Ignore Everything They Tell You About Writing Except This
Like advice to new parents, the suggestions are endless

Ever notice how, once you have kids, everyone in your zoom radius believes they are the Dalai Lama spewing kid-raising nuggets? Did I miss the birthing room memo that standing behind a stroller signifies unwritten permission to vomit any and all child-rearing advice over my 45-pound diaper bag?
It is all so confusing. And paradoxical.
One woman shakes her cane shouting that in the winter, babies should be left to doze in -39 degree weather on the sidewalk, frost tickling their cheeks as they wake up giggling and googoo-ing.
My childless neighbor assures me that in the summer, miniature human creations should be sporting cardigans knit from hardy twine. And they must always wear soled shoes because direct contact with the earth will, of course, invoke Satan’s wrath.
When it comes to food intake the advice is equally contradictory. Blend their hotdogs to a milkshake consistency. Or do I feed them whole, fresh peanuts dragged directly from the soil on their three-month birthday?
Shaking my head I am overwhelmed. What am I supposed to do?
My compositions are my babies. My less cranky bairn who don’t crap themselves or leave Lego chunks and Barbie shoes beside the bed. The ankle-biters I adore almost as unconditionally as my own human progeny.
And it seems there are just as many mind-boggling suggestions for raising up these prose bambinos. Freely offered by writers and non-writers. But most often writers. Which is extremely beneficial. Until it isn’t.
Nerve-wracking contradictory advice
The contradictions are nerve-wracking. Like with real-life snot-drippers I should be taking time to sleep when lil Tesla Yogi has lain down their non-gendered, beige-clad head. Instead, I’m going cross-eyed skimming Dummies’ Guide To Keeping Your Spawn Alive. Except, in this case, it’s Medium’s 42 Step Guide To Being Absolutely The Most Successful Writer Alive To Break The Biggest Payout Statement From Stripe Ever On Record.
Write every damn day except when you shouldn’t. “Neglect everything else” and think about it non-stop or forget about it and scrub spider plant leaves until your skin puddles on the floor. One genius lambastes me with “concentrate on a killer title” while another shakes a pickle-long pinkie, screaming “no, it’s the powerful first sentence that’s critical!”
What is the right thing to do? Whose advice should I follow?
Should I use a rainbow of pens like Virginia Woolf or stick, like Lewis Carroll, to solely violet? Do I believe Stephen King spouting “Outlines are the last resource of bad fiction writers who wish to God they were writing masters’ theses” or Douglas Adams’ practice of slapping together a book that’s sold millions of copies and has been translated into 30 languages?
“I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be.” Douglas Adams
Just like with my flesh-and-blood baby I’m on my knees begging people to both shut their gobsmackers and to chuck me the advice that will keep the little gaffer alive and thriving.
The only piece of advice that matters
Through all the hoopla and discrepancies surrounding what writers should and shouldn’t do, I’ve unearthed what I believe to be the million-dollar answer. So, in the spirit of helping you raise up a beautifully configured magnum opus, here is the one and only piece of advice that’s important. Go ahead and ignore everything else.
Just write.
Yep, you read that two-word sentence correctly. Just write.
“Start writing, no matter what. The water does not flow until the faucet is turned on.” Louis L’Amour
Write because you love to write. Or because you loathe it. Clack away at the keyboard as a means of distraction or do it because, as Ryan Urie quotes some of his cohorts, “I write because I can’t not write!”
Express yourself because sometimes it seems the only thing worthy of your attention or because it’s the one thing between you and a straitjacket. Go ahead and type every evening and all night between sunset and sunrise. Or leave your manuscript untouched until it has a minimum of one-inch thick dust mite turd icing its cover.
Do what you feel you need to. Or don’t.
It doesn’t matter how or why or when or where. It’s not important if you choose to stuff it full of hot dogs or peanuts – or both. Take it to the beach mid-August in a cute little Prince Charles cardigan or leave the sucker napping amongst the icicles on the sidewalk.
Either way, just write. No matter what anyone advises you to do, JUST WRITE.
©Jennifer J. McDougall 2021






