These are the brass tacks. The bare bones. The puls­ing core of effec­tive writ­ing habits. Not opin­ions, style guides, prose advice, tricks, indi­vid­ual process, or the exal­ta­tion of a past generation’s lan­guage and cul­ture, but the things that all effec­tive writ­ers have in com­mon through­out the ages and across the world. These are things that every effec­tive writer swears by. The things they all have in com­mon with such pre­dictable ubiq­ui­ty as to be almost uni­ver­sal.

The key here is effec­tive writ­ers. Not any­one who writes. Not some­one with one pub­lished nov­el. Not any­one with just a blog (includ­ing me). Not Cre­ative Writ­ing pro­gram fac­ul­ty who sell most of their books to their stu­dents as part of the class. Kudos to all those folks—every one of them is “real.” But EFFECTIVE writ­ers are most pro­lif­ic, most suc­cess­ful, most well-known (“lit­er­ary” or “com­mer­cial”), most ded­i­cat­ed to their craft, most respect­ed with­in their genre, and most com­pe­tent in their prose. What do these writ­ers have in com­mon? What habits make these writ­ers effec­tive?

1. Effec­tive Writ­ers Read

This one prob­a­bly did­n’t sur­prise many of you, though you might be sur­prised how many start­ing writ­ers think they can just watch movies and not actu­al­ly read. How­ev­er, it might also sur­prise you to know just how MUCH effec­tive writ­ers read. Oth­er peo­ple who read “a lot” find their read­ing over­whelm­ing. Effec­tive writ­ers are con­stant­ly read­ing in check­out lines. Before appoint­ments. At din­ner. For hours a day, they breathe in books like they are oxy­gen. In addi­tion, effec­tive writ­ers don’t just read casu­al­ly like nor­mal book addicts. They read for fun and plea­sure, but some­times they read with a con­scious eye on an author’s word choice. They read crit­i­cal­ly. They read… like a stu­dent watch­ing a mas­ter and try­ing to learn. They read books they like over and over to glean their secrets. They read as if the authors of the past are their mentors—teaching them from across time and space the secrets of how to write. (Which, in a very real way, they are.) They read across gen­res. They read things they find a lit­tle dry. They read clas­sics. They occa­sion­al­ly read gen­res they would­n’t nor­mal­ly. They read the back of sham­poo bot­tles if there’s no book in a bath­room. Effec­tive writ­ers read.

2. Effec­tive Writ­ers Stick to a Rou­tine

“Write every day” seems to make a lot of peo­ple bris­tle, but it is some damned good advice for writ­ers who want to enter the high­er ech­e­lons of suc­cess. Ignore it at your per­il. Effec­tive writ­ers estab­lish a rou­tine and stick with it as best they can. With­in those rou­tines, there is an explo­sive rain­bow of diver­si­ty. Stephen King writes ten pages a day. Ernest Hem­ing­way wrote one. James Joyce wrote a few pon­der­ous­ly con­struct­ed sen­tences. The rou­tine is also there to start the cre­ative process, not as its end-all. Joyce Car­ol Oates wakes up ear­ly to write, and some­times only does it for 45 min­utes before throw­ing in the tow­el and some­times does it for eight hours before notic­ing she’s hun­gry. Maya Angelou kept a hotel room and went there to write every morn­ing. Some stand. Some sit. Some lie down (Capote). Some have to move (Roth). Some run marathons every day while they’re writ­ing (Muraka­mi). Some will end in the mid­dle of a sen­tence. Some must fin­ish a sec­tion even if it takes hours longer than they planned. But all do their rou­tine dai­ly, many admit­ting abashed­ly that they even do some of their rou­tine on “days off.” Almost none would wait for inspi­ra­tion or skip days when they did­n’t feel moved. Whether you call it an affec­ta­tion or a fetish or sim­ply a habit, all effec­tive writ­ers have in com­mon that, what­ev­er the process that works for them, they keep doing it over and over again, day in and day out.

