Do you want advice, or encouragement?

Why we all need to hear that we're going to be great...

Photo by Erik Mclean on Unsplash

Do you want advice, or encouragement?

Last night, I taught my Write Like A Reader students how to plot a novel. Well, that may be overstating things. I taught them about the function of plot, I explained some classical plots, how to spot them within the stories they love, and how these plots often overlap. I showed them how writers borrow and steal from each other constantly, and how it’s impossible to write something wholly original – but it’s also impossible not to write something wholly original, because your brain is unique, and your taste is unique.

I told my students that the best thing a writer can possibly learn – even better than sitting down with textbooks that explain the ‘rules’ and ‘laws’ of storytelling, better than beginning with a box of Post-Its and a bushel of highlighters, better than breaking down every single Agatha Christie novel and trying to get to grips with its mechanics, as though it’s an algebraic equation – is to trust themselves.

Here’s some writing advice. Take all advice lightly. If something resonates with you, if it seems appealing, exciting or useful, if it makes the baffling a little easier to understand – take it and run with it. If it’s bewildering, annoying or infuriating – leave it be. There are many theories about storytelling, but all those theories have been developed as a way of understanding art, not necessarily as a prompt to create art. The rules of writing stories were written after the stories themselves.

Advice is cheap, and much easier to give than take. I will never stop being astonished by the confidence of the unsolicited advice-giver. As an agony aunt, I do my very best to respond to every question as a kind person, rather than a wise person. Most of us know what we want to do, and when we ask for advice, we’re asking for an endorsement. We want approval. Cultivating our own sense of courage and confidence is the work of a lifetime.

We’re sensitive. We all carry a story about a time when someone didn’t see us, or when someone took it upon themselves to cut us down to size. We’re never more vulnerable than when we’re happy and hopeful, and when we think we’ve made something good. I believe that when we put ourselves down, it’s not because we genuinely think that we’re not capable, and that we haven’t done a good job – but because we have been bullied and dismissed in the past. We think we’re less vulnerable to attack if we become our own worst critics. Subconsciously, we think that if we do the bullies’ job for them, then someone or something beyond us will have to take on your job. If we hate on ourselves, surely other people will step up and give us kindness, encouragement and validation that we need!

I don’t need to tell you that this is a terrible idea. It’s normal and natural to experience vulnerability, anxiety and self-doubt when you’re writing. But if you’re constantly beating yourself up, you can’t write at all. If you tell yourself the story that you’re no good, you won’t be able to write any other stories. However, I believe that we all need external encouragement too. Perhaps our parents were worried that we’d become unbearably arrogant if they told us that we were clever, or beautiful, or talented. Perhaps they wanted to encourage you, but their parents were suspicious of encouraging words, and they didn’t know how to share them. School is another minefield. If a teacher ever made a point of telling you that you’d impressed them, and you’d done a good job, you’d glow, wouldn’t you? You’d feel smart! You’d want to work harder! You’d feel excited about your potential, and ready to grow. And if a teacher told you that you’d failed, you’d got it wrong, you’d drown in a shame-blur of red pen and ‘see me’ and looming detention. You might have been inspired to work harder and do more, but you probably felt heavy and useless and resentful. And yet, the myth persists that we need to be criticised into improvement.

I don’t think any of us receives enough encouragement. As adults, we’re made to feel as though we ought to be able to do without it. Here’s the thing – if you’re not being encouraged, you’re not going to have the emotional energy to encourage anyone else. Perhaps you have a boss who never says ‘well done’ or ‘thank you’, but is quick with the negative feedback the moment you do something they don’t agree with. I’d put money on the fact that their boss is the same. They probably feel burned out, unappreciated and resentful, and they’re bringing that energy into managing you. As a result, you have nothing good in the tank to share with the people who report to you.

Maybe you’re at the earliest stages of a novel, or a poem, or a screenplay. What happens when you tell your friends? I hope they say ‘That’s so exciting, congratulations! I can’t wait to read it!’ But they might respond with an eye roll, a shake of the head, a comment about someone they know who is also trying and finding it impossible to get an agent. They might tell you the odds aren’t in your favour, as though they’re doing you a kindness and preventing you from wasting your time. This isn’t because they don’t believe that you might make something great. It’s just triggered a weird mix of envy and inherited shame, bad bosses and mean maths teachers.

I set up the Creative Confidence Clinic because I believe that we need encouragement much more than we need advice. It was a very selfish decision. I want more art. I want your art. I want to live in a world that is filled with it, where art begets art, and we’re all inspiring each other. I know that your head is filled with voices telling you that you can’t do it, you shouldn’t do it, you have no business doing it. And I wanted to add a quiet but persistent voice into the mix. What if you tried? What if the trying was so much fun that no snarky voice could possibly derail you? How can you love the act of making? What would happen if you anticipated success, and planned for it? And what is the best way to share the biggest lesson I’ve learned; Success isn’t having Big Achievements to wave in the face of the people who told you ‘you’ll never make it’. It’s simply wanting to make and make and make, feeling rich in ideas. Being drunk on that delicious sense of growing and hoping that your ‘good’ might lead to ‘great’.

So, if you need a great big dollop of encouragement today, here it is. Your potential is dazzling and staggering. It might be hidden under a great big pile of life gloom, but it’s there, gleaming in the dark. There are people who don’t want you to see it and use it. That’s not because they don’t want you to succeed. It’s because they feel like they’re failing, and they can’t bear it. If you can find joy in the idea of your potential, you’ll find strength – and soon you’ll be able to use it to lift up the people around you, and alert them to their potential too. You’ll create art, and they’ll create art, and we’ll all create joy. Everybody wins.

What makes you feel encouraged? Have you encountered any writing advice you love, or hate? I’d love to hear from you!

Love

Daisy