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On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft

Since I could tell stories I wanted to be a writer.

I wrote a lot as a kid. A lot a lot. I met Mya, my now girlfriend, because I wanted in on the story she was writing. I won writing contests. I won superlatives. I once spent a year writing for an hour every day, plus reading books about writing in my spare time. I took the highest level English classes I could get my hands on. I was an editor for my school’s literary magazine. I became obsessed with structure and how to subvert it and the way things sound and how this all impacts our reading experience on a subconscious level. I wanted to major in English since I knew what a major was.

I am in my final semester of college and have taken two English classes. One I dropped the second week, the other I got a D- in.

I am not a writer.

Yes, I love storytelling. Yes, I love studying the form. Yes, I will way overthink it and never actually put anything on the page.

What I like is taking others’ drafts and making it whole. I like fixing spelling errors and taking their loose concepts and tightening them into something meaningful and sound and helping people who have no fucking idea what they’re doing and giving them the structure and steps and resources and support and all that. I am an editor. I am a producer. I am not a writer.

There was a clear progression into film and theatre here. They are inherently collaborative mediums, and most of the jobs are in supporting storytelling, not inventing the story yourself. I will fucking devour the opportunity to be a dramaturg (think of it as a theatre’s resident googler) or a lighting designer or an audio engineer or a film editor or a producer or any of those supporting roles that are non-glorious and behind the scenes. I want to be put in a basement or trunk or dark theatre and sent off to work, melding a show into its full potential. I want to focus on how the form reflects the heart of the story and sit in a room of people trying to decide exactly what that heart is and how we’re going to get it. I love that so much. Do not give me a blank page.

Also a side note on the title of this post, Stephen King doesn’t know how to fucking write don’t listen to him. He’s an excellent writer and has the perfect system worked out for himself. He does not understand how anyone else operates. No I have not read the book but when it came out I watched interviews about it and internalized his advice and looking back I’m like that is some of the worst writing advice I’ve ever received. Take what’s useful and throw out the rest.

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