For early-stage writers, I believe I would be doing you a disservice to charge you for tuition. This is not because I could not help you improve your writing. I’m sure I could. However, the first year or so of a writer’s practice are, I believe, formative to the writer you will become later on. And the last thing you want to do at this stage is to spend too much time worrying about if you’re doing it the right way. You should not worry if you’re doing it the right way. Your only concern should be getting words down on the page, as many as possible, regardless of quality. You should write wildly and freely with good humour about your work. You should also write with a degree of humility. By this, I mean you should not expect to compose your magnum opus before you have even established a stable creative practice. This is not only unlikely, it can be very restrictive and often prevents new writers from ever getting started. If you put too much pressure on yourself to write to a standard you have imagined for yourself but cannot yet attain, you always be disappointed with the results and you will not learn to enjoy the process of writing. And learning to enjoy writing is as crucial to creative success as any other element of craft. It is unlikely that a reader will enjoy your work if you did not derive some enjoyment from writing it. That isn’t to suggest that writing is always ‘fun’. It isn’t. Good writing is a product of personal discipline and extended effort and study. It can sometimes feel arduous, under pressure of looming deadlines, or when what you’re trying to do just won’t work. But overall, experienced writers will find various ways to extract satisfaction from the process of writing. 

I would recommend starting with short-form projects, either short stories or simply writing what could be short scenes from a longer work, before moving on to work on something completely different. I do not believe it is a good idea to immediately set about writing a novel to begin with. A novel-length project can be exhausting, even for experienced writers, and can take years to complete. It is a tall order for an early-stage writer, and, under some circumstances, can become a kind of trap that’s hard to escape. There is an archetype that many workshop participants will recognise: a writer who has been kicking the same long-form project around for years that never seems to get anywhere. They have written and re-written the same four of five chapters over and over again, and they have long since written it into the grave, expunging all life from the text. They are stubbornly committed to the project because it has been with them for so long. But they have long since lost all love for it, although they cannot admit that because of the extensive time they have invested in it. This exact problem prevents many new writers from ever getting anywhere, while they secretly learn to loath the process of writing because their ability level is so out of sync with their idea of themselves as a writer.

Avoid this problem wherever you can.

Fresh work is what keeps a writer moving forward. Fresh ideas and fresh approaches. To begin with, write quickly and move onto something new. Do not saddle yourself with any responsibility, beyond getting words on the page. And try not to become attached to the work. During this early period, consider everything you write to be provisional and immediately disposable should it grind to an unpleasant halt. This is not wasted time. This is learning to write. There will be plenty of time later to agonise and nit-pick and berate yourself about your work (see how much there is to look forward to!). When you do get to that stage, you will have nothing but gratitude for your earliest writing experiences, when it truly did not matter if something was ‘correct’ or otherwise. 

My emphasis on shorter pieces for early-stage writers, and more specifically short stories, is not via a personal preference for shorter work. The best way the see it is like this: as a new writer approaches a higher word count, say 20,000 words, the short story writer will have now completed maybe ten short stories, whereas the novel writer will have completed around one quarter of a novel. So, if both writers have completed the same amount of words, where does the short story writer benefit? The answer, is that the short story writer will have now brought ten whole narratives to completion. This includes learning how to pace and structure a narrative, and, most importantly, how to end it, which can be one of the more demanding tasks in fiction writing. The short story writer will have conceived and formulated ten separate endings, whereas the novel writer will still be roughly 60,000 words away from reaching their first. This gives the short story writer more experience with this element of composition across the same number of words, and ten separate pieces of work across which to note improvements, as each story will contain a whole new narrative with new characters and differing style, which will have likely improved over time. It also allows the writer to move on from imbedded flaws that may have been present in the earlier pieces. They can observe what didn’t quite work in one piece, and work towards avoiding those problems in the next, and so on. 

Of course, all writers should follow their own instincts. And if you’re aching to get going on a novel project straight away, I wouldn’t want to completely discourage that. However, if an early-stage writer isn’t quite sure where to start, or is equally interested in both short- and long-form fiction, I would definitely recommend erring toward the former during that initial period. And for the writer determined to get going on a novel, might I recommend that you don’t make that your sole project. Maybe put it aside for a week here or there to work on something shorter then come back to your longer project later on. So, once more, I would emphasise the benefits of short-form work, to which you do not allow yourself to become overly attached and that you pass by quickly with little thought spared for accuracy.

However, everyone learns and practices differently. And while scribbling with a quill by candlelight like a writer possessed might work for some people, others might find it hard to get started without a little guidance. 

There are lots of ‘How To Write…’ type books on the market. In fact, there are far too many. If you go to your local book store you will find them weighing down the shelves. A small number of these books are valuable resources. They avoid platitudes and are filled with insight and descriptive analysis of existing literature that will help any semi-experienced writer on their way. These books, however, tend to be useful for writers who have been practicing for some time. The larger percentage of ‘How To Write…’ type books, those aimed towards early-stage writers, often leave a lot to be desired. As opposed to the descriptive type, these books fall under what many would call ‘prescriptive’ instruction. What this means, is that they don’t describe how literature can work across a broad and varied literary landscape, so much as tell you how it should  be done. And they can be sneaky. They won’t stand proudly and bellow that fact from a soap-box. They will issue you with rules to follow. But they know that no writer likes to think themselves a rule-abider, so they will euphemistically call them ‘guidelines’ or something similar, while continuing to insist that you follow them. Make no mistake about it, these are rules. You can bend them, break them, and, in some cases, ignore them entirely. But they are there and they are real. These rules are not naturally divined nor passed down from the heavens, but are the result of the conventions of centuries of narrative art which we have all, by varying degree, been conditioned to accept as transcendent. These rules make themselves felt through the kind of writing publishers look for, what’s available across televisual media, and through the attitudes of the general public, who have absorbed conventional narrative form throughout their lives to such an intense degree that many will not entertain the notion of engaging with narrative art that does not conform to those increasingly narrow standards. 

