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riting stories can be the
antithesis of easy. Indeed, the sheer
amount of uncertainty is what often causes writers to become overwhelmed and
procrastinatory in nature. With no
external voice to give guidance and approval (or disapproval), writers may
habitually second-guess themselves. Of
course, such doubts and anxieties are neither productive nor healthy. Indeed, writers struggling with such problems make
little progress, and likewise, they make no significant progress in their own
personal journeys as human beings. This
leads to a rather depressing stagnation—a place in which nothing is done and
growth is non-existent. Many writers may
be familiar with this bleak purgatory. However,
there are ways to avoid this place—and break out of it should you find yourself
here. And I firmly believe that one of
the greatest ways to unshackle yourself from it is to forge what I call a “literary
fellowship.”
According
to Merriam-Webster Dictionary, “fellowship” is defined as “companionship” and
“company.” However, it also defines
fellowship as a “community of interest, activity, feeling, or experience.” I believe it is the second definition that
most accurately describes the spirit of a literary fellowship. “A community of writers who possess common
tastes, interests, aspirations, and values” would be my own definition of the
concept. But make no mistake—this is much
deeper than a typical writers’ group you may find at the local public
library. The reason I make this
distinction is because the typical writers’ groups often consist of numerous
individuals—all with vastly different interests in genres, styles, and subject
matter. This is not to say that a
diversity in writing philosophies is necessarily
a bad thing. On the contrary, it can
be beneficial and bring about new ideas and fresh inspiration to beginner
writers who have not yet established their genre and style preferences. However, for more advanced writers who have
already written a great deal, these groups can sometimes make progress
sluggish. In this imaginary scenario, I
will illustrate how:
Bob is
an aspiring high-fantasy writer who reads Tolkien. Bob prefers archaism and rich language to
that of simplistic/concise writing more commonly found in contemporary fantasy
stories. Bob then attends a local
writers’ group at his library. Among
those attending are writers with entirely different tastes. For instance, Beth is an avid reader of
modern mystery novels who has read little outside the genre. John is a voracious science-fiction reader
who leans more towards low sci-fi. And
Jackie loves to read political thrillers by Tom Clancy. Beth, John, and Jackie hold no interest in
mid-20th century high fantasy—nor have they read it. This leads to a problem. While critiquing each other’s stories, Jackie
criticizes Bob’s writing for using what she deems to be “antiquated”
language. Similarly, John believes Bob’s
manuscript is far too descriptive. On
the other hand, Bob criticizes Beth’s writing for being too bland and
non-descriptive. Jackie also complains
that Beth’s writing seems arbitrary and painfully slow.
By this
point, the problem should be clear. None
of these writers has any grasp of each other’s preferred writing style and
genre. Beth’s mysteries may be
slow-burns in comparison to Jackie’s fast-paced political thrillers. Similarly, Bob’s writing appears unnecessarily
ornate in comparison to the writing style of John’s science fiction. Thus, not a single writer in this group is
truly equipped with the knowledge and experience to fairly critique each
other’s work. They all have zero frame of reference. And in the end, the result is a diverse group
of writers becoming frustrated with one another or confused—unable to grasp
each other’s inspirations and goals. We
must then realize that what John deems to be relevant criticism is actually
more relevant to someone else writing within his own favorite genre.
Now, if
we are strictly looking at these individuals as readers, the heart of the issue
becomes far more apparent. Beth reads
mysteries. Bob reads fantasy novels. John reads sci-fi stories. And Jackie reads thrillers. If all four have demonstrated little to no
interest in reading genres outside their own, how could they possibly be
prepared to effectively critique each
other’s work? It makes little
sense. Now, suppose they read a wide
range of fiction. In this scenario,
their reactions to each other’s work would probably be far more constructive
and less dismissive. But, since they
don’t, their help is finite. And while
they may be able to help with punctual and grammatical errors, these edits are
merely technical. Locating logical plot
holes and inconsistencies would likely be their most significant contributions. Yet critiques on plot and character
development would be limited, for some genres are more plot-driven than
others. Likewise, some genres are more
character-driven than others. A romance
novel, for example, will likely spend much more time exploring the
inner-thoughts of a character than a fast-paced thriller.
