5 Strange and Wondrous Techniques for Spicing up Your Writing

Posted by Jon in Creativity, Writing | 113 comments

Feb 05, 13

Happens to the best of us, you know.

We’ve all been told to let the words flow loose and easy and free, but instead, we stiffen up like a British banker before his annual rectal exam.

It feels horrible too. Instead of enjoying writing like we’re supposed to, we end up gritting our teeth through the entire experience, knowing something just ain’t right but feeling so uncomfortable that we can’t help sounding like a robot.

The good news is that deliverance is at hand. Like any good friend, I hereby pronounce myself ready to pry said stick out of your posterior, curing you of robotitus once and for all.

Let us begin.

It’s because you’re inhibited, dearie.

All of us are, to one degree or another, and thank God. Can you imagine what the world would be like if we acted on every impulse to pass through our little heathen brains?

Why, it would be a mess. People would be fornicating in church, passing out drunk in the wine aisle of the grocery store, murdering their children for failing to take out the garbage, and God only knows what else.

To protect ourselves from such ill-advised behavior, we all learn during childhood that there are Angels and Demons within all of us, and if we are to survive, we must encourage the former and discourage the latter. Or else.

Instead of just ignoring our worst impulses, we ruthlessly stomp on any impulse at all. We go from being a thinking, feeling human being to becoming a robot, mindlessly following the script society gives us for “appropriate behavior.”

And the bad news?

Good writing isn’t in the script. Yes, you can write a set of instructions or a report about what happened, but there won’t be any life to it. It’ll just be information, pure and simple and boring.

If you want to make your writing interesting, you have to embrace the mess. You have to find the courage to look inside yourself and discover what you really think. You also have to feel, not just little blips of emotion, but buckets of it, drowning you in their intensity and power.

The good news is, just as you trained yourself to suppress those thoughts and emotions, you can also train yourself to unsuppress them. Not totally, mind you, to where you end up stabbing your boss with a letter opener, but enough to get them out onto the page.

Here are some exercises to get you started:

Credit for this one goes to the legendary copywriter Gary Halbert.

Here’s what you do:

Write a letter to your mother explaining all the ways she has ruined your life. Call her names, describe her flaws in vicious detail, and be so downright hurtful you can imagine her clutching her heart and falling over dead.

And then delete it, burn it, or otherwise obliterate it from existence. Whatever you do, do NOT mail the evil thing.

The goal of this exercise isn’t to hurt your mother, but to quiet her voice within you. Most of us learned right and wrong from our mothers, and fear of their disapproval keeps us from ever being truly honest.

So, let her have it (figuratively speaking). You’ll be shocked at how much it helps your writing.

Not all inhibitions are of the nasty variety. You can be just as uptight about being nice to people.

If you doubt me, give this a try:

Go up to a complete stranger and pay them an honest compliment. Not the oh-you-look-nice-today lame assery most people spout, but a spontaneous gesture of appreciation, derived from real emotion.

If you see a car you’ve always wanted to have, for example, don’t walk up to the owner and say “nice car.” Go to them with wide eyes and a pounding heart and inform them they have the bitchinest ride in the universe.

See what I’m talking about?

Real emotion. Real expression. Real connection.

With a complete stranger.

If you can’t do it in person, it’s mighty hard to do it in print.

Were you brought up to believe sex is a private thing? Whatever people do behind closed doors and all that jazz?

Yeah, me too, but here’s the deal:

Our job as writers is to say the things other people are unable or unwilling to say. Sometimes that means being brutally honest, but more often, it means touching the taboo – subjects like cowardice, greed, jealousy, hate, and yes, sex.

Instead of running away from all those scary feelings inside you, cuddle up next to them and say howdy. Get to know them. Learn how they work. See them for what they are rather than what you feared they would be.

Yes, it’s hard, but this is what we do, people. We speak the unspeakable.

If you flinch at the idea of writing a steamy sex scene, how will you ever find the courage to address topics like suicide, double standards, and legacy? Those are the really tough topics, and the truth is, you’ll never be able to learn how to handle them with grace until you can feel something scary and not go running for cover.

In my opinion, sex is a good place to start, because while it’s dangerous, it’s also fun. Writing a steamy sex scene can and should be a helluva good time.

So get your freak on. I won’t tell anybody, I promise.

Sounds strange to say, but most people never really learn how to express gratitude.

Oh sure, we can squeak out a thank you over trivial niceties like someone opening a door or picking up a fallen pen. Maybe we can even send over a nice gift or two when the situation warrants it.

But when it’s bigger than that? When someone commits an act of kindness so selfless it warms our very soul?

Why, we fall speechless. The emotion is so strong, the gratitude so deep, we are unable to find words to express it.

The truth, though?

As a writer, you have to be better than that. Where others fumble about with clichés and platitudes, you must learn how to express exactly how you feel, to say exactly what you mean, transforming your thoughts into words and teleporting them into the mind of the reader.

A good way to learn how is to write a gratitude letter. Think through your life, pick somebody that changed it for the better, and then write a letter telling them how much you appreciate what they did.

