There is a symbiosis between the artist’s spirit and craft. Our emotional landscape and pragmatic ability mash together as black ink on white paper. In his book On Writing, Stephen Kings tours us through the scenes that constructed his inner life and the tools that made it explicit and magnificent. He reveals his childhood, his first frictions with the craft, his painful path towards a balance of writing and living, and his practical tips for the novice.
The Formulation of an Artist
The book begins with a recollection of King’s memories. We traverse from infancy to the publication of his first bestseller. This section unfolds his writing persona through the experiences it lies upon.
King was born into trouble: two brothers, a single-parent mother, financial instability, repeated relocations, and bleak prospects. In school, his grades are nothing to cheer about, and his friends are mostly ghosts (literally). He finds refuge in writing; in submerging into imagination.
He begins writing short stories. For years he attempts to publish his work to no avail. He hammers a nail into the wall, where he hangs all the rejection letters, keeping them in sight. It took him two years to get his first published story in some no-name magazine. It took him another 12 years before he published his first book.
We skip to college, where, on a sunny spring, he is mesmerized by a beautiful woman from his poetry group. This woman is soon to be his wife: Tabitha. The young couple have little to their name, yet they move in together and start a family. Both of them work at a launderette and write in their free time. The apartment is less than ideal for a family, and King considers becoming a teacher to close the month. Around that time he gets an idea for a book. An idea he throws away but develops under the encouragement of his wife. This book is Carrie. It became a bestseller and gave the young man—at 26—the space to become one of the greats.
King’s path is inspiring. Not in a starving artist’s way. But in a humane, child-turned-man and keeps forwards with love way. We find courage in those stories. We get a new perspective on love and intimacy. As King remarks: without his wife he would have been a burned-out professor, rambling about the author he could have been.
Writing, Telepathy, and Archeology
King describes writing as telepathy, transmitting one’s consciousness to another. When the writer sits down to work, forces far beyond his immediate thought are at play. He may portray an unfaithful lawyer, but the qualities and details of which form in a place hidden from words. This attempt is the first half of writing: the expression of this ambiguous thing we call the soul.
The author explains this through an example. A red table covered in red cloth. On it is a small aquarium-sized cage. Within it sits a white rabbit with a pink nose and pink spots around his eyes. He holds a carrot and savors it. On his back, in blue ink, the number 8.
Reading it, we do not construct the same mental image. The writer sketches the scene, we paint it. Our subconscious may decide that the tablecloth is crimson—perhaps cherry—maybe it has lacing. There is a reason your subconscious manifested those specifics: old memories, traumas, and lessons not yet learned. Our consciousness merges with the author’s and forms a unique version of the two.
King warns us. Writing is not to be taken lightly. We may approach it with anger, excitement, or despair, but not levity. He does not want us to be fearful, somber, or politically correct. But writing is a serious craft. We have to treat it with respect and priority. We are not brushing our teeth or walking the dog. Writing demands intention and focus. It is a craft of exploration that requires the same precise, gentle touch of the archeologist exploring an artifact.
Writing and Life
Every artist experiences the moving target of balance between life and craft. We travel back to a twenty-something-year-old Stephen: a new bestselling novelist, husband, father of two. His hours are accompanied by pints of beer, shots of vodka, and glasses of whisky. He becomes addicted. His life becomes entangled: while he is heading towards a cliff, he is terrified that the booze holds his writing ability. The cycle of writing bouts between scream matches goes on for years. Under the looming threat of separation from his family, he enters rehab—where he learns a crucial truth.
When King and his family moved into a bigger house, due to the success of Carrie, he built himself a study, purchased a heavy walnut table, and placed it at the center of the room. There he would spend his hours using the pen between pouring glasses of wine. After rehab, he sold the table, bought a simpler one, and placed it in the corner. The table stands as a reminder that life is not a supplement to writing, but the opposite. He decrees us to do the same.
The Writer’s Toolbox
Like the equipment of the archeologist, the writer should cultivate and strengthen his toolbox. So that when a challenge arrives, he would not despair, but rather overcome it with the correct tool. The writer uses tools to chisel the rumblings of expression into something comprehensive and beautiful.
The followings are King’s recommended tools (in order of importance):
- Vocabulary. Words are the creative pallets of the writer. More words mean more options. The aim is not to use fancy words unnecessarily—which makes our writing dull and pretentious—but to find the precise, colorful word that fits our vision. Accurate wording not only ensures vividness but increases brevity and wit.
- Grammar. The rules of the language intend for our writing to be clear and elegant. Unknowingly breaking the rules confuses and will make readers leave—no matter how good the piece may be. The rules are there for a reason. Only break them strategically.
- Active voice. The active voice is engaging. It tells that the author is confident, gives a piercing effect, and makes the sentence clearer. The passive voice has its place, but we should be cautious and only use it with purpose.
- Adverbs. Too many adverbs are a sign of weak writing. It tells that the author is afraid that the reader will not catch the tonality of the writing. If the writer did his job, the reader should have no problem understanding the actions. Also, you could usually find a better word to replace an adverb (angrily closed the door = slammed the door).
- Dialogue description. Another sign of weak writing. “I will not do it!” he shouted. “He is right there,” she whispered. This again shows that the writer is afraid and shows too much to the reader, resulting in rigidness. The reader should paint the scene, and a good context will always result in correct tonality. The best—perhaps only—way to write dialogue is to use “said.”
These rules will not make dull writing exciting, but they will make good writing great. They are not meant to frame writing as analytical or scientific, but rather to enrich our writing with the techniques and lessons of the past great authors. We may break them all, but we should do it intentionally and humbly.
We must never forget we are dealing with magic. The magic of creating human connection and sparking change over time and space.
Favorite Quotes
“Books are a uniquely portable magic.”
“The road to hell is paved with adverbs.”
“The scariest moment is always just before you start.”
“Description begins in the writer’s imagination, but should finish in the reader’s.”
“Writing isn't about making money, getting famous, getting dates, getting laid, or making friends. In the end, it's about enriching the lives of those who will read your work, and enriching your own life, as well. It's about getting up, getting well, and getting over. Getting happy, okay? Getting happy.”