Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott is an inspiring nonfiction book for those either aspiring to become a writer or already one. It’s primarily focused on general writing insights related to the writing process, rather than structuring a novel or the intricacies of novel-writing (although it contains some of it). I learned plenty from this book, some of which I highlight in this review.
Why We Read & Write
Every grand idea in life begins with the desire for hope, and it’s no different for the writer. Lamott sees the writer’s life as spiritual and drawing upon stubborn hope to keep working through the roughs of life. She says: “Hope is a revolutionary patience; let me add that so is being a writer. Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait and watch and work: you don’t give up.”
Books. Why do we, as humans, want to read and write? Lamott says it best:
Because for some of us, books are as important as almost anything else on earth. What a miracle it is that out of these small, flat, rigid squares of paper unfolds world after world after world, worlds that sing to you, comfort and quiet or excite you. Books help us understand who we are and how we are to behave. They show us what community and friendship mean; they show us how to live and die. They are full of all the things that you don’t get in real life (..).
It’s the job of the writer to transport you to these faraway worlds, often as an escape or to teach something about ourselves. And nothing does it better than the versatile power of the written word.
Writing is a magical experience and one she considers a ‘noble and mysterious’ pursuit to create characters out of one’s imagination. There are always stories waiting to be told. The desire to tell stories lies within all of us, fulfilling something within us, but it can only happen if we apply ourselves. Lamott provides her personal anecdotes, love for the written word, and wisdom she picked up along her journey as a writer from a young age. Writing is certainly challenging, and nobody becomes a published writer overnight. It’s a craft where the work never stops, even after one becomes published. While a noble pursuit, it’s not a get-rich-fast scheme, but a lifelong journey.
Bird by Bird
The first advice she (or rather, her father) gives that resonates with me is to take it bird by bird. You don’t have to think too far ahead when writing; your focus is on what’s right ahead of you. She quotes E. L. Doctorow, who said, “writing a novel is like driving a car at night. You can see only as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.” A story, ultimately, is told one description and detail at a time, so write one description and detail at a time!
First Drafts & Perfection
Second, first drafts are always going to be atrocious (or “shitty” as she says!). Writers aren’t judged by their first drafts, but their final drafts. To do otherwise can prevent you from even starting on your ideas. Instead, she suggests silencing the internal chatter and start somewhere. Further, she sees perfectionism as “the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people.” One worried about perfection may never begin, so leave your perfectionism at the door. She says:
We need to make messes in order to find out who we are and why we are here—and, by extension, what we’re supposed to be writing.” Let the messes be because a writer’s job is not to seek perfection. Rather, as Lamott argues, “You set out to tell a story (..), to tell the truth as you feel it because something is calling you to. You need to make messes in order to find out who we are, why we are here, (..) and what we’re supposed to be writing.
I believe we become better artists by learning what doesn’t work in order to find out what does. The only way to do that is by making mistakes and working to improve. Future drafts will polish what you have, but perfection is beyond reach.
Developing & Plotting a Story
Fourth, she compared developing a story to that of a polaroid photo. If you’ve ever watched a polaroid develop, it isn’t instantaneous. Details slowly emerge and sharpen into focus over time. Similarly, it’s also how writing works. The first draft follows the trajectory of a polaroid developing. The picture will slowly become clearer and clearer, revealing details you might not have noticed at the beginning. You won’t know everything when you start, but it will become clearer as you go forward. The same goes for your characters: you won’t know them in-depth when you first created them. Lamott advises to stay open to them, listen, and familiarize yourself with them as you write.
From the character comes the plot. Lamott argues the plot grows out of character, rather than the characters acting as pawns to serve the plot. While I think it’s a valid point, it’s also arguable, depending on the writer’s approach. I don’t see why a plot can’t drive a character; often, it can even be a combination, where character drives the plot while the plot shapes them. However, it becomes the chicken or the egg problem, which I won’t delve into here. For plotting a story, she cites Alice Adams’ formula, which is ABCDE, representing Action, Background, Development, Climax, and Ending. Lamott breaks the process down step by step in a self-explanatory way:
You begin with action that is compelling enough to draw us in, make us want to know more. Background is where you let us see and know who these people are, how they’ve come to be together, what was going on before the opening of the story. Then you develop these people, so that we learn what they care most about. The plot—the drama, the actions, the tension—will grow out of that. You move them along until everything comes together in the climax, after which things are different for the main characters, different in some real way. And then there is the ending: what is our sense of who these people are now, what are they left with, what happened, and what did it mean?
For dialogue, she advises writers to read it aloud. Second, ensure that each character’s voice is distinct enough that the words can identify the speaker. Third, not everything needs to be said—what a character doesn’t say is as important as what they say. These are all basic pieces of advice, but crucial to a story.
Writer’s Goal
A writer’s job is to notice the details and to communicate what’s happening using intuition. Allow your characters to speak to you as the author, and in return, allow them to reach your readers. Lamott advises including your thoughts and feeling into your writing, while relaxing your rational mind. “Write from a place of insight and simplicity and real caring about the truth,” she says. Instead of being too subtle or oblique, a writer should connect with the readers in an emotional, direct way. A successful writer can empathize and spur emotions in their readers, allowing the story to resonate with them.
For that, she suggests observing life around you and writing your observations to incorporate in your writing. And write daily to get into the habit of it (practice makes perfect!).
Conclusion
Lamott provides such wonderful and intriguing tips on the little things and the big, as she had learned through her life and journey. These are pieces of advice you can apply to your own writing and thinking process. I loved how open she was about her thoughts and feelings (just as she preached). She wore her dreams, her aspirations, her pains, frustrations, and hopes on her sleeves. She said what she meant, and she meant what she said without dancing around words. I love writers who leave nothing on the table. I think it’s a must read if you are an aspiring writer or enjoy picking up knowledge.
She leaves us with a beautiful sentiment about why writing matters, and I will leave you with her words.
Because of the spirit, I say. Because of the heart. Writing and reading decrease our sense of isolation. They deepen and widen and expand our sense of life: they feed the soul. When writers make us shake our heads with the exactness of their prose and their truths, and even make us laugh about ourselves or life, our buoyancy is restored. We are given a shot at dancing with, or at least clapping along with, the absurdity of life, instead of being squashed by it over and over again. It’s like singing on a boat during a terrible storm at sea. You can’t stop the raging storm, but singing can change the hearts and spirits of the people who are together on that ship.