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The Art of Nonfiction

Sat, 2009-10-10 21:11 — david

(Abstract obtained from http://www.aynrandbookstore2.com/prodinfo.asp?number=AR64B)

In what way is the role of the subconscious different in writing than in editing? Should a writer's work "propagandize" for his particular philosophy of life? How does a writer acquire a distinctive style? How does one find good ideas for writing? Ayn Rand addresses these, and countless other, questions about the craft of writing in this extraordinary book.

Culled (by Robert Mayhew) from sixteen informal lectures she delivered to a select audience in the late 1960s, this book offers theoretical insights and concrete advice. If you engage in any act of written communication—from lengthy books to brief letters-to-the-editor--this will be an invaluable guide for you.

As explained in the book's Introduction: "[Ayn Rand] maintains that writing is a rational sphere, governed by rationally identifiable principles. 'Writing is no more difficult a skill than any other, such as engineering,' she says. 'Like every human activity, it requires practice and knowledge. But there is nothing mystical to it.'

" 'Since writing is essentially the act of communicating your thoughts clearly, it can be done by virtually everyone. . . .' Repudiating the standard, subjectivist perspective, she holds that writing is to be treated as an objective science: 'Whenever you have a problem, whether you are writing an article or building a doghouse, do not look inside for the solution. Do not ask: "How do I do it?" Look outside and ask: "What is the nature of the thing I want to do?" ' From this, she proceeds to discuss the nature of writing and its consequent requirements...

"This is not just the de-mysticizing, but the de-agonizing of writing. It will not make writing problem-free, but something much better: problem-solvable. The conviction that one's work can be guided by rational principles rescues writers from a sense of helplessness. It saves them from the state of pre-science savages, who felt they were at the mercy of incomprehensible forces."

Whether you are an aspiring or an experienced writer, you will find The Art of Nonfiction exhilaratingly instructive.

Date Finished Reading: 
2009-10-18
Author: 
Ayn Rand
Publisher: 
Plume
ISBN: 
9780452282315
Favorite Quotes: 

  • Contrary to all schools of art and esthetics, writing is something one can learn. There is no mystery about it.

    In literature, as in all the fine arts, complex premises must be set early in a person's mind, so that a beginning adult may not have enough time to set them and thus cannot learn to write. Even these premises can be learned, theoretically, but the person would have to acquire them on his own. So I am inclined to say that fiction writing — and the fine arts in general — cannot be taught. Much of the technical skill involved can be, but not the essence.

    However, any person who can speak English grammatically can learn to write nonfiction. Nonfiction writing is not difficult, though it is a technical skill. Its only difficulty pertains to a person's method of thinking or psycho-epistemology. What you need for nonfiction writing is what you need for life in general: an orderly method of thinking. If you have problems in this regard, they will slow you down (in both realms). But writing is literally only the skill of putting down on paper a clear thought, in clear terms. Everything else, such as drama and "jazziness", is merely the trimmings.

    I once said that the three most important elements of fiction are plot, plot, and plot. The equivalent in nonfiction is: clarity, clarity, and clarity.

    — Chapter 01: Prelimenary Remarks, page 2 — interesting

  • How good you become depends on your premises and interests, and on how much time you devote to writing. But the skill can be learned. It is not mysterious and does not have to be torture.

    Remember this point, particularly when you feel you will never write again or know what writing is. That sense of helplessness is inherent in struggling with a new thought. But any particular writing problem you might have is solvable (though, as in any introspection, it is not always easy to identify your problem). Writing is no more difficult a skill than any other, such as engineering. Like every human activity, it requires practice and knowledge. But there is nothing mystical to it.

    — Chapter 01: Prelimenary Remarks, page 3 — interesting

  • ... In the presence of a given event, work of art, person, etc., too many Objectivists ask themselves, "What do I have to feel?" instead of "What do I feel?" And if they need to judge a situation which I have not discussed before, their approach is, "What should I think?" instead of, "What do I think?" This is the childhood remnant of anyone who to some extent was influenced either by the religion of the culture or, later in college, by Platonism. Both give the impression that the good, the important, the philosophical are like church on Sunday: you use them on special occasions, but they have nothing to do with daily life. If any part of this attitude remains in you, it is important to eliminate it.

    — Chapter 04: Applying Philosophy Without Preaching It, pages 29-30 — enlightening, interesting

  • There can be no compromise between a property owner and a burglar; offering the burglar a single teaspoon of one's silverware would not be a compromise, but a total surrender—the recognition of his right to one's property. What value or concession did the burglar offer in return? And once the principle of unilateral concessions is accepted as the base of a relationship by both parties, it is only a matter of time before the burglar would seize the rest. As an example of this process, observe the present [1962] foreign policy of the United States.

    There can be no compromise between freedom and government controls; to accept "just a few controls" is to surrender the principle of inalienable individual rights and to substitute for it the principle of government's unlimited, arbitrary power, thus delivering oneself into gradual enslavement. As an example of this process, observe the present domestic policy of the United States.

