Recently, I attended an author talk with Colson Whitehead at Politics & Prose in D.C.
Image courtesy of the John D. and Catherine T. MacArthur Foundation
The author has been writing novels for eighteen years, but he’s been getting a lot of attention because his new book, The Underground Railroad, was inducted into Oprah's coveted Book Club. The book is about the escape from slavery to freedom in the antebellum south, but it also has fantastical elements—a literal underground railroad that exposes the protagonist to different worlds at each station.
5 Writing Tips from Colson Whitehead
Recently I shared my notes from a talk with Jonathan Frazen. People seemed to like that, so I'm doing it again!
Here are five writing tips I wrote down from the author talk with Colson Whitehead:
1. You have a unique spin to bring to any topic.
A better writer than you has written about basically every topic. Your job is to put your own individual spin on it.
That's what Colson figured out when he picked up a novel by Toni Morrison and immediately concluded (rightly or wrongly) that he could never do that. Rather than get overwhelmed, he accepted that others had written about slavery and written about it well.
All he could do was bring his unique perspective to the topic.
2. You don’t have to write every day to produce a novel!
Inevitably, Colson was asked about his process during the author talk.
He said he knows the beginning and he knows the end, and he outlines the rest. His writing goal (post-children) is typically to finish eight pages a week (pretty doable!).
3. Characterization starts with real life.
Colson turns to real life to help him with characterization. He thinks about people he knows and views them with empathy.
Then, as he starts developing the fictional character, he is guided by “what makes them tick.”
4. Voice in historical fiction requires research.
Voice is always difficult, but even more so when you’re writing historical fiction. In order to accurately capture the way slaves and others spoke in the early 1800s, Colson read through interviews with former slaves.
He seemed struck by the simplicity of their language, which was used to describe such horrific acts. That simplicity dictated the voice of the characters in Underground in a way that was different from his other novels.
I later read an interview he gave with Vulture in which he noted that “when you try to make a simile or a metaphor out of the nouns of 1850s, simplicity and clarity make more sense.”
5. Don’t be afraid to change genres!
I’m a contemporary fiction kind of girl and know Colson Whitehead from his novel Sag Harbor—a semi-autobiographical story about black boys with beach houses in the Hamptons. Others know him from Zone One, a story about a zombie apocalypse. Others, like Oprah, learned about Colson for the first time with Underground.
Colson doesn’t care that many people who love one of his books may not be interested in his others. He basically said that writers should write what they want to write. They should be free to constantly challenge themselves (and to forget about potential branding issues).
That's a message I don’t hear often, and it was kind of liberating.
Do What Works for You
I like to attend author talks to glean wisdom from other established writers. I take notes on their best writing tips and consider how I can integrate their experience into my own writing process.
That said, you don't have to use all these tips, of course. Find the system that works for you. Figure out what helps you write, and do that!
What’s the best writing advice you've ever received? Let me know in the comments.
PRACTICE
Think about a real-life person or fictional character. What makes them tick? Now take fifteen minutes to write a scene based on that person.
When you're done, share your practice in the comments, and be sure to leave feedback for your fellow writers!
So refreshing, especially point 2, 4, and 5. Thanks Monica!
Great tips, and as a new author, 1-3 definitely resonate with me. Thank you!
The following isn’t a “scene,” rather an issue I am currently struggling to understand involving a friend in need. Just this morning, while mulling over the situation, I decided that writing about this friend might be helpful. Her name is changed for this vignette.
Louise is an enigma. She is friendly and seems able to balance many things at the same time, seeming to be in her element when organizing large events. The other side, the unorganized, opaque side, comes out in her writing. Louise suffers from dysgraphia. This sometimes shows up in her spoken language as well as in her writing. She managed to earn a BA and MA in her early twenties and now thirty years later has decided to pursue a PhD. In the interim, she has been employed as an occupational therapist and has owned and operated her own business. She is brilliant with kids who suffer from learning disabilities as she seems to know instinctively what tools to use with each one. She has been active in professional associations, serving as secretary for one (with a lot of editing help on reports). This is part of the enigma – this choosing activities that are very challenging for her. Having agreed to edit her papers for the PhD, I’ve found it overwhelming as the sentences can be so obscure it is difficult to figure out her meaning. She once described her difficulty this way “I can diaphragm a sentence but when I put it together it seems like scramble eggs.” From this sentence you can see the level of dysgraphia, as well as get a sense of what this is like for her. She initially said she wanted to get a PhD to improve her credentials as she want to do more speaking engagements. She is quite an entertaining and knowledgeable speaker. After struggling through the first few weeks of editing her assignments, I decided I simply cannot continue as it’s taking far more time than I anticipated. Feeling badly about abandoning her, I asked if she really needed the PhD as it will be such a challenge for her. She responded that this is a personal goal for her, saying, “Getting a degree is what I have wanted to do for a long time. The language issue has stopped me from finishing a lot of tasks because of the judgement issues.” Louise lives with the judgments of others due to her disability, yet has the courage and determination to choose new challenges. Or, is this tendency to choose paths that contain more obstacles avoiding the success that going with her strengths might bring her.
