May 27, 2014

Writers, don't listen to advice, it will kill you

When you're told how to write, don't listen. When you're told how to make your art, don't listen. To those who with good intentions attempt to steer you toward the right way of writing, turn deaf. Those who tell you that you have an odd plot, characters that can't possibly exist, descriptions that are ludicrous, flip a finger. Even to this blog, don't listen. To what I say, don't listen. Hole up, tell everyone to fuck off, and create, create, create. Create the way YOU want to. Why? Because YOU want to create this way. Because YOU say it's right. Because only YOU can be the judge of your own work, nobody else. YOU know when you produce shit or something good. YOU have the ability to distinguish between something that stinks and something that sings. Everything else is mote. Everyone else's advice is bad nostrum. Bad juju. Bad kaka.

Feel. Feel your words. When you write them, feel them. How do they feel to you? To YOU? Not to your uncle Joe, not to Sarah from your writer's group, not even to your readers. How does it feel to YOU? Does it satisfy YOU? Do YOU like it? If not, fix it. Only YOU can decide when to stop fixing it and to let go. Only YOU have this power, nobody else. Not the critics, not fellow writers, nobody. Nobody has this right. It's YOUR art.

May 7, 2014

Writer's authority and why you have to have it

by Ksenia Anske

I'm the boss of you, and don't tell me I'm not. You come to me, for me to be the boss of you. You're a reader. You search for authority, for that voice that can sweep you off your feet, swallow you whole, make you raise your head from the book, hours later, wondering what hit you. You look for it, in every book. You open it, you hope for it. It's why you read. And here I am, a writer. I'm at your mercy. You can toss my book into a swamp, you can use it as a door stopper. You can burn it. Worst of all, you can open it, glance at a sentence or two, and never read it.

You have authority over me.

Yet I have authority over you.

That is, if I have it. If I do, I will catch you with my net. I won't let you go until you're exhausted, until your eyes hurt and you start sticking matches between your eyelids to keep them open. You will walk with my book into traffic. Cars will stop inches from you, honk at you, you won't hear. You will tumble into open manholes and continue reading. My words are just your palate. My sentences your relish. My stories your tin of canned sardines because you loved canned sardines since you were five. You are under my authority.

April 19, 2014

Unknow what you know, to write YOUR OWN WAY

by Ksenia Anske

So. There are things you know. There are things I know. We all know some things. Some, we don't. We write by pulling stuff out of those things we know. Because we think, since we know, this is how it's supposed to be done. But it isn't. The more I read, the more it gets under my skin. It's not about knowing, it's about not knowing. UNKNOWING. There are no rules. Rules stem out of fear. We see a book. We see it sells well. We buy it. We read it. We try to learn from it. We think, hey, if this sells, if this writer wrote it like this, I will try the same. It's safe, to try it. Like that. Isn't it? If someone with a big name did it, I can do it too, right? Well, that's where trouble starts. You begin your writing career by mistrusting yourself, by ignoring your instincts. Because someone big out there, someone famous and important, did it the other way. Or someone not necessarily big and important, but whose book you liked. Doesn't matter. What matters is, you get locked into this pattern of self-hate. Why? Because of course you can't write like that someone.

You're NOT THAT SOMEONE. You're YOU. And you start rejecting everything you ARE, for everything you want to BE, while who you are, suffers. Bleeds. Big time. It can't create. You won't let it.