Local Writers Look to Others for Words That Will Inspire

Writers spend much of their time at the computer, waiting for the Writing God to whisper in their ear. On really bad days, when the words clump together unattractively, they often resort to reading about writing, figuring it’s better to get the celestial wisdom second-hand than not at all.

So, recently, when a new writing project wasn’t going well, I took the advice of friends and read Ann Lamott’s “Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life.” Already read, reread and underlined by virtually every other writer in the world, Lamott’s little book is full of sound advice on how to get something worthwhile down on paper. Writing can be agony, Lamott concedes, but she also reminds you that those who can craft something out of words have a reliable source of rare and enormous pleasure.

Lamott likes to make her readers laugh. Often, hers is advice as stand-up. Thus, her title. She recalls her father’s advice to her little brother, near tears because he had a major report on birds due the next day and he hadn’t even started. “Bird by bird, buddy,” her writer father counseled. “Just take it bird by bird.”

In that spirit, I asked some of the many writers who live in or near the Valley to share the best advice they had received on writing.

From Laurel Canyon’s Michael Connelly, whose new Harry Bosch novel, “Trunk Music,” is in bookstores. Connelly remembers the advice of fellow mystery writer Melody Johnson Howe: “Don’t look up.” She meant, he explains, that you have to keep focused on your computer and your own work and not be distracted by publishing trends and other externals. If you’re thinking about how Grisham is making millions, Connelly says, “You’re writing formula instead of writing from the creative center, where the really good stuff comes from.”

From Sherman Oaks’s Harlan Ellison, whose 69th book, “Slippage,” will be published in the spring. Ellison, who is best known for his science fiction and acerbic commentary, says he writes surrounded by 75 or 80 favorite quotations about writing that he has had laminated and posted on the bookshelves that fill his office. Ellison doesn’t use these as antidotes to writer’s block, he says, because he never gets it (no kidding), but “they are among my good friends and silent voices.”

Ellison’s laminated friends are a diverse lot. He loves this, from Bernard Malamud: “Art lives on surprise. A writer has to surprise himself.” And this, from German poet Gunter Eich: “Be uncomfortable; be sand, not oil, in the machinery of the world.” And this one, from Franz Kafka: “I believe that we should only read those books that bite and sting us. If a book we are reading does not rouse us with a blow to the head, then why read it?” One that is especially apt for writers in this town, Ellison says, is from French playwright Jules Renard: “Writing is an occupation in which you have to keep proving your talent to people who have none of their own.” And there’s this observation from John Steinbeck: “The writer must believe that what he is doing is the most important thing in the world. And he holds to this illusion even when it is not true.”

As to the mildly scatological quote that occupies the place of honor on Ellison’s high-mileage typewriter, it’s from vintage rock ‘n’ roller P.J. Proby: “I am an artist and should be exempt from s--t.”

From Topanga Canyon’s Carolyn See, who is working on a new novel called “The Handyman.” She recalls the short-course in writing as a profession she got from a wise clerk at Hunter’s, the now defunct Beverly Hills bookstore. She had been totally immersed in the writing of her early novel, “Mothers, Daughters,” and he introduced her to the critically important marketing side of publishing, explaining the role of wholesalers and revealing that Publishers Weekly could affect the fate of her book three months before it came out. He raised her consciousness about publishing as a commercial activity that takes place in a community. As a result, she says, she counsels her writing students: “A thousand words a day, five days a week, for the rest of your life. And one charming note to an editor or writer and/or one professional phone call that makes your hands sweat.”

From Sherman Oaks’s Robert Crais, whose seventh Elvis Cole novel, “Indigo Slam,” will be published in June. Crais offers two short, easy-to-remember pieces of advice: “The most important thing about writing is to write what you love” and “Always keep it moving.”

From the Hollywood Hills’s Susan Taylor Chehak, who often teaches writing and whose novel “Smithereens” is now out in paper. “The best advice I’ve given my students,” she says, “is ‘you have to keep your eyes on the page and not on the future.’ ” Beginners tend to worry about publication, instead of the work at hand, she explains. “The real reward, especially with novels, is with the page itself as it’s being created.”

From Tarzana’s Lee Goldberg, a writer-director awaiting the publication in February of his second novel, “Beyond the Beyond,” “a dark comic thriller about TV” (his description). Goldberg knows it sounds pretentious for a guy who once wrote dialogue for a talking dolphin on a TV series, but he cites Aristotle as a good writing coach. What Goldberg learned from “The Poetics”: “Whether it’s comedy or drama, conflict is what makes it come alive.”

From Studio City’s Jon Boorstin, whose first novel, “Pay or Play,” will be published in March. Boorstin recalls that he received good counsel from his father, historian Daniel J. Boorstin, while struggling to finish “Pay or Play.” The senior Boorstin’s observation: “Every writer invents a writer.”

“It’s a strange thing,” the younger Boorstin says about the act of writing. “You’re trying to define who you are as you’re doing it. People write to learn things, to find things out, not to tell people things.”

From Pasadena’s Joyce Burditt, a producer-director and author of “The Cracker Factory,” “Triplets” and “Buck Naked.” She cites a story about novelist Kurt Vonnegut Jr., invited to conduct a two-day seminar on writing at Yale. When he finally took the podium, he told the audience: “Whatever you’re writing, whether it’s a book or a play or television or a movie, make sure everybody in every scene wants something, even if it’s only a glass of water.”

“Then,” Burditt recounts, “he said, ‘Thank you. That’s all I know about writing,’ and went home. He’s so right, because what he’s talking about is plot, motivation, subtext, everything. It was brilliant.”