Gordon's Writing Advice
Read to Write
By Gordon the Friendly Dragon
In all likelihood, you were not born with the ability to speak. You didn't turn to the doctor, butt cheeks still jiggling from his cold, cruel introductory slap on your bare little bottom, and say, “Dude, not cool! Brand spanking new, and there's already a crack. You broke it, you bought it, Bub.” You learned those skills over the course of years by listening to the linguistic patterns of your parents and the quacking heads in the funny glass box in your living room. Through observation, you learned an extremely complex system of communication, and through practice and interaction with other speakers, you perfected it.
If you want to learn how to write compelling fiction, or informative treatises if that is your goal, you need to read compelling fiction, or informative treatises...
No matter your age, your education continues to this day. You never know when you will fall in love with a new word (I often give thanks for “Bling-Bling” {is that supposed to be hyphenated?}. Before I learned that term I had no idea what to call the gaudy mess slung around Mr. T's neck, and generally resorted to the more cumbersome “butt-load of gold chains”), or find a new experience that requires a name, such as “Smurfing the Interweb,” either way, you will probably learn it by listening to somebody else. If you choose to learn a new language later in life, most folks will agree that the easiest way to learn is to immerse yourself in a group that already speaks it well and consistently.
Considering the number of people who agree to the above sentiment without question, why do so many people persist in trying to write without reading regularly? You may write in the language you learned as a child, but in most cases you do not write like you speak. If that were true this essay would be a terrible mess. You'd be like, “what's up with the way this guy is writing. It's really confusing,” and I'd be like, “Uhhh, What's up with you? This is the way I talk. English is English man so deal with it,” and so on, until you fled the essay. If you want to learn how to write compelling fiction, or informative treatises if that is your goal, you need to read compelling fiction, or informative treatises, and internalize the conventions of the genre.
Like regional dialects, different genres have different rules. What is acceptable in one will drive people up the wall in another. For example, African American Vernacular English (Sometimes called Ebonics) has many qualities that speakers of “Broadcast Standard” American English (the accent you most often hear on radio or television) believe to be incorrect, despite the complex grammatical rules that govern interactions in AAVE. When a speaker of “broadcast standard” hears a speaker of AAVE say something like, “He be happy,” the listener may look down his nose at the other, but only because he doesn't understand the rules that apply in the foreign dialect.
Similarly, a person who enjoys only historical fiction might cringe when a character in a fantasy story develops the ability to view events over vast distances in time and space. Such a reader may also miss cues that a person well versed in fantastic literature would recognize in an instant. This exact scenario caused a huge argument among education students in my young adult literature class. We were assigned a piece of speculative fiction, and I was the only student that read that sort of book on a regular basis. When the time came to discuss the book in class, the professor was sympathetic in the face of thirty students whining and complaining that the book was “completely unrealistic,” and, “garbage.”
“And the worst part of all,” they groaned in sheep-like unison, “was the ending.” This observation stunned me. I thought the ending was the best part. Throughout the book the author had provided all the clues needed to decipher the ambiguous ending. The result was a beautifully crafted puzzle that fell into place, for me at least, as I finished the last page. I explained why I thought the ending was great, and why I thought all of their interpretations were wrong. Before I had even finished my first sentence, most of them were too busy sighing and shaking their heads to hear me out. I promptly wrote them off as thick skulled, porridge for brains, know nothing, louts. I was wrong, of course, but that was how I felt at the time. They simply did not understand the conventions of the genre, and failed to follow the necessary cues to the author's intended conclusion (for those of you who would like to try this test for yourself, check out Lois Lowry's The Giver). I later discovered that there was a sequel, and I was proven right, but I didn't return to gloat. I like to think I am better than that, so I only slipped it into conversation when the opportunity presented itself, or when I really, really wanted to.
My point is that none of those people could have written a successful fantasy novel, despite their extensive experience with classic literature, because they had too little experience reading fantasy. You can not expect to be successful as a writer unless you know the rules of your trade. You wouldn't try to build a house if you didn't know which end of a hammer hit the nails, and you shouldn't try to write speculative fiction if you don't understand suspension of disbelief. Reading the genre you wish to write imprints the characteristics of that genre on whatever fold of your brain is set up to receive those sorts of things, whether you want it there or not.
