A Reader Who Writes: The Testaments by Margaret Atwood

Like all readers who write (It’s not a special club, you can join too!) or movie-goers who act, I like to study other creators as a way to inform my own stories. Austin Kleon, author of Steal Like an Artist, encourages this and so do my mentors. It’s a way to develop new skills, add tools to the proverbial “writer’s toolkit.”

I love to dissect what I read in order to figure out how others (mainstream and not) are using their tools.

So, when I see a writer use the forbidden tools (you know, the ones many writing instructors will tell you are the devil’s work), well of course my interest is piqued.

Adverbs. Like the forbidden apple proffered to Eve by the snake. Dangled in front of us writers struggling to find the perfect word, the exact expression that will plant the reader in the scene. Make them weep with our genius. Instead, adverbs are cast into the fires of literary hell by most editors, many readers, and even worse, by writers. Written off before they can even make the final draft.

But when someone like Margaret Atwood uses them? No problem. She’s Margaret Atwood. Untouchable. It’s as if there are a separate set of rules for elite writers like Atwood.

And perhaps there are.

But maybe writers like Atwood also know how to use these forbidden tools effectively. They make it work on the page, convince the reader, keep the story flowing. Where the rest of us are accused of being sloppy, lazy or worse… novice.

And perhaps we are.

But maybe, instead of striking out every adverb in our stories, we should be paying more attention to how writers like Atwood use adverbs.

I find it refreshing to see writers - of all genres and status - defy the steadfast rules. Although, I often hope to be surprised by, rather than startled by, a flagrant violation of The Rules of Writing.

As I develop my writing skills, I’m learning there are no pre-defined tools in the writer’s toolkit (like the red home repair toolboxes you can buy from Canadian Tire), beyond a full glass of liquid courage. You learn the tools as you go, as you read, as you meet other writers and share your horror stories of doing simple things like putting words on a page and then stringing these words together to make something worth publishing.

What I appreciate - and have always appreciated - about Atwood is her ability to build plot, develop interesting and diverse characters and craft these bizarre worlds that unfortunately draw from the bowels of humanity.

I enjoyed seeing the gut-punching world of Gilead come to life again under Atwood’s skilled hand. Pay attention, dear readers. You might learn a thing or two.