevate them accordingly to any who would diminish who you are, what you make, or how you make it. You don’t need to wall yourself off from it, but you also don’t need to be a sweater hanging on the clothesline, either. Get some tooth around that nerve.

Know who you are. Learn your process. Find your way. And don’t let anyone else define who you are as a creator, as an artist, as a writing writer who motherfucking writes.

Happy 2016, writers.

You do you.

*explodes in gory human fireworks*

236 responses to “Your 2016 Authorial Mandate Is Here: Be The Writer That You Are, Not The Writer Other People Want You To Be”

  1. Rule Guy should see a counsellor to find out why he needs to believe so much in Rules – and why he needs to be seen as an authority. He also needs to understand that some authors (and readers) prefer the raw energy of fast writing. Rule Guy was patronising and has only exposed himself to be an idiot.

  2. *folds houndstooth jacket with elbow patches and places in Good Will bag*

    “The variation in art is glorious.” I’d quote more tasty goodness from this post but I’m on deadline. Thank you, as always, Chuck. You’re my Yoda.

  3. What is so cool about this post is how it invites writers to re-invent it.

    There’s plenty of quotable stuff in here, but we all have to reconstruct its essence from scratch.

    For every commenter here, there exists a phantom version of the sentiment penned Wendigally in the first instance.

    This has to be my favourite post anywhere so far this year, and I suspect it will take some pipping.

    Indeed — it demands pip.

  4. Thank you for this fantastic post. Your honesty and wit have kept me reading and reading and I actually was sad that it as over already, despite having said what needed to be said. I have been discouraged by criticism a lot last year, when people tried to make their vision my vision (as you said). It blocked me for weeks at times. To my own utter surprise I have managed to finish my first book and self-publish it and started with my second, and another novella. It took a lot of encouragement from friends and fellow writers to get there instead of saying “Fuck it all” and stop writing. But as many writers know, to stop writing is as impossible as to stop breathing. It’s just in the blood and has to be done. I’m still trying to find my own voice, so having other voices trying to tint mine with theirs is a problem. I value opinions, but just don’t force them on someone trying to make them theirs. Easy as that.

    So thank you for this post, it was a great reminder of that!

  5. Best part is: that jerk now has to see this blog entry and know that almost an entire comment section exists to call him a ‘tickledick’.

  6. I came here after reading elsewhere that you were writing two more SW books.

    I enjoyed some aspects of your writing in the first Aftermath book, but I find the many short descriptive lines very distracting, and they jar me out of the story. In the beginning I had to put the book down multiple times and come back later. I see that you do this on some of your blog posts too.

    With that out of the way, I also want to say that I greatly enjoyed how you brought the characters to life, as their actions and attitudes felt very authentic for Star Wars. I also enjoyed the fact that not every character was straight, and your depictions were absolutely not over the top in the least.

  7. […] Wendig has a number of great posts so far this year – two that stuck out for me are ‘Your 2016 Authorial Mandate Is Here: Be The Writer That You Are, Not The Writer Other People Want Yo…‘ (strong language, probably NSFW…!), and ‘Self Care for Writers: Some […]

  8. However well intended that person was the smug pretentiousness with which he expressed his ideas made my eyeballs steam and in my view it also proved, beyond doubt, that he is a bit of a twat. If he knew what he was talking about he’d be able to say it in a way that doesn’t make him sound like an utter toss wipe.



  9. First responses are best. “Fuck you” gets to the point. WHY DID YOU WASTE MIND-SPACE FOR A WEEK??? Imagine the blogs, stories, ANYTHING you could’ve been sharing with the rest of us who ADORE your thought-babies.

  10. […] Plenty of people will be willing to charge you large sums of money to tell you how to write your novel. What they will actually tell you is how they wrote their novel, or what they read in another book about how to write a novel. Nothing has ever given me writers’ block, except starting a Creative Writing MA. The only way to learn how to write a novel is by writing a novel. If the book is good enough, it doesn’t really matter how many so-called rules you break along the way. All of my favourite authors are rule breakers. (For more on this, if you don’t mind your language uncensored, or if you find it downright empowering, here is Chuck Wendig on the subject of why other people’s process may not be right for you:… […]

  11. I don’t know about my middle fingers, but my gut muscles just got the best workout ever, thanks to you, I laughed like a madman – or mad woman, as it were. Thank you, fellow wordsmith, well said, and with remarkable humor. What will become of the world if we start putting art through any kind of analysis? The idea of timeframes is particularly preposterous. I mean, where’s the limit? If you take really long writing a book, when do you stop being an artist by that person’s standards and start becoming a control freak, or a procrastinator? Unless, in this person’s eyes, every man out there who ever wrote a novel and didn’t have the guts to share it with the world but hid it in their drawer is the super-duper author no one will ever discover. And what about his belief that ‘anyone can write’ and ‘we’re all capable of greatness.’ Really? I’m not even going there.

  12. […] web.  Do you have any idea how terrifying that is?  As Chuck Wendig so artfully put it, I am now a nerve without a tooth. So be brave little website.  Stand proud and put forth my name.  Soon you will have actual […]

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