Making Inky Shapes on the Paper - Anna Wilson

"When did you decide you wanted to become a writer?"

I am sure most authors can guarantee this question will come up every time they visit a school, library or do a bookshop event. Or indeed any time a new acquaintance discovers what they do for a living: adults and children alike are interested to know the answer. And I suppose it is an obvious question to ask. 

But the truth is, I personally don't know the answer. Or at least, I don't have the answer people think they are looking for. One thing I do know is that I didn't "decide". I have been writing ever since I could hold a pencil. And so I have always been a writer, just not always of the published variety.

My first stories were scrawled in old A4 desk diaries which my grandfather gave me to keep me quiet on the days he and my grandmother babysat. He had used the diaries for work, but there were still many blank pages that cried out to be filled. And fill them I did, with stories that were initially told in picture form.

However, as soon as I was able, I moved on to stringing words together and discovered that I preferred playing with words rather than images. I say "words": at first they were not words that would have been comprehensible to anyone but me. But it wasn't important. What mattered to me was that I was making a mark on the page; I was forming letters and putting them in an order that I had chosen. As Mark Haddon says in his essay, "The Right Words in the Right Order", I was making "inky shapes on the paper". And the real thrill came later when I found that I could tell a story that other people could read and understand simply by my "selecting and rearranging words you could hear at the bus stop".

Another question people ask is, "How do you become a writer?" as though there is a magical formula, or a particular academic path that must be followed. And so I tell them, "Just pick up a pen and start making inky shapes." I tell them to scribble their ideas in notebooks and to never throw anything away. I tell them to start writing in the middle of a story if that is where the big idea begins - you can always go back and write the beginning later. I tell them to write without thinking about what it looks like. I tell them that the important thing is to make their mark and to keep going until they have written everything down; that the main thing is to get it all out.

I was once criticised by a teacher for advocating this approach to writing. She said that she spent hours of her time instilling in the children the importance of planning and punctuating and that I had swept that all aside in the advice I had given. I sympathised, as I know teachers feel incredibly constricted by what they are "meant" to teach. So I have modified my advice now: I still encourage young writers to splurge on the page, but I also talk about the importance of editing and revising, honing and making their writing better, whilst always holding on to the belief that if they are writing, then they are writers. End of story.

A couple of years ago my grandmother died. We went to clear out her sparsely furnished, neat and tidy house. "There will be no surprises - she never held on to clutter," my mother warned me. "Threw all our letters away, didn't believe in keeping things for sentimental reasons."

And yet, in the attic, in a small pile of papers, there were the old desk diaries my grandfather had given me to scribble in when I was restless and eager to make my inky shapes. It was as though my grandmother understood that this was me "becoming" or "deciding to be" a writer.

I now take these diaries into schools when I give my talks. I show them to the children to explain that the answer to the question, "When did you decide you wanted to be a writer?" is simply: "I didn't. I just am."

Note: Mark Haddon's excellent essay on reading and writing can be found in the book, Stop What You Are Doing and Read This, published by Vintage.

Anna Wilson

www.annawilson.co.uk