Many wannabe writers over romanticize the writing process. They think of it as a magical experience where a muse flutters down from heaven, lights upon their shoulder and whispers words into their ear. They imagine losing all track of time while lost in the dream of their own creation, fingers typing on their own accord.

Writing is a messy and frustrating process. Talent is important but so is discipline. Can you sit down at the keyboard day after day until the story is finished? Can you go through the same words over and over until they are right? Anyone can write part of a novel, screenplay or a short story. Writers finish.

I don’t believe a person can fully be told how to write. They have to sit down and do the work until it finally starts to make sense (hopefully). I’ve heard people say that one must write a million words to get the hang of it.

Here are some lessons I learned over the years:

Learn how to use the delete key. Relay information in as few words as possible. Don’t be redundant.

Example: “Bob tried to pick up the gun. It fumbled through his fingers. His sweat-slicked palm couldn’t get a good grip.”

That passage says the same thing three times. How about this: “The gun slipped through Bob’s sweat-soaked fingers.”

Use adverbs sparingly.

Beginning writers often use adverbs to make action more kinetic. It’s not uncommon to see something like this: “Bob ran quickly. His breath wheezed raggedly. He looked back, wearily.”

This is better: “Bob sprinted, looking back over his shoulder between wheezes.”

Cut superfluous information.

Beginning writers might think it is interesting to describe their characters’ clothes down to each thread and that such details give their story life. The reader, however, may find such things boring unless they are integral to the plot. Get to the good stuff. Sprinkle in details like salt and pepper. Don’t make a meal of them.

Example: “Bob wore a white shirt to his date. It was rolled to the elbows and slightly wrinkled. A few loose threads dangled from its seams. The collar was frayed. A coffee stain provided more imperfection. The wind rippled it across his back, molding it to his skinny frame. It would make a good rag someday.”

So is this writer writing about Bob or Bob’s shirt?

Here’s something a little more focused and succinct: “Bob tugged at his frayed collar. At least the shirt’s wrinkles might take Monica’s attention away from the loose threads, coffee stain and his thin frame. The wind might even freshen some of its stink.”

Right or left? AKA: everyone knows how to put on shoes.

Beginning writers often get bogged down in the minutiae of action details.

For example, they might write: “Bob picked up the gun with his right hand. He wiped sweat from his brow with his left while his right foot tapped nervously.”

Don’t do that. Left? Right? Who cares? Do this: “Bob picked up the gun and wiped sweat from his brow. Nerves made his foot tap all on its own.”

Inexperienced writers also get overzealous explaining simple things, like putting on shoes. They write: “Bob pulled his shoes out of the closet. He sat down on a stool and yanked on his left shoe then his right shoe. He reached down and tied one and then the other, making sure they were just the right tightness.”

That could work if Bob is obsessive compulsive. Otherwise, it’s boring to read. How about this: “Bob put on his shoes.” Readers are familiar enough with the process to not need a step-by-step description of how it works.

Don’t filter every bit of information through the story’s characters.

Beginning writers: “Bob watched the car bear down on him. He heard its brakes screech. He felt his heart pound. God, I don’t want to die, he prayed.”

If you want your action to crackle, deliver the information without running it through the character before it gets to the reader.

For example: “‘The car bore down on Bob. Its brakes screeched like a banshee as Bob’s heart nearly burst from his chest. “God, I don’t want to die,” tumbled from his lips.'”

See, the action doesn’t have to be funneled through Bob’s perceptions first.

Grammar is part of writing.

I was a C student — at best — in grammar until my second year of college. I couldn’t make sense of it. Then an amazing thing happened. I learned the difference between a dependent clause and an independent clause. That solved the majority of my comma, semicolon and conjunction problems in one fell swoop.

The reader doesn’t care about your problems.

Are you telling a story or venting about personal pet peeves? If so, be aware that is a fine line to walk when it comes to fiction.

Ideas are everywhere.

An infinity of ideas exist. Consider a bare wall. What might be interesting about a wall? It can have mold inside of it. How about a surreal story about wood and plaster cells fighting off the invading mold cells? Maybe the mold is sentient and gets into the nasal passages of the homeowner. What happens then? Maybe there is a skeleton behind the wall. Treasure. Drugs. An alien baby. Haunted wallpaper? Anything can be a story. Don’t worry if it sounds stupid. Case in point: a man has a six-foot invisible rabbit for a friend. How dumb does that sound? Yet, it made a great story called Harvey.

Find what works for you.

“How To Write” books have their place but can lead to frustration. In the end, you have to find a process that works for you. Just because another author finds it helpful to write character biographies and outlines doesn’t mean you have to do that, too.

How do I break into publishing world?

No tricks exists. A perfect query letter isn’t enough. Following a three-act structure isn’t enough. Schmoozing an agent isn’t enough. Write publishable prose. Find publishers and agents looking for your type of genre, submit and hope you find a publisher looking for what you’re selling. Keep your query short and sweet. The publisher knows what they want. If you have it, they will ask for it. If not, you will get the standard rejection letter.