“The story—from Rumplestiltskin to War and Peace—is one of the basic tools invented by the human mind for the purpose of understanding. There have been great societies that did not use the wheel, but there have been no societies that did not tell stories.”
—Ursula Le Guin
Whether you’re already a writer, earning money as a writer—novelist, poet, nonfiction author, screenwriter, scriptwriter; newspaper, magazine, or online content writer; and so on—or whether you are someone who longs to write but has never put pen to paper, you likely already possess certain qualities and affinities that make you good at what you do, or that, together, contribute to the appeal of writing. Many writers feel a calling to become a writer, and many, many writers come to writing from a passion for reading, or for researching and reporting the truth, or from mining situations, characters, and emotions in an attempt to understand the human condition.
In my experience, most novelists, screenwriters, poets, and playwrights fell in love with reading, storytelling, movies, plays, and words at an early age. Most seemed to be more affected than usual affected by the experiences that reading conjured, often reporting that they fell under a spell when reading books they loved—they even remembered the most moving passages decades later. Most read extensively throughout their childhood and into adulthood. For others, hearing stories as a child left indelible impressions of the mannerisms, follies, bravery, and cowardice of certain characters. Overhearing adult conversations left them feeling mesmerized by the unique ways people expressed themselves, and they experienced an unquenchable desire for hearing—reading, and then writing—stories themselves.
Margaret Atwood, author of more than twenty-five works of poetry, nonfiction, and fiction, including The Handmaid’s Tale, Cat’s Eye, and The Blind Assassin, noted in her book Negotiating with the Dead, A Writer on Writing that many people believe that people who write experienced something in their childhood that made them become writers. She couldn’t identify a common thread, except perhaps that many writers mention a love for books and solitude in their childhoods. Atwood credited the genesis of her own writing to “the inability to distinguish between the real and the imagined, or rather the attitude that what we consider real is also imagined: every life is also an inner life, a life created.”
Many writers had difficult or exceptional childhoods and feel that somehow they were “born” to write the story of what happened in their family or the story of what their parents did—or didn’t do—that made their childhoods unique and unforgettable. A lot of writers harbor hurt feelings and learn to use writing as a means to express those feelings and find some way to move past them, or at least to learn from them; that is, writing is often transformative.
If you’ve ever been around a litter of newborn puppies or kittens, you’ve likely observed that some are feisty and adventurous, some greedily suckle, some cower while others show dominance, and so on. Studies have found that such personality differences will still appear, even when animals are cloned (meaning that they are genetically identical). In 2013, a researcher cloned a group of genetically identical mice and released them into a large enclosure that provided opportunities for exploration and play. Within a few months, the mouse clones that had explored the most actively sprouted new nerve cells throughout their brains, especially in the hippocampus, a region crucial for memory and spatial navigation; less-adventurous clones showed less brain development.
We may not know why some personality differences exist from birth, but this study suggests that individual experiences sculpt individual brains and personalities, too, even if those brains are genetically identical. Moral: What are you doing to sculpt your brain for writing?
We’ve all met people who profess a strong desire to become a writer and then sheepishly—or not—confess that they don’t read, that they haven’t read a novel in years, and they don’t devour magazine articles, historical tomes, or nonfiction books. They just want to be writers. Often these people are dilettantes who imagine that being a writer is fun. And it is ... sometimes. Mostly, however, writing requires massive dedication, a whole lot of time spent alone, way too much sitting, countless hours spent thinking hard, and unending, and occasionally painful, dedication to forming ideas and laboring over the production of sentences, paragraphs, scenes, dialogue, punctuation, and all the elements that go into writing a novel, a play, a screenplay, or a poem. When we’re not writing, we’re thinking, plotting, imagining, or editing, which can be far more tedious than cranking out first drafts.
The science of epigenetics (epi means outside) has determined that your lifestyle can override your genes; that is, if your familial DNA falls short of the qualities you need to become a best-selling writer, those limitations can be conquered. Just as early childhood experiences mold and shape the brain, the life you lead, what you eat, what you read or watch, how deeply you think, how you spend time, what you focus on, how you regularly exercise your body, and so on can counteract any limiting genetic issues. To become the writer you’ve always longed to be, bolster those areas of brainpower where real or imagined shortcomings exist and keep working at it until it becomes second nature—your brain's new reality.
