A round-up of some of the writing books I’ve read recently.  

Full of encouragement and chatty confessions, this book provides a solid introduction to some of the tips and tricks that writers use to get going.  The exercises are mostly designed to take no more than half an hour, and while not all of them were useful for me personally, there are a number that I have been using on a regular basis, such as “Reviews” (pretty self-explanatory), “Conversation Observation” (yes, I spy on you all, mwa ha ha) and “Where Have You Gone”, though seeing as this last one asks you to describe in detail every place you have ever lived, it’ll be a while before I’m done.  The ‘Obstacle’ pages give advice on how to overcome the dreaded writer’s block. 

The overall tone of the book is informal, passionate and ever so slightly earnest, in that peculiarly American way which is very well-meaning, but can sound a bit patronising to British ears.  That aside, the exercises are simple and well thought out, and often yield interesting (if not necessarily publishable) results.

Based on his columns for The Guardian, this book is aimed squarely at the book club crowd, but is an interesting read for any avid novel reader.  Avoiding both stodgy literary criticism and any ‘dumbing down’ in his explanations, this is an interesting dissection of the techniques used by both classic and contemporary authors, paying particular attention to the history and development of the novel as a form. 

My only slight gripe is that he does assume that you have either read the novels under discussion or else won’t mind if he gives away every plot twist and surprise ending – if Mullan mentions a novel you think you’d like to read in the future, I highly recommend skipping those pages until you have done so.  Spoiler alerts would’ve been nice, John.

 This coursebook grew out of the Creative Writing undergrad course at UEA, and includes exercises used on the programme. It is a much more comprehensive introduction than the Sharp book reviewed above. It is divided into three sections: Gathering, Shaping and Finishing, and within each section there are contributions from highly-regarded authors such as Ali Smith, David Lodge and Patricia Duncker.

I would recommend this book to anyone who is considering taking a Creative Writing course – I worked my way through most of it before starting my MA, and I think it gives you a good introduction to the practice of Creative Writing as a discipline.

Atwood apparently has this epigram above her desk, which makes me love her a little bit more than I already did. It also sums up her attitude towards being a famous writer.  This book is based on a series of lectures she gave at Cambridge, and there is a conversational tone to the prose that allows her wit to come through in her pithy asides. She explores questions of what it means to be a writer, but steers clear of the pitfalls of pretentiousness and arrogance (she is remarkably self-deprecating, in fact).

A wonderful antidote to all the ‘How To’ books on writing, and one I intend to reread often.  

 Like Mullan’s book, Lodge’s much acclaimed work is based on a series of articles, and also like Mullan, he focuses in on particular authors and texts to give close readings which illustrate various aspects of classic and modern literature. As A.S. Byatt says on the back cover, it is “a book for dipping” – there are 50 short chapters on topics ranging from teenage skaz (J.D Salinger) to weather (Jane Austen, Charles Dickens) to metafiction (John Barth).

I have to admit that I personally find Lodge a bit dry at times, and I am not entirely sure that we share the same sense of humour, but this is an instructive and accessible book.

 Subtitled A Guide for People Who Love Books and for Those Who Want to Write Them (that’d be me, then) this book is based on one of the fundamental principles of writing: a good writer is an avid reader. The oh-so-aptly named Prose believes absolutely that the two go hand-in-hand, arguing that “a close reading course should at least be a companion, if not an alternative, to the writing workshop.” She also reiterates a point that has been stressed on our MA course – that it is important read slowly (advice that is all very well, but might have to be heeded once the course is over and the mountain of books on my bedside table becomes non-compulsory reading once more).

As an English teacher, I was a fan of her emphasis on the importance of good grammar, and as a writer, I was pleased to see her debunk some of the more didactic rules of writing, notably the cliché ‘show, don’t tell.’ But this book isn’t only for aspiring writers; anyone who is interested in literature will take something away from it.

 Say what you like about Stephen King, the man knows how to get a book written. As an arch-procrastinator, any tips that will help me actually sit down and write are always appreciated. With that in mind, even though I have only read one or two of King’s books, I was keen to see what he had to say.

King certainly has a very disciplined approach: he “generously” suggests a starting goal of 1,000 words a day and four to six hours of reading and writing, which even at the moment is something I only achieve on a really, really good day. I do like his analogy of writing with the door closed and rewriting with the door open – more and more I am realising that writing and editing are two very different halves of a writing life, equally important, but calling for completely different skills (more on this in the next review).

There is plenty of good, basic advice in this book; I saw a review which described it as ‘the equivalent of Delia’s How To Cook,’ which sums up it nicely. However, the pally tone in which it is delivered may grate – see my fellow MA-er Benjamin Judge’s harsh-but-fair take on King’s book at http://benjaminjudge.com/2012/01/27/on-writing-by-stephen-king/ – and it is hard to take as gospel the word of a writer whose idea of a complete re-edit is to print out the first draft and make a few minor changes with a felt tip.

 Of all the books on writing reviewed here, this classic text was the one that had the most impact on me. It is encouraging without being patronising, and startlingly insightful, articulating what it means to be a writer in ways that, to me at least, made absolute sense. I also loved the old-fashioned tone: I feel like I can picture Dorothea in her horn-rimmed glasses, dispensing delightful advice such as this, for coffee addicts:

Most of the advice she gives is much less ‘prosaic’, however, and her explanation of the ‘dual personality’ of the writer allows for a real sense of how to approach the very different disciplines of writing the first draft and returning to edit it. She explores the importance of the unconscious mind, along with ideas of what we now term ‘mindfulness,’ which can be an incredibly useful tool for a writer. The technique of ‘morning pages’ – writing two or three pages as soon as you wake up – has also proved invaluable for me.

I would definitely recommend this book to all aspiring writers, though I did wonder how male writers would react to it – boys, if any of you have read this, let me know what you thought!