On writing - ahem, quite well

I am currently reading –

Scratch that. I don’t need the word “currently.” Simplify. Begin again.

I am reading On Writing Well: The Classic Guide to Writing Nonfiction by William Zinnser, which is insightful and, more importantly, relatable. Zinnser’s own struggles with writing—the hard graft of editing and rewriting—give me hope.

I’ve been drawn to writing for as long as I could write. Growing up I wrote journals, fairy stories and lengthy letters to loved ones, many of which I’ve never sent; I simply articulate my feelings best when I write them down. If forced to list my talents, writing would be top, but for a long time I’ve worried that because I don’​t sit down and have a couple of thousand effortlessly spill out of me, I'm not a writer. Not a real one, anyway.

Surely real writers spend their days scribbling for the sheer joy of scribbling, their minds brimming with ideas and stories to tell the world. I’m not that person. I doubt. I procrastinate. Sometimes—I say wincing—I don’t even feel like writing.

As soon as I began reading Zinnser’s book, a weight lifted. He assures us early on that that are different kinds of writers and methods, but for him writing “wasn’t easy and wasn’t fun,” rather it was “hard and lonely, and the words seldom flowed.” ​

According to Zinnser, “writing is a craft, not an art”; rewriting is what writing is all about, and as his narrative creeps further away from the notion of creative bursts, I heave a sigh of relief. And read on.

In Chapter Four, I see myself.

“See how stiffly [a writer] sits, glaring at the screen that awaits his words,” he says. “See how often he gets up to look for something to eat or drink. A writer will do anything to avoid the act of writing.”

I think of the amount of coffee I’ve drunk while writing, or the amount of times I stop to play with the cats, rethinking, rewriting, stopping, rethinking again.

“You think of all the people who will read it,” says Zinnser.

I nod.

“You think that its style must dazzle.”

YES.

“No wonder you tighten,” he says, “you are so busy thinking of your awesome responsibility… you can’t even start.”

Amen to that. While I’ve taken over an hour longer than planned to write this post, instead of feeling ashamed, I feel encouraged and understood. I feel at home in Zinnser’s company.

Zinnser sold over a million copies of On Writing Well (according to its cover) and published a total of 18 titles. If my natural traits are not all that dissimilar to him, I’ll keep the faith.