3. Effec­tive Writ­ers Work Hard

Effec­tive writ­ers know that writ­ing is work, and writ­ing is hard, and good writ­ing is hard work. Effec­tive writ­ers treat writ­ing as a job and work very hard to be suc­cess­ful at that job. They do not sit and wait for the heav­en­ly forces to move their pens or fin­gers, nor do they blame the “capri­cious muse” and aban­don their desks if they don’t “feel” like work­ing. They grind through the tough parts in the same way some­one would the non-awe­some bits of a job they gen­er­al­ly liked. They set goals (the kind they can control*—not the kind they can’t**) and adopt projects, they work towards them, and when they fail or suc­ceed, they then make new goals and projects and work towards them. They set them­selves to a bite-sized chunk of work each day and tear into it. They put in hours a day—often even more than a full-time job. Many talk about how their writ­ing inter­feres with their fam­i­ly life in the same sort of way peo­ple in oth­er careers do. They have pride in what they pro­duce and don’t con­tent them­selves with what is good enough. Effec­tive writ­ers are con­stant­ly talk­ing about writ­ing like it is an extreme­ly dif­fi­cult (if reward­ing) job.

*Like fin­ish­ing a project or word count
**Like whether or not they get pub­lished

4. Effec­tive Writ­ers Revise

Effec­tive writ­ers rec­og­nize that they are not genius­es who spin 26 let­ters into gold sim­ply by apply­ing their pen (or pix­els) to the page. They know there is hard work between an idea and its effec­tive exe­cu­tion. They know that that process is not mag­i­cal, but comes from a con­tin­ued effort of refine­ment over and over, like sift­ing out the impu­ri­ties when trans­form­ing crude oil into rock­et fuel. This is far far more com­pli­cat­ed than sim­ply proof­read­ing or fix­ing a cou­ple of prob­lems. Revi­sion lit­er­al­ly breaks down to mean “to see again,” and it might mean every­thing changes. They know that their first draft will be ter­ri­ble. So ter­ri­ble in fact that Anne Lam­ott calls it “writ­ing shit­ty first drafts.” Effec­tive writ­ers often toss whole drafts and keep only tiny bits and pieces that make their way into what is prac­ti­cal­ly an entire­ly new project. There isn’t a con­sen­sus on how much revi­sion an effec­tive writer should do—Stephen King does at least three major revi­sions in the course of writ­ing a nov­el (and count­less small­er clean-ups), but Frank Con­roy says that the real mag­ic hap­pens around the eleventh draft. Regard­less of the ques­tion of how much revi­sion should take place, the idea that revi­sion is basic and essen­tial is some­thing all effec­tive writ­ers have in com­mon.

5. Effec­tive Writ­ers Com­part­men­tal­ize

There are many aspects to and expres­sions of this, and many writ­ers do this dif­fer­ent­ly, but all effec­tive writ­ers do it to some degree. They switch between “modes,” both in their writ­ing process and in their lives. They talk about a per­son­al­i­ty that deals with “the real world” almost as if they have a dis­so­cia­tive dis­or­der (they do not actu­al­ly, and it is an anal­o­gy not intend­ed to be an ableist appro­pri­a­tion of a very real con­di­tion). They silence cer­tain edi­to­r­i­al voic­es when they are writ­ing first drafts, and silence oth­er “you can do no wrong” voic­es when they are revis­ing. They waste time with cal­cu­lat­ing inten­tion, and then sud­den­ly turn around and declare they have wast­ed enough. They pull things apart to exam­ine them in a way that is impos­si­ble to do with the Gestalt. They are bom­bas­tic and nur­tur­ing of cre­ative splats in one moment and in the next moment are cold and cal­cu­lat­ing about what with­in that splat might be good and what is ABSOLUTE crap. They chase but­ter­flies whim­si­cal­ly and lie with cats in sun­beams one moment and then brew a pot of tea and sit down to ten hours of non-stop work the next. They pas­sion­ate­ly embrace ideas (through char­ac­ters) with­out ever accept­ing them (in real­i­ty). Through char­ac­ters and empa­thy, they believe in things they do not believe in and accept things they find anath­e­ma. They love and adore the human con­di­tion while spend­ing the vast major­i­ty of their effort try­ing to cre­ate a space where no human can both­er them. Writ­ers do this in many ways. One might describe exer­cis­es like imag­in­ing voic­es as mice and putting them into bot­tles. Oth­ers sim­ply shift effort­less­ly between “real world mode” and “artist mode” like a Trans­former (sans the “she-show-shoo-shaa-ship” sound that Trans­form­ers make). But the one thing that all effec­tive writ­ers have in com­mon is that they con­stant­ly com­part­men­tal­ize.