    There can be no compromise on basic principles or on fundamental issues. What would you regard as the "compromise" between life and death? Or between truth and falsehood? Or between reason and irrationality?

    — Chapter 05: Creating an Outline, pages 50-51 — interesting

  • If you write something at all complex, you will experience the squirms [sudden-onset mental paralysis] of one form or another. The main reason for it is a subconscious contradiction.

    — Chapter 06: Writing the Draft: The Primacy of the Subconscious, page 64 — interesting

  • Solving the squirms [sudden-onset mental paralysis during writing] is perhaps the most painful part of writing. You must stop writing when they occur, but continue to work on the problem. To the best of my knowledge of psycho-epistemology, there is no other way out. The worst thing to do is to think that since it is a subconscious problem, you can take a rest, read a book, go to the movies—and let your subconscious resolve the problem. It will not. If you take a break of that kind, you prolong your agony. And the longer you postpone the problem, the less chance you have of solving it.

    The problem can be solved, but it must be done consciously. You must sit at your desk and think about it, even when you feel you do not know what to think. For an exercise in free will and will power, this is the hardest thing you can demand of yourself, but it is the only solution.

    — Chapter 06: Writing the Draft: The Primacy of the Subconscious, page 66 — interesting, useful

  • The greatest danger in regard to control over your writing is to memorize your first draft. That sets it in your mind as the final expression of what you want to say. As a result, you lose the capacity to evaluate or edit it, which requires that you be able to take a fresh look at your material. That is why the earliest you should edit your work is the next morning; editing requires a switch to a conscious process, which is a different mental set.

    — Chapter 06: Writing the Draft: The Primacy of the Subconscious, page 75 — interesting, useful

  • If I get up in the morning and know, for example, that I have a four o'clock appointment, I cannot write that day. It is as if my mind closes down and will not work. If I do try to work, I dawdle, look at the clock, and get dressed for the appointment earlier than necessary, realizing that trying to write is useless.

    — Chapter 06: Writing the Draft: The Primacy of the Subconscious, page 82 — interesting, useful

  • Too many people today think: “I'm a creative genius, I'm above grammar.” But nobody who thinks or writes can be above grammar. It is like saying, “I'm a creative genius, I'm above concepts.”—which is the attitude of modern artists. If you are “above” grammar, you are “above” concepts; and if you are “above” concepts, then you are “above” thought. The fact is that then you are not above, but below, thought. Therefore, make a religion of grammar.

    — Chapter 07: Editing, page 101 — enlightening, interesting, useful

  • I once heard of a politician who committed political suicide when he put up the following campaign billboard: “My opponent has had eight years at the public trough. Now give me a chance.”

    — Chapter 07: Editing, page 103 — funny

  • Americans are trained (through the look-say approach to reading and the allied, Dewey-based ideas of education) to be emotional approximators. The nonobjective, ungrammatical way in which people express themselves today is truly frightening. What has been systematically undercut is their capacity for objective communication. Americans tend to express themselves guided by feelings, not by thoughts. According to modern theory, there are no such things as thoughts; and even if there were, they could not guide us.

    — Chapter 07: Editing, page 99 — interesting

  • In regards to [writing] a book, however, the danger is the tendency to expand your presentation into an encyclopedia. I said [in chapter 2] that you must delimit your subject when you write an article, despite the temptation to digress. That danger is much greater in a book. Since a book permits more detailed statements of a subject than does an article, a beginner might get the idea that he has the space to say anything — which quickly becomes everything. This kind of expansion is particularly problematic when your theme is broad; the broader your theme, the greater the temptation to include increasingly more subdivisions. The fact that a book does permit a certain latitude — the fact that it is like a complex orchestration with a central theme, the development of which permits a great many sub-themes — can make your book spread into total shapelessness.

    — Chapter 10: Writing a Book, page 159 — interesting, useful

  • Someone once said that a writer's most important tool is scissors, by which he meant that a writer should never be afraid to cut his own work when necessary. I have never sympathized with this attitude, because I hold this premise as such an absolute that I do not think one should boast about it. Courage is not required if your purpose is to write a good article or book, and some beautiful passage does not fit into the total context. In such a case, there is no choice involved: of course, you make the cut. Acquire that kind of ruthlessness. Make your central value the total job, not any particular passage.

    — Chapter 10: Writing a Book, page 162 — interesting

  • The purpose of teaching is not only to communicate knowledge, but also to instill a rational psycho-epistemology in one's students. If you analyze what a good teacher is doing, and why his students get so much out of his class, you will find that he is communicating the material in a certain order, which, by implication, trains his class to absorb knowledge rationally.

    — Chapter 10: Writing a Book, page 166 — interesting

  • The most brilliant inspiration for a title of mine is Frank's suggestion of Atlas Shrugged, which is almost a mystery to me. I do not know how he made the integration, but it is brilliant, because it names in two words the essence of the book. When I ask him how he came up with the title, he could not explain it. It was purely inspirational; titles usually occur that way.

    — Chapter 11: Selecting a Title, p. 169 — interesting