The other day, somebody asked me what the best and worst writing advice I’d ever gotten was.
The best was easy: “Learn to type.”
My mother was the first to give me that particular bit of writing advice, though I’ve seen it since coming from a variety of authors, including Ursula le Guin and Isaac Asimov. But Mom was the one who made me take the secretarial typing class in high school (which you had to type 55 words per minute to pass) instead of the college student class (which you only had to be able to type 20 words per minute to pass). Mom, I owe you.
There are a bunch of reasons that still make this good advice, though there are writers who prefer a pen or pencil and paper for their first drafts. If it really is part of your process to slow things down and handwrite, stick to it. For the rest of us, though, there are two advantages, the first being the obvious speed of production gained by being able to touch-type at 55+ words per minute (after 40 years of practice, I think I’m a lot faster than 55 wpm, but I haven’t done a typing test in a very long time).
The other advantage of touch typing is less obvious and has to do with ergonomics and the long run. I have a good friend who essentially wore her neck out by spending thirty years looking from fingers/keyboard up at the computer screen and back down to keyboard, over and over, every few minutes. The doctor said it was like bending a spoon back and forth, over and over – eventually, the metal weakens and gives. Not something I ever want to have to worry about on such a personal basis.
(One can, of course, use dictation software to avoid the whole problem…but I also know someone who, having blown out her wrists typing 16 hours a day on a non-ergonomic keyboard, proceeded to blow out her vocal chords, i.e., gave herself semi-permanent laryngitis, by overusing dictation software. Possible the second bit of Really Good Writing advice should be “Don’t work 16 hour days on a regular basis.”)
The worst advice was a lot harder to pin down. The first thing that came to mind was “Learn your craft by writing short stories; don’t even think of trying a novel until you’re selling reliably as a short fiction writer.” The second one was “Get up half an hour earlier to write.”
The first one was demonstrably bad advice for me: I am a natural novelist, who wrote and sold five entire novels before finally managing to sell a short story. There are natural short fiction writers for whom the opposite is true.
Of course, when that advice was given to me, there was still a lively short story market in the SF/F field, and there were even still places you could sell literary/mainstream fiction for actual money (as opposed to being paid in copies of the magazine). Then the short fiction market pretty much vanished. The Internet is bringing it back a bit, but since I do very few short stories, I’m not that conversant with what markets are available for short story writers.
Still, whatever market is or isn’t out there, it remains true that a good X will sell sooner than a lousy Y, where X is whatever length comes naturally and Y is whatever doesn’t. And you are much more likely to do a better job on what comes naturally than on something that’s hard. Of course, if you are a genius brimming with talent, you may write a brilliant X, while your Y is merely good; the brilliant X is still likely to sell faster than the merely good Y, but the good Y is going to be far enough beyond the usual slush pile content that you’ll have a decent shot at selling it. Being a genius is, however, something that few of us can judge for ourselves, so it’s best not to count on it.
Getting up half an hour early to “squeeze in” writing time is something that sounds good in theory, but I don’t know anyone it actually works for. Staying up half an hour longer never seems to be recommended, but it does work for some folks I know…provided they have time to catch up on their missing sleep periodically.
Because the big problem with taking half an hour out of your sleep time is that if you short yourself on sleep for very long, your brain starts to crinkle up and shut down. And the first thing to go seems to be one’s creative juice.
All of the folks I know who make “stay up half an hour longer” work are people who do not have to get up and go to work in the morning, so they can sleep in an extra half hour or hour (and sleeping in is a lot more attractive than going to bed early, for most of us). To make “Get up half an hour early” work in the long run, one would also have to go to bed half an hour earlier, so as not to incur a growing sleep deficit, and nobody I know wants to do that.
You may have noticed that both my best and worst advice don’t have much to do with choosing the words one puts on paper. Anyone who’s been reading this blog for a while knows how I feel about all the writing “rules” that are out there (hint: not positive), but in my experience, the absolute worst advice is aimed at the process itself. Because once you get the words down on paper (or in pixels), you can fix them if you’ve messed something up, but if you mess up the process, you may very well never get the words down in the first place.
I am so glad I had to take a speed typing class. I never would be able to write if I couldn’t type as fast as I think (or, almost). Some of the best/worst advice I’ve been given (yes, both at the same time) has been to turn off the Internet. Sometimes this really works for me since I can focus, but at other times, I need to do some research, or I need a break. Usually though, the Internet is a distraction that I need to turn off more.
Learning to type is good for just about anybody. I’ll note an interesting difference, though. At least for me, and I’m sure this is true for a lot of people, there’s a huge difference in speed between composing as you type and typing copy. Right now, I’m typing as fast as I’m thinking this out, and with good accuracy. My best ever raw speed for copy was something around 31wpm, with an error rate that cut the tested speed to 27wpm [and that was with coherent text that I was reading and dictating to myself; on five-letter cryptogram groups, my speed dropped to somewhere around 22wpm]
The point is, yes, take a typing course. Preferably with a live instructor who can pick up and correct a lot of bad habits that will lead to serious problems in the future. But, don’t give up if you find you can’t type at a ‘reasonable’ speed. Those courses are always taught typing copy, and you will probably find that when you sit down to let your own words flow you aren’t at all hobbled by your low speed.
Worst advice – “Try harder”
Best advice – “Try differently”
I learned touch typing more by live-chat on a BBS than anything else. Started out always looking at my fingers, doing stupid typing games and disliking them… And now I type… pretty fast. But I’m also pretty fast at hitting the backspace key! I would hate typewriters…
For people looking for time to write when they have jobs — there’s the lunch hour. (One hopes.)
While I did take one semester of typing in junior high school and looked over typing texts at other times, I learned mainly just by doing it. The first word that I knew how to type quickly was “PRINT” which is a very commonly-used statement in the BASIC programming language, and the next was probably “GOTO”:
10 PRINT “Patricia C. Wrede’s blog is great!”
20 GOTO 10
Getting up early leaves me a wreck for anything requiring higher brain function for the entirety of the day. (And sometimes even for basic civility and motor skills.) I suppose there are people out there for whom it works, but I might just as well hit myself in the head with my laptop.
Staying up late can work, providing I can convince the cats that I haven’t stayed up to give them extra play time. 😉
Back in the day … like, the late 1980s, when I was younger and not so chronically fatigued, I *did* get up an hour early.
My alarm went off, I think it was, at five. At once my blood started pounding, write that story down, lady, get that mother down. I also had a hotplate on a timer, so that when I got into the kitchen the teakettle would be boiling, I could make a pot of tea and wade in and write (longhand) for about an hour. If it was summer, I could open the kitchen door, which opened onto the deck over the creek, and listen to the babbling water as I scribbled. Then it was get dressed/make breakfast/get off to work (on foot).
Those were good times. I couldn’t do it now, but it worked then.
Best advice I ever got was write functionally, clearly, and efficiently. It’s the way of modern communication in the modern workplace. Traditional writing still has its place, but the norms are changing and I’m glad I adapted with it.