The poet Maggie Smith spoke at my local bookshop recently, on tour for her new book Dear Writer, a book of writing advice. I showed up because I’d just finished her memoir, You Could Make This Place Beautiful.
Did you notice the diversity? She identifies as a poet and essayist, but has written a memoir and now a prescriptive nonfiction book on writing. Oh, she’s also written a journal (Keep Moving). In the talk, she mentioned that she’s working on new projects as well. She is constantly stretching her comfort zone.
What if we emulate her, with confidence in our strengths and willingness to branch out and see where it takes us?
Writers often identify as only one type of writer, and the incentives to keep doing that are powerful.
Yet, branching out can help us in many ways. Here are a few that come to mind.
Nurture your identity as a writer
When people only do one kind of writing, they often discount that skill, leading to strange comparisons with other writers, such as:
“I only write technical explanations … I’m not a real writer.”
Or,
“I only write poems, not books.”
Or,
“I write mysteries, not literary fiction.”
We may feel like there’s an unwritten hierarchy of writing, and whatever rung we’re on isn’t high enough.
To which I say, “Bah!”
That’s like saying that real gardeners grow vegetables, while you only grow flowers — or the other way around. Both kinds of gardeners coax life out of the soil. They may use different strategies, but one isn’t inherently worthier than the other. Whether you nurture a small vegetable patch or are part of a crew tending a large, formal garden, you’re gardening.
By experimenting with other types of writing, you reinforce the broader sense of yourself as a real writer—whatever that means to you. And, like planting a pumpkin in your flower bed, you might end up with a delightful harvest.
Cross-train for craft
Early in his career, the humorist Dave Barry spent seven years teaching business writing at major corporations. (I learned that from the review of his memoir.) That experience made him pay greater attention to detail, and how shifts in words and structure affect tone.
If you always write nonfiction, what would happen if you try your hand at poetry? You might pay more attention to the rhythm of your prose, or play with internal rhymes or assonance.
Changing genres is like cross-training. Serious swimmers don’t train only in the water, they work in the weight room. Writing across genres helps us develop strengths that serve us well in our preferred format.
Find new ways to use your voice
You may find that the skills you’ve developed in your everyday writing serve you well in a new format.
For example, Maggie Smith brings a poetic sensibility to her writing that creates a common, connective thread. She includes poems in her memoir and her craft book. Andy Weir wove his skills in explaining science into the fabric of The Martian.
Don’t discount your strengths, even if they don’t seem like a perfect fit. Be confident in your writing voice and bring it with you.
What will you try next?
Do you already write in multiple, diverse genres? If so, think about how each one informs the other. Does this make you a better writer overall?
And if you tend to stick to one type of writing, experiment with something new. You can start with something small.
- If you always write fiction, experiment with flash nonfiction. (See Brevity for inspiring examples.) Or write a few poems.
- If you’re a nonfiction sort, play with flash fiction or short stories, or poetry. (The Dear Writer book has plenty of poetry advice.)
Read first, to get the feel of the genre. Then see what happens when you branch out.
Feel free to share any successes or questions.
Related reading
Books references include Maggie Smith’s Dear Writer and You Could Make This Place Beautiful and Dave Barry’s Class Clown. (If you have not read Dave Barry’s works, I encourage you to do so! He’s delightful.)
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