The Myth of the Writer Genius
Do you believe in Santa Claus? The Easter Bunny? The Tooth Fairy? How about the Writer Genius?
I believed in the Writer Genius for many years. He was this special, misunderstood person whose waters ran very deep. He was someone who had amazing novels and short stories swimming inside him like fish, just waiting to be caught and hauled up into the light of day. All he had to do was sit at the computer, cast the fishing line into his deepest depths, and type.
Oh, sure. He had to work to get those stories out, but it was his genius that created them. That genius was every bit as much a part of him as the color of his eyes, the shape of his hands, or the sound of his voice. That genius meant that story was something he didn’t have to worry about. All he had to do was find the words to embody that story.
And the really great thing was, in all possibility, I could be that writer genius. How many were the days that I sat down at my computer with an idea that seemed so full of potential? How many were the drafts I pumped out? How many were the critics who said, “Yeah, it’s fine.”
Fine? Obviously you don’t grasp what I’m doing here. Don’t you see the nuances? Can’t you catch the symbolism? Isn’t the story’s soul blindingly apparent?
I spent quite a few years trying to be the Writer Genius. Finally, I had to give up because it was evident to me that I had no natural storytelling talent. I was about as far from being the Writer Genius as it was possible to be. But I’m a stubborn cuss. I wanted to be a writer anyway, so I enrolled in a creative writing M.F.A. program.
I learned something during that time that opened an entirely new world to me, a world that made it possible for me to be a writer. That something is a single principle. And I’m going to give it to you free of charge, just because you’re you.
It is simply this: There is a craft to storytelling, just as there is a craft to engine design, or architecture, or artificial sweetener formulation.
This idea excited me so much that I spent the next five years studying it. The main text I used was Robert McKee’s Story: Substance, Structure, Style and the Principles of Screenwriting. It may seem odd to focus on a screenwriting book when one wants to learn story craft, but, as I found out, screenplays are story skeletons. They’re the bones that the cast and crew hang flesh upon. You don’t have to cut through flowery language or extended metaphors or languorous description. You’re just looking at the beams and bones that make sure a building or body can stand. And there are ways to know if they will hold up, or if the art direction, costumes, actors, soundtrack and cinematography are just makeup on a cadaver.
Though I was obsessed with understanding the components that made a good story, it took me a while to learn to apply them. I look back on my M.F.A. thesis and cringe. Why in the world did they let me graduate?
But eventually, my work started to pay off. I could tell because the first time I submitted a screenplay to a film festival, they took my $20 entrance fee and never spoke to me again. The next time around, I revised that screenplay and won third place. The kicker was, I could tell what the problems with my screenplay were, and I could fix them. It was like fixing a toaster.
After that I got published and won writing contests on a regular basis. But it wasn’t because the Writer Genius in me had finally woken up, it was because I knew how stories work, just like an architect knows how buildings work, or an engine designer knows how engines work.
Learning the craft of storytelling has been great for my career. I can actually make a living with words. However, sharing my knowledge has proved to be very difficult.
As I think back on the majority of the fiction I have read, it all has one thing in common. It lacks story. Yes, those pieces of fiction may have lovely language, they may have sympathetic characters, they may have interesting ideas, but they don’t go anywhere.
I’ve written a lot of critiques to fiction writers focusing on their story’s structure, and with almost no exception I receive this response, “What in the world are you talking about? This is how the story GOES!”
That, gentle reader, is the voice of one who is under the thrall of the Writer Genius myth. It’s the voice of someone who believes that storytelling is an innate power they have. Like me many years ago, they don’t realize that there is a craft to storytelling.
As Robert McKee writes, “The novice plunges ahead, counting solely on experience, thinking that that life he’s lived and the films he’s seen give him something to say and the way to say it … What the novice mistakes for craft is simply his unconscious absorption of story elements from every novel, film, or plays he’s ever encountered. As he writes, he matches his work by trial and error against a model built up from accumulated reading and watching. The unschooled writer calls this “instinct,” but it’s merely habit and it’s rigidly limiting. He either imitates his mental prototype or imagines himself in the avant-garde and rebels against it. But the haphazard groping toward or revolt against the sum of unconsciously ingrained repetitions is not, in any sense, technique, and leads to screenplays clogged with clichés of either the commercial or the art house variety” (15-16).
Lack of story craft is the bane of Mormon fiction. In fact, I believe it is the main barrier that keeps Mormon writing from gaining the strength to compete in the national and international markets. Too many potential Mormon writers think that there’s a Writer Genius inside of them just waiting to get out. I figure that a Writer Genius pops up only once for every million people born. Possibly less often. But the Writer Genius myth is so powerful that a great many people who could be good writers, if only they learned the craft, spend their lives waiting for a fish that never bites.