Another problem with a number of these books is that they are not always intended to help you write. They are intended to make you feel good while you read them so you will buy more similar books. In this, they are more like self-help books than serious writing manuals. By and large, they regurgitate the same conventional prescriptions that have been around since Aristotle’s Poetics, albeit sanitised by years of focus-grouping and the omnipresence of big-budget movies and prestige television. Each will take its own particular swing at the subject. They will flatter prospective readers with scientific jargon from psychology or neurology, may appear like gentle spiritual guides, or could appeal to your sense of creative urgency by claiming to show you ‘How to Write a Novel in 30 Days’. These books should be avoided by early-stage writers (and anyone, really). They can be stifling and conservative and, often, deeply contrived. And that’s not what you want for your writing, is it? Of course it isn’t. In general, avoid writing ‘gurus’ and anyone who claims to come bearing ‘secrets’. There is only one secret and it’s lots of reading and writing. 

My advice for early-stage writers has two purposes. Firstly, as I’ve covered, you don’t want to burden yourself with too many rules or conventions while you are still finding the basics of what works for you. Secondly, and far more important than the former point, is this: there is magic to be found and those early months or years, which are very special time for a writer, even if it’s not apparent until later. And, in some cases, the very absence of knowing how to write proper, can see original ideas and innovations flourish. That heat could be extinguished before your fire even gets started if you start pouring cold ‘guidelines’ on your writing too soon. 

Because of all this, I am largely of the opinion that all unsolicited, prescriptive writing advice is bad advice. What I mean by unsolicited, is that the advice giver is not giving considered suggestions to a particular writer for a particular piece of writing. Many might say: ‘Well, aren’t there some basic standards of writing that anyone could benefit from, no matter their skill level?’ No. Not everyone will benefit from them. Of course these books have useful advice within their pages. They contain the same basic techniques and strategies that have been used to write countless classics, bestsellers, and hit movies for decades. But for early-stage writers, who haven’t yet gained the confidence to discriminate between advice that is useful for them and that which isn’t, trying to immediately adhere to these standards can be poison for your sense of creative exploration.

Rules. Responsibility. Standards. Conventions. These things all add up to pressure that is stifling to early-stage writers. Despair not, however. If you want to write fiction, it's likely that you read fiction. In which case, you are probably already in possession of the exact thing you need for guidance: the novels and stories that you love. These are the best instructive sources for your writing because, by virtue of your enjoyment of them, they are already particular to your personal tastes and influences. A novel or short story has no preacher pointing towards its forms and telling you that this is the correct way to do it. It is simply a single example of one way to go about it. And, because it’s a story that you already like, you’re guaranteed that its example is already much closer to bespoke advice, for you, than anything you will get from a ‘How to Write…’ manual. And I’m not suggesting an early-stage writer should immediately attempt to replicate an entire novel. As I’ve mentioned, short projects are best for you at this stage. Jump to the parts of the book that excite you the most. Don’t begin with pre-amble or lengthy descriptions of interior decoration (unless you really want to). Find the declaration of love, the murder, the nervous breakdown, the hilarious dialogue, the unhinged interior monologue, and jump right in and write your own version. Don’t worry about copying or ‘ripping off’ another writer’s style. This is practice, remember? You’re going to zoom right past this and be onto something else next week, no one ever needs to see it. You are getting those precious words down and running head-first towards intermediacy. The faster you run, the quicker you’ll get there. This is the equivalent of a new musician, finding their way around their instrument by learning to play other people’s music. No one is going to grumble later on when they play the original compositions because they once played cover songs in the privacy of their own homes. The best way to do this is to perform some basic literary analysis on your source material which anyone can do at any skill level, and try to apply the results to your own writing. To help you with this, please download my free PDF: ‘Close Reading and Basic Literary Analysis for Early-Stage Writers’. (Coming Soon)

Of all the virtues of creative writing, as opposed other art practices, its most significant is that it’s free to do. This is an increasing rare and special thing in the twenty-first century. Creative writing requires no specialised equipment beyond a pencil and paper, or a computer which can be accessed at your local library if you don’t have one at home. Of course, should you choose university or private tuition later on, those costs may come in the end. But let it stay free for as long as you can before you spend your money. It is liberating to partake in an pastime than can be enjoyed and practiced entirely aside from corporate influence. Of course, as evidenced by the deluge of writing manuals available, large companies will always find a way to muscle in on your interests. But where a painter needs to buy paint and brushes and canvas, where musicians have instruments to buy and maintain and repair and lug around town in a hired Transit, the creative writer needn’t concern themselves with any such financial burdens should they choose not to. Write freely, and let it stay free for as long as you can until you really feel as though you need tuition to support your writing practice.