I get a lot of emails from people who want to be a writer but don’t know how to do it.
They say: I’m worried I’m too old to be a writer.
- Or: I don’t have a degree in English, so I can’t be a writer.
- Or: I didn’t do any creative writing courses, so I can’t be a writer.
- Or: I don’t know what to write about, so I can’t be a writer.
- Or: my parents want me to do something more appropriate (career, marriage, settle down), so I can’t be a writer.
Do you think I can be a writer?
That’s what they ask me. Huge preface of all the reasons why they can’t be a writer, followed by that question.
So consider this my blanket statement on the subject.
This is my perennial answer to the question:
Can I be a writer?
From now until forever, I will refer all who ask me this question to this answer.
No, you cannot be a writer.
Let that answer sit with you for a moment.
How do you feel?
Relieved? Disappointed? Indignant? Angry?
And what are you going to do about it?
Are you going to write anyway?
I haven’t granted you permission. I haven’t given you my blessing. I haven’t pumped you up with feel-good motivational platitudes. I’ve told you that you cannot be a writer. Your dream is an impossible one and you might as well give up. Don’t even bother thinking about starting.
If you’re destined to be a writer, you’re going to ignore me. You’re going to write anyway. In fact, you’ll write a long rant about how wrong, misguided, unfair, and mean I am. This rant may turn into a short story. It might become a poem. I might become a character – a villain, a secondary character, or an idea personified – in your novel. You anger might turn into an essay, a personal attack on authority, a scathing critique of corrupt educators, a diatribe on how blind the bulk of society is today.
If you’re destined to be a writer, the thought of being too old won’t pop into your head. You’ll scoff at the idea. Too old to express yourself? Too old to create art? Too old to offer comfort? Too old to entertain? Too old to ponder, persuade, and explore? Impossible.
And, should the concern of being too old announce itself on the fringe of your unconscious, you’ll immediately comfort yourself with the knowledge that you’re in fine company whatever age you start writing. After all, Toni Morrison wrote her first novel at thirty-six, didn’t she? She won the Pulitzer almost a decade later, and over two decades later she was awarded the Nobel Prize. And didn’t Ian Fleming pen his first Bond novel at age forty-four? He was the same age as Raymond Chandler when he first started writing, and just a year old than Bram Stoker was when he wrote Dracula. And what about that George R. R. Martin chap who didn’t hit it big until his sixties? He must be having a blast right about now.
If you’re destined to be a writer, you’ll either go back to school or you won’t. Which you choose doesn’t make a difference. George Orwell didn’t go to university because his parents couldn’t afford to send him. Haruki Murakami studied drama at university, but then went on to run a jazz bar for all of his twenties. Ray Bradbury hardly finished high school, let alone university. He scorned universities and praised libraries. And didn’t an early life filled with sexual abuse result in Maya Angelou not being able to speak for five years? She didn’t go to university, worked as a prostitute, and only began writing when she approached forty. And let’s not forget Charles Dickens. University? His family lived in debtors’ prison and he spent his formative years working horrendous factory jobs. And Cormac McCarthy made it to university but dropped out twice! William Faulkner dropped out too, right?
If you’re destined to be a writer, you’re going to take one look at those creative writing courses and realise that most of the instructors have never written a day in their life. You’re a better writer than they are! How dare they lead a course on writing? You should be the one teaching that course! Once you get done working on your current book, that is.
If you’re destined to be a writer, you’ll write whether your parents like it or not. You’ll write whether your friends think you’re a nerd or not. You’ll write whether it’s ‘sensible’ or not. You’ll write whether you make money or not. It’s your life, not their life. And suppose they forbid you from writing. Suppose they threaten to disown you should you pursue writing. You write anyway. Nobody knows what you’re doing on your computer. Or if you’re being monitored, they’re watching over your shoulder, or you don’t even have a computer (which makes you reading this response a tad unlikely), notebooks are cheap and readily available.
Suppose you can’t even afford a notebook and pen. Steal them. Then write in whatever snatches of privacy you can capture. Write when you wake up or before you go to bed. Write in the bathroom. Write anywhere for however long you can. And if you can’t write on paper, write in your mind. The Nazis stole Viktor Frankl’s manuscript, burnt it, and threw him in a concentration camp. Frankl spent his time in Auschwitz rewriting his papers in is mind. However oppressed you are, you’ll find a way to write if you want it bad enough. When women weren’t read on account of their sex, they adopted male names. George Eliot’s real name was Mary Ann Evans. Jane Austen published anonymously. Ann Radcliffe did the same for her first two books, then revealed herself and swiftly became the best selling writer in England, making mounds of money to boot.
If you’re destined to be a writer, it doesn’t matter whether I or anybody else thinks you can or not. But, for the record, I honestly hope you write.
Write today. And tomorrow. And the day after. Become a writer. You do that by writing. Write about anything you love. Or hate. Write about what moves you. Write about what you want to see in the world. The world needs more writers. Just like the world needs more painters, pianists, and performers. We need more people making art, telling their story, and being a light unto the world. At the very least, we need more people having a damn good time. And some of the best times I’ve ever had have been writing.
So what are you waiting for? Whose permission do you need? If it’s mine, I think you know you’ve got it by now. Go tap into that fire. Get to writing.
Yes, you can be a writer.