So, you are a writer. That means that you, just like me, belong to that broad, eccentric category of people called “artists”. Welcome to the nightmare, my friend.

Two things should be always clear: one, you have a special talent for staring into the void and seeing things – but not in a serial killer way – and two, you have no idea how you do what you do, and even less of an idea if you are doing it well.

Being a writer means sitting in front of a blank page and not seeing a blank page at all. To us, it is more like a cinema screen: when the lights go out, the film reels and the magic begins. We will never fully understand how it happens. It just does.

But talent without discipline is nothing. Seeing a story in your head does not mean you can execute it on the page in a way that makes sense to others.
If you strip writing down to its core, it’s an ensemble of basic rules, relentless polishing and a ton of reading. To be a good writer, you must first be an exceptional reader. It doesn’t matter what you read – instruction manuals, comic books, literary fiction – there is a lesson to be learned in everything. Before we start debating points of view, grammar, or consistent verb tenses, though, let’s talk about the heart of the matter: the story. What is it? And why does it deserve to be told?

Writers have masochistic tendencies. It is part of the game. We make pain our friend and we learn to love it; we are keen to go back to that dark place of sufferance and tedium. We could stop, yes, and some of us even tried. Only to find out that there is nothing else like it.

In his brilliant book “The Seven Basic Plots”, Christopher Booker (isn’t that ironic?) argues that every narrative ever told traces back to just seven core archetypes. It has been true since ancient Greek oral traditions. Yet, this never stops publishers from publishing or readers from reading. A romance fan will read a million romance novels and swear they are all different, even if the blueprint is always “boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy gets girl”. A horror fan will do the same for the classic “creepy setup turns into a bloody nightmare” trope.

What separates a story from other types of writing, then, if the plots are always the same?

An essay explains a thesis. A newspaper article reports facts. Both have a beginning, middle, and end, but neither is a story. A story is an ordered sequence of events highlighting transformation. At the beginning there is some sort of balance, then something happens and a disruption throws the world into chaos, and after a series of struggles, gains and losses and transformations a new stability is reached. The reader loved the character, learned from the character, hated the character, hoped the character died in a ditch, but felt something of some sort for the character and hopefully learned something from it.

And that’s why we do it. Because we have the capacity to pluck from thin air, transform matter into dialogues and actions and give back to the world. We write because nobody else can see a story the way we do. And the more we do so, the more our voice becomes unique and distinctive. That’s why talent without discipline means nothing.

There will always be room for a new book, do not fear a lack of originality. Plot-wise, you won’t be original. But the peculiar way your characters meet, struggle, and overcome – that does not exist yet, and that’s yours and yours alone to create, nourish and nurture.

You and you alone can write that.

So, get to work, my friend, because the page will not magically write itself.

Ella