The One Key Component To Good Writing (It’s Not What You Think)


Has there ever been a great writer who wasn’t a great reader? That’s like asking if there has ever been a great baseball player who has never watched baseball. It’s almost a nonsense question.

But, unlike baseball, there are numerous people who seek to compose works without having read deeply and widely. Not everyone watches or plays baseball, but language is common to everyone. We all communicate via the spoken and written word, therefore people feel they can write. And in the most basic sense of writing (group of words makes up a sentence, group of sentences make up a paragraph, top to bottom, left to right) that’s true.

But good writing is a product of good thinking. Good thinking is a product of good reading. Good writing is a product of good craftsmanship. And order to write well OR think well one must read well.

So I ask you these three questions, writers (and humans with brains):

What are you reading?

That is, what is its quality and its message? Is it worth absorbing both artistically and intellectually? There is some small value in reading bad books for the sake of knowing what makes books bad. There is some small value in reading books purely for mindless entertainment. But these should be treated like candy, not the majority of your caloric intake.

How widely are you reading?

Are you being influenced by geniuses of different ilks, fiction and non-fiction, men and women, philosopher and theologian, story teller and reporter? Are you hearing from those with whom you are inclined to agree and those you aren’t? Are you learning about people from different backgrounds and cultures? In short, are you dipping in to the lives of those whose lives you could never otherwise interact with? Variety truly is the spice of writing, the flavor that makes it palatable.

How much are you reading?

Do you have a steady influx of the written word to refresh you, enlighten you, and hone you? Maybe it’s fifteen minutes a day. Maybe it’s thirty or fifty or one hundred books a year. What’s good for the body is good for the mind, so measure your books like you measure your exercise. Do it regularly, mark your progress, measure your steps. It will make you a more fit writer, or rather a human more fit to write.

If you aspire to write get to reading. Do it often. Do it widely. Do it creatively and deeply. Read what you love and dabble in books you hate too. It all serves your writing.

Writers, Stop Writing About Writing


This might be hypocritical. It’s likely a bit odd and possibly (probably) pretentious. Some might refer to it as Meta. I prefer to think of it as Inception-like. As a writer, I have some things to write about writers writing about writing.

Writers writing about writing, while not always pretentious, can reach levels of pretention previously only dreamed of. Sometimes this shows itself as melodrama. “I write because I must.” “The pressure of pain begins to build until, of a sudden, it burst forth like lava from a volcano . . . and I write.” “Publishing a written work is like sending a child off to school for the first time, every time.” “Writing is a grueling, thankless task, but I have no choice. I am compelled”

Gag me. Nobody wants to hear about the travails of the writer, not even other writers. (In fact, while you’d think other writers would be the most empathetic we are in fact the least inclined to care about your moaning.) If it’s so awful, quit, for all our sakes. You’re not compelled against your will; you write because you enjoy it, or at least something about it. And with all that whining, methinks what you love most is the attention not the craft.

Other times, and more often, the pretension shows itself as constancy. That is to say it keeps showing up, because writers won’t quit writing about writing. A short roll of the eyeballs around the interwebs will reveal a dozen daily new posts by writers about writing. Some writers have blogs devoted to writing about writing.

Give it a rest. Your subject matter is tired. Your craftsmanship suffers because of redundancy and a limited pallet. And you become difficult to trust because, well, you never write about life. And life is the stuff of writing, not writing itself.

The last incarnation of pretension is uppityness. When Stephen King writes a book about writing I read it cover to cover and then start over. And it is marvelous. When a thirty-something, barely published, Internet composer of public journal entries does so, it’s uppity. Stephen King can tell me to “kill my darlings”, not many others can. They ought to be figuring which of their own darlings to off.

You know what’s remarkable? How little the truly great writers say or said about writing itself. They just wrote. And so should we. They didn’t cogitate on “the life of the writer”; no, they lived life, digested it, and regurgitated it in words and stories and essays. They learned and responded. They read and read some more. And they wrote. And so should we. Maybe, someday, we’ll be good enough to write about writing, but if we are we’ll probably be too busy living and writing to notice.

photo credit: cellar_door_films via photopin cc

Do You Imitate The Creative Generosity of God?


