The short fiction “Girl” https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/1978/06/26/girl by Jamaica Kinkaid is only 690 words. In it, a mother offers cautionary advice to her daughter, revealing the dynamics of their relationship, social and cultural stereotypes, and what it means to be a woman in the world. I used Kinkaid’s style to write my own advice to writers.
Pay attention. Listen to what people say, and how they say things, and how they look and what they do when they are saying these things you are paying attention to. Be curious. This is not about prying; writing is supposed to come as a calling, not an obligation. After all, this is not flossing your teeth. But also, floss your teeth. Teeth, both literal and figurative, are important. Humble yourself. The second you think you are superior to others is the second you stop growing. Plus, you will be wrong. No one wants to hear the voice of a know-it-all hitting the same note again and again. Resist falling under the spell of that person, and resist being that person yourself. Don’t take anyone’s word for anything. Even teachers and peers you admire get things wrong. Forgive them; arrive at your own conclusions, but don’t stop there. Sit down to write. Make a practice of it. Writing requires space and time and willingness to be scared and bored and frustrated. Don’t fall in love with one word or a phrase to the point you keep falling back on it. To be honest, I say “to be honest” too much. Does this mean I am worried people consider me unreliable, less than honest? Perhaps. And perhaps I am. Remember that sometimes a bird is just red, or the sky is gray. The bird doesn’t always have to be faded maraschino, the sky not always an angry slate. Complicate, simplify, obfuscate, clarify. Writing offers ongoing lessons in attentiveness, in humility, in discipline, in joy. Done right, you will never, ever master it, but you will keep learning it, just so long as you keep paying attention.