There’s a 1999 “craft” lecture by the writer Denis Johnson. He maintains he doesn’t like making these craft talks and so he ambles, presumably fighting against an assumed form of lecture. Johnson is a masterful storyteller and poet and for a writer of that commitment to speak about their craft is like teaching someone how to breathe. The secret is that we all do it. The secret is that there are no rules. People come to me and tell me they are not writers and I vomit a little bit in my mouth. I’ve heard it too many times.
Unfortunately for me, and for all of us who grew up wanting to be writers, writing is not something that you are. It’s a verb. A second grader could tell you that. It’s something you do. You have absolutely got to know your grammar, spelling, and punctuation. You have to know your tenses, and the list goes on. But in the end, every writer writes, and then does it again. Some pieces might be easier and some might be harder to form. You cannot call yourself a writer, not really. You must do it.
Before we get into the lessons and grammar and outlines and stories of the year ahead. Before we get back into the lovely art of editing, I want to go back to this talk by Johnson. Because the craft that inspired Johnson at that time were manyfold: the newspaper (specifically reading about crimes), and works like The Senses of Animals and Men (1963) by Lorus J. and Margery Milne, which describes the incredible sensitivity of our skin, our hair, and our muscles at understanding weight.
What I am trying to say is this: immerse yourself in what you love. Read every obscure thing that you like, read the tomes and the fliers, read the little scraps on the street and the graffiti on the walls. Allowing yourself to be in awe by these interactions. Live, and then write, and then do it again. This will make you a true writer.
source: https://open.spotify.com/episode/4Ifc3hErGh1fjWccORfqKC
Bending Tree Education 