4 Writing Tips from Anne Lamott in Bird by Bird
A few tips about the craft from a master artisan.
Twenty years ago, Anne Lamott published Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life. Today, it still sells like hotcakes. For the record, I’m not sure why we say “hotcakes” sell so well, but I am sure that Lamott would tell me to drop that cliché from my prose. Regardless, here are four quotes which I found provocative and helpful as I read her thoughts on the craft.
1. On the ethical, passionate center of your life and your writing:
“If you find that you start a number of stories or pieces that you don’t ever bother finishing, that you lose interest or faith in them along the way, it may be that there is nothing at their center about which you care passionately. You need to put yourself at their center, and what you believe to be true or right. The core, ethical concepts in which you most passionately believe are the language in which you are writing.” (103)
2. On writer’s block:
“We have all been there, and it feels like the end of the world. It’s like a little chickadee being hit with an H bomb. Here’s the thing, though. I no longer think of it as block. I think that is looking at the problem from the wrong angle. If your wife locks you out of the house, you don’t have a problem with the door. The word block suggests that you are constipated or stuck, when the truth is that you’re empty.” (177-8)
3. On not saving your “best” stuff for another day:
“Annie Dillard has said that day by day you have to give the work before you all the best stuff you have, not saving up for later projects. If you give freely, there will always be more. This is a radical proposition that runs so contrary to human nature, or at least contrary to my nature, that I personally keep trying to find loopholes in it. But it is only when I go ahead and decide to [go all-in] on a daily basis that I get any sense of full presence… Otherwise I am a weird little rodent squirreling things away, hoarding and worrying about supply.” (202)
4. Writing overcomes isolation:
“Becoming a writer is about becoming conscious. When you’re conscious and writing from a place of insight and simplicity and real caring about the truth, you have the ability to throw the lights on for your reader. He or she will recognize his or her life and truth in what you say, and the pictures you have painted, and this decreases the terrible sense of isolation that we have all too much of.” (226)
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SEEING BEAUTY AND SAYING BEAUTIFULLY by John Piper (FAN AND FLAME Book Reviews)
A FAN AND FLAME book review of John Piper’s latest book, SEEING BEAUTY AND SAYING BEAUTIFULLY.
John Piper. Seeing Beauty and Saying Beautifully: The Power of Poetic Effort in the Work of George Herbert, George Whitefield, and C. S. Lewis; from the series The Swans Are Not Silent (Crossway, May 31, 2014, 160 pages)
Two years ago, I exchanged a few emails with a popular author (Peter Roy Clark). It stressed me out. Why? Because the author has published several books on grammar and effective writing. I must have reread my emails 10 times before hitting send. And maybe it’s just me, but more stressful than writing a short note to a grammar guru would be writing (and preaching) about three men that were brilliant at those very things—writing and preaching.
And this would be only truer when one doesn’t merely try to communicate the content plainly, but to simultaneously do it with beauty. Now that would be stressful. But is precisely what John Piper did in Seeing Beauty and Saying Beautifully: The Power of Poetic Effort in the Work of George Herbert, George Whitefield, and C. S. Lewis.
There is no way for me to know if Piper felt stressed as he wrote about Herbert, Whitefield, and Lewis. If he did, he didn’t say so. But I do know that if the central thesis of his book is correct—and I have found it to be true in my life—then if there was stress involved, we can be sure that there wasn’t only stress. For, as Piper argues, in the effort to say it beautifully, more beauty becomes visible.
And it’s this very point that is the central thesis of the book and the unifying theme across the lives of these giants of poetry, preaching, and prose:
“The effort to say freshly is a way of seeing freshly… The effort to say beautifully is a way of seeing beauty” (74).
Seeing Beauty and Saying Beautifully is the sixth installment in the series TheSwans are Not Silent. Most of the biographies in the series are adapted from hour-long messages at Desiring God’s yearly conference for pastors (links below). And for my part, this is where Piper is at his best—preaching to pastors.
In addition to the biographical sketches, there is a thoughtful essay on the proper, and improper, use of eloquence. The essay attempts to answer the question of when eloquence is helpful and honorable, and when eloquence is gratuitous, or just showing off.
But I should point out, that this book, like the conference messages it is derived from, is not just for those in the biz, not just for practitioners of words. Seeing Beauty and Saying Beautifully is for anyone that cares about their Christian witness, anyone that knows the power of language, and anyone willing to get in the trenches with words. For them, the work comes with a promise; namely, the effort to say it beautifully, there will be more seeing.
