Giving Advice
Such a handsome boy. He has no writing advice for you.
I do not remember receiving a lot of writing advice. I just remember writing. I do remember criticism, but that’s different from advice.
One piece of advice I do remember was from one of my professors at the University of Iowa. He was one of my poetry professors, I remember, and he said to us all, with rapture in his voice: “If you want to change your writing, get up at 5.”
Get up at fiiiiive.
Like that.
Then he sat in silence for just a moment, seeming to ponder the importance of his statement.
I didn’t respond verbally to this. He seemed so impressed with himself, saying the number five as if it required reverence. As if there was something special about it for the sake of writing. As if he had a job that didn’t start until 8 or 9am each day, a luxurious job that paid all his bills, and yeah, man, he was getting up at FIVE. To WRIIIIITE.
At that point in my life, I had a job at a local diner. Breakfast all day, great burgers, a Sunday special-you know the type of place. My report time for work was 4:45am. Forget five, buddy. I got up at 4 to do some skin care, get dressed, and walk across town to arrive at work in 45 minutes. By 5am I was serving coffee and taking breakfast orders. By 7:30am, I was out the door and on my bike, riding to class, to hear about how so very exceptional it was to get up at five ay-em to write.
What he meant, I presume, was, “Make time to write. You can find the time if you rearrange your schedule.” I suppose that doesn’t sound as dramatic as getting up at fiiiive. It didn’t mean shit to me when I had to get up at 4am to go to work at a diner. I can still smell the residue of that place, when I think about it. It never left our clothes; I tried to double-wash my uniform t-shirts separately, to no avail. That odor is still in there; it’s almost a physical odor, of grease and meat and sweat and somehow pancakes, mixed up in dishwater garbage.
Making time to be a writer is sound advice. I recommend you keep a pen and some sort of paper on your person all the time, as well, but you probably already do that. If you have a smartphone, then your note-taking is as easy as telling Siri to do it. If you prefer hand-writing, I currently recommend a Sharpie S Gel: as smooth as a dude with a 9-5 job says, “five.”
Taking notes for this blog, my book, the curriculum I am attaching to it, the individual course—all of this happens by shrieking at Siri whenever the thought comes, as fast as I can, because I can’t remember a damn thing anymore. I try my hardest to use technology to my best advantage. I learned long ago to hit SAVE every couple of minutes, but now typing in Google Docs means that has fallen off of my radar. Most of my current writing advice (book aside) involves using technology. I do enjoy pen and paper, yes I do. I enjoy slowing down and thinking carefully about what comes next. I also enjoy making things happen quickly, when it comes to finishing a project.
Yes, I imagine that’s surprising, considering how many years I’ve had the idea for How to Write. Years. Plural. Yes.
At some point I always dig in my heels and get it done. That’s my advice for you today:
Get started.