For me, and this is likely true for most aspiring writers, words and language become worlds unto themselves. Writers seem to simply love words, and they experience a visceral feeling of passion and excitement when reading stories and poems. Writers may also have an affinity for remembering lots of words, unusual words, or words with complicated, nuanced meanings. Likely more than most, they also remember certain stories, certain characters, certain images that arose fully formed from a book they read thirty years ago, and writers whose style of writing mesmerized them then—and mesmerize them now. Early in life, those who go on to become creative writers likely recognize those feelings as passion, and, for many, storytelling and writing become a source of immense pleasure, titillating challenge, and refuge—one arena in which they feel most fully like themselves. Many writers recognize themselves in the characters and recognize that the person who created those characters and wrote the scenes that drew them so deeply into the story were their people, the tribe they’d been seeking from an early age. While other children relish activity, particularly outdoors, future writers usually enjoy being inside, reading nonfiction books, a novel, a short story or poem. Reading brings future writers physical and mental pleasures, in ways it may not do so for other children.
A 1983 book by author Howard Gardner developed a “multiple intelligence theory” that identified eight types of intelligence:
Neuroscientists now know that intelligence is a general property that stems from a part of the brain called the frontal cortices, and that we apply this general intelligence to different tasks such as music, language, and logic; that is, brains do not have specific, multiple intelligences. In spite of what Gardner proposed, you have the capacity to master whatever you choose to practice. In other words, if you’re smart, you’re smart.
If you feel a burning desire to write, it’s highly likely that you already possess certain mental and emotional qualities that can serve you well. Before launching into your next writing project, boldly embrace your strengths and shine a light on the skills you need to develop. These qualities include:
Every writer’s brain is uniquely “designed” and few possess all of the qualities on the list. What matters most is that you notice the qualities you have and identify how they help—or hinder—your writing. View your affinities in a positive manner and reinforce your use of them to craft works of art by thinking and speaking positive thoughts about your process—it’s been scientifically proven that an optimistic brain is a happy and productive brain. It’s far too easy to fall into a mindset that writing is hard, arduous, demanding work that requires you to sacrifice a normal life for one filled with deadlines, anxiety, and stress. What’s more desirable is to create a mindset that recognizes, utilizes, and celebrates the qualities that brought you to writing and inspires you to write even when it becomes a physical, mental, or emotional challenge. Reaffirming and employing the qualities that accompany your desire to write is more likely to lead to success and pleasure.
Did you know your brain is designed to find the easy way out? Psychologists Susan Fiske and Shelley Taylor coined the term “cognitive miser” to characterize the way our brains seek to conserve energy (by providing limited attention whenever possible) and to keep it simple (by utilizing mental shortcuts). Google and other search engines are a modern convenience we all welcome, but studies revealed that Googling relieves your brain of its duty to pose a hard question (which, in itself, is highly valuable) and more importantly, it frees your brain of the necessity to search deep into its database for the neuronal connections that will eventually lead to the answer. Instead of firing up your brain, your brain barely has to think at all.
It’s helpful to use your affinity list as affirmations to bolster positive thoughts about yourself as a writer: “I am imaginative, creative, and compassionate. I am open to new ways of thinking and fresh ways of seeing certain issues in life. I am able to focus on what I want this particular work to reflect. I love to think, plan, dream, originate. I have a magnificent, energized brain that loves to write.” ... And so on.
Also, identifying qualities that aren’t yet developed offers you the opportunity to focus on developing those skills. It’s quite possible that the innate qualities are there but you simply haven’t recognized them or called upon them when writing. Shining a light on them will help your brain focus on what you most appreciate and what you need it to do.
We do know that brain development is dependent upon experience. The more a brain region is used, the bigger it tends to become. This means that some people may become smarter by simply exercising their brains more throughout life. It’s been suggested that the genes involved in intelligence work by making people want to learn, and that the act of learning then enlarges the brain.
One thing that is a certainty: Writing is a craft that can be acquired, practiced, and mastered. Just as artists learn about oil and watercolor paints, the delicacy of brushes, the variations of brushstrokes, and the various styles that can imitated, writers learn about imagery, dialogue, narrative, scene building, and other aspects of the craft that they can focus upon and improve with practice. The art emerges as the craft is mastered, as writers learn how to conceive, create, craft, rewrite, reshape, refine, and perfect storytelling.
