Sharpen Your Intuition
Or: Writing is not a skill.
Welcome to another edition of Fiction Notes. You can find previous essays here—topics range from idea generation to the importance of talent, to outlining a novel. If you like what you read, please hit reply or shoot me an email. And if you haven’t, please sign up!
Happy Friday!
I'm writing to you from sunny Punta del Este—a wonderful beach town on the coast of Uruguay. I'm feeling rested, and when rested I feel my intuition sharper. So that's what I'm going to write about today: How to sharpen your intuition. Specifically—How to sharpen your writer’s intuition. Excited? I know I am.
What do I mean by 'writer’s intuition'? To understand that, we first need to consider the question: What is writing?
It depends, of course.
Writing can be defined as the act of putting words to paper (or computer screens.) The Oxford Dictionary definition of Writing is: "the activity or skill of marking coherent words on paper and composing text." But writing can also equal thinking, as Kevin Kelly would say.
If we want to get more specific—writing can be separated into two categories: Fiction (the act of telling lies to convey a truth) and Non-Fiction (the act of exploring the truth with the purpose to inform/educate/entertain the reader). There is the hybrid style of writing, too, but that is a rabbit hole for another time...
So what is writing, exactly? The Oxford Dictionary definition is wrong, I believe. Because while writing is an activity, it is not a skill. Let's look at this Shane Parish quote:
We tend to think of meta-skills as the skill. For example, we default to thinking that reading is a skill. But there is really no skill called reading. Reading is the meta-skill that results when you alloy other skills together. You need to know the alphabet, how letters form words, how words have meaning, how words together have meaning, and so on. So often we focus on the meta-skill and not the sub-skills.
Writing Is A Meta-Skill
Much like reading, there is no skill we call writing. Writing is 'the meta-skill that results when you alloy other skills together.' This is an important distinction, one inconsequential to readers but crucial for writers. Because once you start seeing writing as a meta-skill, your eyes open eyes—and, much like Dorothy, suddenly you realize that you've been seeing the world in black and white when there is, in fact, a whole rainbow of colors to choose from.
Before we proceed, let's break-down the idea of writing as a meta-skill a bit further. First, let us compare writing and Writing. The sub-skills that form the meta-skill that is writing are virtually the same as with reading. There is:
The alphabet.
Words and their meaning.
The joining of words together to create meaning.
Grammar & Punctuation
Musicality.
And so on.
But the sub-skills of Writing are altogether different. When talking about Fiction, the most well known are:
Character.
Plot.
Setting.
Tension.
Pacing.
And so on.
And yes, we could spend all day counting up the different sub-skills that make up the meta-skill that is Fiction Writing. And you could do the same thing with Non-Fiction Writing. Either way, my point stands. Writing is a meta-skill and, like Shane Parish said... "So often we focus on the meta-skill and not the sub-skills."
Now a sharp left-turn.
Let's Look At Boxing
About four months ago, I started taking boxing lessons in an effort to stay fit (and sane) during what I thought would be a short(ish) pandemic-induced lock-down (one that has not yet ended). It's been quite a ride. It took me two lessons to realize something important: this was the first time I'd taken up a skill from scratch in my adult life. When I first started learning Filmmaking, for example, I had years of experience telling stories and working with visuals (painting and drawing) I could draw from. In boxing, I was a complete beginner. So I started paying very close attention to what learning boxing entailed.
It turns out boxing, like any other sport, is not a skill, but a meta-skill composed of different sub-skills you need to at least be proficient at before you even attempt to step into a ring and spar with someone. Think about it this way: you can't learn to box if all you do is watch boxers and then try to spar while imitating the movements you saw them do. That does not work (and it ends with you on the floor, probably bleeding or concussed).
Before you even learn how to throw a punch, you need to learn how to stand. Then you need to learn how to move. Then, you learn how to throw a jab. Then a cross. After weeks of practicing, you can maybe take a stab at learning how to throw a hook. And then there is defense—which is a different skill altogether, and just as vital if you hope to not get your ass-kicked.
In short: to learn how to box, you first need to practice each sub-skill individually, over and over again until you're proficient enough you have at least began to internalize the different movements that make up the meta-skill that is boxing.
The same thing applies to instruments, by the way—just ask any musician. And it applies to writing, too.
In Search Of Flow
Someone on Twitter (can't remember who, sorry) said that most people seek the famed 'state of flow' and fail because they don't understand what needs to be in place for flow to come into effect in the first place. Flow requires proficiency. Ideally, it requires a certain level of mastery.
When a writer (or athlete, or musician) enters a state of flow—all thinking stops. They just are. It is in that state of just being that where the magic (and pleasure) is found. But how can you maintain a state of flow (assuming you got into it in the first place) if every three sentences you're asking yourself 'What should go here?' In other words: how can a boxer fight if before every punch they think: 'this is how I throw a left-hook' or 'I should dodge now, I think he is about to hit me'?
Now, in the very first paragraph of the very first Fiction Notes edition, I wrote:
I hear the same advice every time I ask the question, how do I become a better writer? Here it is: Read. Write more. Practice, and you’ll get better. That’s good advice in the sense it’s true, albeit not very specific. Read more what? Write more, sure, but how?
Most people think: 'I know what to do to become a better writer! I should just read more!' And that is true enough, sure. It is also just Step 1. Reading a lot is crucial to writing well because it exposes you to different ways of writing. Reading carefully, and taking notes, is even better. Then there is copying other people's writing—an idea I explored last week. That can be a useful exercise. There are other exercises, and you can find tons of them on-line. I'm even of a find to write about some of my favorites next week, but we'll see... The point, either way, is the following:
Sharpen Your Intuition
The advantage of understanding writing not as a singular skill, but as a meta-skill composed of many sub-skills (however you define them) is that it frees you to focus deeply on improving one aspect of your writing at a time; to train one sub-skill until you've mastered it, and then move onto the next, and then the next. Then: You'll be able to draw from your skills as you write, intuitively.
You'll enter a state of flow with ease, and stay there for longer.
This will, in turn, allow you to train your focus and endurance more effectively, which will in turn result in longer flow-states, and on and on and on the feedback loop feeds itself.
Because that is the key to your best writing: it will come intuitively. If you train each sub-skill separately, much like a boxer would, once you sit down to write you'll be able to forget about them all, forget about the craft of writing altogether, and focus on the art. Your intuition, all the while, will be your guide.
And this doesn't only apply to drafting. After you're done with your writing session, or the whole first draft of your book, or essay, or whatever—you can take a step back, and see what's actually on the page, see how your intuition compares to the technical/craft knowledge that is in your head, and make the appropriate changes.
And if you're lucky—very lucky indeed—you'll find yourself staring at a turn of phrase, or a bit of dialogue, a whole paragraph and you'll say to yourself:
How the hell did I write that?
That’s it for today! Have a great weekend! (And remember: be kind to each other, always.)
Best,
Matias
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