Do great writers (fiction or not) say that following composition advice helped them? Do they give consistent composition advice themselves? If the answer to both questions is ‘no’, that suggests that great writing is not something easily trainable.
(Disclaimer: I think Luke’s a really good writer, so don’t read this as “if you haven’t got it, you never will, give up”).
I don’t think many great writers have disclosed what helped them. (That would explain, in any event, why no one’s answered your significant questions.) But, if writing advice was futile, wouldn’t you expect the great writers to have announced that realization? On the other hand, if some specific advice had proven very helpful, you might expect writers to be reluctant to convey it. Professional writing is highly competitive, giving truly useful tips the status of trade secrets. So, when it is forthcoming—as from Orwell—it ought to be appreciated.
But, if writing advice was futile, wouldn’t you expect the great writers to have announced that realization?
If writing advice were futile, I’m not sure I would expect great writers to even know it. They are just as prone to post hoc ergo prompter hoc as anyone else, after all; if they received some plausible advice prior to doing some great writing, they would be inclined to infer a causal link between them, whether one actually existed or not.
I think they’d know it. Advice isn’t a mere talisman; you consciously use it to alter your style.
Some advice is universally accepted among competent writers; an example: don’t use two words when one will do. (It goes back, at least, to Jefferson.) Can you write competently without direct guidance in the form of this rule? My vision may be overly limited, but I don’t see how.
[ I obviously disagree with Luke’s advice to avoid semi-colons. :).]
I agree that it’s possible to consciously use advice to alter my style, and that if I do that carefully and evaluate the results I can obtain information about what advice actually works. I’d be surprised if a sizable fraction of writers (even “competent” writers) actually did that.
I agree that some advice is ubiquitously accepted by competent writers, in the sense that most competent writers endorse it. (I assume “universally” is intended as hyperbole.) Also agreed that some advice is ubiquitously accepted, in the sense that most competent writers act according to its dictates. I’d be surprised if the intersection of the two sets were a sizable fraction of either set, or if either set (let alone their intersection) were a sizable fraction of the advice any given writer either endorses or follows.
I wonder, then, what you think does help writers get better. I assume that practice is a big part of it; if you agree, the next question is what constitutes practice. Isn’t practice a cycle of writing and revising according to principles (“advice”). I guess it’s possible that some particularly gifted writers bypass rules and even guidelines, and instead, write entirely by ear. Is that your theory?
If you actually mean to be saying that “advice” refers to all principles that guide practice, whether they are articulable or not, then we disagree about what “advice” refers to, but we might not disagree about what distinguishes good writers from mediocre ones… I’m not sure. (If you want to pursue that question, I recommend we back up, taboo “advice”, and start again.)
If that was not your intent, and we agree that advice is necessarily articulable, then: yes, I think something similar to that.
More precisely, I expect that good writers get good at writing by writing, and by experiencing the good and bad writing of others, and by developing related skills (for example, observation, thinking clearly, having something to say, an awareness of markets, the discipline of writing regularly, etc.). I expect that explicitly articulable principles and guidelines (“advice”) can be helpful in guiding that process, but it doesn’t follow that someone who has gotten good at those skills necessarily has access to better advice, or is necessarily capable of telling the difference between good and bad advice.
I expect that the vast majority of what good writers have that mediocre writers lack is implicit knowledge they cannot explicitly articulate, and that the vast majority of explicitly articulable knowledge that good writers have is not what sets them apart from mediocre writers.
Let me try to be more concrete. Competent writers, generally, know that they should avoid using two words when one will do—to take one of the most basic writing tips. They can also articulate this knowledge—although it’s far from self-executing, begging the question, after all, of when one word, in fact, “will do.” That knowledge is mostly implicit.
Yet, it’s impossible, or nearly so, to write competently without being able to articulate this rule, which doesn’t emerge spontaneously from comparing good and bad writing, but rather helps define what makes writing good. Conciseness as a goal is part of understanding writing’s function. Some writers might figure it out for themselves, but however they get it, they’re going to have to get it in an articulate form. Prolixity is inherently pleasurable, so lean writing demands discipline. And the enforcement of discipline is the role of the conscious, articulate mind.
You are indeed being perfectly concrete, which is very helpful; thank you.
I disagree with most of what you say here.
IMO, being able to recite “avoid using two words when one will do” and similar catchphrases is neither a necessary nor a sufficient condition for writing competently (still less for writing well), and being able to write competently does not entail being able to recite such catchphrases.
