Hacks for Writers: A Personal List

I dislike the word “hack.” It sounds so unpleasant, even violent. My dictionary defines it variously as “to cut with repeated, irregular blows,” “to kick the shins of (an opposing player) in rugby,” and “to make trite and commonplace by frequent and indiscriminate use.” 

Nevertheless, “hack” has acquired new meanings over the years, both positive and negative. Its association with computer hacking, or ways to undermine or compromise digital systems, is one of its negative connotations. A “life-hack,” on the other hand, means a method that solves or simplifies a problem, and is seen as positive.

When I interview writers, I ask them to share writing-related advice (i.e., “hacks”). I also obsessively search writing craft books for tips I can use. Most boil down to the same basic principles: get your butt in the chair, make time for writing, call yourself a writer, etc. But sometimes I come across a piece of thought-provoking advice that makes me take notice.

It’s important to clarify that a writing hack is not a writing prompt, although they share certain attributes. A prompt is an instruction designed to spark creativity—“write a Shakespearean sonnet describing the last three cities you saw in dreams.” A hack is less specific. I like to think of a hack as a shortcut to get you in the place where you can start writing. So, hack first, prompt second.

Here are a few unique and useful writers’ hacks I’ve come across recently.

The Begging Bowl: From my March 4, 2024 interview with poet Joy Manesiotis in Sticks & Stones: “I think we must be careful about adopting the industrial model of production for art, and to realize that even though words may not be coming onto the page, we’re still working. For me, it’s not how many words or pages I got, but how fully can I show up. My friend Marianne Boruch says, ‘the poem is a begging bowl.’ You hold the bowl open and hope.”

The Drawing: From Heather Sellers’ March 5, 2024 issue of the Brevity Blog: “Draw Before You Write. To make scenes pointed and rich, I create a sketch of the action—a physical diagram—before I ever begin writing. First, I build out the set—where and when is this moment taking place? Then, I position the two adversaries so I can stay tightly focused on the conflict: a protagonist faced off against an antagonist, something or someone with a strong yearning and someone or some force blocking that agenda with all their might. That’s it. From my sketch, only details that support the essence of the conflict will make it into my written scene.”

The Mentor: From Wanda Coleman’s introduction to Greatest Hits 1966-2003 (Pudding House Press, 2004): “Eager to make my mark on the literary landscape, I got busy finding mentors who would teach me in lieu of the college education I could not afford.” 

The Rule-Breaker: From Sing Me the Creation by Paul Matthews, Hawthorn Press, 1994: 

1. You may break the rules of any exercise that is set here.
2. You may, when the need arises, use “bad” English, begin in the middle, leave your work unfinished, etc.
3. You may write in collaboration with your neighbour.
4. You may copy your neighbour’s work.
5. You may be silly and meaningless. There is no need to be profound or literary. “Absolute rubbish” is permitted.
6. You may tell “lies” and exaggerate.
7. You may speak to things and flowers and animals and strangers and to yourself. You may speak for them. You may speak to God.
8. You may be personal and “subjective” and sentimental—a participator and exclaimer as well as the detached observer and reporter.
9. You may enjoy yourself.

And here’s one from me: write your first drafts by hand, with pen, in a notebook. Acquire many notebooks throughout your life. Keep them where you can refer to them often. They will become a storehouse of your creative life.

Please share any hacks, tips or advice you have in the comments below.

Thank you!