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December 16th, 2008 at 1:47 pm
Thank you for that. Excellent post. I’ve been waiting to awaken my writing demons from their long rest for years. Maybe it’s time to pull the old typewriter out of the attic…
December 16th, 2008 at 2:47 pm
Stephen, I couldn’t agree with you more on the importance of learning the craft. I do have a question for you, though. In your last paragraph, you say that “lack of story is the bane of Mormon fiction.” Why do you think this problem is particularly acute in Mormon lit? Is it simply because we’re a smaller pool, so there’s less competition and sub-par work is published? Or do you think there’s something about our belief in spiritual gifts that makes a Mormon writer more likely to believe he or she should be able to sit in front of a keyboard and “open up a vein,” without thinking much about craft or spending too much time revising?
From my perspective, I’ve worked on a mainstream literary magazine (Water-Stone Review) and, of course, a Mormon one, and I haven’t see much difference in the quality of the fiction submitted to either. Lots and lots of so-so stuff, a few gems. With Water-Stone, however, we had a much larger pile of submissions from which to choose. (Although some of the stories in the current issue of Irreantum are just as good as, or better than, lots of the stuff we published at Water-Stone . . . in my most humble and non-biased opinion.)
And I think I’m going to give myself McKee’s book for Christmas. I’ve never written a screenplay in my life, but I’m always in the market for a good writing text.
December 16th, 2008 at 2:53 pm
*applauds*
I’m going to quote myself quoting Richard Sennett:
“An eagle-eyed reader will have noticed that the word creativity appears in this book as little as possible. This is because the word carries too much Romantic baggage — the mystery of inspiration, the claims of genius. I have sought to eliminate some of the mystery by showing how intuitive leaps happen, in the reflections people make on the actions of their own hands or in the use of tools. I have sough to draw craft and art together, because all techniques contain expressive implications. This is true of making a pot; it is also and equally true of raising a child.” (290).
I talk more about this in my post Craft and art; arts and craft, but I want to specifically mention one lack of story craft in Mormon fiction that I see and that I plan to write about at some point: the lack of good endings. Even some of the best Mormon novels written so far, even novels that I really, really like, the endings are often lacking. Some are majorly lacking; some just have minor issues. But I do think, as Stephen points out that it isn’t that these aren’t good writers or even experienced writers — it’s simply a lack of technique.
And perhaps a lack of good editors to wring the better ending out of them.
December 16th, 2008 at 5:10 pm
.
We all have things to learn; the question is whether we are willing so suffer for it. And I don’t mean suffer in the my-soul-aches arteesty way, but in the working-hard,-fingers-bleeding kind of way.
Takes time.
December 16th, 2008 at 6:17 pm
Angela,
The myth of the Writer Genius is undiscriminating. I saw it at much among my MFA colleagues as I do in Mormon circles.
But you do bring up a good point. After all, our foundational book was written in one draft over a period of only a few months. Could that give the myth more weight in our culture?
December 16th, 2008 at 9:33 pm
A timely post. While I’ve been writing and publishing non-fiction for 30 years now, I’ve stumbled in my various attempts at fiction. I’m inching along on a few novels right now, and just within the past few weeks I realized that if I can’t summarize the stories I’m trying to tell as interesting stories (not as a book synopsis) in a paragraph or two, then I don’t know what the hell I’m writing about.
I’ve ordered McGee’s book from Amazon and should have it by Friday. Thanks! ..bruce..
December 17th, 2008 at 8:44 am
I’ve been thinking about what I think is essentially the same problem in a different context: the Myth of the Five-Minute Choir. We just seem culturally allergic to the notion that good art requires hard work of any kind. I’d write about it more, but I’m still too angry from the annual butchering of Handel’s Messiah to say anything without swearing.
December 17th, 2008 at 8:57 am
For those with craft, there is publishing. For those with Writer’s Genius, there are free blogs.
You can definitely tell a true writer from a hack. One successful book or article is very different from developing a habit of success.
But I think it goes beyond writing, and into all areas of art. Coming up with a hit song is very different from decades of publishing songs – or writing songs that people enjoy decades or centuries later.
Then again, how does this justify the continual success of Pilgrim’s Progress????
December 17th, 2008 at 9:09 am
Kristine–Five Minute Choir! I know!
December 17th, 2008 at 7:48 pm
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December 17th, 2008 at 10:14 pm
I loved this post. I need to get a copy of that screenwriting book. I believed in the myth of the writer genius for a long time.
