10 Tips for Becoming a Better Writer
***Full disclosure: I am in no way, shape, or form the authority on good writing. I’m just someone who’s been around the block a few times and have learned from the many mistakes I’ve made. If one person benefits from what I’m about to say, then I know I did my job!
Writing is hard. While anyone can have a brilliant idea with a great storyline and a cast of amazing characters, putting idea to paper is not easy. Just because a person wants to write about what’s in their head doesn’t mean they should. And sometimes people with massive amounts of writing talent can’t conjure up that perfect story to save their life. I’ll say it again: WRITING. IS. HARD.
If you read my very first novel, The Coal Elf, you will see there’s a marked difference in my writing from then to now. Which is not to say that book isn’t good, it’s just blatantly obvious that I was “green.” In my 10+ year journey of being an author, I’ve picked up some tips and tricks along the way, and I’ve been told that with every book, my skills sharpen and advance. Here’s what I’ve learned….
1. Having creative talent is great, but perfecting it takes work. One of the only ways you’re going to become a better writer is by constantly practicing and honing your craft. If you’re serious about it, treat it seriously.
2. Don’t throw anything away. You wrote trash? Great! At least you wrote SOMETHING! Keep the garbage – all authors have that cringe-worthy piece. Save it for good measure and use it as the litmus test to calculate your own personal growth. Besides, the beauty of writing is all in the editing. You can always go back and recycle bad and make it something good.
3. Speaking of editing: Don’t edit while you’re writing. You will fall into that trap of the never-ending edits and before you know it, you’re stuck on chapter 1 with no end in sight. Write. Just write. Get the damn thing out into the ether first, then go back and do the dance with the edits.
4. Lace up your armor, let go, and let others read. Listen, if you’re writing for fun or just for yourself, then you can skip this one. Often writing is a personal thing that many people do not feel comfortable sharing out. And that’s totally fine, but if you have larger plans for your writing, there comes a time in an author’s life when we need to release our babies into the world. Seat belts on, kids. The first one is always the hardest, but the more you do it, the better it gets and the better YOU get when you start getting feedback.
5. Listen to your alpha-readers and your beta-readers. Alphas are the first ones to read your book raw. Their job is to provide all kinds of feedback – from grammatical issues to developmental suggestions. Betas are the ones who read it after the Alphas had their eyes on it and your 1st round of edits are done. They are like your “test audience” and should give you feedback and maybe some editing suggestions, but probably not. Alphas and Betas are NOT professional editors, but pay attention to what they say because if you eventually want to market your work, their feedback can help you tremendously.
6. In addition, have different groups of people read your work – the ones who are going to praise you no matter what you do (a la friends and family), the ones who don’t know a thing about you (writing groups) and will be most critical, people who enjoy your genre, and people who only read your genre. Perspective helps. And nasty comments help thicken your skin and force you to do better!
7. Find yourself a “Joe DeVivo.”Joe is my alpha-reader. As soon as I’m done with a book, he reads it and does what he calls “first round edits.” Joe is also my husband. He’s the best guy and friend a gal could have. But he’s also a ruthless son-of-a-bitch. He has zero effs to give, and he pushes me hard when it comes to my work. Now, being my husband, one would assume he would go into that “friends and family” category from point #5. But no. Joe DeVivo has no loyalty in that respect, and he obliterated my hopes and dreams when he read the first version of my first manuscript. I cried and cried, and could have easily given up, but he was right! Looking back on that first draft I wrote in 2010, it would have NEVER gotten published. I had plot holes so large, he ex-ed out entire pages that didn’t make sense. Did that mean I was a bad writer? Absolutely not! It meant I needed more practice to perfect my craft. Good writing is a by-product of experience! YOU NEED A JOE DEVIVO – someone who will tell it to you straight and lay out the hard facts. And after you get “DeVivo-ed,” wipe your tears, then go to #3.
8. Don’t argue with your editor. If you are working with a publishing house, you will be assigned an editor. That person will do line edits and developmental work on your manuscript. It’s a tedious job and they will make many suggestions. Now I know, some of us are super married to our work, but if they’re telling you a word wasn’t used in the common vocabulary of the time you’re writing in, don’t argue about changing it. Their expertise is a treasure trove for writers. The late and great Gerald Mills edited my first novel, and I went with every change and fix he suggested. I pored over his extensive notes and reviewed all the tips and tricks he gave me. It was a master class in writing – his edits were about things I had never learned in all my years of creative writing and English classes. A wealth of knowledge was imparted on me during that first round, and they are lessons I never forgot. ***Side note: 13 books later and I still don’t know how to use a comma properly. My editor, bless her soul, is the best at working with me on that!***
9. Read. This is one I struggle most with, because I really don’t like to. But it’s imperative to try to read a little of everything. It builds fluency, and can give you a blueprint on structure, language, world-building, etc.
10.Write. I think I said this already, but it bears
repeating. A person can be a naturally talented piano player, but they aren’t
going anywhere with it unless they put in the time. And if you’re not a
“natural,” guess what? That’s not a pre-requisite for being an author! Just
write, write, and write some more, and a combination of these tips will set you
on your path to being the best you can be.
Excerpt:
Three moon tides had passed, and Runa remained in our care. A subject? A prisoner? I could not truly tell the difference. Sten had returned to the cave that first night with the supplies Aizel told him to procure—supplies that were just a diversion so that she could make her final judgment on what was to be done with the girl. Aizel told Sten to set up camp in our village and wait for us to call for him. He knew she was well respected and that our people would take care of him if need be, so he left our cave to go into town and patiently waited until his child was delivered from the evil that took hold of her hugr and fylgja—in essence, her soul.
