Teaching the Writing Craft
What are writers looking for in their craft guides? A discussion on Anne Lamott's classic writing craft guide, Bird by Bird.
I recently reconceptualized the Good Story Company book club from a list of random and delightful selections across fiction categories into Read Like a Writer, which is now fully invested in reading writing craft and resource nonfiction books, as well as any outstanding fiction examples of storytelling techniques that are worth examining. (Immediately after I made this decision, I got an email about the AutoCrit book club, which would start studying … writing guides. Ha! There must be something in the air.)
My first selection, since I was feeling nostalgic, was Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott. Returning to this classic, and trying not to let the whole “25th anniversary edition” thing make me feel old, was like going back into the fold of a childhood friendship. I remembered this book as warm, reassuring, and full of random anecdotes, inside jokes, and snippets of insight.
Well, I was SHOOK by the sentiment in the book club room when we met to discuss it. SHOOK. You could’ve knocked me over with one of the aforementioned Bird’s feathers. But also, double-shook1 (if that’s a thing) that I agreed.
I don’t know about you, but I often spend book club meetings either talking myself out of a book I thought I liked, or talking myself into a book I didn’t consider all that great. Basically, if I believed I loved it, I start seeing the flaws. The inverse is also true, and I spot redeeming qualities to a book that I thought was just okay. Well, to my surprise, I saw this happening with Bird by Bird as the discussion got rolling.
Dear reader—I was in the minority at book club. WHAT! At my own book club? With my own selection? But hey, as an editor, you have to be comfortable getting feedback, not just giving it, so I hunkered down to prove everyone wrong patiently hear their perspective. (Ahem.)
Taking a Second Look
The session started off tamely enough. A few of us loved Anne’s storytelling, anecdotes, sense of humor, and dogged encouragement of writers and the writing process. Bird by Bird is structured like a peek into one of Anne’s writing classes. Some of her comments are packaged as if being delivered directly to her students. This gives off a sense of being a fly on the wall.
I, personally, like this because I was raised by my dad, a roguish storyteller, actor, and ne'er-do-well. He could weave a yarn, and that’s why some of us tolerated him. (Not my mom, alas!) I also grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area and have a pretty high tolerance for woo-woo-white-lady-dreadlocks-houseboat-living’ Anne Lamott, though some of her later books have struck me as treading and retreading the same five topics.
In fact, by talking so much about my personal relationship to Bird by Bird, my emotional reactions to reading it, etc., I’m approaching this article much like Anne approaches this book on writing. Instead of offering a critical analysis of the work, I’m giving you a “reaction piece,” or more accurately, a “reaction to the reaction piece.”
My frequent collaborator and fellow editor, Kristen Overman avoided saying anything for the first 20 minutes of book club, and that often portends a spicy take. When I pushed the issue—”Kristen! Why are you so quiet over there!”—I got my answer, both barrels.
She said that Bird by Bird made Anne Lamott seem not only self-aggrandizing but completely out of touch with modern publishing reality. And then someone else chimed in and agreed. Then another person. And another!
Looking Past Nostalgia
First, I’ll tackle the obvious complaint—that the book is dated. And it is. It really, really is. Bird by Bird makes it seem as if the publishing industry of yore still exists; an era when an editor would gamely pull on their waders, splash over to a hermit writer’s houseboat, and juice a masterpiece out of their neurotic brain. To be clear, this rarely happened back in the day. Now, it almost never happens unless you’ve already proven that you can make that editor’s employer a lot of money. If Colleen Hoover was to have a breakdown, you better believe that resources would flock her way.
Modern publishing is a corporate business. Books are products. Profit is king. Sure, this isn’t the case in every corner of the industry, but those honest presses that support art and artists for their own sake are few and far between. There’s also a never-ending influx of eager “content creators” (this includes writers!) cranking out manuscripts, so it’s easier than ever for a gatekeeper to say “no” because they figure there are about ten thousand other projects in their inboxes at any given moment.
For instance, Anne didn’t really talk about getting a literary agent. Instead, she shared frustrating conversations she had with her agent, as if having an agent is a foregone conclusion. The secret sauce to landing literary representation seems to be … well, we wouldn’t know from reading Bird by Bird. She wrote a novel, sold it, then wrote another, and another, and so on. Her big struggle seemed to be nailing that next book, instead of getting the chance to play the game in the first place.
This is one of the biggest changes that has come to publishing in the last 30 years, I think. The gatekeeper has only grown in importance. They can either accept or reject a manuscript, and thus decide whether or not a writer can publish in the first place. (The self-publishing industry, in part, is a reaction to this and allows writers to reclaim control—though it comes with its own pitfalls.)
We can’t just do whatever the hell we want as writers anymore (outside of the person churning out indie projects, and the occasional truly “literary” writer, because everything now has a label and marketing category) because we need to “write to market”2 and work on our “author platforms.” Writing for publication doesn’t seem as free or as fun as it was when Anne got her start. As such, the 1994 version of her isn’t able to provide much actionable advice for writers aspiring to publish, other than, “Oh, stop worrying about publication and just write.” (This is obviously paraphrased.)
While that’s actually quite wise, and I’ve also had to tell writers to stop focusing on the outcome and learn to enjoy the journey or they’ll go nuts, I think the natural reaction is: “Well that’s easy for you to say, Miss Multi-Book-Contract-In-Your-Twenties.” Because the playing field has changed profoundly and undeniably. Most people no longer write what they’re called to write, but try to write what they think they can sell.
As I re-read Bird by Bird, I think I hand-waved a lot of those disconnects away. We’re romanticizing the publishing past! We’re nostalgic for the ’90s! It’s a whole vibe! Everyone is FedExing paper manuscripts, then calling editors on the telephone!