He is a politician, always wearing white dhoti and shirt.He holds a key post in his party at the District level.But personally he is a dirty fellow.His attire is actually to show that he is a politician and to threaten all indirectly.He has been a councillor of the Municipality for sometime and earned as much as possible.With that money he has built as many houses as possible and his house stands as a monument to show how corruptive he has been in politics.He encroached a portion of the Chennai-Trichy highway known as porambokku land.several years ago and by using his .political influence, built a guest house there.All these things were just a portion of his immovable property.By being a politician,it was his bounden duty to be a womanizer.He will never compromise at it..He also run a school, though he did not want to be an educationist, but regularly wooed teachers working.there.At times, you can also see him driving his two wheeler, accompanied by his
teacher.It is mandatory for him to keep a mistress for him every week.Recently a girl of 19years was picked up by him and drove his two wheeler.Thus, he on the guise of a councillor, perpetrated all sorts atrocities
Hey Monica! I just wanted to say thank you for this post and for the others you’ve contributed to The Write Practice. It really means a lot to me that you center POC in your articles. As a young mulatto writer still exploring the relationship between my racial identity and my writing, it’s really encouraging to see the space you’re building here for writers of color. It always brightens my day when I log on to The Write Practice and see that you’ve posted something new.
here’s my attempt …
The envy of his associates stands this accomplished, ruthless lawyer who is always very sure of him. Striking in appearance, quiet in demeanor, and sharp as a tack these are just a few descriptors frequently used in reference to him. If only they knew, what would they do? Daniel is actually a very compassionate and empathic man.
Deep within this confident man dwells a vulnerable soul protected by years of cushioning through diligent effort. Now, faced with his newest case, defending a young victim of an abusive father, old demons return causing an emotional storm. Contemplating his defense strategy, inner ghosts caution him to be careful. There is more to this young victim that just the facts in the extensive police investigation. He sees it in his client’s unsaid responses and her eyes. Those blank eyes watch everything but she is not really present. He knows where she is at. He knows that she has transported herself to another plane—an inner sanctum. Before he can help, he has to get her to trust him. Her salvation depends on him. He has to try. Not just for the win but to help this helpless young woman.
He is faces with a conundrum. How to get her passed this catatonic stage to help her heal. To get to that point, he has to have courage to reveal his own personal history. Does he have it in him? Can he open up that locked door? What will his associates think? How will they look at him?
Thank you Monica, for the great tips.
I select a real person from those I knwo, that are the most interesting, and think a moment as to what makes them tick. I will post my assignment later today because my time has run out for this morning.
This is about a real person. Bragging rights and much admiration from me for the first person to identify her.
* * *
A Young Girl
It was a short walk from the greenroom to the stage, but the excitement in the air always made it seem to take an interminable amount of time. She could hear the audience chanting, as if summoning the trio to make their appearance.
Taking that seemingly endless walk, she thought back to how she had gotten here.
* * *
“We don’t know what it is,” the doctor said. The young girl wrapped her arms around her aunt, not wanting to hear what the doctor said, but knowing she must. “But it is taking a toll on their bodies.” He looked right at the young girl. “There is a very good chance you could loose both of them.”
The girl buried her face in her aunt’s side. She was not yet ten years old, and already she was facing the loss of both her parents. To a disease the doctors didn’t even have a name for.
That very night, her aunt came to live with her in her home. Her parents’ home. And every day, her aunt and several family members would go to the hospital to be with her parents. She herself was too young to visit patients in intensive care, so she would sit with her aunt in the waiting room. There was nothing for a young girl to do there. The few magazines there were all about fashion or finance.
