Everything You Need to Know About Writing Successfully - in Ten Minutes
by Stephen King
(reprinted in Sylvia K. Burack, ed. The Writerâs Handbook. Boston, MA: Writer, Inc., 1988: 3-9)
I. The First Introduction
THATâS RIGHT. I know it sounds like an ad for some sleazy writersâ school, but I really am going to tell you everything you need to pursue a successful and financially rewarding career writing fiction, and I really am going to do it in ten minutes, which is exactly how long it took me to learn. It will actually take you twenty minutes or so to read this essay, however, because I have to tell you a story, and then I have to write a second introduction. But these, I argue, should not count in the ten minutes.
II. The Story, or, How Stephen King Learned to Write
When I was a sophomore in high school, I did a sophomoric thing which got me in a pot of fairly hot water, as sophomoric didoes often do. I wrote and published a small satiric newspaper called The Village Vomit. In this little paper I lampooned a number of teachers at Lisbon (Maine) High School, where I was under instruction. These were not very gentle lampoons; they ranged from the scatological to the downright cruel
Eventually, a copy of this little newspaper found its way into the hands of a faculty member, and since I had been unwise enough to put my name on it (a fault, some critics argue, of which I have still not been entirely cured), I was brought into the office. The sophisticated satirist had by that time reverted to what he really was: a fourteen-year-old kid who was shaking in his boots and wondering if he was going to get a suspension ⊠what we called âa three-day vacationâ in those dim days of 1964.
I wasnât suspended. I was forced to make a number of apologies - they were warranted, but they still tasted like dog-dirt in my mouth - and spent a week in detention hall. And the guidance counselor arranged what he no doubt thought of as a more constructive channel for my talents. This was a job - contingent upon the editorâs approval - writing sports for the Lisbon Enterprise, a twelve-page weekly of the sort with which any small-town resident will be familiar. This editor was the man who taught me everything I know about writing in ten minutes. His name was John Gould - not the famed New England humorist or the novelist who wrote The Greenleaf Fires, but a relative of both, I believe.
He told me he needed a sports writer and we could âtry each other outâ if I wanted.
I told him I knew more about advanced algebra than I did sports.
Gould nodded and said, âYouâll learn.â
I said I would at least try to learn. Gould gave me a huge roll of yellow paper and promised me a wage of 1/2Âą per word. The first two pieces I wrote had to do with a high school basketball game in which a member of my school team broke the Lisbon High scoring record. One of these pieces was straight reportage. The second was a feature article.
I brought them to Gould the day after the game, so heâd have them for the paper, which came out Fridays. He read the straight piece, made two minor corrections, and spiked it. Then he started in on the feature piece with a large black pen and taught me all I ever needed to know about my craft. I wish I still had the piece - it deserves to be framed, editorial corrections and all - but I can remember pretty well how it looked when he had finished with it. Hereâs an example:
(note: this is before the edit marks indicated on Kingâs original copy)
Last night, in the well-loved gymnasium of Lisbon High School, partisans and Jay Hills fans alike were stunned by an athletic performance unequaled in school history: Bob Ransom, known as âBulletâ Bob for both his size and accuracy, scored thirty-seven points. He did it with grace and speed ⊠and he did it with an odd courtesy as well, committing only two personal fouls in his knight-like quest for a record which has eluded Lisbon thinclads since 1953âŠ.
Last night, in the Lisbon High School gymnasium, partisans and Jay Hills fans alike were stunned by an athletic performance unequaled in school history: Bob Ransom scored thirty-seven points. He did it with grace and speed ⊠and he did it with an odd courtesy as well, committing only two personal fouls in his quest for a record which has eluded Lisbonâs basketball team since 1953âŠ.
When Gould finished marking up my copy in the manner I have indicated above, he looked up and must have seen something on my face. I think he must have thought it was horror, but it was not: it was revelation.
