Beginning to suspect that my philosophy that ‘the only two real writing tips you need are to read a lot and write a lot’ is missing a third secret component, being that the reading benefits from being both fiction and nonfiction, regardless of what you’re writing. Long meandering musings below cut expand at own risk
[[MORE]]I best refrain from using second person because this is I suppose a matter of personal taste and how I’ve realised my brain works, as a tragically uncreative person, but reading theory–which consists of attempts to light and taxonomise the abstract shadows beneath the water, the quintessence of all writing–teaches me how to organise and develop my ideas. My writing is becoming more coherent than before. It’s easier to figure out exactly what I’m trying to say in a given piece of writing. This also makes writer’s block so much less torturous. It does sometimes slow down, but mostly to give way for problem solving. I can work from abstraction into concrete, which prevents me from getting stuck on events unfolding in a certain way, and from being reluctant to scrap scenes, as they’ve served their purpose in the sense that failing to argue for something teaches you more about your position. Cool plot or worldbuilding ideas fall flat for me without a strong thesis. Making it exist isn’t enough, I have to prove why it matters. Otherwise why are you reading, why am I writing? Because it’s new? Things are unique as often as they are the same. I don’t want to make things for the sake of a novelty-induced dopamine kick, that is a grind with no discernible goal or endpoint. (That’s part of the reason I quit graphic design/marketing, actually, aside from being unable to settle in the cognitive dissonance of being a mercenary, and the particularly blatant vampirism of the industry, which is being committed by one toward customers and peers, and onto one by peers and employers. Nearly every field is a burnout machine now, but nonetheless. I hate that one in particular with the sort of intensity you have to convert wistfulness into after failed experience). And if theory and philosophy help me figure out what I’m saying, history helps me figure out how to say it. This may be a consequence of me, again, being an unfortunately uncreative person, but I struggle there. Helen Hindpere once gave a fantastic interview for the Platypus Affiliated Society (truly excellent interviewing, too) that is very meaningful to me, and one of the most igniting things she says with regards to writing is this:
All of my writing is inspired by history. I sometimes say that I don’t make things up, I just take them from history and then put them in another context so people pay them more attention. That’s how the entire world of Elysium was created. We just took things out of their contexts, freeing them of the conscious notions and subconscious associations attached to them by applying different names and aesthetics. The hope was that people could see them in a new light, and that is what I usually say I do. But I’m not just writing for myself; I’m writing to communicate ideas. These come from history, about which Kurvitz and I read a lot.
I think she put words to a place I’ve been trying to reach as long as I’ve been writing, and in the way of all excellent writing, she shone a light onto a shadow here, to make you go 'of course! This is, obviously, what it’s been all along!’ I think so much of the success of DE, not commercially but creatively, communicatively, is down to its writers being drawn to theory: a desire to truly engage with and understand, and versed in theory: having this internal framework for how to structure ideas both individually and then among themselves. (The thought cabinet being a from-scratch invention still blows my mind, and the way the skills are constructed and expressed is one of my favourite parts. Rhetoric is my favourite: the remark that being able to argue for something is separate from being correct, and that always striving to be correct stunts you.)
That, the understanding and engagement, is the difference between copying established canon in a way that legitimises you by proxy, and being able to build on it in a way that contributes something to the canon. (Some of the vampirism I mentioned earlier was this: creativity can get so incestuous. You can make a moodboard with unique and intriguing visual references and the visual you will end up creating is nothing more interesting than 'something that fits harmonically within this moodboard’. Are you making or copying? Is realism/believability creativity or merely a skill? Funnily, in uni we didn’t read Baudrillard, we read works that referenced and summarised Baudrillard. Writes itself.)
The difference between art as an attempt to subtly rephrase something somebody said before you that everyone agreed with lest you seem stupid when the conversation reaches your turn, and art as an attempt to engage with the conversation out of true interest, is at the core of improved writing. You can read endlessly and write endlessly but without the third, essential component, understanding, you risk turning yourself into a copy machine. And I think theory forces one to think in a way that is optional in a lot of other writing.














