When I was starting to write books, in the mid-1990’s, I was deeply sceptical about the teaching of storytelling. I thought it would put a straitjacket on my imagination. I didn’t want to know about rules or principles or techniques. If I was going to write a novel, I was determined to do it singlehanded and by the seat of my pants. I was very influenced by one version of the fable of the millipede.
High above the forest floor, a millipede strolled along the branch of a tree, her thousand pairs of legs swinging in an easy gait. From the treetop, songbirds looked down, fascinated by the synchronization of the millipede’s stride. “That’s an amazing talent,” chirped the songbirds. “You have more limbs than we can count. How do you do it?” And for the first time in her life, the millipede thought about this. “Yes,” she wondered, “how do I do what I do?” As she turned to look back, her bristling legs suddenly ran into one another and tangled like vines of ivy. The songbirds laughed as the millipede, in a panic of confusion, twisted herself in a knot and fell to earth below.
So that was my belief - that if I thought too much about it, I would ruin any effort I was capable of making. And it wasn’t an uncommon attitude at the time. There were very little in the way of creative writing courses on offer then. The idea was, you either had ‘it’ - whatever ‘it’ was - or you didn’t.
However, it turned out that there was another version of the millipede fable that I was not aware of, which continues the action thus:
On the forest floor, the millipede, realizing that only her pride was hurt, slowly, carefully, limb by limb, unravelled herself. With patience and hard work, she studied and flexed and tested her appendages, until she was able to stand and walk. What was once instinct became knowledge. She realized she didn’t have to move at her old, slow, rote pace. She could amble, strut, prance, even run and jump. Then, as never before, she listened to the symphony of the songbirds and let the music touch her heart. Now in perfect command of thousands of talented legs, she gathered courage, and, with a style of her own, danced and danced a dazzling dance that astonished all the creatures of her world.
This is the craft of writing. To understand how to convert instinct into knowledge.
But what is this craft, exactly? And how much craft is there in the process of writing?
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