Modern Life Is Ruining Storytelling

Heather Parry at Persuasion:

Whoopi Goldberg on stage for Sister Act – the Musical, based on the 1992 film in which things actually happen. (Photo by Neil Mockford/Getty Images.)

Over the last few years, for various reasons (mentoring early career writers, being in a workshop group, chairing events, running a magazine, being asked to blurb books), I’ve had cause to read a lot of fiction—some of it by new writers, some of it by established writers.

When you get to the point of mentoring and editing emerging talent, you see a clear pattern of issues shared by most people’s early work. Mistakes like overwriting, being so desperate to make pretty sentences that you don’t actually describe what’s going on, failing to give basic information clearly. Writers are often so keen to be good at something, to be artistic, that we forget the basics. We forget that writing is a method of communication, and unless you’re being unclear for a very specific reason that will eventually reveal itself, in communication, clarity is key.

When it comes to first attempts at literary fiction, though, there’s often a different issue. That issue is that nothing fucking happens in it. When I started writing short stories I had excellent free mentoring from much-lauded Glasgow writer Kirsty Logan. The most irritating but insightful thing she would say to me, when I presented her with my stories, was this: “What is this story about?” And more often than not, I didn’t know.

More here.

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