“Here,” her aunt said one day, holding out an iPod with a pair of earbuds. “Listen to this.”
The young girl pressed the earbuds into place. It was a pop song. A trio of girls sang happily. The young girl smiled. She began to dance in the waiting room, but not so much that she disturbed the others there.
By the time they left the hospital, the young girl had listened to each song at least six times.
“I want to be a singer,” she said to her aunt, her dark eyes sparkling. “I want to join that group!”
Her aunt smiled. “It will take a lot of work,” her aunt told her. “But if you’re willing to work hard, I’m sure you will be.”
And now, seven years later, she was walking onto this very stage. The trio she had danced to in the waiting room had disbanded, but a new one had formed, and she was a member. One of that first trio’s members was also a member of this newer group.
Both of her parents had miraculously recovered. Her trio had already taken multiple world tours. They sold out Wembly Arena, and ended their last tour by performing for a sold-out audience of 50,000 in her home country. How lucky she felt. She couldn’t help but smile.
The three girls walked onto the darkened stage and took their places silently. She counted her heartbeats as she waited for the explosive chord that would launch them into their first number.
That’s really great!! Does the group have a name?
Love it. Like the idea that the music has the power to transform and sustain the girl through her troubles. . .
Thanks for these tips. 1 and 5 are the ones I like, While its true everything has been written, sometimes its hard to put my own spin on things, whether fiction or non – which I am writing for a contest now. When I think of this advice, I wonder would someone really be interested in my take on things? Then I remember or think if I am wondering about this others may be as well so … what’s stoppin’ me from writing it? But 5 is something I find true for me as I love writing in different genres. Whether it be just for me or something I want to write and get out there for you, the reader, to enjoy as much I enjoyed writing as well as reading back after it has been completed.
One of the best part in terms of exploring as well as guiding the people in precise options to do well in academic plus the practical approaches in terms of improving the educational action plan for all. In order to get the best possible actions plan for all each stated way out is the better practices in making the profitable action plan for all. Therefore this is the best part to follow.
One of the best part in terms of exploring as well as guiding the people in precise options to do well in academic plus the practical approaches in terms of improving the educational action plan for all. In order to get the best possible actions plan for all each stated way out is the better practices in making the profitable action plan for all. Therefore this is the best part to follow.
Before mentioned tips as well as tidbits are very much in demand to make the move functional plus professional in every possible manner. in order to find out the best action plan in every possible mannerism before mentioned course of actions are the functional action plan in issuing the promising approaches in each possible mannerism.
Before mentioned tips as well as tidbits are very much in demand to make the move functional plus professional in every possible manner. in order to find out the best action plan in every possible mannerism before mentioned course of actions are the functional action plan in issuing the promising approaches in each possible mannerism.
It is 11.30 p.m.I have just returned from Puducherry after attending a betrothal.what made me so humble in the hotel Surguru was the would be bride’s grandfather’s humble behaviour.He was ailing and found it very difficult to walk or even stand.After finishing my feast in the dining hall, I just met him to bid him goodbye before leaving the hall.He was actually sitting in a chair at that time.But on seeing me, he tried to rise from his chair as a mark of respect and courtesy.I even tried my best to prevent him from standing up from the chair by pressing his right shoulder.I did it twice.But he managed to rise from the chair and accompanied me for a while.Really I felt so humbled by his behaviour.It was the traditional way of seeing off a leaving person.Really I felt proud for being one amongst them.It was a typical hospitality that I learnt from an elderly person.Hitherto I did not realise my worth and importance.Today I felt proud of being a writer.There is a proverb in Tamil:’ A Learned person will be honoured wherever he goes.’Today I felt honoured, for being a learned, I mean a writer.
Are the editors ok with point 5 ? Mine is not.
Are the editors ok with point 5 ? Mine is not
I am going to write about my grand daughter ‘Kanishka’,hardly a year old and a child prodigy.She began to walk when she was 11 months old.Speed is her forte.In the course of her run walk,when she gets stumbled at any place, she will watch that particular place closely, perhaps to analyze why she got stumbled.After watching that place, again the Kanishka express will proceed in her usual speed and when the express comes to the place where she got stumbled yesterday, the train will get slowed down and after crossing the place slowly with caution where she got stumbled, the train will proceed with her usual speed.She picks up rapidly at whatever she is taught.I have taught her once, how to welcome people with folded hands.Now, she bids farewell and welcome people with folded hands as if she is a receptionist.Her natural smile is her asset.Whether, you are known or unknown to her, she will just smile at you with a friendly gesture. Recently, when I was at Vijaya hospital Chennai to meet a specialist for my wife, Kanishka came with us.We stayed there for about two hours.She never remained idle.Kanishka express was as usual very active.On the way the train stopped for a while to handshake with the nurses sitting there and then proceed.I have composed a rhyme for my grand daughter.She is such a lively and an interesting personality.