âI only took out the bad parts, you know,â he said. âMost of itâs pretty good.â
âI know,â I said, meaning both things: yes, most of it was good, and yes, he had only taken out the bad parts. âI wonât do it again.â
âIf thatâs true,â he said, âyouâll never have to work again. You can do this for a living.â Then he threw back his head and laughed.
And he was right; I am doing this for a living, and as long as I can keep on, I donât expect ever to have to work again.
III. The Second Introduction
All of what follows has been said before. If you are interested enough in writing to be a purchaser of this magazine, you will have either heard or read all (or almost all) of it before. Thousands of writing courses are taught across the United States each year; seminars are convened; guest lecturers talk, then answer questions, then drink as many gin and tonics as their expense-fees will allow, and it all boils down to what follows.
I am going to tell you these things again because often people will only listen - really listen - to someone who makes a lot of money doing the thing heâs talking about. This is sad but true. And I told you the story above not to make myself sound like a character out of a Horatio Alger novel but to make a point: I saw, I listened, and I learned. Until that day in John Gouldâs little office, I had been writing first drafts of stories which might run 2,500 words. The second drafts were apt to run 3,300 words. Following that day, my 2,500-word first drafts became 2,200-word second drafts. And two years after that, I sold the first one.
So here it is, with all the bark stripped off. Itâll take ten minutes to read, and you can apply it right awayâŠif you listen.
IV. Everything You Need to Know About Writing Successfully
1. BE TALENTED
This, of course, is the killer. What is talent? I can hear someone shouting, and here we are, ready to get into a discussion right up there with âwhat is the meaning of life?â for weighty pronouncements and total uselessness. For the purposes of the beginning writer, talent may as well be defined as eventual success - publication and money. If you wrote something for which someone sent you a check, if you cashed the check and it didnât bounce, and if you then paid the light bill with the money, I consider you talented.
Now some of you are really hollering. Some of you are calling me one crass money-fixated creep. And some of you are calling me bad names. Are you calling Harold Robbins talented? someone in one of the Great English Departments of America is screeching. V.C. Andrews? Theodore Dreiser? Or what about you, you dyslexic moron?
Nonsense. Worse than nonsense, off the subject. Weâre not talking about good or bad here. Iâm interested in telling you how to get your stuff published, not in critical judgments of whoâs good or bad. As a rule the critical judgments come after the checkâs been spent, anyway. I have my own opinions, but most times I keep them to myself. People who are published steadily and are paid for what they are writing may be either saints or trollops, but they are clearly reaching a great many someones who want what they have. Ergo, they are communicating. Ergo, they are talented. The biggest part of writing successfully is being talented, and in the context of marketing, the only bad writer is one who doesnât get paid. If youâre not talented, you wonât succeed. And if youâre not succeeding, you should know when to quit.
When is that? I donât know. Itâs different for each writer. Not after six rejection slips, certainly, nor after sixty. But after six hundred? Maybe. After six thousand? My friend, after six thousand pinks, itâs time you tried painting or computer programming.
Further, almost every aspiring writer knows when he is getting warmer - you start getting little jotted notes on your rejection slips, or personal lettersâŠmaybe a commiserating phone call. Itâs lonely out there in the cold, but there are encouraging voicesâŠunless there is nothing in your words which warrants encouragement. I think you owe it to yourself to skip as much of the self-illusion as possible. If your eyes are open, youâll know which way to goâŠor when to turn back.
2. BE NEAT
Type. Double-space. Use a nice heavy white paper, never that erasable onion-skin stuff. If youâve marked up your manuscript a lot, do another draft.
3. BE SELF-CRITICAL
If you havenât marked up your manuscript a lot, you did a lazy job. Only God gets things right the first time. Donât be a slob.
4. REMOVE EVERY EXTRANEOUS WORD
You want to get up on a soapbox and preach? Fine. Get one and try your local park. You want to write for money? Get to the point. And if you remove all the excess garbage and discover you canât find the point, tear up what you wrote and start all over againâŠor try something new.