When it comes to giving and receiving gifts, I have a one track mind. When people ask me for a Christmas list, the list I give them is books, all books, and nothing but books. And when I start shopping for gifts, my first thought is, What have I read lately? I have to work to be creative here, otherwise my gifts will all end up having dust jackets and ISBN numbers. Maybe you know someone like me. Every year you get the same generic card with a hastily scrawled signature, the same subscription to the jelly-of-the-month club (you don’t even like jelly), the same kind of hideous tie with Walt Disney characters on it. Money was invested, but certainly no thought! None of us want to be that kind of gift-giver. But, as a Christian, have you ever thought about why creativity generosity is a good thing? Here’s the short answer: creative generosity reflects the character of God.

If you were to catalog all the ways God has blessed you in the last week, the last month, the last year – how creative has God been as he lavishes his goodness on you? Think of examples from every sphere of life: favor with a co-worker or client. An evening of joy and rest with your family. A vacation that refreshed you in body and soul. A good conversation with a friend. A sermon that spoke to you or a song that brought your hope. God’s goodness is not one-size-fits-all, nor is it a short playlist set on “Repeat” mode. In countless ways –often small and unnoticed by us – God litters our lives with expressions of his creative care. “The LORD is righteous in all his ways and kind in all his works,” David says in Psalm 145:7.

There are two ways we respond to the creative bounty of God. First, take notice of it! Look for those small kindnesses of the Lord that brighten everyday life. An example: recently I realized at 8:30pm that I needed a prop for a teaching I was giving the next morning at 8am. I ransacked my house but couldn’t find what I needed. I called a friend – no success. A second friend thought he might have it, but wasn’t sure where to find it in his storage shed. He gave me permission to come try my luck. I don’t want to be up all night looking for this, I thought as I drove to his house. Please let me find this quickly, Lord. I stepped into his building, and the first thing I saw was my prop, sitting out on a bench in plain sight. Was it life-changing? No. Was it a genuine expression of the care of my Father, who knew it would stress me to be up late looking for my prop? Without a doubt. He is kind in all his works.

But there’s a second way we respond to God’s creative generosity. Imitate it! Look for the small ways you can bless those around you. If you have someone stay the night at your house, leave a chocolate on the guest room pillow. Do a little investigative work to find out their favorite dessert and serve it. Discover that daily chore that your spouse hates and take it for them. Make note of the book a friend says they want to read, and buy them a copy (sorry, the bookworm is back). Our days contain hundreds of opportunities to show creative kindness and generosity to the people God brings into our paths. And those actions, done in faith, have a deeply theological value: we are imaging God, our Creator who providentially orders all our days, and our Redeemer who graciously uses every situation to bring about good in our lives. He is kind in all his works, so be eager for opportunities to be kind in all your works.

“Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children. And walk in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us” (Eph. 5:1-2).

Is Your Communication From You or About you?

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Every writer writes about himself. Every preacher preaches about himself. It’s what makes communication personal and accessible. Without including ourselves in our work it would be cold and distant and maybe even dishonest. Like in so many other areas of life, though, the self threatens to play too much of a role. It seeks to take center stage and be the story instead of a means to the story. So the question is: when you write or speak, is it from you or about you?

What is your aim when you blog or tweet or write or preach? Are you seeking to elevate yourself (about you) or to offer something of value to others (from you)?

If you are seeking to elevate your self you will use yourself as the primary positive example. You might make a point to lay out “seven ways I . . .” or “three essential steps I take to. . .” on a regular basis as if your ways are the best ways and with assumption people really care how or why you do what you do. To top it off your work will be littered with needless details about yourself and your life. You will drag out otherwise helpful examples into soliloquies about, well, you.

On the other hand, if you are genuinely seeking to offer something helpful to others you will include both positive and negative examples about yourself. All the stories you share will be with a distinct purpose. They will connect ideas with people, take people to the right emotional place, unveil relational realities, or exemplify a point that needs a story to give it life. But none of the stories will make you the center. You just happen to be the one who encountered some truth bigger than you. You emphasize those parts of the story that back up your point and then you move on without lingering so readers or hearers can think about you. The point of the story is the point, and you are not.

This is a hard balance to strike. We are self-centered people so of course we make ourselves the center of what ought to be communication of great big truths. It’s why most of us shouldn’t write memoir or autobiography (that and the fact that only spectacular writers can make those genres interesting). We can’t write an essay about family or love or Jesus without making ourselves the center let alone one about ourselves.

Our goal, as communicators, is to connect readers and listeners to something greater than themselves, something transcendent. We are not transcendent. God is, and so is the immeasurable litany of truth He has provided for us to unpack and explore and wonder at. So when we write or speak all we need to do is lead people to those truths like a tour guide. The guide at a museum is not the center of attention; he is the one who shows people what should have their attention. That is the job of the communicator. 

photo credit: tranchis via photopin cc