The internet is full of writing advice. Some of it is genuinely useful. Some of it sounds inspiring until you attempt to apply it to a real life that includes a full-time job, family responsibilities and the occasional need to stare blankly at the wall.
Since deciding that I wanted to take writing seriously, I have read countless articles, watched interviews, listened to podcasts and absorbed enough author advice to qualify for some kind of unofficial literary degree. Certain lessons have completely changed the way I approach my manuscript. Others have been politely acknowledged, mentally filed away and then completely ignored.
Here are the pieces of writing advice that genuinely helped me, along with the ones I simply could not force into my life.
Write the First Draft Badly
This is probably the most useful writing advice I have ever received. Your first draft is not supposed to be beautiful. It is supposed to exist. That distinction saved me from spending three weeks perfecting one paragraph while the rest of the novel remained nothing more than a collection of ambitious thoughts.
The moment I allowed myself to write badly, I started making progress. Some chapters were clumsy, repetitive and held together by little more than hope, but at least they were on the page. You can edit poor writing. You cannot edit a blank document, no matter how aesthetically pleasing your writing desk may be.
This advice helped because it removed the pressure to perform perfectly every time I opened my laptop. The polished prose can come later, alongside the emotional breakdown caused by editing.
Write Every Single Day
This is one I quietly ignored. I understand the logic. Writing regularly builds discipline, keeps the story fresh and makes it easier to maintain momentum. In an ideal world, I would wake at sunrise, drink something green and write 1,000 words before anybody else in the house opened their eyes.
Unfortunately, I live in the real world.
Some days, I work, parent, answer emails, make dinner and reach the evening with approximately one functioning brain cell remaining. Forcing myself to write during those moments does not make me disciplined. It usually produces dialogue that sounds as though two robots are trying to flirt.
I try to write consistently, but I do not write every day. I would rather have three focused writing sessions each week than seven miserable ones that make me resent the story. Discipline matters, but so does accepting that life is not an author montage.
Stop Editing While You Draft
This advice genuinely transformed my writing process. I used to reread every chapter repeatedly before allowing myself to move forward. Naturally, this meant I knew the opening of my novel intimately while the ending remained a distant rumour.
Now, I try to keep drafting and leave notes for anything that needs fixing later. Sometimes I write reminders such as “make this emotional” or “research whether this is medically possible”, which is deeply reassuring evidence that I have everything under control.
Separating drafting from editing helps me remain inside the story rather than constantly stepping outside it to criticise every sentence. There will be plenty of time to become personally offended by my own writing during revisions.
Never Use Adverbs
This is another piece of advice I have chosen to treat as more of a light suggestion.
Writers are often warned that adverbs are lazy, unnecessary and a sign that the verb itself is not doing enough work. I agree that they can be overused. I also believe the English language contains adverbs for a reason, and I refuse to behave as though using one will result in my laptop being confiscated by the literary authorities.
The real lesson is to choose stronger language and avoid relying on adverbs to explain emotions that should already be clear. That is useful. Removing every word ending in “ly” simply because somebody on the internet told me to feel slightly unhinged.
Sometimes a character says something quietly. Sometimes they walk slowly. Society will recover.
Read Outside Your Genre
This advice has helped far more than I expected. I mainly write romance, and I naturally read a great deal of romance because I am emotionally invested in fictional relationships and apparently have no intention of changing.
However, reading thrillers, fantasy, memoirs and literary fiction has made me think differently about pacing, tension, character development and atmosphere. Romance may sit at the centre of my stories, but the characters still need full lives, genuine problems and something to discuss beyond how attractive they find one another.
Reading widely also stops your work from becoming an imitation of whatever is currently dominating your genre. Inspiration is useful. Accidentally writing a slightly altered version of your latest five-star read is less ideal.
Kill Your Darlings
I hate this advice because it is completely correct.
Sometimes the scene you love most does not belong in the book. Sometimes the beautifully written paragraph you are emotionally attached to slows the entire chapter down. Sometimes a character exists purely because you enjoy writing them, despite contributing absolutely nothing to the plot.
Learning to remove those elements is painful, but it nearly always improves the manuscript. I have deleted scenes that I adored, saved them in a separate document and stared at them occasionally like photographs of an ex I was technically better off without.
The key is remembering that good writing is not always the same as useful writing. If a scene does not serve the story, it may have to go, no matter how pleased you were with the dialogue.
The Advice That Matters Most
The more writing advice I consume, the more I realise that very little of it is universal. What works perfectly for one author may make another want to throw their laptop through a window. Some writers thrive on detailed outlines. Others discover the story as they go. Some write every morning. Others produce their best work at midnight while eating toast over the keyboard.
The most helpful thing I have learned is to pay attention to what actually helps me finish the book. Not what sounds impressive, productive or suitably author-like. The goal is not to perform the writing process correctly. The goal is to write a story that works.
So, I will continue drafting badly, editing later and reading widely. I will also continue using the occasional adverb and refusing to feel guilty when I miss a day of writing.
Some advice is worth following. Some is worth adapting. And some can be smiled at politely before being ignored forever.