Writing teachers insist that verbs matter. Action-specific, uniquely apt, or surprising verbs are encouraged, and there may be some benefit to using them beyond exciting the reader. Researchers at Michigan State University created a “noun-verb” test to see if they could predict how the brain comes up with unusually creative ideas. MSU neuroscientist Jeremy Gray wanted to prove that the brain works hard to form creative ideas. “Nobody learns their ABCs in kindergarten and suddenly writes a great novel or poem,” he says.
Study subjects were given a series of nouns and instructed to respond creatively with a verb for each. They were then measured for creativity through a series of more in-depth methods, including story writing, drawing, and on their creative achievements in real life. Those who came up with creative verbs were those also identified as the most creative in the second part of the test, as measured by the more in-depth methods. So when you need fresh ideas, to fire up your neurons, spend fifteen minutes focused solely on creating new and different action verbs.
Ask writers why they write, and you’re likely to hear that they don’t feel complete unless they’re writing, or some variation of that explanation. Having a “natural talent” is often attributed, but whether that refers to a talent for language, for storytelling, for researching and reporting facts, for dramatizing, or for being facile with free-form witticisms, who knows? I’ve often said that I write because I seem to possess an affinity for composition, for expressing my thoughts and feelings, and for writing about characters and situations. Like many, I write journal entries (most never published, by choice) because writing is a process that helps me hone my thoughts and burrow down to the most important feelings, revealing insights that don’t come as easily any other way. Mostly, those who choose to write fiction do so because they love reading (or film or stage plays) and always have, and they have a few stories they long to contribute to the world. They hope their stories will be well received and meaningful for years to come, maybe capturing a point in time or aspects of life during their time that will offer something to knowledge one hundred years from now—about their country, about being a man or woman, about being a son or daughter, a father or mother, and so on. Writers love telling stories and feel an urge to create them, and the good news is that by developing your affinities, your perceptions, and your craft each step along the way you can definitely fire up your writing brain to become a better storyteller.
The first job of a writer is to notice—to see, hear, smell, taste, touch, feel, and intuit—what’s important and then to use those stored memories to produce work that can be grasped at once, in prose that is strong and clean, not muddled. The writer’s second job is to discover and develop his or her unique voice. Voice equates to your distinctive and exact way of viewing things, combined with a manner of expressing what you see and think in a natural, straightforward, and emotionally truthful way. The words, sentences, tone, and execution of craft should reflect who you are. Narrowing down your responsibility to just two things keeps your brain from feeling overwhelmed. Basically what you need to remember, especially at the beginning of any new work, is not to overcomplicate what’s simple.
Why you write novels, poems, or self-help books may be another question that seems simplistic, but even if you’ve always been a memoirist or you've always been a journalist, it can be helpful to revisit the whys and wherefores. Did you consciously choose a medium or fall into it somewhat haphazardly? Do you feel that you have certain affinities or certain abilities you feel compelled to use or find easy to maximize and that, therefore, determine which medium you choose: dialogue (scriptwriters), action (anything from comic books to action films), characterization (novels), high drama (plays), feelings (poetry), and so on? Do you feel you’ve found your niche, or is a large part of your struggle to write (or perhaps even your resistance to write) based on perceived weaknesses that you feel you have to conquer?
Let’s discuss various mediums and the affinities or motivations that may reinforce your decision.
You get the idea ... choosing your medium is a reflection of personality, affinities, perspective, philosophy, and opportunity—and ideally it should be something you consciously consider. Recognizing your strengths should inform your choices but not necessarily restrict them. Maybe you’ve been a successful poet but you now long to write a novel (or vice versa). Noting the affinities you already possess that would support experimentation could inspire you to new heights.
Though some still cling to the idea that men’s slightly larger brains give them an edge in high-level cognitive processing—such as writing—it’s just not true. It is true, however, that women tend to best men in scholastic achievement. So what are the differences, and do they play a significant role in writing?
Some studies have shown that men have stronger connections between the front and back of their brain (something that helps with connecting what you see with what you do, and seeing and responding quickly), while women have more wiring between the left and right hemispheres of the brain, in an area called the corpus callosum (something that helps with quickly connecting ideas and empathy). The only region where men had more connections between the left and right sides of the brain was in the cerebellum, which plays a vital role in motor control.
All of which means males tend to be better at spatial processing, capable of rotating an object in their minds, something recently documented in infants as young as three months old. They also seem better at judging angle orientation and navigating by cardinal direction. Women, on the other hand, tend to have more verbal fluency and a greater memory for objects and faces—women are better at remembering where things are and who they’ve seen before. They are also more likely to navigate by using landmarks than cardinal direction.