Well, crap. Kristen and the others nailed this. In the same vein was Kristen’s reaction to Anne’s idea of the “shitty first draft.”
Killing the Shitty First Draft Goose
Now, I have to say that I disagree with Kristen about some elements of her argument, and agree elsewhere. Kristen totally disagrees with Anne’s characterization of “shitty first drafts.” This is perhaps the most controversial complaint, as I know many writers who love the freedom that Anne’s advice seems to bestow. Anne’s basic argument is that you should write whatever, call it a “shitty first draft,” and fix it later. Obviously, there’s a bit more nuance to it than that, but this is the gist.
It encourages writers, sets up accountability, and obliterates perfectionism. Overall, that seems like great advice! Kristen disagrees. She sees this loosey-goosey (I’m really running with the goose/golden egg image here) draft as “journaling.” She does make sure to say that she supports journaling fully, and that it’s an underrated method for getting to the first draft … but …
Well, I’ll let Kristen explain:
“The way Anne Lamott describes it, she makes it sound like all that random shit should be thrown into the first draft to be edited out or rewritten later. The problem is—which she shows through her bouts with her editor—1. beginning writers don't know how to self-edit that well, to identify the true nuggets and know what to scrap. and 2. Nobody has that kind of time to write 12 drafts before they get to a somewhat compelling story. The writers we work with have full-time jobs. They're writing on the fringes of their days, getting up early to get 30 minutes or an hour in, scribbling at lunch, even dictating to their phones while they drive. Butt-in-chair still stands. But the opportunity for that but- in-chair [time] can be limited.
To make the most of time available, write a rough outline. Then journal. Then draft. This will create less shitty, more productive drafts. And journaling gets all those ideas in one place, which prevents drowning in a sea of notecards.”
Well played, Kristen. I think this puts a nice modifier on the idea of the “shitty first draft” without obliterating it altogether, and maybe if Bird by Bird was updated and more focused, it could have added these layers to this concept.
I think the format of the book is potentially problematic, too. What is Bird by Bird supposed to be, after all, and are our expectations of it to blame?
Memoir, Mentorship, or Manual?
Bird by Bird offers memoir content, encouragement, and practical advice (though a lot of the particulars are now less relevant). In trying to do all of these various things, did this guide spread itself too thin? I’d say the burden of providing writing guidance is right there in the subtitle: Some Instructions on Writing and Life. This might be why some members of the book club didn’t think it did enough. Overall, I think the varied reactions all go back to expectations.
If we read this like a memoir, Kristen’s reaction about Anne’s self-aggrandizing self-insertion could be spot on. Anne seems to have that addict-former-addict’s tendency to romanticize the mess of living life on the edge of sanity. She freely admits it but she also seems to … like it a bit too much. And in Bird by Bird, we get lots of Anne Lamott’s stream of consciousness.
Kristen also pointed out that Anne didn’t seem to have much of a character arc in this story—which is hilarious to me, because Kristen will legitimately psychoanalyze everyone according to where they are in their hero’s cycle. She once told me, as I complained about a personal problem, that I was in my “dark night of the soul” and should get down to “assembling the team.” Don’t get me wrong, as a story nerd, I love this about her.
And she’s not wrong. There isn’t much growth. There’s maybe even some glamorization of self-defeating behavior, mental illness, etc. If this is intended to be a memoir, it’s not a very good one, because we lack that strong growth and redemption arc that’s expected from contemporary examples. The anecdotes are also scattered. One book club member made a joke about yelling “SQUIRREL!”3 because Anne jumps around so much.
It’s pretty easy to let go of our expectation that we’re reading a memoir, though, since Bird by Bird is very much packaged as a writing manifesto. Now we’re left with a more specific question—is this a work of mentorship, or a writing and publishing manual?
I think there’s a difference between a “mentorship” and a “manual.” As I see it, a mentor encourages a novice and makes them feel like they’re on the right track. While the mentor might not necessarily provide the student with a nuanced blueprint, they’re a good cheerleader. A “manual,” on the other hand, provides detailed, step-by-step instructions for accomplishing a desired task.
By being a hybrid memoir-mentorship-manual, Bird by Bird doesn’t offer much aside from warm fuzzies and a hit of nostalgia. The memoir stuff is hit-or-miss, the mentorship feels very nice, and is perhaps where Anne Lamott succeeds the most, but there isn’t much here in the way of a manual.
So, is the heartfelt mentorship this book offers enough? After all, reading Untamed by Glennon Doyle, for example, feels nice, and validating, but does that book help us change our own worlds? One book club member said something along the lines of “I want to learn how to write and publish a book. I don’t have time for this shit.”
Have we moved on, as a writing culture, from meditating on the craft and tolerating quirky stories about Bolinas, California? Do we want the manual, and are we frustrated when we don’t get practical, step-by-step advice? Or is it impossible to boil the art and craft of writing down to a checklist?4 Bird by Bird is more of a meander. Are we too focused on getting where we’re going to enjoy the journey anymore?
HONEST QUESTION, READERS: What do you like? Personal-essay-as-example? Encouragement? Or actionable advice? All of the above? What’s the ideal mix for you?
P.S. Luckily, our next Read Like a Writer book club pick is both modern and full of actionable advice: Before and After the Book Deal by Courney Maum.
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shook-squared?
I am completely contributing to this problem in my work as an IP developer, because there, we focus on the premise, the concept, the tropes, the market potential, and all of these other ideas that run counter to creating “little weirdos of the heart,” which are the books that come to fruition in a more organic way.
A reference to the Pixar movie, Up!, and a dog that’s constantly distracted.
As someone who writes writing guides and develops how to resources, I am constantly struggling with this uneasy balance between the creative and the prescriptive, the general and the specific.