How I overcame writer’s block and actually finished a novel

Brannavan Gnanalingam is a lawyer and novelist, including the Ockham New Zealand Book Awards shortlisted Sodden Downstream and Sprigs. His latest, Slow Down, You’re Here was released in last year.

OPINION: According to a recent analysis of Google searches (The dream job most New Zealanders long for, and how to get it on Stuff), many New Zealanders wish they could be a writer. Which surprises me, given that writers are uniformly deplorable individuals with limited social skills and narcissistic personalities.

I have often said everybody has a book in them. That doesn’t necessarily mean the book will be good, publishable, readable, or not lose you any money. But none of that matters, or should stop you writing.

I look at my young children and see how they love coming up with stories. Sure, few of their stories maintain any sense of narrative coherence, would pass the Bechdel test, or could be cashed in for movie rights. But there is something inherent about storytelling. I wish most people weren’t discouraged from doing so, as they grew up.

So here are some non-binding, completely ignorable, tips that have helped me. This is from someone who became a writer by accident. English is not my first language. I never studied creative writing or English at university. Instead, I went on a chaotic trip through North and West Africa, wrote a blog, and a friend passed that blog to her ex-boyfriend who passed it on to my (now) publisher. And here we are.

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* How I write: Young Adult Fiction Award winner Shilo Kino

There’s no one way of becoming a writer, and one of the great things about writing is that you’re never too old or young to start (aside from babies, they’re probably not going to be very good at holding a pen).

It helps to read as much as you can, if you can. I only got better once I started trying to understand how other writers do it. And it also means I read as widely as I can, and from as many diverse writers as possible. I try to read books that I don’t like or don’t think I’d like: I can learn just as much (if not more) from pulling apart a book I hated.

I’d recommend having an overarching purpose. I write because I genuinely don’t think the literary establishment and literary hipsters read South Asian writers in this country (with a few Booker Prize winners as exceptions, and even then…).

That, in turn, means our interior lives are marginalised. More generally, that means we get read with stereotypical views, and, some of the actual issues within South Asian communities remain hidden. I’ve come to realise though, that there are plenty of people who read our books in New Zealand, which jars with that institutional gatekeeping. I want to crowbar open some space to ensure South Asians can write about whatever they want, how they want.

Your purpose doesn’t need to be as self-important as that. Your purpose might be to ensure your granddad’s war diary is recorded for posterity or because you think a mash-up of King Arthur and space zombies is the book the world needs. Having a purpose will keep you going when the grind of forcing words onto a page, or reading something again on your 30th edit, loses its romantic sheen.

Because writing is a grind. It’s work. And the only way you get better at writing is by practising. The more you write, the better you’ll get – or at least, feel more comfortable putting words down.

I’ve come to be judicious, rather than willy-nilly, in terms of who I get feedback from. I have a very close relationship with my publisher, Murdoch Stephens, and editor, Robyn Kenealy. And I listen to 99.9% of their feedback, because I trust their views. The three of us have very similar reading tastes and are intellectually aligned. Taking feedback from people who’ll get what you’re trying to do is extremely valuable. Feedback from people who aren’t, is less so.

Writing isn’t an artform made for community, unlike music or theatre, but if you can find a community, that helps immeasurably. You could form a writing group with like-minded people. If you love speculative fiction, romance or crime fiction, there are vibrant and supportive communities in Aotearoa in those genres. Or if you and a friend are both starting out, you’ll be able to encourage each other along.

You might as well make everything else around the writing fun, in case nothing really happens. Or if something happens, then they’ll be your community to fall back on, because once a book is out in the wild, it’s out of your hands. I want to ensure that I don’t pull the ladder up behind me. Being competitive in art is an ugly trait. Writing is not the Olympics.

Finally, even if none of the above is remotely relevant, I remember someone telling me early on, never say you want to be a writer, say you are a writer. It gives you something to live up to. And it means that no matter what then happens – everything, nothing – then all you remain focused on is simply putting one word, after another, after another.