Thus, as you can see, whatever small differences exist have little to do with intelligence, or anyone’s superior cognitive functioning, which means that gender does not play a role in whether someone has an affinity for writing or has real potential to be better at writing. Men’s brains are larger because they have larger skulls and higher body mass. Period.
Obviously the reasons we’ve discussed may help you clarify the type of writing you wish to do, but the reasons to actually write are often emotional:
These are all examples of what may be motivating you to write, and while you don’t have to bring these motivations to light, in working to identify what compels you to write, you are giving your brain an assignment to use its full capacity to help you fulfill your goal and achieve your desires. This can be helpful when your writing sags and you begin to wonder if it’s all worth the effort. If you’ve provided your brain with the reasons why you are writing your work in progress (or waiting for its time), your brain will bring those ideas back to consciousness when you most need them.
Storytelling began as a way for humans to relay information, from where to find food sources to the benefits of familial bonding. Raymond A. Mar, Ph.D. theorizes that fictional stories were the easiest way to memorize and communicate a complex set of information. “You can think of all narrative as just taking this to another level, where people are creating the sort of longer-term fictional stories that have been used with a certain amount of information embedded in them,” Mar explained. “It’s easier to remember the content of these stories, and they’re also a very compelling way to communicate this information.” In fact, psychologists and neuroscientists have found that we remember information best when it is delivered in the form of a plot—this is called semantic memory. Stories still serve a definitive purpose and the stronger the purpose, the clearer the story—so, what’s your purpose?
It seems like such a simplistic question, yet the answer plays a crucial role in motivating your brain. As we’ve discussed, writing is not easy—though it may flow for some—and it requires dedication and persistence and a lot of intensive thinking. I know few writers that have the luxury of time and many writers who constantly struggle with self-doubt or feeling discouraged, often questioning why they put themselves through the hoops.
We’ll talk more in the next chapter about the values of identifying which type of writer you are, but first, your Train Your Writing Brain assignment (we’ll have one at the end of each chapter, designed to help you fire up your writing brain).
To solidify and validate the characteristics (affinities) you have in your writing arsenal, make a list—include even the seemingly unimportant qualities. If you keep a journal, dedicate at least one page to it; if you don’t keep a journal, use good writing paper and a pen—which helps you connect to your brain—and list the attributes that contribute to your ability to write well. Take time to ponder and be as generous and honest as possible—noting strengths, and areas that may need more work. Once your list is complete, use it to state your natural proclivities as an affirmation before you next write.
Keep doing this over time, thereby reinforcing your ownership. Soon doing so may become part of the ritual leading up to writing sessions, effectively evoking the kind of positive mindset that will make your writing sessions more productive—and more satisfying.
Once that list is complete, create another list that details your motivations for working on whatever you’re currently working on. Again, be as specific and personal as possible, digging beneath the surface to get really clear on why you are choosing to write about whatever it is you’re currently working on, and why completing this work has deep, personal meaning for you.
What you’re doing is feeding body, soul, mind, and brain the nourishment all will need to persist and do the best work possible. Your brain is your greatest writing asset, so engage it from the beginning, layering in complexity and encouraging focus, and you will be fostering the kind of writing mindset that reinforces your efforts and leads to successful completion.
“There’s no hole inside of me to fill or anything like that, but once I started doing it, I couldn’t imagine wanting to do anything else for a living. I noticed very quickly that writing was the only way to lose track of time.”
—Michael Lewis
“I’ve never worked a day in my life. The joy of writing has propelled me from day to day and year to year. I want you to envy me my joy. Get out of here tonight and say: ‘Am I being joyful?’”
—Ray Bradbury
“If you are interested in something, no matter what it is, go at it at full speed ahead. Embrace it with both arms, hug it, love it and above all become passionate about it. Lukewarm is no good. Hot is no good either. White hot and passionate is the only thing to be.”
—Roald Dahl
“One day I was at my job as a consulting programmer for Mobil Oil. I was tired of writing programs, so I wrote this sentence: ‘On hot sticky days in southern Louisiana, the fire ants swarmed.’ I’d never been to Louisiana, and I’d never seen a fire ant, but I thought ‘this sounds like the first line of a novel,’ so I wrote my first book.”
—Walter Mosley
“I would write even if I couldn’t make a living at it, because I can’t not write. I am amazed and delighted and still in a state of shock about the success of Water for Elephants, but that’s not why I write. I do it for love. The rest is gravy.”
—Sara Gruen