Part of this was fueled by the enthusiasm of teachers when I accidentally got something right. And part of it was pure ego. I really think that humility is so important to the writing process… the more humble I am, so that I see myself and my writing clearly, the better a writer I am.
Another thing I’ve been thinking about: I feel like essays are an easier genre than stories, as far as craft goes. What do others think? Do I think that just because I’ve had more experience (and success) with the essay genre, and very little with stories? Is there something inherently easier about one genre’s craft than another’s? Does anyone else agree with me that poetry is the hardest of all?
December 17th, 2008 at 10:20 pm
OK, OK, I’ve finally ordered the McKee book… For me, part of my problem is that I write fiction a lot for self-enjoyment and self-expression, so I’m not totally professionalized yet in my focus on suitably engaging and entertaining a reader.
December 18th, 2008 at 8:03 am
About freaking time, Chris. I’ve been on you about that for at least two years.
December 18th, 2008 at 8:12 am
Emily,
Essays are easier than fiction for me too. Mostly because when I write an essay I have a limited experience set to choose from. When I enter fictionland, I often feel overwhelmed by the fact that ANYTHING can happen. After all, I’m making it up. Having constraints is helpful for me.
But at the same time, if you read any of my personal essays, you’ll see that they are shameless in their use of fiction tools. I think the more you can get the tools of fiction into any kind of writing, the more people will enjoy it, and the deeper you’ll be able to dig.
December 18th, 2008 at 8:28 am
For me, I think part of the resistance–or, not resistance so much as the not getting around to it–to seriously studying writing craft is that it feels like making a leap to considering myself a writer, Writer. For that, I think I’d have to be a lot better than I am (which, I guess, would entail reading the books–isn’t there a Joseph Heller novel that describes this sort of endless loop
?)
December 18th, 2008 at 9:02 am
You mentioned architecture twice, and it is true because architecture schools are breeding grounds for Design Geniuses. Their leader and hero is Frank Lloyd Wright. You must wear all black, have a beverage in your hand at all times, and condescendingly look down upon almost everything you see, except for other Design Geniuses whom you worship.
I think your thesis has application to all the fine arts. Especially in the Church. I call it the ‘Calling syndrome’ that in many cases carries over to our work and/or hobbies. The Calling syndrome is the celebration and embracing of mediocrity. There is no ability to publicly offer a real critique since it is a calling. Ward choirs are really bad. I’ve only had one good choir director that demanded excellence as a prerequisite to feeling the Spirit. Stake choirs too. Like Kristine, our stake did Handel’s Messiah last year. It was on par with a high school production or worse and received a standing ovation. No one can critique it as being terrible without being called a snob because the director and musicians ‘tried really hard’ and ‘put a lot of time into it’, so they only deserve praise. We are mediocre and non-professionals in everything we do in the Church, and that creates a culture, I believe, that carries to the arts we listen to, read, and purchase. If we remove all our inhibitions, we can easily say that most of our church buildings are mediocre, most of our Church music (including the MoTab) is mediocre, and most of our speaking in Church (including Gen Conf) is mediocre. We are currently thriving in a culture of this, and it is affecting everything we do.
December 18th, 2008 at 10:22 am
Just for the record, the writer genius has emerged in Japan via the cell phone. This week’s New Yorker has an article on it: housewife with nothing to do write an autobiographical novel, posts it on web site, gets picked up by publisher, gets movie made.
It makes me think that one way to get yourself published is to tell an interesting story about HOW you wrote your story. Would Christopher Paolini be anywhere near as famous if he wasn’t 16 when he published Eragon?
December 18th, 2008 at 12:53 pm
“For those with craft, there is publishing. For those with Writer’s Genius, there are free blogs.” Brilliantly put, Rameumptom. But there are obviously still a horde of “writer genius” types who end up published (Christopher Paolini, to take Stephen’s example—not much by way of originality, but wrote it when he was young enough to turn heads for sheer volume, right?).
Stephen, you mention that the majority of fiction you’ve read has been without story. I’ve been mulling this idea around, and wondering what the criteria for a “good read” ought to be. I mean, “makeup on a cadaver” can be pretty interesting, can’t it? Even morbidly exciting?
December 18th, 2008 at 2:34 pm
As a loyal fan of Edward Gorey and Tim Burton, I would agree that makeup on a cadaver can be interesting. But what if the camera stayed trained on the inert, made-up cadaver for two hours, Warhol-like? If you’re going to put makeup on a cadaver, there had better be a very interesting reason.
December 18th, 2008 at 2:43 pm
I know I’m a little late to this conversation, but I think creative nonfiction is much harder than fiction. There’s the whole truth thing, for one–I feel a sense of release when I write fiction and have the freedom to create any possibility, and I feel a little hamstrung by nonfiction and worried that I’m not presenting the truthiest truth available.
