It’s hard enough learning how to write. A story, an ad, a sales letter, a poem, an essay. These skills take years to master. Then the end product may appear deceptively simple, if you’re good enough. The brush strokes may even be invisible, so to speak, but don’t doubt the hard work and practice that went into it.
There’s another lesson that’s often missed in the flurry of wordcraft: How to not write.
This lesson comes in several variations.
Learning when to stop writing
Quentin Tarantino is my favorite example of a tremendously talented writer who lacks an off-switch. His dialogue is so crisp and engaging that it’s hard to imagine cutting it down. His outtakes would be better than most other movies.
And yet, it’s too much. His stories buckle under the weight of his words, and we’re pulled out of the story. Instead of being drawn into the emotion of a scene, we’re captivated (at best; annoyed at worst) by Tarantino’s feats of language. His writing is more stunt than story. Expert, but excessive.
You wouldn’t tell Degas that his paintings would be better if they just had more ballerinas in them. You wouldn’t tell Beethoven that he could take his symphonies to the next level if they were just longer. Sometimes less is more.
Learning when to not start writing
More than once I’ve had clients ask me to come up with copy to fill in some blank space in an ad or brochure. This is a terrible suggestion, not because more copy is never the answer but because copy (or story) isn’t a filler like paint or mulch used to cover holes. A better approach is to start from the top and make sure your message is clear and persuasive. If the writing isn’t doing its job, then you’ve got a bigger problem than some blank space. If the writing is good, then minor adjustments to the design should be able to balance the piece without damaging the message.
But what if the assignment is fundamentally flawed? What if you know that the story won’t work or the ad campaign is a strategic mistake? Do you write it anyway? You do have bills to pay, after all. Or maybe you make a stand and risk losing a check, a client and a line of potential referrals?
One mark of experienced creative and marketing writers is their commitment to projects that will succeed. If a story or ad or client doesn’t look like a green light, they politely decline and wait for the next opportunity. Perhaps the option of saying “no” is one of the perks of success. Or perhaps their success is due in part to their learning when to not write.
Learning when to step away
If you’re a writer, chances are you identify with one of two cultural preconceptions about writers. Are you a starving artist, slaving away in obscurity and sacrificing everything for your art? Or are you a wild genius, indulgent and larger than life, only occasionally coming down to pour out your work in a fit of inspiration?
I’d argue it’s time for a third ideal, the working writer who combines the dedication and hard work of the starving artist with the vivacity and commitment to life experiences of the wild genius. The key is mastering (without surrendering to) the latter’s appreciation of time away from the page. Sometimes staring down the page and soldering through a sales letter or a script isn’t the best approach. Time off, whether it’s for a ten minute walk around the block or a ten day backpacking trip, often results in faster writing and more inspired work.
What about you?
How good are you at not writing?
