Question: When do you become the authority on a subject? Maybe too broad a question, so let me scale it down. When do you gain enough experience to have the authority to pass it down? I’m sure if you’re a lumberjack, then the process and techniques involved in *felling a tree, I imagine, are quite simple to follow and, with practice, master. Same could be said about riding a horse, shooting heroin, mastering the perfect punch, walking a tightrope, and various other mindless activities and professions. The only two things that can’t be passed down, regardless of how much exposure you’ve had to either, or how good you are at them, are, in no particular order, falling in love and writing. There, I said it; we can’t teach writing. Well, we can, but to be great at [writing] the skill has to be there to begin with. Much like love, you need to really feel it within every part of you. Yes, corny as it sounds, writing has to make you nauseous, cause you to do stupid things, and become obsessed to the point of madness. Even then, you’ll end up getting your heart broken. Writing is, for want of a better term, a sickness, and while many profess to know the secret to assuaging the illness, many do not. What worked for them, will surely not work for you.

The reason. That’s the simple part. We’re all different. I’ve begun to hate this methodology that abiding by a set amount of rules will enable you to write the perfect novel. There are lists and lists out there with the same old crap, crap that I refuse to write here in case someone, anyone, reading this decides to follow. I promise you I will not go down that road. But that is not to say these rules shouldn’t be read, but just as quickly as you’ve digested each, they should be pooped out of the system. Don’t believe anyone who says they know the secret to writing. They don’t. Writers are magicians. They trick you. Slight of hand. They mislead you into believing the impossible is possible. They mystify you with words, deceive you with syntax. They’ll convince you that what they say and do is magic, when really the only magic they posses is the ability to influence you.
I’ve fallen foul of this myself. I’ve believed that adverbs is a mortal sin, that I should never, ever use the words "suddenly" or "all hell broke loose". That when in doubt, strike the adjective out. That I mustn’t do anything with the story/novel, unless I revise, revise, revise. It’s occurred to me that I’ve actually broken the promise that I wouldn’t write down any of these writing tips, so please disregard all I’ve said from the line, “I’ve fallen foul of this myself” and pick up again from this point.

Back with me? Okay, let’s move on. I’ve also, at one stage or another, given my own tips on bettering your writing. How pretentious! Me, with only a novel, short story collection, and various publications in anthologies, journals and magazines under my belt, telling you, a complete stranger how to write. Fuck me. No, it’s wrong of me to say such things. I don’t know what will work for you. I don’t know what technique suits your style. I certainly don’t know how best to get what’s in your head out onto the paper, least not without the aid of a gun. Those seeking ways of improving are clearly spending too much time reading about how to be a better writer than writing to be a better writer. That sounds like advice. It’s not. It’s an observation. To veer away from the misunderstanding I maybe giving advice here, be clear that I have no interest in such things, but I will add that a whore makes her money being a great fuck. A lousy whore needs to fuck more or get out the business. I’m sure I could make that more concise and it would be quote worthy, but to be frank, that would be leaning too far toward advice again.

For me, there’s little I can’t learn from reading. Some books inspire me, some depress me, and not in a good way. Some are so depressing it makes me want to write something better. Most are average. I then sit and write. Some days I write crap. Some days I write crap that has potential. Some days I write average. But every now and then, I write something good. It’s not tips or advice that’s done this, it’s me. It’s my brain. It’s all the accumulative hours spent tapping at the keyboard. It’s stealing lines from other books, lyric, dialogue from a movie, rearranging the words, adding my own slant on it, and then re-packaging it. Most of what we do as writers is the equivalent of Mexican food: the content is the same, it’s just the way it’s presented which differs. There’s no real secret about this, and what annoys me is there are many so called “experts” out there making money off other writers under the pretence that being under their wing for five weeks will make them a better a writer. All that will do will give you access to a great editor. I’d recommend investing that $500 in getting a professional editor to look at your novel. Then you’ll realise how good or bad you are. Which leads me finally to the most depressing part of this little blog entry: Most of you cannot write.

Regardless of how much time and energy you put into that project, you’ll never be that good. Whoever said every person has at least one novel in them should be shot. You don’t. At best, you have a decent short story, if you’re lucky, but the majority of writers out there have little to say and even less skill to say it. Sorry. But that’s the truth. Some may class myself in that unsympathetic summary, and maybe they’re right, but at the moment, I’m getting enough interest thrown my way that I’m willing to keep pushing for a little longer. I feel sorry for editors though. I truly do. Having to sift through the stacks of toilet fodder that someone, in a moment of absolute psychosis, believed was worthy of labelling a novel must be soul-destroying. I doff my hat to each and every one of you. I couldn’t do it. So yes, fledging writers of the world unite and give up. Honestly. It’s not worth losing your marriage over or missing out on seeing your kid ride their bicycle without the stabilizers or taking their first steps. Seriously, it’s not. This business is only for the insane, the selfish, the broken and the delusional. Be a good person and make the world a better place. Don’t think your writing will.

Back to the question: I personally have no idea when you’re allowed to say these things. I have no concept of when you’re good enough to be that arrogant you can pass down advice. Unlike their ability to wax lyrical on how to improve your writing, no author teaches you when you keep your mouth shut and when to open it.

Now there’s a course I may sign up for.

*Felling (taken from: http://www.woodlands.co.uk/blog/pract...)

The first cut is the sink cut (front of tree) which controls the direction of the fall. It’s done in two parts using the bottom of the guide bar. The cuts should not be more than one quarter of the tree’s diameter.

Cut downwards at an angle of 45 degrees (60 degrees if downhill) ensuring the guide bar is at 90 degrees to the intended direction of the fall. This cut may be less than 45 degrees if felling over raised obstructions so that the hinge may break earlier.

The second part of the sink cut is horizontal and must meet the 45 (or 60) degree cut exactly.

Start the felling cut (back of tree) by aligning the guide bar slightly above the bottom of the sink cut, ensuring that you are standing to the side of the tree when making this cut. Stop cutting when there is a parallel strip of uncut timber not less than 1/10th of the diameter of the tree. This is the “hinge”. The tree should now start to fall, so move quickly out of the way to your safe place.

If the tree does not fall, do not cut further into the hinge. Use a felling lever or wedge. To use a felling lever, stand firmly with both hands on the lever, knees bent and back straight, lift upwards using your leg muscles. To use a wedge, insert the wedge into the felling cut opposite to the felling direction and drive it in using a sledge hammer.