What’s free and what isn’t

Most writers get something “for free” – some part of writing that they don’t have to work at to get it to an acceptable level. Sometimes it’s something general: plot development, emotionally complex characterization, solid background, an intuitive grasp of story structure. Sometimes it’s something more narrowly specific: snappy-but-natural-sounding dialog, a feel for sentence rhythms, an ability to make a clear and compelling scene from a massively confused bit of action.

The flip side of this is that most writers also have something that, at best, they struggle with. At worst, this area is something they’re so blind to that they aren’t even aware that it’s missing from their work until someone else points it out. Depending on what they’re having trouble with, that can mean anything from a story-killing flaw to a quirk that some readers find annoying but put-up-with-able.

The first trouble people run into is in recognizing this and figuring out what they got for free, what they need to work at a bit, and what is going to give them migraine-inducing trouble. This can be much harder than it sounds, particularly if one is the sort of writer who thinks that if they find something easy to do, they must be doing it badly.

So the first step is diagnosis. It’s usually a good idea to get input from beta readers here, if only as a corrective for one’s own lack of judgement. If all of your beta readers rave about your dialog, or fall about on the floor laughing at the jokes you weren’t sure were actually funny, that is usually a sign that you did a better job than you thought you did.

Once a writer realizes consciously that they are actually good at this or that particular bit of writing, and/or really having trouble with that other bit, they usually take one of two basic approaches:  Either they write work centered around the stuff they got for free, or they deliberately focus on work that requires them to practice the stuff they didn’t get at all.

Both of these approaches have strengths and weaknesses. A writer who gets one of the “big three” (plot, characterization, background) “for free” will often have an easier time writing—and selling—early work that leans heavily on that aspect of writing. If one’s freebie is something like theme or snappy dialog, focusing on it early can still be helpful, but if one’s missing link is something fundamental, the work one produces is likely to appeal only to niche markets at best.

In either case, it is all too easy for such a writer to hit a glass ceiling after a while, where their overall writing can’t really improve much without support from the things they don’t do well (and have been ignoring in favor of the thing that comes easily). By then, it can be hard for the writer to work at the things they’ve never had to think about, like the centipede trying to figure out which leg to move first.

Some writers are okay with sticking to the fun-and-easy part, even if it limits their sales. Or they find a way around the issue. I know a couple of writers who got snappy dialog for free, and ended up writing plays, for instance. I also know a couple of collaborations that started because the writers had different strengths, and covered each others’ weak spots.

A writer who takes the other route, focusing on what they didn’t get for free, often has a harder time getting to the point where they’re selling. This is to be expected, since they’re starting with stuff they find difficult, but even when one knows this, it can be extremely discouraging. Constantly focusing on what one is doing wrong can also over-energize one’s Internal Editor, which seldom ends well. On the plus side, improving in multiple areas makes it less likely to hit a ceiling and more likely to break through it if one does hit it.

Most of the successful writers I know have avoided either extreme. A couple of them switch focus every book or two—they write one “easy” thing that’s centered on their freebie, and then something “experimental” where they force themselves to do something they find hard. At least one person I know took a screenplay class (and wrote one) in order to learn dialog (which was the specific thing they did not get for free). Others use a combined approach, picking a stretchy technique or two to incorporate in a book that leans primarily on their strong points.

Ultimately, it depends on what each writer wants. Some people will only be satisfied with fame, fortune, and a heartfelt “Well done, my child!” from both their parents. Other people are, like Emily Dickinson, perfectly all right with writing things and sticking them in their bottom drawer once they think they’ve done their best. Some people fixate on overcoming their slightest flaw; others are fine with only showcasing their strong points. Think about it, then do what satisfies you. It is, after all, your name on the product.