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ENQ
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Some months ago, a former student was experiencing the usual difficulties a writer faces when developing a narrative. The greatest obstacle was presented by his characters. They all seemed to have different ideas about how the story should unfold. My advice to him was simple:

1. Write the story for your characters.
2. Rewrite the story for your audience.

If you’re not writing a parable, your characters must tend toward verisimilitude. This begins by creating their life’s story. Once you’ve fleshed out the biography of your characters, your imagination will, like a puppeteer, start roleplaying the character. Your imagination will explore your character’s personality until they take life into their own hands, carving out their owns lives within the universe of your mind.

Don’t hinder this.

The temptation to control the narrative is a notorious impulse among writers. For the outsider, “narrative control” is an author’s job description. For the author, this is a millstone drowning them in the sea of abandoned projects. All writing is rewriting. If you think your first draft is ready for publication, you’re wrong. Therefore, let your characters write the first draft for you. Stop white-knuckling the steering wheel, and let your characters careen across the highway.

Then, you become a journalist.

You release yourself from the pressure of forcing a creative storyline and are left with the simple obligation to report only what happened. This is when you document the events of your imagination for your audience. This is the rewriting.

The second phase of writing may take on many iterations, but this is when you are free to explore the creativity of language. This is when you lather a layer of stylization over the splinters of your imagination.

There is no end to books. The Library of Congress alone curates over 25 million titles. There is even greater endlessness to blogs. The internet boasts 600 million sites devoted to sharing information, insight, and personal experience. That you’ve found this blog in an ocean of heaving noise is no small feat.

My purpose is simple: train myself and every other serious writer how to master the literary arts. And document the life bibliophilic herein.

Writing everyday won’t lead to mastery. Practicing bad habits only leads to mediocrity. We must read far more than we write. We must experience far more than we recount. Writing thrives as a reaction to the world around us—the worlds at the end of our own fingertips as well as at the end of others’ imaginations.

Conversely, don’t waste your time with inferior literature. Time is against every artist. Restrict your educational pursuits to only the best of any given genre. Pablum steals far more than it provides.

No writer reads enough. I daily lament the failings of my literary piety. But I don’t waste time flagellating myself: there isn’t time for penance in the pursuit of self-mastery. If you want to write well, read.

Then, time permitting, blog it. Welcome.