Reader Hours

Over the last decade, I graduated from high school, got a bachelor’s in writing, earned an MFA in fiction, and started working as a copywriter.

In that time, I grew a lot as a writer — so I thought I’d share the lessons that helped me most along the way!

How does one from each year sound?

2010: Don’t let high expectations be a barrier to good writing

As a teenager, I had unhealthy expectations for my writing. This not only made writing painful, but also held back the quality of my work. Thankfully, in my last year of high school, I had to crank out a short story for a class, with no time to revise as I went. The result? I had fun, and ended up writing a story that was better than anything I’d written before it. That’s when I realized how toxic lofty expectations could become, if left unchecked.

2011: Good stories often depict, or inspire, change

In my first college writing workshop, our professor (of “It’s never about the bread” fame) told us that a good story often does one of two things: it either depicts a change in a character, or inspires a change in the reader. While a bit simplistic, that guidance was invaluable to me at the time. The first option gave me a clear target to aim for in workshop, while option two exposed me to the full, baffling mystery of what makes a story worth telling. 

2012: Clear, specific language brings scenes to life

As a sophomore, I fell in love with Raymond Carver’s minimalism and was particularly struck by the following description from “What We Talk About When We Talk About Love”:

Mel handed me the saucer of limes. I took a section, squeezed it over my drink, and stirred the ice cubes with my finger.

The description struck me as remarkably vivid, yet lean — making me realize how a small description could breathe life into a scene when written with clear, specific language.

2013: Personal experiences fuel good writing

After years of avoiding the genre, I took my first poetry workshop as a junior, and SURPRISE. I loved it. It was the first time I’d ever really tried writing about my own experiences, and it brought an invigorating sense of reality to both my poetry and my fiction. It also inspired me to become more observant, which fed back into my writing and made me better appreciate life’s little moments.

2014: Never mow the same grass twice

Throughout college, I had a trumpet instructor who’d often say, “Michael, I hate to mow the same grass twice!” You can find a full explanation here, but long story short, he encouraged me to fix flaws in my performance immediately upon discovering them, because if you repeat mistakes, they become habits. Bad habits that only get harder to break over time.

I didn’t take his advice to heart in my music, but I did apply it to my fiction. In the coming years, it would be instrumental (ha) in honing my craft.

2015: How to tie plot to character growth

In high school, my stories were all plot. In college, my stories were all character. During the first year of my MFA, I learned how to merge the two, by writing narrators with:

Emotions that drive actions,

Actions that trigger consequences, and

Consequences that compel growth.

This structure is simple, but effective, particularly when your character is motivated by a clear emotional struggle. More about this structure here.

2016: Write the stories that excite you

Throughout college, I almost exclusively wrote non-genre stories, because I wanted to pursue particular goals in that space. I learned a lot in the process, but it wasn’t until the second year of my MFA that I realized my stories themselves had lost a certain spark. So I switched back to writing the genre stories I loved. Like an old friend, the spark came back — and the writing got a lot more fun.

2017: Accept that you’ll never catch up to your expectations

The great irony of being a writer is that the more you hone your craft, the further away “perfection” seems. Why? Because as we improve, we not only overcome weaknesses, but also discover the flaws we never knew existed. So we fix those flaws. Discover new ones. Fix them. And so on. It’s a frustrating, never-ending cycle, and it wasn’t until my final year of the MFA that I was able to fully accept it — finding comfort in the fact that my dissatisfaction was a sign of growth.

2018: Be willing to let stories go

In my first year as a copywriter, the fast pace of agency life quickly taught me the importance of knowing when to “let go” of my writing. At work, it was because I had deadlines. But in fiction, I realized I couldn’t keep revising the same stories forever, when others were waiting to be written. “Art is never finished, only abandoned,” said Leonardo da Vinci, and it’s true. Our stories will never be perfect, so it’s our responsibility to decide when it’s time to cut the cord.

2019: If you want to write meaningful stories, start with what’s important to you

After my fiction professor gave that brief explanation (back in 2011) of what made a good, meaningful story, I became obsessed with finding a clearer answer. Something to grasp onto to guide my writing.

But this past year, I realized it was a bit of a fool’s errand. The things that make a story worth telling are incredibly subjective and different for everyone — naturally arising from their backgrounds, desires, fears, and more.

You can’t predict it. Or at least, you can’t predict it well.

So you just need to look inward. To find what you think is important.

And then write.

2020: TBD

Cheers to a new decade, everybody! May we keep honing our craft and fill the years to come with incredible stories.

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But the truth is if it's important to YOU, then you can breathe life into that topic in a way others won't.

when sometimes it’s just

Yeah, you heard me. You know the big sacrifice—when the antagonist, no matter how big or small they are in the overarching story, realizes their wrongs and, in a final effort to make it right, they end up dying and leave any protagonists to think they were truly a good person who would make that sacrifice. I’m here to tell you why it sucks more often than not.

By all means, if you want to do this ending or if it fits the character/s you’re writing, please, don’t take my word as the Bible. I’m sure this ending can be done right given certain circumstances—however, in recent media like movies, television, books, video games, etc, that just isn’t the case. If you can make it work, or if you made a villain who honestly deserves that type of ending, please, go right ahead and do it. Like I said, don’t let my words be the “end all be all” of your work and your creativity. This is just something I’ve noticed that never makes a satisfying ending in the media it’s in, whether the authors meant for that ending to be happy, sad, bittersweet, or anything at all.

WARNING FOR SPOILERS! I will be discussing some spoilers from Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker and Stranger Things season 3. If you haven’t seen either of those yet and hate being spoiled, please don’t go below the cut. If you don’t care, then let’s begin.

No author, and no story, is ever perfect. There will always be flaws or aspects of a story that could be improved, and to think otherwise is to disrupt our own growth as writers.

If an author, for example, makes a poor craft choice, but we assume them to be infallible, we end up doing mental gymnastics to justify their decision, even when it was the wrong one to make all along. Worse yet, we might even follow their example.

No author is infallible. Embrace the imperfection of all art, and always be open to what you can learn from both the strengths and weaknesses of the writers you love.

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