Sten was obedient and did as he was told—partly because he was a doting father who wanted to see his daughter healed, and partly, because at his core, he was a weak man who fell easily under Aizel’s spell. She promised him she would do whatever she could to help Runa, and if that meant Sten had to run into a pack of snarling wolves, he would have complied. But I knew the truth. There was no intention of expelling the draugr from the girl. Aizel was stalling for time as the demon inside Runa slowly festered and consumed her bit by bit.
And as the days passed, I purposefully and consciously locked my mind like a steel cage against Aizel so she couldn’t go digging around. I hadn’t told her what I had heard Runa say—how she had called out the sacred nickname my sister had bestowed upon me, for I knew she would have forbidden me to even go near the girl after that. Nevertheless, I was intrigued. How would she have known that name unless by some divine intervention? I was certainly convinced that this was more than just the average possession we were used to dealing with, and I was determined to find out more. What was this demon, and why had it made itself known to me the night of the full moon, and more specifically during a time of my great despondency?
So, without Aizel’s knowledge of my actions, I stole away into the storage alcove where Runa had been tied up for the last three nights in hopes of getting as much information from the creature as I could. I brought my canteen of water under the assumption that maybe a drink would satisfy it and give it reason to open up. When I reached the room, the air was thick with an unnatural heat and a steamy sheen blanketed the space around us, much like the steam from the hot springs a bit south of us.
I stood in the opening and watched as Runa’s slumped body breathed in and out with those frenzied pants. Her head tilted to one side as if the weight of her long, silky black hair was pulling her down in her slumber. She looked peaceful, even with her chest heaving up and down as frantically as it was. I wondered what type of frenetic dream she must be having. Was she running in a field? Were the wolves chasing her? Was a hoard of marauders ravaging her fragile body?
I dipped my foot gingerly across the imaginary threshold of the room, and suddenly she stopped, shot up, and opened her eyes wide. “All three,” she cooed with a smirk.
I froze for a moment, surprised by her abrupt actions, then continued my way inside.
Runa smiled wide, and the evidence of the draugr’s hold on her was blatantly clear. The soft pink tissue of her gums was coated with a dark black substance giving her mouth the appearance of a gaping void.A void to swallow me whole and transport me to another dimension…
“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” she blurted.
“You know I’m not afraid of you, right?” I said. “I’ve seen the likes of you before.”
She giggled. “Oh, have you?” she responded. Her voice was low and gravelly, and it echoed in the cave as if there were more than one being speaking simultaneously. I couldn’t tell if it was the acoustics or if she actually represented the power of the many. And the voice, that guttural, grinding tone was so familiar to me, yet I could not place where I’d heard it before.
I approached her in the chair and held my canteen to her face. She eyed me coolly. “No,” she said. “It would just prolong the process.”“Oh? And what process is this you speak of?”
“I know your plans. The girl is gone. There’s no use in saving her now.”
I pursed my lips together and nodded. “True. True.” I agreed. “But that doesn’t mean you still can’t serve a purpose for us.”
The draugr laughed aloud. Its voice pierced the inside of my eardrums so sharply that I winced.
“Untie me, and I’ll show you what purpose I can serve,” she said with a sly hint of seduction.
I looked down upon her and scoffed. Up close I could see the demon had begun to transform her. Runa’s visage had begun to crack. The pale skin of her once soft face had turned gray, and the dark green veins from beneath her skin pressed up close to the surface and pulsated as if they were their own living, breathing entities. Her cheeks had further sunken in, giving the sharp angles of her face an even more inhuman appearance. She grazed her thick black tongue across the surface of her dry lips. “I won’t bite,” she cooed.
I huffed and took a step back. “Do you think that’s what it would take to tempt me? I told you, I’ve done this before. You’re not the first draugr to grace this cavern. Do you even know how old I am?”
“Do you even know how old I am?” she shot back.
I knelt next to her and decided to seize the opportunity. Demons are all-knowing, or at least they think they are. And they like to talk, mainly about themselves and their powers. And it’s often their narcissism that contributes to their downfall. I remembered that from Blodwyn’s teachings. Long ago, she had guided me through my first expulsion of a draugr. I had watched her perform the ritual flawlessly on many occasions, and when it came time for me to go out on my own, it was less than a stellar effort. “Don’t worry,” Blodwyn had said, “your strengths lie elsewhere. We each have our own gifts and talents. Don’t let this one failure discourage you. And I wouldn’t even call it a failure…”
“The boy would have died anyway,” the draugr said, finishing my memory.
I pulled back a bit. “Oh. So, you’re in here?” I said, pointing to my temple.
“Sometimes, yes. Sometimes, no. It comes and goes like flashes of light, like a gust of icy wind, like the paper-thin cry of the locust swelling to a crescendo then leveling off.”
My face twisted in confusion for a second. “How did you know that name?”
She closed her eyes and bowed her head forward. “I know not of what you speak,” she said with an agitated tone.
I placed my hand on her knee, and she quickly opened her eyes again. “Yes, you do. You said a name the first night you were here. You called out to me.”
She laughed again. A low and menacing rumble from her chest. “Pink Silver,” she grimaced, and her chest heaved up giving way to a wretched cough. She turned her head to the opposite side of where I knelt, spit out a gob of inky black substance, cleared her throat, and looked back at me.
“Tell me your name,” I commanded.
The draugr ‘tsked’ her thick black tongue against the back of her teeth.
“You told Aizel! Why won’t you tell me? You know my name, Trond. And you know my secret name, Ruz. It’s only fair if we’re going to continue this relationship, don’t you think?”
The draugr’s voice lowered, “I told that witch nothing!” it spat. “She stole that from me.
The girl was fighting hard, and there was a moment of weakness. I’m better now.” It smiled again, and for a split second. There were maggots weaving in and out of its teeth. I blinked rapidly, hoping it would go away. The draugr laughed.
Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/mariadevivo
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