Great advice. Sometimes we writers think that we need to copy renowned authors. But each of us has unique experiences and perspectives to bring to those stories.
Here is my 15 minutes of characterization:
Nancy
leaned her head back against the worn leather office chair and closed her eyes.
Class began in half an hour. The printer hummed and bumped out exams in the
adjoining room. She had finalized the last chapter of her current book and sent
the manuscript off to the publisher for editing. She felt drained, but
satisfied.
Forty
years. In one week, it’ll be forty years.
That
fist gripped her gut and twisted until she gasped. For the past few months she
had suffered from gut-wrenching pain. Her doctor couldn’t find anything,but the
pain persisted.
But she
had figured it out. That fist grabbed her gut every time she thought about
retiring.
Nancy’s
life had been academia. She had researched, taught, and written since coming to
this university as a graduate student. Now she tired quickly of nieve ideas by
junior faculty, fought back rebukes for stupid mistakes by her teaching
assistants, and even slammed the door in her colleagues faces when they pointed
out her disgruntled comments. Nancy had exhausted all her patience and
platitudes long ago for the stupidity of other humans.
She jumped up and stomped off to the bathroom down the
hallway. The bathroom was empty, and she stared at her reflection in the
mirror.
“Leaning
in closer, she said, “Gotta get these roots touched up.” Short fingers, capped
with deep red fingernails, fluffed her short red hair and flipped short curls
into place across a high brow. Deep green eyes blazed at Nancy from a frowning
face.
Maybe this would get her attention. His fingers slid over the coolness of the metal as his thumb released the safety. Just before his finger squeezed the trigger he thought about the first time he saw her.
She came around with two friends and her beautiful smile. She was offering hot cocoa and soup to homeless people. He was talking to his brother as she approached him.
“I’m not homeless,” he boasted, puffing his chest out a little and looking away from his brother. “I bring food out along the lake for the homeless too.”
She smiled even bigger. How could her smile get more beautiful? It seamed to brighten the night sky.
“Hi, I’m Dawn,” she said. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Marcus and this is my brother David. I work security here and am just showing my brother around. It’s great what you are doing, I do it too. There is a real need on these cold rainy nights with so many homeless people around here.”
“This is the first time I’m doing it,” Dawn said. Her friends we hanging back a few feet looking uncomfortable. Dawn must have bribed them with something to get them to come along.
“Well make sure you go under the bridge there. There’s an older woman named Shareen who was recently robbed and beaten. Both of her wrists are broken and I’m sure she could use some soup.”
Dawn and her friends thanked him and they went on their way.
Man, what he would do to see Dawn again and that beautiful, big smile of hers.
Dawn started coming around with her friends every Monday. She always had soup and hot cocoa.
About two weeks after they first met, Dawn found Marcus at his tent under the bridge. She didn’t say anything about his claims of not being homeless. She continued to smile and offer her hot soup and cocoa.
“Make sure you check Shareen down there and there are a few people down that way,” he pointed down the path. Taking on the security roll, maybe she wouldn’t notice that he was living there too.
He looked forward to running into Dawn during her weekly visits. One night she was alone so he got the courage to ask about the guy that always tagged along with her. He never smiled and always hung back so Marcus thought he was her boyfriend, making sure she wasn’t getting in any trouble.
“No,” she replied giving him that infectious smile. “Kevin is just a friend. I’m single, but with so much going on in my life, I want to be single right now. Kevin likes me, but we’ve had many conversations about that not happening.”
Oh, girls always say that, Marcus thought. She just hasn’t met a real man. I can show her what it would be like for a real man to care for her.
“Well, I like you,” he told her. “Since the first day you came ‘round here. You deserve to be with someone as caring as you.”
“Oh, thanks,” Dawn replied, “but like I said, I’m not interested in dating right now. I have too much going on in my life.”