Then, you might ask, what is your solution? How are writers supposed to get help? Well, my answer to your question is this: the
writers with whom you associate often should have similar interests, tastes,
and values. But, you might object, wouldn’t
this merely create an echo chamber in which no measurable progress is made? This is certainly a valid concern. However, what you’ll discover is a bit
paradoxical. Simply because two writers
have similar interests in genre, style, and subject matter does not mean that
their approaches and conclusions are necessarily the same, for both writers in
this scenario are two separate individuals and their life experiences may vary—including
the authors and books they read. Thus,
while the wells from which they draw inspiration might have some overlap, this
does not mean that their creative output is the same. And a pertinent example of this is none other
than the friendship between J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis.
Although
Tolkien was far more of an expert in linguistics while Lewis was more concentrated
in literature, the two created a strong bond through their meetings and
correspondence (Loconte; Geneva College).
After all, both felt alienated by the increasingly modern world and had
experienced tortures beyond compare in the brutal trench warfare of the First
World War (Loconte). Along with other
associates, they met regularly at a local pub, calling their group “Inklings.” It was at these meetings that they shared
their work with one another and received honest feedback (Friess). Interestingly, these meetings did not
construct some terrible echo chamber of incessant nodding and agreements. In
fact, Tolkien and Lewis had a number of disagreements. Tolkien believed that Lewis’s work was
unsophisticated and Lewis believed Tolkien’s work was taking too long due to
his own “self-criticism” (Oxford Visits; Gilsdorf). Nevertheless, the feedback both authors gave
one another was imperative to their growth as writers. And despite their different approaches to
world-building and narrative development, we can clearly see that their life
values were remarkably similar. Perhaps
one of the reasons Tolkien and Lewis bonded was their similar philosophical and
theological outlooks (Gilsdorf). And
now—well into the 21st century—their influences continue to resonate
with writers and readers alike.
Therefore,
what can be learned from their friendship is that there is no harm in
associating with like-minded individuals; for no group of writers is ever entirely uniform. It is simply a matter of balance. Too many different kinds of writers can
diminish progress, which is precisely why it helps writers to surround
themselves with those who are also well-acquainted with their favored genre. Moreover, being able to consult someone with greater
experience can be equally beneficial. For
instance, Lewis was more experienced in publishing than Tolkien, and this is
one of the reasons his advice to him was so instrumental (Gilsdorf). Indeed, when a writer has the success to
demonstrate the merit of his or her work, advice from such an individual is
invaluable. We can see that Tolkien—who
did listen to much of Lewis’s advice—is now considered the founding father of
the fantasy genre we know today (Louinet).
However,
equally valuable is your own
relationship with the other writers.
Perhaps you have a better understanding of how stories in certain genres
approach narrative and structure. This
is precisely where your own experiences can help others who seek to excel. And by regularly meeting with such people,
you begin to know each other’s visions, motivations, inspirations, and
aspirations. And likewise, you might
learn something from them. Ultimately,
your “Literary Fellowship” is not only about your own progress as a writer, but the progress of other writers as
well—and writers for whom you come to know and care. The results in the end may indeed be more incredible
than any of you could have imagined.
Works Cited:
“A Fantasy Friendship: Tolkien and Lewis.” Geneva College, https://www.geneva.edu/blog/uncategorized/tolkien-lewis-fantasy-friendship.
“C.S. Lewis at Oxford: Narnia & J.R.R Tolkien Friendship
and Rivalry.” Oxford Visit, https://web.archive.org/web/20230324193625/https://oxfordvisit.com/articles/c-s-lewis-at-oxford-narnia-j-r-r-tolkien-friendship-and-rivalry/.
Friess, Polly J. “C.S. Lewis and J.R. Tolkien Friendship.” Jackson Hole Classical Academy, https://www.jacksonholeclassicalacademy.org/news-detail?pk=1054326.
Gilsdorf, Ethan. “J.R.R. Tolkien and C. S. Lewis: A Literary Friendship
and Rivalry.” Literary Traveler, https://www.literarytraveler.com/articles/tolkien_lewis_england/.
Loconte, Joseph. “War, Friendship, and Imagination.” C.S.
Lewis Institute, https://www.cslewisinstitute.org/resources/war-friendship-and-imagination-how-j-r-r-tolkien-and-c-s-lewis-rediscovered-faith-friendship-and-heroism-in-the-cataclysm-of-1914-1918/.
Louinet, Patrice. “Robert E. Howard,
Founding Father of Modern Fantasy for the first time again.” Taylor & Francis Online, https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/pdf/10.1080/17409292.2011.557926.
