Writing Secrets: Curiosity didn’t kill the cat – it made the writer

Back in the misty dawn of time when I was a working journalist, two jokey truisms were common currency among hacks.

“I love being a journalist. You meet so many interesting people … and they’re all journalists.”

And the other was: “Always invite a journalist to your dinner party. They’ll be the only one saying to their neighbour, ‘Oh, a lawnmower salesman. How interesting. How’s business? Has the trend towards cluster housing affected sales …?’”

It’s true that curiosity is essential to the profession. But it’s equally important for any writer. Basically, if you’re not interested in people and their lives, you probably won’t be attracted to writing.

In an interview with Scholastic, writer Judy Blume offers this tip for would-be writers: “Observe. Make notes. Listen carefully. Listen to how people talk to one another. A good writer is always a people watcher.”

It’s advice I give too. Apart from reading, I believe the best thing you can do to improve your writing – whether you’re a novice or a pro – is to practise active observation.

You can never do too much of it, and you never grow out of the need. It’s like scales for a pianist. It helps you limber up and keeps your brain supple.

What Blume’s quote doesn’t make clear, though, is this. Yes, it can be fun to watch people idly and make up stories about them. And it can provide you with story ideas.

But I suggest taking this practice further. It’s more difficult, but if you’re serious about improving your writing, you’ll do it. It’s much like swimming. If you’re content with gentle breast-stroke rounds of the pool, that’s fine. But if you’re keen to enter the big leagues, you’ll do the interval-training.

Active observation isn’t idle “people watching”. When you observe with awareness, you try to look at a scene differently, without your mind computing and interpreting. We are so used to taking unconscious note of gestures and body language that, before we’re even aware of it, our minds have already done the calculation: she’s angry, she’s resentful of him, she doesn’t like me, I don’t like her …

So look, really look, at a group of people. Try to take a step backward, so that you notice the signals and social cues that make up so much of human interaction. Then try to find the words to “show” them to us.

Don’t tell us how you feel about them – that they’re loud and obnoxious, for example. Focus on specifics. Show us one or two individuals within the group, and use one or two distinguishing details which will allow us to visualise them. We don’t need a full police report, just enough to make them stand out: a pock-marked nose sprouting tufts of greying hair … or perhaps it’s the way they jingle the change in their pocket.

Try to notice their body language and, rather than interpreting their stance and gestures for us, show them to us, so that we can interpret for ourselves how they’re feeling or behaving.

Viewing a landscape, don’t tell us what you think about it: that it’s beautiful, majestic, awesome. Ban generics. Focus in on the specifics. Try to make us feel that it’s beautiful, or majestic, without your telling us so.

It’s difficult at first – both to notice so particularly, and to find the words to allow us to see, hear, smell and feel what you do. It does get easier with time, but this is a practice you would do well to continue throughout your life.

Not only will it make you a better writer, it will allow you to understand other people, and give you more insight into yourself, your responses and your biases. And we all need that.

Read Richard’s latest blog: ‘Monday Motivation: Story and the Darwinian revolution‘