Superman and Super Bad Advice

in which our hero enjoys a movie and gets mad about careless writing advice on the internet

Dear Readers,

It’s been a little bit since I last checked in with you. How are things in your neck of the woods? Over here, we completed the Kickstarter, continued work on The Blood of Seven Queens #5, and got started on Worldbuilding Summer Camp. We also managed to spend several thousand dollars on car repairs. So, you know: you win some, you lose some.

But last night, as you may have guessed from the image I included above, I had the chance to see the new Superman film on a big old IMAX screen in Methuen, Massachusetts, and I had a blast. It’s a fun movie. It’s an uplifting, funny, and profoundly positive story about a guy who sees the best in all of us, even when can’t see that shit ourselves.

And yeah, it’s fucking corny here and there, but it works. It succeeds at what it’s trying to do. And ultimately, that’s the only thing in storytelling that matters.

This is a story that benefits immensely from dropping us into the middle of things. Like the original 1977 Star Wars, we’re thrust into a world that feels like it’s been there for a long time. We’re given just enough context to understand what’s happening, we’re given a character to root for, a character to root against, and a supporting cast to draw out the best of them. We’re introduced to the hero at moment of profound change in his life, and then we’re off.

I loved it so much.

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For those of you who don’t know, I taught creative writing at Lesley University for 17 years. From 2007 to 2024, I guided writers at the undergraduate and graduate levels and tried to help them become the best writers they could be. And so, you could say I’ve built up some opinions about writing advice over the years. That’s part of why it’s so hard to spend time on Substack (one of two places where I currently post this newsletter). Substack is overflowing with writers who want to tell you how you should or shouldn’t write. Some of it is well-intentioned, some of it isn’t. But most of it is bullshit, as almost all generic advice about making art is.

I’ve got the bonafides to join the chorus, but I don’t want to. And here’s why.

When I taught, I lectured for only 10-20% of each class session. The bulk of my teaching time, the part where the real learning took place—both for me and for my students—was spent discussing the students’ work. Those workshop sessions were what I lived for each week. The lectures were fine, and I think students got something out of them, but the workshops were where the magic happened.

The trouble with generic writing advice on the internet—or in the pages of most “how to write” books, even the good ones—is that it doesn’t and can’t take into account the particulars of a given story. And if it’s not presented with a caveat that the advice on offer is merely the opinion of one author with one set of experiences, young writers can take the advice as gospel. They might torture themselves for years as they struggle to understand why they can’t write like that one guy they took advice from on the internet that one time.

The only piece of writing advice I’ve ever heard that felt even close to universally applicable is this: write the most you story that you can write.

If we’re going to teach writing, we should do it in small groups where we teach it through the analysis of a particular story. We should be talking about what works in that particular story, and why, and how we might apply those techniques to our own work. We should not be offering generic advice. If we feel tempted to say, “You must do this” or “You mustn’t do that” on a general level, we should probably shut the fuck up. We might be ruining some weird kid and robbing the world of their talent.

I’m sorry if this feels like tough love. I fucking hate tough love. But I’ve seen enough bad advice on writing this week that I had to say something. And I’m sorry if this ruins your plans to subsidize your own writing by posting generic advice on the internet. I know you don’t get paid enough. None of us get paid enough. But that’s not an excuse.

Think twice before you share your two cents. Think about the kid you were, once upon a time, and whether the thing you’re about to say might crush them and their spirits. Then don’t do that shit. The writing life is hard enough without the people that you look up to telling you that you’re doing it wrong.

Yours,
Chris

P.S. Here’s a bit more praise about Superman, which I cut for flow above but which I stand behind and wanted to share:

Aside from plunging us right into the thick of this Superman’s world, I was most struck by the relationships and the chemistry between the characters in those relationships. And I’m not just talking about the romantic relationship between Clark and Lois, which is probably the best depiction of that love story I’ve yet seen, but also about the relationship between Clark and his parents. The casting of “regular people” as Ma and Pa Kent is genius. You’re not distracted by big name Hollywood faces. You get to revel in two fantastic character actors who feel like they’re from Kansas.