When you’re done, ask yourself, “Is this what I really mean? Do the words match the emotion?” If the answer is no, toss the letter and start again, repeating as many times as necessary until you know it’s right, not just with your head, but also with your heart.

And then mail it to them, assuming they’re still living. If you get it right, and I know you will, the letter will touch them in a way few things ever have.

Ever seen an artist’s sketch that seems to capture what’s special about someone you know?

Not like a photograph, which is a snapshot of their physical features. Instead, it’s more like a glimpse into their soul, imperfect in its portrayal of how they look and yet somehow utterly perfect in its portrayal of who they are.

Well, that’s what this exercise is all about.

Grab a Kleenex box, and write a eulogy for someone you love. Maybe they’ve already passed, or maybe they haven’t, but imagine you’ve been tasked to stand up in front of all their friends and relatives and give a speech at their funeral.

Your job isn’t just to rattle off all their accomplishments, because, well, any old fool can do that. No, your job is to sketch their soul, to use your words to bring them back to life, if only for a moment, so everyone can say goodbye.

The big secret?

That’s what powerful writing is all about. Not taking “photos” of ideas, although I have nothing against photos, but sketching them, digging into their essence to reveal their essential nature and putting it out there for the entire world to see.

Do it for a loved one, and you can do it for other things too. Just give it a try, and you’ll see what I mean.

One word of warning, though:

The great fallacy of the written word is that it’s about the words themselves. Choose the right ones, put them in the right order, and you’ll be fine and dandy.

Not.

As writers, we wrestle not with words, but with ourselves. Ideas, emotions, logic – those are the real building blocks of great writing, and if you’re to understand them, first you have to understand yourself.

It’s a tall order, one that will engage and challenge you until the day you die. Assuming you’re willing to try, of course.

And most people aren’t.

They’ll read the exercises above and think, “Lordy, I’ll have to do that someday.” But they won’t. They’ll go back to their robot writing and forget all about it.

I’m hoping you’re different. I’m hoping you’re one of the few that’s willing to work at this and get good. I’m hoping you’ll one day write with such soul and power the words will tremble upon the page.

The world needs more writers like that. Desperately so.

Will you be one of them?

About the Author: Jon Morrow has asked repeatedly to be called “His Royal Awesomeness,” but no one listens to him. So, he settles for CEO of Boost Blog Traffic, LLC.

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The Forrest Gump Guide to Writing That Bites Readers in the Buttocks

Posted by Jon in Uncategorized | 55 comments

Southern Gentleman (John Worsham): “It was a bullet, wasn’t it?”
Forrest: “A bullet?”
Southern Gentleman: “That jumped up and bit you.”
Forrest: “Oh. Yes, sir. Bit me directly in the but-tocks.”

BANG.

One moment, you’re checking your email or surfing the web or browsing through the aisles of Barnes & Noble, minding your own business, doing nobody any harm, and that’s when it happens…

You read something that jumps up and bites you in the buttocks.

It’s so beautifully written, so painfully true, you can’t help feeling like you just got shot. No, it’s not a physical wound, but you can feel the ideas kicking around inside you, and you know somehow that they’ll stay with you for a very long time.

Maybe you even wonder how you can write like that yourself. So few can.

With blogging in particular, most writing is pitiful, full of shallow ideas and poorly told stories. The posts are hardly memorable, much less capable of making readers feel like they just took a physical blow.

The good news is Forrest Gump is here to help. Here are some of the best lines from the movie, along with advice on exactly how you can up your game:

Forrest Gump: “Hello. I’m Forrest… Forrest Gump.”
Army Bus Driver: “Nobody gives a horse’s shit who you are, pus ball! You’re not even a low-life, scum-sucking maggot!”

And the truth is, neither are we.

Yes, I know you have the world’s greatest untold story. Yes, I know you’re aching to tell it. Yes, I know it’ll turn readers into blubbering, sobbing messes of emotion.

But restrain yourself for a while.

There are times and places for stories, it’s true. I’ve even told mine once or twice (okay, three times).

I waited years, though. Not because it took me that long to tell the tale, but because that’s how long it took me to earn it.

Before your readers care about you, first they have to know how much you care about them.

Their problems. Their dreams. Their questions.

Not yours. At least, not in the beginning.

An audience is only ready to hear your story when they feel you really and truly have heard theirs. Never before.

Jenny: “Do you have a dream, Forrest, about who you’re going to be?”
Forrest: “Aren’t I going to be me?”

Of course, that doesn’t mean you have to stick your personality in a box and stuff it in long-term storage. Lordy, no.

Any great writer’s personality bleeds into the page. There’s a special quality to their words, sentences, and paragraphs that’s as unique to them as a fingerprint.

Part of your job as a beginning writer is to find your own writing fingerprint. You were born with it, just as much as you were born with arms and toes and fingernails.

And the journey to find it, why, that’s one of the greatest journeys there is.

Truly dedicated writers don’t just explore topics and ideas and audiences, looking for the right match. They explore voices too, saying things this way and that until they find the voice that bubbles up right from their soul.

You can find that voice. It’s inside you.

You just need the courage to express it.

