The Writing They Don't Teach You in School
- julian32019
- Apr 8
- 4 min read
By Claire Yang
Art by Julian Riccobon
Art by Julian Riccobon
How do you become a better writer? This is an essential question that writers continually ask themselves. While your English class presents a rigid, rubric-based structure that your writing must follow (a thesis there, a main quote here, and supporting details everywhere), it can feel as if there’s only one correct way to write. It’s a system that makes sense. After all, teaching writing to hundreds of students requires structure and standardization. But, at some point, you realize that good writing—real writing— doesn’t fit neatly into a five-paragraph format. It doesn’t ask for topic sentences in perfect order or transitions that sound like they came straight from a textbook. One of the most liberating aspects of writing is that structure is not law. There are so many ways to write anything, and there is no standard to what good writing should look like, nor should there be. I like to think of any piece of writing as a living thing. Like anything else alive, it thrives on flexibility, spontaneity, and imperfection.
When I first started writing “seriously,” I realized that five-paragraph essays and my hallowed mantra of “show, don’t tell” weren’t enough. The real secrets lie in the messy, horrible first drafts I shudder to look at, and the practical lessons learned through trial, error, and countless abandoned Google Docs. That’s the kind of writing school doesn’t teach you. Here’s what I wish someone had told me earlier:
#1: Embrace the Terrible First Draft
One of the most liberating discoveries I made was that your first draft should be awful. We want to aim for perfection, but in actuality, perfection is the enemy of good writing. If you sit down and expect to write a perfect piece, you’ll freeze. You’ll stare at the page, waiting for your mind to think of the perfect first sentence, and suddenly, an hour will pass and you’ll have written nothing. But if you let yourself write a messy, awkward, cringeworthy first draft? You’re free. You can experiment and take risks. Forget fully-fleshed plots and beautiful endings. Embrace ugliness. Shun perfection. Remember: there can’t be a beautifully finalized piece without an ungainly first draft as a foundation. Some author once said that a first draft is like “telling yourself a story for the first time” — you don’t know the plot, you don’t know where it’s headed, and often you don’t even know what you’re trying to say.
But, as Nora Roberts said, you can’t fix a blank page. The real magic happens with revision, but you need the raw material to work with first. So just start!
#2: Writer's Block is a Signal
While we like to treat writer’s block as a curse sent from the depths of the abyss, it may be healthier and wiser to treat it as a sign from the universe. Think about it: When you can’t write, why can’t you write?
For me, writer’s block almost always happens for one of two reasons:
I’m trying to force an idea I don’t fully believe in.
I haven’t thought deeply enough about what I’m trying to say.
Instead of staring at a blank page, step away. Take a shower. Walk your dog. Do something completely unrelated to writing. One quirk of writing is that the best ideas don’t come when you’re actively trying to write; they come when you’re doing something else entirely.
There’s a reason why so many people say they get their best ideas in the shower. When your brain relaxes, it makes connections you wouldn’t have seen otherwise. So, if you’re stuck, don’t fight it. Listen to what it’s trying to tell you. Maybe you need a break. Maybe you need to rethink your angle. Maybe you’re forcing something that isn’t working. Whatever the case, let your brain breathe. The words will come.
#3: Kill your Darlings
In school, we write extravagantly long, unnecessary, synonym-ridden, superfluous sentences that repeat our main point over and over again in as many ways as we can think of from the top of our heads to fulfill some arbitrary minimum word count. But in the real world, brevity is currency. Every sentence must earn its keep. “Kill your darlings” is one of the best pieces of writing advice out there. It means that sometimes, you’ll have to cut the lines you love most. That poetic sentence? If it doesn’t serve the piece, it has to go. This is painful. You’ll convince yourself that this sentence is special, that this paragraph is brilliant. But the truth is, if your writing is stronger without it, it doesn’t matter how much you love it.
The best writing is sharp, focused, and to the point. Every sentence must earn its place. And if it’s not pulling its weight, cut it.
#4: Find Your Voice
Perhaps the most pervasive myth is the need to develop some sophisticated “writing voice.” But there’s no reason why your writing voice should be anything different from the voice in your head. Your writing voice isn’t something you find; it’s something you already have. Read your work aloud. If you wouldn’t say it over brunch with a friend, don’t write it. The most compelling writing feels like a conversation with a surprisingly articulate version of yourself.
Write the way you talk. Trust that your voice is enough.
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I hope these four tips help you break free from the constraints of the classroom and discover your path. Remember, the best writing often comes from breaking the rules you learned in school – thoughtfully and purposefully, of course.
So, write the terrible first draft. Step away when you’re stuck. Cut what doesn’t belong. And most importantly, trust your own voice.
Happy writing!
About the Author
Claire Yang is a writer and editor who learned most of these lessons the hard way.
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