Right about now you may be thinking, “Well crap, I've spent half my life reading fantasy and I don't have a clue what suspension of whatsy whoozit is.” Don't fret, if you really have been reading and enjoying fantasy for years, you most likely understand that concept and a hundred others even though you don't know the terminology. If an author establishes Superhero Greg's strength as equivalent to that of twenty men and Greg picks up a large street thug with one hand, you might think to yourself that this is entirely credible because twenty one-armed men could easily have picked up the street thug and tossed him through a plate-glass window. However, if we establish that Superhero Greg can kick through a hundred railroad ties and stop a speeding elevated train with the strength of his arms, you may balk later when those same arms and legs fail to kick and/or punch through the relatively flimsy material of Doctor Octopus's un-super head.
You would be right to balk. The author established rules, however far beyond what we know to be reality, early in the story, and broke them later on. The author shattered your suspension of disbelief whether you understood the terminology or not. This is likely a lesson you have learned through your experience in reading.
To further exemplify this point, I will tell you about a friend of mine. Until recently, he had never written a scrap of fiction. In fact, he is well known for his inability to express himself in writing, a stigma he picked up in high school. Some time ago he decided he should try his hand at swords and sorcery type fantasy. He sat down at his computer, typed for exactly one half hour, and e-mailed me the result. There were some grammatical errors, and it could have used a bit more detail, but over all the scene he created was compelling, and his characters, though clearly derived from well established fantasy stock, were engaging. It shames me to say I was pleasantly surprised by his ability. I didn't think he had it in him. How did he manage this seemingly impossible feat? Simple, the man reads more books than anybody I know. That's saying something because I've known myself for some time now, and I read a lot. Somewhere in the hundreds of thousands of pages of fiction he's read over the years, he uncovered and internalized many important writing conventions well enough to reproduce them without any practice. I edited this man's essays in high school and college, so I can say with authority that he used to write like Dr. Seuss, and not in a good way. If simply reading fiction can improve his ability so dramatically, imagine what you can do with reading and practice.
I don't mean to make reading sound like a magic pill. It's more like a regular pill containing all the essential vitamins and minerals a growing writer needs. In addition to topping off your recommended daily dosage of literary convention, this mental multivitamin can improve your writing in a myriad of ways. Let's discuss a few.
I truly believe that there is nothing new under the Sun, or, as South Park has taught us, no matter how long you think, no matter how hard you try, no matter how brilliant your idea may be, The Simpson's did it. You can't escape it. Mankind has been coming up with great ideas for millennia, just ask Groog. What are the odds that you can outthink the greatest minds in all of history within the single measly century God and nature have granted you? For pity's sake, Shakespeare, assuming he existed as a single entity in the capacity that history credits him, was a one man recycling center. He took in old ideas, deconstructed them, extracted the basic elements, and reconstituted them as some of the most enduring works in the English language. If the Immortal Bard can do no better than that, what makes you think you're so special? There is no shame in reusing old ideas, so long as you try to use them in interesting ways. How do you know what's interesting? How do you know what's been done to death? You read. Read your chosen genre to know what is old news. Is your story about a magical civilization secretly coexisting with the mundane populace and influencing important events on a global scale? It could be a new and exciting fantasy series, or it could be Harry Potter. The only way to know for certain is to read everything you can get your hands on. New, old, good, bad, or ugly, you should try to read it all.
Another benefit of reading regularly is a drastic increase in story worthy ideas. Papers, magazines, journals, novels, and works of nonfiction are all heavily laden with possible stories. Mine them. I often find myself considering the direction a short story or novel might take after reading only a few paragraphs. In some cases I have the story plotted out after I've finished reading the title. Every now and then the story follows the path I outlined in my head, but most of the time it veers widely from my impromptu conception. If the two ideas are different enough, and they almost always are, the new idea is fair game. It's ripe for the plucking. One of my best stories came about this way. I began reading “Closing the Time Lid” by Orson Scott Card, and before I had even finished reading the title I had fully formed the path I wanted the story to take. “Gosh,” I thought, “that would be really interesting. I hope that's what he does.” While enjoyable, his story was nothing like what I had envisioned, so I decided to write it myself. It was everything I hoped Card's story would be. Considering that Card is among my favorite authors, I was quite pleased with myself.