I also think it’s harder to avoid didacticism in personal essays. I see this a lot (especially with Mormon writers?). We have a “point” and then a few little anecdotes to “illuminate the point” and the whole thing ends up with the feel of a church talk instead of a more nuanced personal essay that employs many of the same elements that fiction does (scene, dialogue, etc.)
And I still need to buy that book. Maybe with my Christmas money.
December 18th, 2008 at 2:49 pm
Angela, that’s just plain scary–I think I wrote the exact same thing as a post while you were typing it as a comment.
December 18th, 2008 at 2:52 pm
green mormon architect,
I’m inclined to agree with you on all counts.
One thing I find very interesting is your inclusion of MoTab and GenConference talks, because, in those instances, the usual explanations–lack of professionalism, inadequacy of preparation time, etc.–don’t work. One has to wonder if simply becoming accustomed to a low standard makes us somehow incapable of achieving better, *even when we expend enough time, resources, and talent*. Do we just forget what excellence looks like??
December 18th, 2008 at 3:30 pm
Kristine, yes, totally scary. First we both read _Thirteen is Too Young to Die_ as preadolescents, now this! Did we know each other in the preexistence???
December 18th, 2008 at 3:37 pm
Angela,
Hmmm. Methinks me feels a post coalescing on personal essays.
But for now. At the very beginning of my MFA program I took a class on dramatic writing from a documentary filmmaker. I was kinda disappointed that he was a documentary filmmaker because they just sorta, you know, film stuff and paste it together.
Now, seven years later (oh my gosh, has it really been that long?), in the midst of editing a documentary film of my own, I’m starting to see that making a story from real life is much more difficult than making one from scratch. It took 125 hours of video tape to capture enough of these people’s lives to make a good 1 hour story.
How many times have I thought, “If ONLY I had a scene with THIS in it!” Nope, I can only use what I have.
December 19th, 2008 at 1:06 pm
If I may throw out another point on this issue. I often hear disparaging things said about ‘Mormon literature’. I usually agree with most of what is said. However, what I don’t agree with is when I hear the blame being placed on the ‘Mormon authors’.
Do we really not have any Mormon authors who know the craft of writing? Are we all just a bunch of knuckleheads when it comes to placing pen to paper? I feel it is important to examine the whole picture. I personally place the blame for the state of Mormon fiction squarely on Mormon publishers, not Mormon authors.
Think about it. There are a lot of Mormon authors producing a lot of Mormon fiction. They send in their manuscripts, both good and bad, to two, maybe three Mormon publishing companies. These three companies, with their handful of editors, decide what books become ‘Mormon Fiction’. These few editors are the ones who declare what is ‘Mormon fiction’.
But aren’t these books representative of all the manuscripts sent in to publishers? Aren’t these books the best of the best? Absolutely not. I attended a conference where one of the head editors from Deseret Book stood up and said, “We are not interested in publishing good books. We are interested in publishing books that are marketable.” They are a business, and they have to print what sells. It’s hard to take a risk and publish something different, when publishers already know that the standard fare, suspense/romance, sells so well.
All I ask is that you don’t look at the books on the shelves at your local DB or Seagull, and say, “this is the best Mormon authors have to offer.” Because it’s not. What is on the shelf is what sells. What is on the shelf is a safe bet. But I personally know of LDS authors who have written books that broke the mold, books I think are much better than the ’standard fare’ we see. But those authors got rejection letters. They were told they should stick to writing more of the same.
What we need is not good writers. I’m convinced that we have those. What we need is a better means of distribution, to get those good stories out to the hands of people who are hungry for them, whether they know it or not.
December 19th, 2008 at 3:27 pm
It’s called independent publishing and ebooks, neither of which alternative I have seen approached in LDS Writerland (except once), much less thoughtfully considered.
December 19th, 2008 at 8:40 pm
Matthew,
Would you please have these friends of yours send their work into Zarahemla books? Well-written “break the mold” stuff is exactly what that publisher is looking for.
December 19th, 2008 at 10:37 pm
It’s so interesting to me, Angela, that you find fiction easier going than essays. Maybe it’s because I use writing as therapy; I don’t know. I just like figuring myself out when I write.
And I think I need to study fiction craft more. I had some really great essay writing teachers in college (Tessa, the Plummers), but although I took some creative writing classes, I never got a feel for the craft of fiction. I wish I could take your class!
March 11th, 2009 at 8:16 am
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October 17th, 2009 at 12:45 am
A fantastic read….very literate and informative. Many thanks….what theme is this you are using and also, where is your RSS button ?
December 31st, 2009 at 8:55 am
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