How I Learned to Write Real Good

...and can novel writing be taught?

My writing education was not exactly the stuff of myth, as fun as that would be to suggest. I did not emerge from the birth canal with pen in hand, nor did I teach myself to read at an early age—I struggled along with the rest of the first graders. While my secondary education was writing-heavy, I received no formal training. I’ve never diagrammed a sentence. I never even journaled until my life’s challenges forced me to figure out a few things at the age of 36. I’ve mentored MFA candidates, even though my own masters is not in fine arts, but in phys ed—where I encountered none of the classic literature with which many writers are conversant. So why did I think I could write a publishable novel?

There’s only one characteristic that makes anyone think they can pull off such a feat, and it’s something all beginning novelists have in common.

Hubris. Because we have no clue about the magnitude of the task before us, we just believe we can do it.

Now I won’t lie, I did have a few things going for me. My life has been rich with story since my earliest memories, from my parents reading to us kids each night, to librarians and teachers who encouraged my love of reading, to late-night gabfests with friends and family whose storytelling ignited my imagination.

My own nature helped me along. I have a memory for patterns, for instance, which makes me a naturally good speller. Because I believe empathy would solve most of the world’s ills, I care very much about clear communication. If someone can’t understand where I’m coming from, I’ll try an alternate way of building my point. If I can’t understand where they’re coming from, questions roll effortlessly from my tongue. I can sustain focus for long periods of time and I’m curious about…well, pretty much everything.

So, can novel writing be taught?

I know it can. I’ve been doing it for 18 years.

To convey our thoughts with confidence, we can be taught how to assemble more effective sentences and paragraphs. How to manage reader expectation. How to structure scenes that will invest readers in our characters’ dilemmas while delivering heart-thumping tension, heart-breaking consequence, and heart-warming resolution.

And don’t worry about spelling and grammar. There are online tools and copy editors for that.

What can’t be taught?

There are three things a writer must bring to the table.

1. Passion. You have to love your story idea enough to make room for it in your life, whether that’s getting up earlier or going to bed later or writing in the car while your child is at soccer. You’ll need to eat, think, and breathe story every chance you get, since it will be through that waiting room magazine or newspaper advice column or random drug-store novel that you’ll absorb countless skills that enhance your ability to wield the written word. Many say they have a book in them. Some even set out to write it. But you need to be on fire to go the distance, especially once you start getting feedback that suggests writing a novel is a heck of a lot harder than you thought it would be. That’s when the next attribute comes in handy.

2. Emotional fortitude. Creating and populating a story world elevates you to a thrilling height, from which one dismissive look from a spouse or even the most constructive criticism can plunge you into a pit of despair. And this isn’t just while learning. Published authors suffer setbacks at every stage of their career. To continue forward, you must constantly reframe negative feelings: “All this red ink makes me want to cry” must become “I’m so lucky to be learning how to bring out the best in my story”; “The agent I pinned my hopes on rejected me” must become “Thank goodness she passed because clearly she’s not the best advocate for my work”; “I’m never going to make it” must become “If I hang in there long enough, my work will be better than the other new writers submitting.” These efforts will prepare you for the moment when, after you’ve finally reached the mountaintop experience of publication success, you must greet those inevitable one-star reviews with a generous spirit, grateful that their writers had read and reviewed your work.

3. A flair for the dramatic. This attribute is key to inspiring story setups that promise plenty of conflict to come. You either have it or you don’t. No MFA can provide it—the only qualifying degree is from the School of Hard Knocks. Only high-stakes adversity—the kind that shaped you—will make your beloved character’s story worth reading. Some people just don’t have it in them to be that hard on people, even when they’re imaginary. For better or for worse, I can.

Do you think you have a novel in you? If you have self-discipline, emotional fortitude, and a flair for the dramatic, read on! I offer a program that can help you master the skills needed to move your story forward.

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Master Your Story in 2025 with Your Novel Year

As my Your Novel Year program heads into its 8^th year, its original goal remains: to use live, online craft lessons, expert feedback on written pages, one-on-one mentoring, and social accountability to support a small group of novelists in writing an entertaining, emotionally engaging, and meaningful story.

Here’s what 2024 participant and former TV news anchor Kim S. Kelly had to say:

“I was doggy paddling in the shallow end of the literary world until I took this course. Kathryn's insights, advice, and feedback don't skim the surface. She goes DEEP! She is a gifted instructor who will have writers of all levels effortlessly swimming along with powerful strokes of creativity and technique. Dive in, writers!"

If that sounds like a dream come true, consider joining us in January! Applications are now open. Check out my brochure here.

As always, thanks for reading!

Kathryn