Lesson 1: Are Good Writers “Born That Way?”

Eighteen years ago, I walked into my first workshop at a Creative Writing MFA program. At the time I believed that either you were born a “good writer,” or you weren’t. Being good at writing must be a pre-destined thing. I assumed that the greats  – Tolstoy, Dostoyevksy, Austen, and so many others – sat at their desks and produced incredible prose the first time they picked up a pen. Stephen King? It must come easy. Either you are good, or you aren’t. Full stop.

I therefore felt incredibly discouraged when the manuscript I submitted for my first workshop, though met with positive comments from several of the students, was summarily torn apart by an instructor. I don’t remember everything she said, because I was uncomfortable sitting in a room full of strangers, and I didn’t have a lot of self-confidence. I sunk lower in my chair, feeling deflated by her criticism. The only thing I remember was that she said my verbs were “flat.” Despite years as a journalist and professional writer, I didn’t even know what that meant.

What I did think it meant was that I was not a good writer. Game, set, match. I was done.

That was not true.

One definition of “talent” is this: “a marked innate ability, as for artistic accomplishment.” Yes, talent plays a role if you want to become a good writer. It plays a role in many things, from writing to acting to painting to sports. It is not, however, the only factor to consider when it comes to “becoming” something you want to be, and having talent does not necessarily lead to success.

I think of it this way. Some people are born with the ideal body for a certain sport. If you are naturally slim, just the right height, and have low-twitch muscle fibers and strong lung capacity, you have an advantage if you want to become a distance runner. That doesn’t mean that everyone with these physical qualities will become a great runner. It also doesn’t mean that if you don’t have these qualities, you can’t run far or even win some races. Maybe you will never win an Olympic gold medal (although you never know – so much of achievement is pure heart), but you can achieve a great deal if you train properly and consistently and if you choose the right distance, set reasonable goals, and focus on your strengths.

Writing is a bit more complicated. There is no determined course, no timer, and no finish line, and whether you get a “medal” at the end is a subjective decision based on someone else’s opinion.

Certainly, there are innate qualities that can help a writer in their quest. Some people are strong in the technical aspects: vocabulary, spelling, grammar, and syntax. Others are natural storytellers. The two skills are different. Some people are intently curious about the world or particularly perceptive about moods or emotions. Others can find metaphors or meaning in almost anything or have a gift for sound and lyricism. There is no doubt that a person with some or all of these skills has an advantage if they want to be a writer. But having skills is not the same thing as knowing how to use them, and some of these skills can be learned or improved (while holding onto one’s own voice, of course).

Going back to my experience in my first writing workshop, I found myself wondering why I had been accepted into a program where I clearly didn’t belong. Obviously, I shouldn’t be in the same room as these instructors, these “real,” published writers who had novels and awards sitting somewhere on their shelves.

Hogwash.

That instructor did pull me aside after the workshop when she noticed I was upset. She offered to give me a private lesson to explain her criticism. In that lesson, which I took her up on, she taught me about “flat” verbs and a number of other things. By the time the lesson was over, I had taken my first steps on the road to becoming a good creative writer.

The point I’m making is that although a writer might be born with certain talents, there is a lot that any of us can learn. The amount of practice it takes to write well – hours upon hours, days, weeks, years – requires a passion for writing, an openness to learning, and a serious dedication to improvement. That’s it. That’s the special sauce: staying open and working hard.

It’s true, there is an aspect of good writing that simply involves a “je ne sais quoi.” Few people will ever be a Leo Tolstoy, who wrote beautifully as a young man and whose work has profoundly endured. There are always exceptions, and there is nuance within exception. But even Tolstoy worked hard at his writing. In “How Leo Tolstoy Rekindled His Passion for Writing,” Philip S. Naudus describes one of Tolstoy’s efforts this way: “For nearly a year, Tolstoy dedicated countless hours to writing and rewriting. He threw everything away…and started over.”

This basic aspect of being a good writer – the need to learn and practice – seems so obvious now. But it was a revelation to me early in my creative writing life. The expectation to be good right from the start and the deflation experienced when that isn’t the case cause many writers to give up. Yet strengths can be improved, weaknesses can be overcome, and new skills can be added to your wheelhouse. You can also grow as a person and discover new things you would like to express about the world.

And here’s a secret – even the great writers have editors.

Now it’s true that some writers never develop their skills in a way that produces exceptional work. So what? Whether your work is deemed publication-worthy or not, the experience of writing and finishing a project can provide its own reward. I was not born with the physical qualities that help a good runner. I will never, ever win a running race. Still, I run.

If your goal, however, is to become a good writer in whatever way the gatekeepers of the literary world define it, the path is pretty clear to at least try, and you don’t need an MFA to follow it (though that might help, if you have access to a program).

Read. Write. Learn. Write more. Repeat.

That’s how good writers are born.

P.S. I edited this many times.