Eight Habits of Highly Effective Writers

(With apologies to Stephen Covey, of course.) (But lists of habits really do work!)

Writing is a mysterious practice, so the best thing you can do is to apply logic and systems wherever you can. You can’t conjure a perfect sentence using some practice or program, but you can create an environment in which the likelihood of you being able to create that sentence is increased. It’s a lot like using the right equipment when you cook or play a sport. The equipment can’t provide the inventive twist in a dish or the soaring backhand that wins the game, but setting up the best possible situation for yourself helps foster those inspired moments. So here’s a checklist that can point you in the right direction:

1. Read, read, read. Most importantly, read the writers whose work you admire, and examine it closely. Try to figure out what qualities make the work successful. Dissect it. I was just looking at a Joan Didion piece and noting (not for the first time) how so much of her mesmerizing tone is the result of stringing together long sentences that seem to spill off the page. It made me remember that as a technique, and try it now and then when I feel my piece is too choppy.
2. Write, write, write. This might sound horribly obvious, but I want to hark back to a column I wrote a year or so ago in which I argue the point that creativity is not a finite asset that you must portion out sparingly. It’s more of a muscle that needs to be worked in order to be strengthened. In my early career, I often took assignments that were not optimal just to have a chance to write, and I have never regretted it. Each one was an opportunity to practice. Each one taught me something.
3. Give yourself a daily goal. For me, the best daily goal is a word count, but if you respond better to a time goal, or some other metric of your work, use that. The point is to have a finite, achievable goal every day, so that you can work towards it and feel a sense of accomplishment when you make it. It’s very defeating to have a looming deadline; break it into manageable pieces and bang ’em out day by day.
4. Find a trusted reader. Make it someone with whom you feel comfortable sharing very rough drafts; in other words, don’t have it be the person you’re trying to impress (usually, your editor). That’s who sees the final polished draft. Along the way, you need someone who can read those early clumsy versions and give you an honest reaction — what works and what doesn’t.
5. Read your work out loud. I’ve said this before and I’ll keep saying it until you’re sick of hearing it! This is the very best way to self-edit; it’s so much easier to hear awkward sentences than it is to pick them out while reading. It’s also the only way to really assess if the rhythm of your piece is good. If it drags while you’re reading it out loud, it will certainly drag when a reader is looking at it.
6. Be brutal. We all know the old adage about killing your darlings, and once you embrace that, your work will improve. I’d say the biggest change in my work these days versus twenty years ago is my willingness to edit myself. I just don’t get stubbornly wedded to phrases and sentences like I used to: I’m much more willing to assess objectively and remove things that don’t work (which requires being much more willing to notice when something doesn’t work). If I’ve written a section that I love and it just doesn’t fit, I cut it and paste it into a new document rather than putting it in the trash. Somehow that makes it easier to do, probably because if I change my mind I know I can retrieve it. But the truth is, I rarely do. But the comfort of removing it provisionally rather than trashing it outright really helps me edit myself more freely.
7. Think in terms of structure. This is a HUGE topic, which I’ll tackle in more detail in future posts, but I want to include it here even in an abbreviated form. Chances are, if you think of yourself as a writer, you are very accomplished on the micro level — that is, you can put together a very nice sentence. The difference between that and really soaring as a writer is structure. By that I mean you are able to build a compelling, interestingly paced story. You know how to tease your reader along; you know how much to explain and when to explain it; you know how to reach a narrative peak and how to settle down into a conclusion. This is incredibly challenging — much more than just writing a nice sentence. It’s the essence of being a good storyteller (as opposed to being a good sentence-writer). The first step towards achieving that is to be conscious of it. Does your story unfurl in an intriguing way? Will a reader want to keep reading because you’re teasing them along? Do you introduce new characters and settings smoothly? Yes, it’s important to pay attention to word choice and all the tiny details in your writing, but you also need to zoom out frequently and see how the whole thing is working in its entirety.
8. Remind yourself that being a writer is a really awesome job. It’s very easy to get bogged down when you’re writing, and there are times when it is excruciating. I have a persistent fantasy that I’ll pitch this career and do something that doesn’t make my brain ache (this used to take the form of dreaming that I worked at the Gap, which seemed like it only required showing up and performing what seemed like stress-free tasks). Whenever I’d go too far down that rabbit hole, I’d pull up and remind myself that being a writer is an incredible privilege. Yes, it’s hard and stressful and demanding and frustrating but it’s also an act of pure invention and conjuring that is magical. It’s a license to talk to just about anyone and to tell stories to anyone who will listen. When you’re stuck or discouraged or tired, you have to remind yourself of that, and bring that joy and excitement to the page. Your readers will feel it.