6. Effec­tive Writ­ers Pri­or­i­tize Writ­ing

This start­ed as “effec­tive writ­ers sac­ri­fice,” but hon­est­ly, some don’t. Some effec­tive writ­ers sim­ply make one small deci­sion after anoth­er that pri­or­i­tizes their writ­ing, and they don’t ever real­ly come to a moment of Her­culean sac­ri­fice. It does­n’t hap­pen all at once because it hap­pens a lit­tle every day. But what all effec­tive writ­ers have in com­mon is that their writ­ing takes prece­dence over oth­er things in their lives. If the choice is the night’s writ­ing or stay­ing out an extra cou­ple of hours (even with won­der­ful peo­ple), they say their farewells. They rarely have much of a social life. They often have a “dumpy lit­tle writer body,” as Bet­sy Lern­er says. They some­times have no career beyond writ­ing. Many rent rooms for years and teach as part-time as they can or tend bar just a cou­ple of nights a week to get the bills paid. They may have an estranged rela­tion­ship with their fam­i­lies, or they may write and have a decent fam­i­ly rela­tion­ship, but lit­er­al­ly almost noth­ing else. Many non-effec­tive writ­ers would find such pri­or­i­ti­za­tion anath­e­ma to their val­ues. I’m not say­ing pri­or­i­tiz­ing writ­ing is moral­ly good—or is always a great deci­sion, and I’m cer­tain­ly not say­ing these writ­ers lead a well-bal­anced life. But they are the deci­sions that most (if not almost all) effec­tive writ­ers have in com­mon. High­ly effec­tive writ­ers pri­or­i­tize their writ­ing as para­mount.

7. Effec­tive Writ­ers Risk

Effec­tive writ­ers take chances almost uni­ver­sal­ly. They take them in their per­son­al lives, pri­or­i­tiz­ing writ­ing over oth­er careers, some­times to the detri­ment of their wal­let. They take them in their fic­tion, putting things that peo­ple “have a prob­lem with” into their sto­ries. They take them in their prose, break­ing a rule or con­ven­tion of craft delib­er­ate­ly. They get our atten­tion because they are will­ing to do things few oth­ers will dare. They are will­ing to try.

8. Effec­tive Writ­ers Fail

Effec­tive writ­ers, with no excep­tion ever, have sto­ries of failure—even embar­rass­ing­ly titan­ic fail­ures. They fuck up. They go beyond them­selves. They mis­judge. They take flak. They get hate mail. They write some­thing that no one gets—something that just isn’t actu­al­ly very good. They write sen­tences that need to be tak­en out back and shot. They swing and miss. They use up an advance and don’t have a nov­el to show for it. They fail… a lot. But they also are not play­ing it safe, so when they suc­ceed, it is not just one more thing-of-that-type. It’s some­thing dif­fer­ent.

9. Effec­tive Writ­ers Per­se­vere

I almost put this as part of num­ber seven—perseverance is just anoth­er form of risk. It’s the risk that one will do all that work for noth­ing. It’s the risk that you will nev­er be rec­og­nized as a genius in your time, or make big bucks, or be solicit­ed for your auto­graph. It’s the risk that some peo­ple will say, “This is just crap!” Per­haps bet­ter or per­haps worse, the risk that no one will read your work at all. It’s this risk that makes art so scary. It’s the risk that makes peo­ple talk about it more than actu­al­ly do it.

It’s a risk that 9–5 jobs sim­ply do not have, and what makes them so seduc­tive. (In those jobs, you know exact­ly what your reward will be: X dol­lars for Y time or Z result.) But effec­tive writ­ers risk all their effort being for naught. Almost no effec­tive writer does not have a sto­ry of how long it took before they were writ­ing for a liv­ing, and of how tough things were when they start­ed out. Effec­tive writ­ers shrug off fail­ure and keep going. They per­se­vere for years, even decades. Effec­tive writ­ers risk nev­er “mak­ing it.”

And they do it sim­ply for the love of writ­ing.

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