How To Become A Writer: A Totally Accurate Guide from the Blue Devil's Favorite Mistake
Victoria Wraight
This is a formal apology to my advanced fiction writing professor who was subjected to my splatterpunk nightmare of a novella wrapped in a gothic bow and delivered with the sweet and sincere smile of a straight-A student (sorry!).
The writer is born like an aviary beast, breaking free from bloody eggshells to spread the curse of purple prose and extended metaphors! She is a terror to behold.
When I began college, my father told me to punch life’s teeth out. This was the final sentiment that killed the tiny angel on my shoulder, her wings plucked by the tiny devil, who whispered and hissed into my ear when I dared to sleep.
She wanted me to transcribe her frustrations and nightmares, she wanted me to remember we were once terrified of the dark, and now we want to be in The Dark.
She wanted me to become the type of writer that would make Percy Shelley’s calcified heart beat with terror.
Look at me breaking repetition! Look at me starting a delicious opening to the rule of three. This is me breaking just to spite you.
The first rule of writing is to have the unbridled confidence of William Blake when he introduced us to the man sized flea that enlightened us about the souls of men.
The second rule of writing is to be prepared to be gawked at as if you just introduced readers to a man sized flea that enlightens them about the souls of men.
The third rule of writing is to follow a pattern.
A fourth thing I learned is that if you break enough rules you’re either a genius or an amateur.
A final fifth thing? If there are words in your skull that need to come out, let them out before they eat away at your eyes.
If your determination and tendency to seek out the bizarre and capture it in ink make a professor laugh in your face or declare the writing world would be lucky to have you, those are the right words.
If your strange, delightful, and utterly frightful tales earn you a concerned link to the school’s counseling center or a gracious internship offer, those are the right words.
But then again, I’m a rotten wordsmith with too many books and not enough brains. There are too many voices screaming the same thing. If you want to be a writer, it’s already too late.
Victoria Wraight (she/her) is always looking for the cryptic and strange in her hometown of Buffalo, NY. When she isn’t haunting bookstores, she can be found hunched over a coffee exploring her latest ideas. Her work has been featured in Diet Milk Mag, Coffin Bell, and Idle Ink.