Most writing advice isn't what you think.

And it might be stopping you from finishing that first draft.

You’ve had a story in his head for years. The characters are so real, the world is so rich, you’ve got some plot points—the big picture is all there. And now, you’re finally ready to start writing it.

But first, you have to consume every piece of writing advice in existence. 

• Write every day.

• No, don’t force it! Take breaks when you need to refill the well.

• Write what you know.

• Unless that bores you, then write what you don’t know!

• (On second thought, better stay in your lane!)

• Write about your own trauma. Yes, even if you don’t want to.

• No, not THAT trauma, that’s not trendy right now!

• Wait, are you using third person omniscient? Editors don’t like that.

• First person present? Ugh, that’s so pedestrian.

• Show don’t tell.

• Except when it’s okay to tell.

• Is that an adverb? REALLY?

• Start with action.

• No, start with dialogue.

• Maybe you should start with a rhetorical question?

• You’re three sentences in and your protagonist isn’t relatable yet. Or likable.

• Wait now he’s too perfect. Make him kill a cat.

• No, make him save a cat!

• Write detailed descriptions.

• Wow, your prose is getting purple.

• This scene has no conflict.

• That conflict feels contrived.

• Your protagonist isn’t proactive and he’s still too perfect and wait, why did he just make such an obvious mistake? Okay, onto the second page…wait, where are you going?

Is there anything sadder than an abandoned writing cabin?

On the flip side, your writing nemesis is over there flying through his first draft. He didn’t read a damn piece of advice because his book’s gonna break the mold. Defy genres. Win all the awards and hit all the lists. Or so he believes.

Advice? Pfft. Can’t write original fiction if you ~follow the rules~.

So who gets a book deal first? Neither of you, not anytime soon. You got writing advice overload, and your nemesis doesn’t want to hear a single piece of criticism. So where’s the balance?

I first started writing a book with the goal of getting traditionally published in 2007. But well before I started, I found every author, editor, and literary agent who had a blog, subscribed to all those blogs, and read through every post all of them had ever written. I also went on a writing craft book binge. 

I consumed so much writing advice. I went on a hero’s journey. I crossed the threshold into a whole new world. I found mentors and helpers and I overcame challenges and went through a transformation and had epiphanies and saw how I would become the greatest writer of literature the world had ever seen...and I thought about my book...

and thought about my book...

and never wrote my book. 

I really loved that idea for that book, what would’ve been my first book. But I never ended up writing it. I worked on it. I had spreadsheets with plot points and character sheets and bits and pieces of scenes, but all the advice I’d soaked in just made me freeze up. I couldn’t even THINK about that story without some piece of advice floating up and being all nope, that’s NOT the way to do it. 

And that’s just the first stage of writing advice overload. It doesn’t just ruin your book that you’re trying to write. It ruins the books that you read. 

Show don’t tell. Except this book you love has some exposition and you actually kinda like it and think it’s effective sooo what, are you an amateur reader? Or maybe is show don’t tell not meant to be adhered to 100% of the time?

Adverbs are bad. Except you see adverbs in every published book you read. 

Don’t use filler words. Except you really love the way this one author writes dialogue and there are ums and ers and okays all over the place!

I could go on and on and list all the most common bits of writing advice you’ve heard but I think you probably get it: pretty much none of that advice is meant to be followed 100% of the time. Many excellent authors break them and their readers do not care, so yeah, eff the rules, right?

Well, no. I’m telling you, I would bet a jillion dollars that your nemesis, the guy who can’t take criticism? His book sucks. If you want to want to be a master of the craft who breaks the rules, you gotta learn the rules first. Because you have to understand WHY those rules exist—they do exist for a reason—so that you know when and how and why to break them. 

I once read a book written by a sort of celebrity. It was a novel, not a memoir, and they wrote it themselves, no ghostwriter. This book broke the rules in a bad way. Stylistically, and often grammatically, the choices made no sense. They weren’t consistent and they didn’t contribute to the narrative voice in any way. It was random. Imagine—and this is a made up example, but it isn’t far from the truth—imagine using semicolons instead of commas. For every sentence. In your entire novel. No commas to be seen. Why did you do that? “Because I’m an artist and I don’t play by the rules.” 

No.

Masters break the rules with intent. It adds something to the story. It enhances something. It’s not done at random, and it’s definitely not done because the master doesn’t understand how grammar works, or what basic story beats are, or what a character transformation looks like. A masterful writer GETS these things, they understand these rules, and they break them: as a stylistic choice, as a way to subvert expectations, as a way to enhance certain aspects of the voice. It’s purposeful.

It’s really important to study the craft of writing if you want to be a writer. But it’s also really important to WRITE. Write words. Write bad words and then figure out what makes them bad. There’s so much talk about authors finding their voices but how are we supposed to do that without playing around with words a little bit? You might need to use adverbs or exposition or write super purple prose to find your style and your voice and then hone it. 

There is a sweet spot. To find it, just remember this:

Most writing advice is actually revising advice. 

Imagine if past Michelle, back in 2007, had consumed all that good advice and gone on the writing advice hero’s journey but actually came around full circle, came home with all this new knowledge, and then pushed it all out of her mind temporarily, planted her butt in a chair and written that messy flawed terrible first draft—and then called on all of the magic powers she’d absorbed on her journey and used it to revise her book. I definitely can’t say I think I would have gotten that book published, but holy crap, I would have learned so much, and the next book I’d written would’ve been even better. 

If you’re experiencing writing advice overload and it’s making it difficult for you to actually write, flip that switch. Call it revising advice. It’s simple, but it works, because you’re giving your brain permission to process all those tips and all that knowledge, store it all away for when you’ll need it, then play around freely with storytelling and do the most important thing you can do if you want to finish a book:

Write.