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A Few Key Quotes
On George Herbert:
“The central theme of [Herbert’s] poetry was the redeeming love of Christ, and he labored with all of his literary might to see it clearly, feel it deeply, and show it strikingly.” (Piper, Seeing Beauty and Saying Beautifully, 56)
On George Whitefield:
“[Whitefield’s dramatic preaching] was not the mighty microscope using all its powers to make the small look impressively big. [His preaching] was the desperately inadequate telescope turning every power to give some small sense of the majesty of what too many preaches saw as tiresome and unreal.” (Piper, Seeing Beauty and Saying Beautifully, 95)
On C.S. Lewis:
“Part of what makes Lewis so illuminating on almost everything he touches is his unremitting rational clarity and his pervasive use of likening. Metaphor, analogy, illustration, simile, poetry, story, myth—all of these are ways of likening aspects of reality to what it is not, for the sake of showing more deeply what it is.” (Piper, Seeing Beauty and Saying Beautifully, 135, emphasis original)
On “poetic effort”:
“The point is to waken us to go beyond the common awareness that using worthy words helps others feel the worth of what we have seen. Everybody knows that. It is a crucial and wise insight. And love surely leads us to it. But I am going beyond that. Or under that. Or before it. The point of this book has been that finding worthy words for worthy discoveries not only helps others feel their worth but also helps us feel the worth of our own discoveries. Groping for awakening words in the darkness of our own dullness can suddenly flip a switch and shed light all around what it is that we are trying to describe—and feel. Taking hold of a fresh word for old truth can become a fresh grasp of the truth itself. Telling beauty in new words becomes a way of tasting more of the beauty itself.” (Piper, Seeing Beauty and Saying Beautifully, 144).
[In my first blog post, Fresh Words, Fresh Language, Fresh Blood, I say something just like this (“Taking hold of a fresh word for old truth can become a fresh grasp of the truth itself.”) It was affirming to hear Piper sing in harmony.]
Links to Conference Messages: Herbert, Whitefield, and Lewis.
[Image from CS Lewis' study at his home, The Kilns; photo by Mike Blyth]
You Might Expect Things Like This or Maybe This
Okay, okay. What's this thing all about anyway.
I’m into www.fanandflame.com a few months now, and it’s probably time to surface something I have had under the surface, namely, the types of posts you might hope to expect on this blog. The list will evolve, but for now…
Reflections on the Bible, culture, and pastoral ministry. This is my expressed trifold theme. It will bleed into all the other categories.
Book reviews. Lately, I’ve been reading a bunch of books. And for a few of them, I’ll give short reviews—reviews in fewer words than the book has pages.
Writing. Look for musings on the process and joy of writing, and for insights and reflections about the craft. Words are gifts; let’s use them well.
Sermon snippets. Frequently, the best sermon thoughts come on Sunday afternoon—the afternoon AFTER the sermon! Bummer. Occasionally, I’ll post one of the main points or an interesting paragraph, re-purposed with face lift.
Ooohhh, I like this quote. Here’s a quote I stumbled upon, and why I like it. Perhaps now we can appreciate it together. Put it on your fridge or bathroom mirror; memorize it or tattoo it on your shoulder. You’re welcome.
The re-post. Yes, it is someone else’s thoughts (excerpted only; with links for the full article), but if I do this, it’s because I found the post helpful and think you might too. Also, I’ll try to add a few comments of my own to move the ball down the field.
And finally…
Poetry. I don’t think Shakespeare is worried that I’m coming for his title, but I will do my best.
Did I miss anything? Are there other posts you want to see?
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The Last Reps of the Last Set of Bench-Press, and a Reason I Blog
There are lots of reasons to blog. Here is one of them.
I used to be good at bench-press; I did it often enough. Now, those days are mostly gone. But one thing I learned from weightlifting was that there is a huge difference between doing just 2 sets of 10 repetitions, and doing 3 sets of 10 reps—even if on the last set you can only get just 6, 7, 8, or 9 reps.
A lot of work happens in just 3 reps when those reps are your last 3. Something painful and wonderful and productive happens near, or at, our limit.
Doing 1 set everyday—1 easy-effort set, without pain and grunting and the shredding of muscle fibers—doesn’t lead to strength. But doing several sets, and digging deep on the last one, even if only done once a week, does lead to strength.
In other words, those last 3 reps are valuable in a way that the first 10 reps are not, because the last 10% of effort produces more results than the previous 90%. This is true to such an extent that during the attempt to complete the last set, in a way, the last set is really completing you.
This is a reason I blog—not the reason but a reason.
For several years, I’ve been collecting random thoughts in random Microsoft Word documents—fly paper placed randomly throughout the house. If you get an idea in the middle of the night, well then, write it down; scratch a few notes on the notepad beside the bed. If you think of something juicy while riding your bike, pull over and use the smartphone.
These are helpful practices. I know this. If I don’t start here, it can never move beyond there. But really, these are the first reps in the first set. They come relatively easy.
