Have you ever had this thought, or said this to yourself? “Nothing ever comes out the way I want it to.” That thought can cause more damage to your writing life than just about anything you can do.
I went to war with my painting skills when I was about ten years old. I was always a talented sketcher, good with a pencil or a piece of charcoal, but when I painted for the first time, the picture in my mind went awkward on me.
I’ve never had art lessons, but I’ve tried every other trick I could think of, over the years, to try and wrestle the style that emerged under my paintbrush into some resemblance of what I saw in my head. It didn’t work. What comes out is what you see in the photo above: a big, cartoonish style with some dark lines shoved in. I can’t paint the feathery detail of Degas, the pooling colors of Monet, or the clean, sunny lines of Hopper. When I pick up a paintbrush, my big, loopy style is what comes out, regardless of how precise the details are in my head.
Accepting Your Writing Style
Fighting the form of your creative output isn’t healthy, but many of us, including me, do this from time to time. We wish to emulate a certain author’s poise and fearless use of language, or we try and adopt the most prolific member of our writing group’s habits, to try and match her output. If you’re a measured and careful writer with a slow and steady output, trying to adopt something alien to your natural way of creating is only going to frustrate you.
See those paintings up there? I chose that angle to take the photo because just underneath the frame sit six large canvases that are half-finished, and full of work that doesn’t match the naturally sophomoric style discussed above. There are street scenes painted in a layered technique familiar to oil painters, a shop window that was going to be Hopper-esque and instead sits empty, and much more. Result: They’re out of the frame because they’re all half-finished, and they’ll probably stay that way, because they’re not very good.
Honing Your Writing Style
Lately, in the past year so, I’ve been thinking that my paintings come out the way they do not because of a lack of skill (although there’s always that) but because there’s a part of my mind, the painting part, that really does see the world this way. In many ways, the end product is a bit beyond my control, and I’ve been having a bit of fun applying this cartoonish, bubbly lens to other subjects besides lighthouses and birch trees, and I’m actually fascinated by what comes out. It’s teaching me about how I see the world.
Accepting your creative style is step one in the discovery process, but the once you understand the vagaries of your point of view, you’ve brought your uniqueness, the thing no other writer ever has or ever will capture, under control. You no longer have to try to be original—you’re one-of-a-kind whether you like it or not.
When you start applying your creative lens to your writing, you might be amazed at what you find.
Have you ever tried unsuccessfully to write like someone else? How have you found your original voice? Share your experience in the comments.