When I think about the writer I’ve evolved into, after more than 20 years of learning and honing my craft, I can trace part of that journey through four books in particular: Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott, Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg, David Copperfield by Charles Dickens, and Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman.
Yes, I know, these are wildly different books. If you’re familiar with my books, you know that I write wildly different kinds of stories. Bird by Bird is intimate and conversational, while Writing Down the Bones is spiritual and meditative. David Copperfield is a sprawling world unto itself and deeply human, while Leaves of Grass is wide enough to feel almost cosmic. Together they shaped not only how I write, but how I think about the act of writing itself.
I first encountered Bird by Bird as a young, fresh-faced undergraduate English major at a time in my life when writing still felt mysterious to me. I knew I wanted to be a “real” writer even if I wasn’t entirely certain what that meant. What struck me immediately about Anne Lamott’s voice was her honesty and her sense of humor. She writes about insecurity, terrible first drafts, jealousy, fear, procrastination, you know, all of the messy realities that so often remain hidden behind the polished image of authorship. Lamott was one of the first authors I encountered who talked about the not-so-pretty behind the scenes part of being a writer.
Bird by Bird taught me that writing often begins in uncertainty, which is good because I have had plenty of uncertainty over the years. This book showed me that doubt is not necessarily evidence of failure but instead it’s evidence that I care deeply about the work. Lamott gave me permission to approach writing as someone who will always be learning her craft. She also gave me the term “shitty first draft,” which I love and have used ever since.
Even now, when I’m struggling through a difficult draft, I return to the pages of Bird by Bird since it’s one of those books I return to every few years. At this point of my writing career, I’m not necessarily seeking technical advice, although Lamott gives such advice in the book. Lamott taught me that the act of creation is allowed to be awkward and unfinished until it finds its way. She also taught me that it’s okay to laugh about writing no matter how much you love it.
Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg taught me how to listen to the spiritual aspects of writing. I have always felt a spiritual affinity with writing, but until I read Goldberg I never had the words to express what I innately understood. Goldberg approaches writing as if it’s a spiritual practice, which it can be. From Goldberg, I learned that writing is less about constructing brilliance and more about paying attention to the world around me. I’ve read Writing Down the Bones so many times I think I’ve absorbed it into my DNA. Before reading Goldberg, I often thought of writing primarily in terms of structure, craft, productivity, and most importantly, publication. Writing Down the Bones shifted my attention toward writing as a practice.
Probably zero people are surprised that Charles Dickens’s David Copperfield has been a huge influence on my writing. I’ve told the story before about how I read David Copperfield in a graduate seminar for my Master’s in English, and it was from reading that book that I decided that I wanted to write novels as well. For me, David Copperfield isn’t just a story. It’s an entire world large enough to live inside. Dickens possessed that rare ability to create stories that were entire worlds unto themselves. Reading David Copperfield for me feels less like reading a story and more like entering a complete emotional universe populated by imaginary people who are as alive as anyone I see around me.
From Dickens, I learned that literary fiction could and should contain humor and sorrow side by side. That’s what human life is, after all, always lingering between light and dark. Dickens also taught me that atmosphere and memory matter. As a matter of fact, many of the books I write owe quite a lot to the lessons I learned from Dickens.
Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman might seem to be the outlier here, but it isn’t really. I read Whitman for the first time for my undergraduate degree in English, and to be completely honest, I don’t think I fully understood him the first time I read him. His poetry felt too large to be completely contained, or even understood, in a single reading. Whitman writes with astonishing expansiveness, following his thoughts wherever they lead him. He understood that his readers would follow him along his winding thoughts because his thoughts echoed our own. Whitman understood that we are uniquely individual as well as interconnected. Mainly, what I learned from Whitman was a love of the English language and a love of poetry. Whitman taught me that writing could be lyrical and beautiful and express great truths.
Looking back now, I realize that these books shaped different parts of my writing self. Anne Lamott taught me to have sympathy for the imperfect process of telling stories in words. Natalie Goldberg taught me about writing as a practice and to separate the creator from the editor. Charles Dickens taught me about emotional depth, humor, and atmosphere. Walt Whitman taught me poetry. Together, they helped form the foundation beneath my writing long before I fully understood what kind of a writer I wanted to be. Once I understood what kind of writer I wanted to be, I knew what I was aiming for in my novels.