Something I had to write that may help someone, who knows.

Seven Principles of Process for New Writers

Nathaniel R. Hankins

            My name is Nathaniel R. Hankins. I’m an MFA Candidate in Creative Writing at Florida State University. I hold a BA degree in Journalism with a focus in Print and Photojournalism from the University of Colorado at Boulder, and a Summa BA degree in English with a focus in Creative Writing from the University of Colorado at Boulder.

            I’m not an expert, by any stretch of the imagination, and I can’t make you an expert. Writing is a craft and a perishable skill that is learned over a lifetime. What I can do is tell you what has worked for me so far. All the little nuances of how I arrived at these epiphanies are lengthy and unlikely to be relatable to your story, so I’ll spare you the novel and give you the highlights of both my journalism and creative writing experiences. I am an avid lover of occult studies, and, perhaps unsurprisingly, what makes a good writer is more similar to a Renaissance potion recipe than one might think. I’ll give you what I think are the primary ingredients that created me, the writer.

            First, get a good freshman composition professor. It’ll serve as the foundation of your craft. Mine’s name was Dr. Wright. She was deeply passionate and emphasized principal concepts over Guaranteed Templates. She opted to teach writing as an assortment of tools in a tool chest that, if understood, could be applied to virtually any situation you might find yourself in. She also gave me a book called Writing Tools by Roy Peter Clark. The book itself still sits at my writing desk today, with a flimsy spine and pages held in place only by the gravity of the pages above.

            Second, no matter how much you actually read, you’re not reading enough. There’s no such thing as too much research. Read different genres, theory, authors, poetry, non-fiction, etc. Pick an author whose work you love unconditionally—warts and all. Learn the craft by studying their works on top of whatever you’re doing for school. Mine’s Chuck Palanuick. If you’re lucky enough, one day they’ll write a book that holds all their nuanced knowledge of the craft in one precious little book. Mine’s titled Consider This. Read it multiple times and keep it on hand for future referencing. They’ll teach you things that can only be learned by making every mistake possible over the course of a thirty-year career.

Third, ditch whatever shame or pride that’s still clinging to you. I don’t know how to break this to you gently, so I’ll say it outright. You’re going to embarrass yourself…a lot. You’re going to bare your heart to people, and they’re going to stomp on it—they’re going to hate what you write. If you’re really lucky, you’ll even get the opportunity to thoroughly embarrass yourself in front of reputable best-selling authors. Trust me, don’t worry about it because you’re going to do it more than once. They’ve done it, I’ve done it, and you’re going to do it too. The truth is that workshop is the best thing you can do as a writer.  It’s going to hurt, I’m not going to lie to you, and that’s the point. At times, you’re going to want to quit. Being a writer is the equivalent of walking down the street stark naked and not caring what anyone thinks. If you’re walking naked in public, occasionally people are going to point and laugh or recoil—it’s just a fact of life. That’s the raw truth of it, so be honest in your writing because the ones who matter will stick around.

            Fourth, perhaps the most important rule, is to go out and interact with people who aren’t writers. It is a fundamental truth of any art form that nothing is created in a vacuum. Go to a city council meeting and see who the land development deal is affecting—then go talk to those people. That homeless guy who always hangs out on Pearl Street—his name is The High Praise Drifter, and he once restored a school bus he found abandoned in the mountains and went on tour with the Grateful Dead while living out of it. Pay attention to the little details of their stories and to what people do when they’re talking to others. If someone looks friendly, they probably are, so share a story with them, and they might share one with you. Inspiration isn’t found in a dark room staring at the same four walls that you always stare at, so talk to as many people as you possibly can, and share as much as you can. Research is an active and ongoing process that never ends. If you’re not curious, you’re not going to make it far as a writer.

            Fifth, THERE’S NO SUCH THING AS WRITER’S BLOCK. Now, in all fairness, this one isn’t mine; it comes from the writer Stephen Graham Jones. Something he once said in a workshop, which was that there is no writer’s block—it’s just the combined gaze of everyone you’ve ever looked up to staring over your shoulder. He’s right. The expectation is that something revolutionary or groundbreaking is going to just fall out of your head onto the page. It won’t, revolutionary happens by lottery. You’re not going to live up to their standards, because they can’t even live up to their own standards, let alone worrying about whatever it is you happen to be working on at the moment. Instead, focus on doing the best you can on that page first, and if you can do that long enough, eventually you’ll start getting lucky. There’s a reason they call it a gamble. The more tickets you buy, the better your chances get.

            Sixth, take risks…big risks…and often. I’ve both written and read some of the most spectacular failures that have ever dared to call themselves pieces of writing. The three things that hold true for all of them are that they exist, people don’t forget them, and their authors…still write. I deeply believe that there are no bad stories, only bad executions or bad angles. So, write the thing that feels taboo, or makes the fire feel a little too hot. You’ll learn more doing that than you ever would by simply pouring more sad tragedy onto a page and walking into another workshop with your head down. It’s a cliché anyway, so cut it out.

            Seventh, is simply to have fun on the page. Trust me, I know, I spent a good few years spewing trauma onto the page too. You are not your characters, and your characters aren’t you, so let them be who they want to be. You created them; there is a difference there. So much of plot revolves around the choices characters make, and if every character is making the same choices or has the same morals, then the story will fall flat. Allow yourself to truly be someone else; it’s more fun than you think. Granted, sometimes a research paper is just a research paper—but in my experience, there’s always a wild left field angle that’s interesting. The point is to explore. Be curious, not judgmental, especially of yourself.

            Some of these aren’t in your control. For example, you probably won’t know who your writing professor will be, or whose workshop you’ll end up in. That’s okay. If you genuinely want to learn something, you’re going to learn it. Just stay curious and try not to get too jaded about making progress in the industry and academia, because it can be bleak at times.

If you do this writing thing for long enough, you’re going to realize, like I did, that magic and writing are in fact synonymous terms. All you have to do is take all those things, pour them in a pot, mix in some obsession, stubbornness, and an insane work ethic, set it over some Hellfire, and just let it simmer. If you can do that…with consistency…then you’re better off than you think you are. You’ll figure it out, I promise. So just relax and try to enjoy the ride, because the stress is going to mess you up more than failure ever would. For me, that’s part of the fun. All that technical stuff with grammar, citations, formatting—don’t worry about it—all that is going to sort itself out through repetition anyway. If you remember nothing else, remember this: it is curiosity and the people who create the writer.