Drill Sergeant: “GUMP! What’s your sole purpose in this army?”
Gump: “To do whatever you tell me, Drill Sergeant?”
Drill Sergeant: “Goddammit Gump, you’re a goddamn genius. That’s the most outstanding answer I’ve ever heard. You must have a goddamn IQ of 160! You’re goddamn gifted, Private Gump!”

The best way to find that courage?

Get a mentor.

Too many writers struggle in solitude, fumbling to learn how to write all on their own. It’s a horrible mistake, not only because our craft is devilishly complicated, but because the anxiety of not knowing whether you’re good enough can rip you apart inside.

A mentor can tell you. A mentor can teach you. A mentor can make you a great writer decades sooner than you could have become one on your own.

So, where do you find one?

Well, you don’t. Mentors aren’t found. They’re bought.

In the olden days, parents would pay master craftsman to take their child in as an apprentice. Thousands of years later, it’s still largely the same. The only difference is you pay the master, in most cases, not your parents.

So, find yourself a good writing teacher and pay them to teach you. If you’re serious about writing, it’s the best investment you could possibly make.

(PS: You can find one of my mentorship programs here.)

 Forrest: “Now Bubba told me everything he knew about shrimping, but you know what I found out? Shrimping is tough.”

The harsh truth, though?

Yes, a mentor is a must, but there are also certain ephemeral lessons you can learn only by your lonesome. And it’s tough. Just as tough as shrimping, I would guess.

For example, deciding what to write. A mentor can teach you how to organize sentences, express your ideas, and even deal with your inhibitions, but tell you what to say? Sorry. Nobody can decide that but you.

The bad news is the decision of what to say is maybe even more important than knowing how to say it.

In my years as a teacher, I’ve taught more than 1,000 bushytailed bloggers how to write, and I like to think I’ve made all of them better, but there’s a certain percentage of them that just can’t help writing about the dumbest things. Oh, they write it well, but it’s a topic no one cares about, so it does nobody any good.

On the flip side, there are also bloggers who write about topics the world is so desperate to learn more about they can’t help become popular. When they sign up for one of my courses, I just take away the rough edges. Nothing more, really.

Which camp do you fall into?

Well, I don’t know, but I believe it’s a choice. And it’s one only you can make.

Lt. Dan: “They gave you the congressional Medal of Honor.”
Forrest: “Yes, sir. They surely did.”
Lt. Dan: “They gave you, an imbecile, a moron who goes on television and makes a fool out of himself in front of the whole damn country, the congressional Medal of Honor.”
Forrest: “Yes, sir.”
Lt. Dan: “Well, that… that’s just perfect!”

The good news?

Not all your decisions have to be right. In fact, you might as well prepare yourself – a fair percentage of what you write will be shockingly stupid, and when you publish it, you’ll look like a fool in front of everyone.

But therein lies a precious secret:

The difference between a great writer and a merely good one is being willing to look like a fool. You have to be fearless, writing not with a squeak, but with a roar.

That’s what readers remember. That’s what readers reward.

Forrest: “Sorry I had a fight in the middle of your Black Panther party.”

How, exactly, do you write with a roar?

Well, you can start by standing up to the bad guys. Not just obvious ones like serial killers and rapists and drug dealers, but every day baddies like mean-spirited critics, moneygrubbing gurus, and brainless bloggers.

Don’t do it in anger. Don’t call anyone names. Don’t be self-righteous.

In fact, be the opposite. Be humble, maybe even a little apologetic for having to cause a commotion, but also unquestionably firm in your convictions and unwilling to back down.

A lot of times, you’ll be all alone. You might even be surrounded by a whole industry of people who vehemently disagree with you.

But you’ll also get emails from people who are grateful for someone saying something. Seeing your courage, a few other brave souls might even speak up and publicly agree with you.

Your job is to be that spark, to be the lone voice of dissent willing to take a stand. A small but very loyal group of people will love you for it.

Lt. Dan: “Come on! You call this a storm? Blow, you son of a bitch, blow! It’s time for a showdown! You and me! I’m right here! Come and get me! Ha ha! Ha ha! You’ll never sink… this… boat! Ha ha ha ha!”

And most of all?

Never, ever give up.

Yes, you can make adjustments. Yes, you can change directions. Yes, you can even start over, if you have to.

But don’t quit. Not ever.

Not when you’re struggling to pay the bills. Not when your family thinks you’re crazy. Not when everyone ignores your work. Not when publishers reject you. Not when you feel like God is urging you to do something else.

It will be tempting, believe me. I thought about quitting lots of times. At the end of the day though, here’s the simple truth:

If you’re a writer, you write. Every day. For life.

That’s how you get good. That’s how you get respect. That’s how you build an audience.

And Forrest Gump?

If you remember, Jenny told him to run. You know, “Run, Forrest, run!”

Well, I’m changing that up a bit. For us, the motto is “Write, writer, write!”

Do that, and everything else will take care of itself. Just you watch and see.

About the Author: Jon Morrow has asked repeatedly to be called “His Royal Awesomeness,” but no one listens to him. So, he settles for CEO of Boost Blog Traffic, LLC. Poor man.

View the original article here