Learning to Write

I sat down today meaning to read a book about how to write. The book, entitled Bird by Bird, came highly recommended to me. When I took it down from my shelf, I looked at it, just simply looked at it. I did not read a single word from within the book chapters. I scanned the table of contents instead. At that moment, I thought to myself, closed the book, and put it back on my bookshelf.

I decided I will not read a book that teaches me how to write until I finished writing my own book.

This sounds foolish and silly, so perhaps I should back up a bit and put things in context. I had been scratching out notes to myself for most of the day about how to write. This was not something new to me. I do this almost all the time. I have notes saved on my computer, notes written in notebooks and note cards and even notes on my iPhone. I have them everywhere.

Somewhere during the day, I thought I was approaching writing like I was approaching any other subject I try to learn and master. Scientifically. I would examine anything related to the art of good writing, be it an example of good writing or bad writing, and I would make observations. I would jot down techniques such as the use of simile's in prose or, if my subject matter was a visual medium, techniques on plot and character development. Today's subject was the TV series Bones. (As a side note, I must say, the show impressed me.)

At first I was ashamed and frustrated at my sudden realization of what I was doing. I dislike the thought of containing all the tools of such a dynamic and creative art with labels, formulas or what have you. I had written labels for every note that I wrote: techniques, analysis, references. Looking upon it, I shuddered in disdain and fear. Writing was the only liberating study I had ever discovered. Science and math had always seemed dead and lifeless. I could study biology, the very basis of life, and feel it limiting me and trapping me. The sciences may let me quantify life but writing let me experience it. More than that, writing allowed me to share life as well.

Writing was alive to me, the sciences dead.

The horror of me turning something alive to something lifeless really paralyzed me. Thankfully, however, it only lasted for a moment. It did not take me long to realize that writing will always and forever be alive to me. It always fills me with a rush. Each moment so sublime it transcends almost any joy that I have ever felt. Inspiration will always be its breath of life, and the feelings I put in will be its heartbeat. Writing is truly the subject for me. I can study it an analyze it, and the more I do so, the better I can write. And the better I can write, the better I feel like I can experience life.

So why did I put the book that taught how to write away? Because writing is my craft. My own from learning it the way I want to learn it to creating it the way I envision it. I do not wish for someone else to take me by the hand to show me how to go about it. It is not ego and pride that makes me like this, it is simply fear. I fear that if I follow someone else's path, I will be writing just like someone else. No matter how famous they are, or how much I may like their writing, I cannot allow my writing to become a copy. It means too much to me. At this point in time, I feel I am quite impressionable and I do not trust myself in reading literature about writing literature with distance. For now, I want to study it on my own in my own way and produce writing on my own with my own means. So that one day, when I publish, be it good or bad literature, I know that it is unique and original.

Although, with a very fond smile, I can say that the stories I write, however, will never be just my own. They contain pieces of me, pieces of stories I heard, and of course, pieces of every person that has walked in my life. No, I would say rather, the stories I write may wholly belong to those I have been so very fortunate enough to meet. It is their enjoyment that brings me inspiration and their support that keeps me going.

Writing may be my art, but stories will always be everyone's.