BOOKISH: The Myth of Good Writing

There’s a lot of myths in writing. The myth of the bohemian artist, at once drunk and profound. The myth of the unknown drudge, who wakes up with the Pulitzer Prize. The myth of the kindly editor, stepping outside his job and lending time, support, and even money. Finally, the myth of the writer who makes it on sheer talent alone.

I hate that last one.

I hate it because unlike the other myths, this one is widely accepted. Everyone thinks it’s true. If I learn to write superbly, I can’t be ignored.

Yes, you can. And you will be ignored, unless you live in New York City, or work at Simon and Schuster, or have extensive and synergistic friendships with fellow industry professionals (read: I rub your back, you rub mine), or have a popular gripe against one thing or another.

Or finally, and most importantly, you have a romantic relationship with a decision-maker. That folks, will get you published.

I’m kidding, of course. You don’t need a romantic relationship based on cynical, mercenary ends. That’s just icky. Not that it wouldn’t help. Anyway, what’s missing in my list? Writing like a genius. You don’t need to write like a genius. You don’t need to write like Hemingway. Or Vonnegut, or Angelou. Not at all. As a matter of fact, writing like a genius can hurt you.

How? First of all, great skill and originality labels you as “literary”. Literary doesn’t sell. The literary novel is seen as a complicated novel. A convoluted novel. A difficult-to-understand novel. Few want that, least of all the industry.

Next, the writer who uses a powerful voice, a literary voice is just confusing the reader. The best-selling writers in all genres write a very bland prose. There is no difference between Colleen Hoover and Emily Henry. None, and the average reader doesn’t want to see a difference. They are concentrating on story. A sharply ironic, unusual and individual style interferes with that story.

Finally, the writer who writes with this kind of skill is guilty of overkill. He or she brings a bazooka to a ping pong game. Literary writing is perceived as show-off writing. Readers hate that.

I don’t know what they teach in MFA classes. Or rather, not much of what they teach, as my contacts are suspicious of any inquiry. They know me. But beyond the basic mechanics, these MFA programs better not be telling students to master a sharp, ironic, individual style, because this cannot be taught. Style is genius, the result of refusing to occupy any camp, of being at once original and fascinating. Very few writers are geniuses. Nor would they want to be.

So stop trying to write better. Master the basics. Luckily, the basics are easily mastered. Shear away adjectives, vary paragraph length, all that. But once you arrive at a minimal competence move on. Write your story, and don’t forget money, sex, gun play and car chases. And work those contacts. Quick sidebar: If you’re going the romantic route I suggest McCarthy’s Pub in Manhattan. Wear a beret and show plenty of leg. Men and women.

Professional writing is about achieving an industry standard. After that, no amount of study or willpower will change your appeal. As Mrs. Beale, my high school English teacher told us, I can teach you to write. But I can’t make you interesting.