Writing blog posts, however, pushes me—like the last 3 reps, in the last set of bench-press, pushed me. Blogging forces me to exert effort and trim the fat. It forces me to think about my audience and to eschew lazy sentences. No lollygagging, no passive fly paper. My ‘spotters’ yell, “Come on, Vrbicek; push it! Finish the set!”
When I blog, I’m forced to commit to an idea in a greater way than I would have otherwise. Writing for “publication,” albeit publication with a lowercase ‘p,’ gives me knowledge of my limits; my writing muscles get fatigued, and sometimes, the weights thud on my chest, and fatigue gives way to failure.
But it’s okay. Something painful and wonderful and productive happens near, or at, the precipice of (current) ability. After a protein shake and 2 days of recovery, I’ll be the stronger for it.
In other words, the hearty effort to complete 1 blog post at a time, is completing me.
But you might be thinking, “So, Benjamin, what if I don’t blog and I don’t bench?”
To you I’d say, probably there is something in your life where the last 10% matters more than the first 10%, or maybe even the entire previous 90%. Perhaps it’s a hobby or something in your vocation, or an aspect of building a relationship with someone. What is that “something” for you?
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Fresh Words, Fresh Language, Fresh Blood
Not stale, not rehearsed, not clichéd language—we need fresh words, fresh language, fresh blood. In these, there is life. And in the pursuit of these, I launch a blog.
For some time, I contemplated starting a blog. When I made the decision to move forward, an unanticipated question arose: What shall be my first post? You always remember your first. Recently, while listening to an episode from Tony Reinke’s podcast Authors on the Line, I found my answer.
In the episode, Reinke interviewed Pastor Douglas Wilson (also posted on desiringgod.org here). The main talking point was the use of metaphor; but a subtheme, as least as I heard it, was how to communicate effectively.
Early in the interview, Reinke asked Wilson this question:
Was there an ‘ah-ha’ moment in your life or ministry when you discovered the importance of non-fiction imagination to communicate divine truth?
Here is Wilson’s response:
The first resolve was when we were first establishing Credenda as a magazine. I grew up in an evangelical household; I’ve been around missionary newsletters my whole life; I’ve seen Christian magazines and publications and books, etc., for a long, long time. And one of the things that they all had in common, or seemed to me to have in common, was their boringness, their blandness.
So in the acceptable world of evangelical discourse, you have the bland leading the bland… When we were first setting out with Credenda, this was a central resolve… I wanted to write about theology, and history, and doctrine, and culture in a way that was engaging and interesting—not boring. It might be infuriating or it might be exasperating, and you might be tearing your hair out, but you don’t want to put it down. (emphasis added)
Pastor Wilson’s point: Christian writers are [on the whole] bland and boring, and I do not want to be either.
It’s not my place to say whether the appraisal was accurate then or if it remains true today. I have not been around Christian publications long enough or broadly enough to say either way.
And part of me wonders if Wilson, if asked, would say his critique of a few decades ago still holds today. Perhaps he would say that it is still true, at least broadly, though there are many great exceptions. This would be my evaluation.
But to Wilson’s own takeaway (namely, to move beyond bland and boring), I feel a strong resonance. When he says, “I wanted to write about theology, and history, and doctrine, and culture in a way that was engaging and interesting—not boring,” I say, “Amen. Preach it, preacher.”
I see this as a sensible and timely pursuit, not simply because I personally like to read the type of writing Wilson wants to produce, but also because of the cultural shift away from the historic message of Christianity.
Two Ways to Lose the Christian Message
There are two ways to lose the historic message of Christianity.
On the one hand, we can lose it by cutting ties with the actual historic message—the centrality of the announcement of the good news of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection. This is the death of severing the veins from the heart. Blood will not flow when the pathways are disconnected from the source. And of this type of ‘death,’ I do feel that I know enough to say that it is rampant today—a lifeless Christianity, not lifeless because Christianity is lifeless, but because it’s not Christianity. As an example of this ‘death,’ consider how often Christianity becomes mere rule keeping devoid of the gospel. That’s not Christianity; it’s mere religion disconnected from the source of salvation, the foundation of forgiveness: the person and work of Jesus.
However, on the other hand, we can lose the historic message of Christianity by saying the message in the same way that we have always said it. This is the death of recirculating oxygen-depleted blood.
I was reminded of this recently when I asked my young children what made someone a Christian. Their first answer: “Ask Jesus into your heart.”
Well, okay, I guess that could mean something helpful, but what does this phrase even mean? It’s an example of language that has lost meaning because it’s expected; it’s been recirculated too many times.
Not stale, not rehearsed, not clichéd language—we need fresh words, fresh language, fresh blood. In these, there is life. And in the pursuit of these, I launch a blog—a first I want to remember.
May God use it to “fan into flame” (2 Timothy 1:6) the craft of speaking and writing the historic message of Christianity in accessible and riveting language. May God use it to pump fresh, oxygen-rich blood into the body.
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