In addition to creating new stories, constant active reading, or continual consideration of the implications and possible outcomes of each new element in the fiction you read, can train your mind to work like a writer. Developing the thought processes of an experienced fiction reader will help you anticipate your readers desires and expectations and allow you to meet them, or to take your reader in an unexpected direction. If you understand what readers want from fiction you can give it to them. It really is as simple as that. Many readers, myself included, are willing to forgive the occasional grammatical no-no's, wooden characters, and other examples of poor writing if the story takes them someplace they'd like to be.
Finally, I believe there are three basic reasons to read: for entertainment, information, or because somebody else told you to. The last is most common in schools or in jobs where self improvement for the good of the company is mandatory, and it is not particularly effective in either case. As a teacher, I quickly learned that the fastest way to ruin a good book is to force it on a student. Unfortunately, this is often unavoidable, since most students won't pick up a book of their own accord, and many school districts set curriculum for teachers. Forced reading is a terrible thing to do to a book, or a student. It ruined me for Shakespeare for nearly a decade. I had to see a play in London to fully reform my opinion. This is the lowest form of reading, but it's better than nothing.
Informational reading can be forced upon you, as in history class, but when I think of reading for information, I normally think of cookbooks, assembly manuals, and The Great Gatsby. I read the first two because they are necessary to complete very specific goals, and I read the third because it's one of those books English teachers are asked about from time to time, and I wanted to be able to present an informed opinion. Informational reading is necessary in most of our daily lives, but as an investment in your writing skills, it is not particularly helpful unless the subject matter makes it enjoyable.
Reading for enjoyment is a valuable pastime. In addition to novels, magazines, and short stories, this incorporates much informational reading, and , if you're lucky, forced reading as well. In my case, an example of each would be Huckleberry Finn, which was thrust upon me in the eleventh grade, and any number of video game manuals. You could also include On Writing by Stephen King, and Characters and Viewpoint by Orson Scott Card, both of which taught me some very important writing lessons, yet were so enjoyable I have reread each on several occasions since. The farther your interests range, the larger your pool of enjoyable reading material. Reading for enjoyment is essential to effective writing. You can not avoid it because “you don't have time,” or, “you can't find anything you like.” If you find yourself using either of these excuses, you should reconsider your future as a writer. If you don't enjoy reading, what makes you think you will like writing any better?
Now that I have defined what I consider to be the three basic reasons for reading, I will try to combine them. If you choose to write for yourself alone, you can disregard this final paragraph, but if you ever wish to have your work read by others, listen up. This is some of the best advice I ever received. In order to find an outlet for your writing, you need to understand the tastes and attitude of your perspective audience. For example, the Electric Dragon Café is still a very young site, yet within sixty days of going public, we received an overwhelming number of submissions, all of them willing to share their stories freely in the hopes of finding readers. We are very pleased with the sudden interest, but we did not expect this, and we are still surprised by the number of stories we will likely have to turn down. Of all the stories we received, only a few were in keeping with the image we want the magazine to present, many others were acceptable, but not exactly what we had hoped for, and a few were so far removed from our guidelines that we had to wonder why the writers submitted them to us. It never occurred to us that the writers of those stories had not bothered to read the material on our site. We would never discourage submissions. Even when stories are not right for our site we often enjoy reading them. We only suggest that before you submit to our site, or any writing market, you read the material that has already been accepted. If you want to submit an article to Field and Stream, read a few issues. If you want to submit a story to our site, read our guidelines and check out our collection of rants, reviews, and 60 minute fiction. We put them there as an example of our ideal, as well as for your enjoyment.
Hope to hear from you soon,
Gordon the Friendly Dragon
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Writing Advice