How to Write (1 of about 10,000 ways, anyway)
(To a comment made in the previous entry about how hard writing is.)
Trust me, if I can write, anyone can. Look here, I'll give you an example, in real time. Things are going to get a little Bob Ross here for a minute:
Let's come up with an idea, say a story about...a child. A boy. His name is Billy.
What about him is interesting? What's the "so what" piece that makes a story?
Let's say the boy has a secret. Secrets are always good, yes? Let's say his secret is...he can fly. Boring, yes, but it's just to illustrate a point.
So let's start writing about this boy who can fly, yes?
Let us begin our piece of prose at even a level beneath anyone who publicly claims to be a writer. Let us think of a scene to write, and then write it as simply as possible.
Here we go:
Billy can fly, but no one knows this.
He flies around an old warehouse so no one can see him.
One day someone sees him.
Wow, pretty stock. Beneath stock, even. Practically an outline.
Now let's set a slightly higher standard fr ourselves and see if we can make this thing a little more artistic and less VCR manual-like. Let us amplify the given points with a little more information:
No one in the entire world knew Billy Pryor could fly. He had only found out himself the year before, and was careful not to tell anyone.
Billy found an old warehouse to fly around in where no one could see him. EVery day he would find a way to get to the warehouse and fly.
One day, Billy flew through a hole in the first floor ceiling and came face to face with a homeless man.
Lifting the albatross off the ground, so to speak, but not flying yet. Let's apply something powerful but simple now. Something almost every writer could use a little more...their senses. Let's think about what kinds of things would activate Billy's senses as a flying boy, especialy a flying boy in an old warehouse. Let's see/taste/hear/feel/smell the world as he does. Let's also take this opportunity to tighten up some of the grammar, maybe replace some of that stock stuff with more colorful words, maybe add some back story where apropos:
No one in the entire world knew that Billy Pryor could fly. He had only discovered the talent himself the summer before, and because his first flight was so frightening - falling face-first off his bike after failing to jump a haystack on his ten-speed, yet never touching the ground - he was careful not to tell anyone.
Billy found a long-abandoned shipping warehouse to fly around in where no one could see him. It was a hot and stuffy building, but it's wide and high floors gave him plenty of room to fly as fast as he could, which blew the hot air into whiping currents around his cheeks. He flew through the old chutes and hallways, kicking up waves of dust that he coughed his way through on returns, and that made his eyes water and grit in the corners. No matter how fast or far he flew, however, he could never escape the smell of decaying cardboard and moldy wooden crates.
Every day he would find a way to get to the warehouse and fly, even if he had to lie to his mother or friends. Billy found it easy to lie to his mother (he though of it as protecting her in some way), but young boys were nosey, so he had simply decided it best to not accumulate friends as time went on. Billy was smart enough to know, even at his age, that boys always found a way to get other boys to show off.
On a golden Saturday, with dust motes drifting in the air like blown dandelion husks, Billy flew through a hole in the first floor ceiling and came face to face with a wizened and dark old man.
See? NOW we have something to work with. It's a little clunky for my taste, but give me a break: I just whipped it out and started coloring in the lines as you read it.
Writing is a piece of cake when you look at it like that. Do it enough, and you can skip them first two steps.
Trust me, if I can write, anyone can. Look here, I'll give you an example, in real time. Things are going to get a little Bob Ross here for a minute:
Let's come up with an idea, say a story about...a child. A boy. His name is Billy.
What about him is interesting? What's the "so what" piece that makes a story?
Let's say the boy has a secret. Secrets are always good, yes? Let's say his secret is...he can fly. Boring, yes, but it's just to illustrate a point.
So let's start writing about this boy who can fly, yes?
Let us begin our piece of prose at even a level beneath anyone who publicly claims to be a writer. Let us think of a scene to write, and then write it as simply as possible.
Here we go:
Billy can fly, but no one knows this.
He flies around an old warehouse so no one can see him.
One day someone sees him.
Wow, pretty stock. Beneath stock, even. Practically an outline.
Now let's set a slightly higher standard fr ourselves and see if we can make this thing a little more artistic and less VCR manual-like. Let us amplify the given points with a little more information:
No one in the entire world knew Billy Pryor could fly. He had only found out himself the year before, and was careful not to tell anyone.
Billy found an old warehouse to fly around in where no one could see him. EVery day he would find a way to get to the warehouse and fly.
One day, Billy flew through a hole in the first floor ceiling and came face to face with a homeless man.
Lifting the albatross off the ground, so to speak, but not flying yet. Let's apply something powerful but simple now. Something almost every writer could use a little more...their senses. Let's think about what kinds of things would activate Billy's senses as a flying boy, especialy a flying boy in an old warehouse. Let's see/taste/hear/feel/smell the world as he does. Let's also take this opportunity to tighten up some of the grammar, maybe replace some of that stock stuff with more colorful words, maybe add some back story where apropos:
No one in the entire world knew that Billy Pryor could fly. He had only discovered the talent himself the summer before, and because his first flight was so frightening - falling face-first off his bike after failing to jump a haystack on his ten-speed, yet never touching the ground - he was careful not to tell anyone.
Billy found a long-abandoned shipping warehouse to fly around in where no one could see him. It was a hot and stuffy building, but it's wide and high floors gave him plenty of room to fly as fast as he could, which blew the hot air into whiping currents around his cheeks. He flew through the old chutes and hallways, kicking up waves of dust that he coughed his way through on returns, and that made his eyes water and grit in the corners. No matter how fast or far he flew, however, he could never escape the smell of decaying cardboard and moldy wooden crates.
Every day he would find a way to get to the warehouse and fly, even if he had to lie to his mother or friends. Billy found it easy to lie to his mother (he though of it as protecting her in some way), but young boys were nosey, so he had simply decided it best to not accumulate friends as time went on. Billy was smart enough to know, even at his age, that boys always found a way to get other boys to show off.
On a golden Saturday, with dust motes drifting in the air like blown dandelion husks, Billy flew through a hole in the first floor ceiling and came face to face with a wizened and dark old man.
See? NOW we have something to work with. It's a little clunky for my taste, but give me a break: I just whipped it out and started coloring in the lines as you read it.
Writing is a piece of cake when you look at it like that. Do it enough, and you can skip them first two steps.