There is an adage that says a writer is born, not made. This is true, but only to an extent. Yes, one must possess some innate talent for that talent to be honed. Yet talent, however natural, is only a potential; it requires cultivation and training to develop into craft.
But what kind of training does a writer need? Certainly not the straitjacket kind that dictates what a writer must or must not do. Good creative training should suggest rather than command. Unfortunately, there are many prescriptions out there masquerading as rules – rigid instructions that can run counter to the very spirit of creativity.
Take, for instance, the rule in fiction that a writer should ‘show, not tell’. Then there is the prescription in poetry that adjectives and adverbs should be avoided.
There is no doubt that showing can be more effective in fiction. It takes the reader into the story, allowing him to see and experience the setting, encounter the characters and witness events, rather than merely having these things reported to them. Dialogue and action, in particular, create a sense of immediacy. It is like driving someone through a town and allowing him to experience it, rather than showing him a map and describing its geography.
But a writer, especially a beginner, should also understand that telling is not a literary sin. It is another legitimate tool of storytelling, and like every other tool, it should be used judiciously. A reader may not fully understand a character’s behaviour without some backstory or exposition that provides insight into the character’s history, circumstances or motives. Sometimes, telling is not only appropriate, it is the most economical way of moving a story forward.
Regarding the use of adjectives and adverbs in poetry, it is true that poetry often thrives on economy of words. Expressions that suggest rather than explain can therefore be more powerful, drawing readers into the creative process and allowing them to participate in constructing meaning. But this does not mean that every modifier should be banished from poetry.
Consider the attempt to create a particular mood or atmosphere. Simply mentioning the sky may not provide enough specificity. A clear sky, a blue sky, a dark sky or a clouded sky evokes different images and carries different emotional possibilities. The modifier, therefore, is not necessarily an ornament to be discarded; sometimes it is precisely what gives the image its intended meaning.
The point, then, is not that writers should ignore the principles of craft. On the contrary, writers need to learn them. But principles should serve creativity, not imprison it. A writer should understand why a particular technique works before deciding whether and when to depart from it. Rules are useful as guides, but dangerous when treated as commandments.
Ultimately, the best way to hone one’s craft may be through reading the works of other writers, particularly accomplished and acclaimed writers. Reading widely exposes a writer to different voices, styles, structures, techniques and possibilities. It teaches not merely what can be done, but also how differently the same thing can be done.
Learn the craft. Study the principles. Listen to advice. But, above all, develop the confidence to trust your creative instincts.
* Umaisha is a notable poet and novelist in Nigeria