5. NEVER LOOK AT A REFERENCE BOOK WHILE DOING A FIRST DRAFT You want to write a story? Fine. Put away your dictionary, your encyclopedias, your World Almanac, and your thesaurus. Better yet, throw your thesaurus into the wastebasket. The only things creepier than a thesaurus are those little paperbacks college students too lazy to read the assigned novels buy around exam time. Any word you have to hunt for in a thesaurus is the wrong word. There are no exceptions to this rule. You think you might have misspelled a word? O.K., so here is your choice: either look it up in the dictionary, thereby making sure you have it right - and breaking your train of thought and the writerâs trance in the bargain - or just spell it phonetically and correct it later. Why not? Did you think it was going to go somewhere? And if you need to know the largest city in Brazil and you find you donât have it in your head, why not write in Miami, or Cleveland? You can check itâŠbut later. When you sit down to write, write. Donât do anything else except go to the bathroom, and only do that if it absolutely cannot be put off.
6. KNOW THE MARKETS
Only a dimwit would send a story about giant vampire bats surrounding a high school to McCallâs. Only a dimwit would send a tender story about a mother and daughter making up their differences on Christmas Eve to PlayboyâŠbut people do it all the time. Iâm not exaggerating; I have seen such stories in the slush piles of the actual magazines. If you write a good story, why send it out in an ignorant fashion? Would you send your kid out in a snowstorm dressed in Bermuda shorts and a tank top? If you like science fiction, read the magazines. If you want to write confession stories, read the magazines. And so on. It isnât just a matter of knowing whatâs right for the present story; you can begin to catch on, after awhile, to overall rhythms, editorial likes and dislikes, a magazineâs entire slant. Sometimes your reading can influence the next story, and create a sale.
7. WRITE TO ENTERTAIN
Does this mean you canât write âserious fictionâ? It does not. Somewhere along the line pernicious critics have invested the American reading and writing public with the idea that entertaining fiction and serious ideas do not overlap. This would have surprised Charles Dickens, not to mention Jane Austen, John Steinbeck, William Faulkner, Bernard Malamud, and hundreds of others. But your serious ideas must always serve your story, not the other way around. I repeat: if you want to preach, get a soapbox.
8. ASK YOURSELF FREQUENTLY, AM I HAVING FUN?â
The answer neednât always be yes. But if itâs always no, itâs time for a new project or a new career.
9. HOW TO EVALUATE CRITICISM
Show your piece to a number of people - ten, let us say. Listen carefully to what they tell you. Smile and nod a lot. Then review what was said very carefully. If your critics are all telling you the same thing about some facet of your story - a plot twist that doesnât work, a character who rings false, stilted narrative, or half a dozen other possibles - change that facet. It doesnât matter if you really liked that twist of that character; if a lot of people are telling you something is wrong with you piece, it is. If seven or eight of them are hitting on that same thing, Iâd still suggest changing it. But if everyone - or even most everyone - is criticizing something different, you can safely disregard what all of them say.
10. OBSERVE ALL RULES FOR PROPER SUBMISSION
Return postage, self-addressed envelope, all of that.
11. AN AGENT? FORGET IT. FOR NOW
Agents get 10% of monies earned by their clients. 10% of nothing is nothing. Agents also have to pay the rent. Beginning writers do not contribute to that or any other necessity of life. Flog your stories around yourself. If youâve done a novel, send around query letters to publishers, one by one, and follow up with sample chapters and/or the manuscript complete. And remember Stephen Kingâs First Rule of Writers and Agents, learned by bitter personal experience: You donât need one until youâre making enough for someone to stealâŠand if youâre making that much, youâll be able to take your pick of good agents.
12. IF ITâS BAD, KILL IT
When it comes to people, mercy killing is against the law. When it comes to fiction, it is the law.
Thatâs everything you need to know. And if you listened, you can write everything and anything you want. Now I believe I will wish you a pleasant day and sign off.
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