I Give the Worst Writing Advice in the World

But I believe every word of it

People sometimes ask me for advice on writing—and it always puts me into a state of confusion.

What can I possibly say to them? They have such a glamorous image of the writer’s life. And what they mean by writing advice almost always boils down to: How can I get a taste of it.

But this glamorous life is about as real to me as test driving the Millennium Falcon or winning the quidditch tournament at Hogwarts.

I’ve never lived it.

Sometimes they have very little interest in the writing part of being a writer. A dead giveaway is when they say: “I want to be a writer, but I don’t really know what to write about”—almost as if that’s a minor detail.

That’s like wanting to get married, but skipping over all the vows and commitments. Let’s go straight to the gifts and partying.

And the only part of writing I’m really familiar with is the Vows and Commitments.

But I’m a big believer in those two things. A lot of happiness in life comes from delivering on them. But that story is rarely told—Hollywood studios don’t make movies about people quietly assuming and fulfilling their responsibities,

They’re not fools. They know that the audience interested in such things is tiny.

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That’s why I feel helpless when I get these queries. I do have advice for aspiring writers (see below). But it’s almost certainly not what they expect—or want.

I recently got an email request of this sort. And I made my best effort at responding—honestly, accurately, and without pretense.

I’m now sharing it with you.

Is it good news or bad news? That depends on your perspective.

Painting of novelist Evgeny Chirikov by Ivan Kulikov, 1904 (Source)

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A Response to a Stranger Who Wants ‘Writing Advice’

(This originated as a private email)

I'm not sure that I'm a good person to answer your questions. I've had some success as a writer, but I followed a very unusual path to get to where I am today. 

I started writing for commercial publications when I was 16 years old, and I now finally have a sizable readership in my sixties.

But, as you can see, it took me 50 years.

I do know the following:

1. If I had focused too much on the size of my audience, I would have given up decades ago. Most of my readers found me after I turned 60.

2. But even when I didn't gain fame and fortune as a writer, I always found solace, stimulation, and joy in writing. These intrinsic rewards kept me happy and motivated even when my audience was small.

3. I never had much luck with shortcuts. I’ve mostly avoided using agents—I still don't have an agent. I’ve never had much contact with powerful editors—I still don't have a powerful editor. I never did any networking—I still don't do any networking. The only real literary network I have is with readers.

4. I never got a grant. Never met a groupie. Never skipped the line at the club or got a special table at a restaurant. But I kept writing every day—and loved the process even when it came without perks.

5. I did pick up a lot of rejection letters along the way. But not as many as others, because I never pitched articles to editors. I rarely even submitted. I've always tended to write things for my enjoyment. If I could publish them later, that was fine. But if not, I didn't let it bother me much.

6. It’s remarkable how much things work out in the long run if you are patient and persistent. I’m reminded of the story of the tourist in Kyoto, who visited the largest moss garden in the world. He saw a gardener squatting in the intense heat, working with a tiny bamboo tweezer—and asked: “How can you possibly tend to this enormous garden with just a tweezer?” The gardener thought for a moment, then replied: “I have plenty of time.” That sums up my writing philosophy in five words—it’s worked for me, and might for others too.

7. For many years I wrote for free, and published essays on my own self-run websites. I published more than 400 essays that way—enought to fill up a dozen or so books. And I did it without any pay, and with only the tiniest audience. But I enjoyed that just as much as I do writing for a much larger readership today.

8. I found other ways to pay my bills. I really didn't have a choice. But that wasn't such a bad thing—I eventually became a better writer because I gained experiences outside of writing.

9. Because I found other ways of earning a living, I did become a little stubborn—editors and publishing insiders have found me "difficult to deal with." And I can't deny it (although I will argue that my 'cranky' vision of what I should write has been validated by the subsequent success I've had with the very same subjects they told me to avoid).  But the simple fact remains that I walked away from a lot of promising opportunities when I was younger—and still do. 

10. From any rational point of view, I totally mismanaged my writing career. The only advantages I gained were independence, slow and steady learning, and the courage of my convictions. Those are actually worth a lot—much more than most people realize—but I did pay a huge price for many years for my refusal to "work within the system." I'm hesitant to recommend this 'method' to anybody else, but for me it was the only honest and fufilling approach.

11. Of course, there were some things, I did worry about. I've always tried to write well. I've always tried to improve. I've always tried to push myself outside my comfort zone. And I did care deeply about my reader, whenever I found one.

12. From the start, I always thought of my reader as an individual, almost as a friend. I still do. When I do that, the size of the audience is hardly important—I'm just thinking about the connection between me and that person.

I know I'm not answering many of the questions you raised in your email—which are valid ones. But I have to say that I didn't really think much about them as I pursued my writing vocation.

I still have a hard time thinking about it as a career. I think my writing would suffer if I did that.

Channeling career ambitions and financial goals into my writing would also have made me deeply unhappy over the years. But by focusing instead on the intrinsic joy of creative expression, I always found sustenance in the writing life.

That’s why I'm probably disqualified to give any writing career advice whatsoever. I don't know any shortcuts to worldly success. I don't have any connections to share. I don’t have a smart plan to teach others.

I’m disqualified in other ways. My formal writing credentials suck.

I never got a degree in writing. I’ve never been to a writers’ conference—not as a student, not as a teacher, not as a visitor.

I’ve never gone to an artist’s retreat. I’ve never even been to a cocktail party in a room full of writers. I probably would have felt out of place in those settings.

Yes, I’ve done a few events over the years—and people clapped at the end of my talk—but very few. I haven’t done a live event in the last three years. If I depended on applause and acclaim for motivation, I’d have abandoned writing long ago, and stuck with live music gigs.

I became a writer by writing. End of story.

So what advice do I offer?

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I can only tell you to follow your bliss. And if you’re meant to be a writer, you probably already know that (or at least feel it).

Instead of pursuing a career plan, I’d simply suggest that you seek motivation and enjoyment in the writing itself.

Find a publisher if you can, and if not, self-publish. There’s no shame in self-publishing. I now prefer it to all other options.

You seem to have concerns about Substack, because you are (in your words) “reluctant to sacrifice your potential readership” by using an alternative platform. I'm not sure I agree with that (or even understand it), but if you have a better path to finding readers, pursue it.

I recently heard from someone who is building an audience by mailing random postcards to people. It’s easy to laugh at this, but it might be more satisfying than pitching projects to agents. I like the idea of doing things in fun and unconventional ways.

The key thing is to tap into the ecstasy of creative expression. And then reach out and find a reader—make a connection—even just one reader is meaningful. (Consider the great writers of the past who put such care into their letters to friends. They weren’t discouraged by reaching only a single reader.)

And then do it again. Over time, this builds, maybe even into something resembling a career. 

Like that gardener in Kyoto, we have plenty of time.

I fear that this isn't the answer you wanted. But, alas, it's the only one I can give. I don't know another route, only the one I took on my own journey. 

But being a writer is already a blessing from the moment you put that first word down on the page. Let me wish many blessings to you.