On Writing: Ten Things I Have Learned From The Muse

Like most authors, I have a muse. He has come and gone in various incarnations since I was about eleven, which was when I started taking writing seriously. (I wrote series of stories about a team of marine biologists in southern California. I drew book covers, printed the stories, and even bound them with glue and ribbon.) For a while, the muse was a marine biology grad student, then he was a vampire, then he was a Rebel Alliance pilot, and now he's a sloppy, honest punk with a penchant for red sheets and whiskey. He's a lot like the invisible friend most of us had as kids. (This is probably why that famous quote about writing being a "socially acceptable form of schizophrenia" exists.) I know my mother thought I was crazy for many years. She still thinks I'm a little off, but I have letters from several doctors saying that I'm not crazy, so. Anyway, the muse has been valuable throughout my pursuit of this writing thing. He has taught me a lot. Following are ten of the lessons he keeps having to re-teach me.

1. Take chances.
You will not always be successful, but you're far more likely to regret not doing something that you really wanted to do than you are to regret doing something you really wanted to do that didn't work out the way you hoped.

2. Be honest.
With yourself and with your audience. Mostly with yourself. Readers can sense when you don't believe in what you're writing. Fiction writers lie for a living, but you have to believe your lie and you can't half-ass it and only tell half-lies.

3. Don't hold back.
Writing is not the place to be reserved. Reservations make boring writing. So don't half-ass it, no matter what it is. Don't censor yourself out of fear of audience opinion.

4. Write what you really want to read.
Not what you think some vague idea of an audience wants to read. It will be unsatisfying and if you're unsatisfied you're unmotivated. Lack of motivation leads to lack of writing, which leads to writers' hearts withering and dying in their chests. True story.

5. Accept that you're not always going to succeed the way you want.
Your splatterpunk humor series might fail. And that's okay. But you never know if you don't try. Especially when it comes to something new or extreme--or new and extreme--you have to be aware of the potential for "failure." How you define success and failure is up to you.

6. Be yourself.
You are unique and special, like a snowflake. Don't melt into a puddle of boring old water just to fit in. It's your uniqueness that makes you interesting and helps you stand out from the crowd.

7. Remember that you are not special.
There is at least one other person out in the world with a similar set of interests, likes, and dislikes as you. You are not alone. If you're lucky, you'll find that person and you'll really know how not-alone you are. If you haven't found that person yet, don't worry about it. They're out there. (Even if they're not, it helps to tell yourself this.)

8. You are not an island.
Particularly if you hope to have people read what you write, you need a network. You need readers, you need critics, and sometimes you just need to get out of your own head and talk about things. People are good for this. Animals and inanimate objects can be sounding boards in a pinch. (I use my kid to talk things out when I'm stuck. Only appropriate things, though.)

9. Less is more unless you really need more.
Don't mince words. Use the words you need, even if your head tells you that there are too many. Words aren't just about connotation. They're about denotation, setting the tone, showing the story. Words are the brick and mortar of story-building. Use enough of them!

10. Never give up, never give in, never give out.
Keep writing, keep writing what you like, and keep writing even when your fingers won't move anymore. Remember what I said about hearts withering and dying? That.