Anger started to build up. Why wasn’t she giving him a chance and why did she always flash that huge big smile. Didn’t she know it was just leading people on?
One week as she was giving out her stuff to some other folks by their tents he approached. Maybe she just needed time to think about him. Dawn was asking the other folks how they became homeless and what kinds of jobs they wanted.
She turned towards Marcus and offered him some hot cocoa.
“No,” he said. “I don’t need any. Make sure the others get it. I don’t want to take it from them. They need it more than me.” Did his selflessness impress her, he wondered. Only time would tell.
“Are wanting work?” she asked him innocently.
“Yea, I’ve been looking,” Marcus lied. “I just applied at a bottle company down the street the other day. Just waiting to hear back from them.” How would she take it if she knew he’d been homeless for 17 years?
As the weeks went by, his hope began to harden to bitterness as she continued to flash that smile and carry on without carrying about his heart. He was beginning to realize she was just another beautiful white woman who would never care for a man of color. Why did people always see him for the color of his skin? This realization made him seethe.
Now, when he would see her come he would head the other way. He didn’t want to talk to her or have anything to do with her.
Two months went by and more people started setting up tents and living around the lake. They were needy and unprepared. He wanted to help but felt there was little he could do. Dawn came by one night with her friends and Marcus yelled for her and pointed in the direction of some of the new people that needed help. She tried to talk to him, but he went in another direction and she continued on to feed the people he directed her too.
After a few weeks of this, Marcus’s heart began to soften. They started talking again and Dawn told Marcus that she missed him. She saw him as the “beacon of hope” for the homeless people around the lake. Nobody had ever seen him with such value. His heart grew a little bigger when she opened up, but then she said she started dating someone. It was a friend who lived in another state.
“Well, if he’s ever not nice to you,” Marcus said, “just tell me and I’ll take care of it.”
She laughed and flashed her famous smile. “OK” she said.
“I’m serious,” he looked back at her not laughing. “You deserve the best.”
“OK. Thanks.”
He didn’t think she understood how much she meant to him.
But now was the moment. He was going to show her that he’s not scared to protect her.
He remembered her smile…and squeezed the trigger.
Solid tips that work for every writer, Monica! My favorite tip is from Ernest Hemingway “Write drunk, edit sober” Sometimes the hardest part is to just get started. Thank you for sharing this writing advice. Colin Whitehead is amazing.
Thanks for the insights, Monica! Here’s my practice. Don’t know where this came from. Never really written anything like this before. . . taking a chance with an unknown genre. . .
Obviously, it was not her problem.
She fumbled around for the keys in her purse. Found them. Disentangled the car key. Unlocked the car door. Not her problem. The old woman in room 2C. She’d just kept crying and moaning. M. shook her head to clear it of the sound of the woman’s voice, over and over. The same phrase.
It was not her problem. “I just want to die. I just want to die.” Over and over. Lynn, the other nurse on third shift with M. had snapped back at her, “So just die already. Just die and shut up about it.” M. had laughed. She wasn’t sure why, but she had just laughed. And now, two hours later, she just wanted to get home and get out of these goddamn scrubs, pop open a cold beer, and settle back on the couch to watch some television. Forget all about the woman in 2C and the smell of the place, the smell that seemed to settle down into everything she touched these days. She clambered into the drivers seat of her blue Volkswagen beetle. The car her ex had bought for her before he split town for Vegas. Asshole. It was the least he could do for her after getting her knocked up and leaving her for that bitch Cindy. Anyway, she loved the car. It was snug and warm against the bitter winter chill of the early morning parking lot.
She was just about to put the key in the ignition. Just about to head on down the road toward home. A tapping on the passenger door window startled her. Jesus. What the- Next thing she knew there was a horrible sound like the end of the world. Shards of glass flew in toward her. Something hard and rough bounced off her shoulder. Was that a brick? Then hands, strong clutching and pinching hands, were at her. Pulling on her arms, pulling her up and out the shattered window of the car. . . her car. . . amidst her fear and terror, she felt sad. Her car! Broken. Now who was going to fix that. . .but then those thoughts were gone as she struggled against the clutching pulling hands that were now fumbling about the door panel seeking out the latch . . .
Hmmmm, very interesting. There are a lot of people that would help me make my writing so much better. Thank you.
Thank you for the insights, Monica. Tips no 2 is a relief. Tips no 5 is surprising, but then some great writers wrote different genres.