Do great writers (fiction or not) say that following composition advice helped them? Do they give consistent composition advice themselves? If the answer to both questions is ‘no’, that suggests that great writing is not something easily trainable.
(Disclaimer: I think Luke’s a really good writer, so don’t read this as “if you haven’t got it, you never will, give up”).
I don’t think many great writers have disclosed what helped them. (That would explain, in any event, why no one’s answered your significant questions.) But, if writing advice was futile, wouldn’t you expect the great writers to have announced that realization? On the other hand, if some specific advice had proven very helpful, you might expect writers to be reluctant to convey it. Professional writing is highly competitive, giving truly useful tips the status of trade secrets. So, when it is forthcoming—as from Orwell—it ought to be appreciated.
If writing advice were futile, I’m not sure I would expect great writers to even know it. They are just as prone to post hoc ergo prompter hoc as anyone else, after all; if they received some plausible advice prior to doing some great writing, they would be inclined to infer a causal link between them, whether one actually existed or not.
I think they’d know it. Advice isn’t a mere talisman; you consciously use it to alter your style.
Some advice is universally accepted among competent writers; an example: don’t use two words when one will do. (It goes back, at least, to Jefferson.) Can you write competently without direct guidance in the form of this rule? My vision may be overly limited, but I don’t see how.
[ I obviously disagree with Luke’s advice to avoid semi-colons. :).]
I agree that it’s possible to consciously use advice to alter my style, and that if I do that carefully and evaluate the results I can obtain information about what advice actually works. I’d be surprised if a sizable fraction of writers (even “competent” writers) actually did that.
I agree that some advice is ubiquitously accepted by competent writers, in the sense that most competent writers endorse it. (I assume “universally” is intended as hyperbole.) Also agreed that some advice is ubiquitously accepted, in the sense that most competent writers act according to its dictates. I’d be surprised if the intersection of the two sets were a sizable fraction of either set, or if either set (let alone their intersection) were a sizable fraction of the advice any given writer either endorses or follows.
I wonder, then, what you think does help writers get better. I assume that practice is a big part of it; if you agree, the next question is what constitutes practice. Isn’t practice a cycle of writing and revising according to principles (“advice”). I guess it’s possible that some particularly gifted writers bypass rules and even guidelines, and instead, write entirely by ear. Is that your theory?
If you actually mean to be saying that “advice” refers to all principles that guide practice, whether they are articulable or not, then we disagree about what “advice” refers to, but we might not disagree about what distinguishes good writers from mediocre ones… I’m not sure. (If you want to pursue that question, I recommend we back up, taboo “advice”, and start again.)
If that was not your intent, and we agree that advice is necessarily articulable, then: yes, I think something similar to that.
More precisely, I expect that good writers get good at writing by writing, and by experiencing the good and bad writing of others, and by developing related skills (for example, observation, thinking clearly, having something to say, an awareness of markets, the discipline of writing regularly, etc.). I expect that explicitly articulable principles and guidelines (“advice”) can be helpful in guiding that process, but it doesn’t follow that someone who has gotten good at those skills necessarily has access to better advice, or is necessarily capable of telling the difference between good and bad advice.
I expect that the vast majority of what good writers have that mediocre writers lack is implicit knowledge they cannot explicitly articulate, and that the vast majority of explicitly articulable knowledge that good writers have is not what sets them apart from mediocre writers.
Let me try to be more concrete. Competent writers, generally, know that they should avoid using two words when one will do—to take one of the most basic writing tips. They can also articulate this knowledge—although it’s far from self-executing, begging the question, after all, of when one word, in fact, “will do.” That knowledge is mostly implicit.
Yet, it’s impossible, or nearly so, to write competently without being able to articulate this rule, which doesn’t emerge spontaneously from comparing good and bad writing, but rather helps define what makes writing good. Conciseness as a goal is part of understanding writing’s function. Some writers might figure it out for themselves, but however they get it, they’re going to have to get it in an articulate form. Prolixity is inherently pleasurable, so lean writing demands discipline. And the enforcement of discipline is the role of the conscious, articulate mind.
You are indeed being perfectly concrete, which is very helpful; thank you.
I disagree with most of what you say here.
IMO, being able to recite “avoid using two words when one will do” and similar catchphrases is neither a necessary nor a sufficient condition for writing competently (still less for writing well), and being able to write competently does not entail being able to recite such catchphrases.