This is a very different book about writing. It's not a writing manual. Rather Brande explains how to get into the writing mind, how to tap the unconscious, and how to stick at it even when you'd rather be doing anything else. It's about getting into the mindset of treating writing as a job and showing up for work. Building the habit of writing comes before inspiration or 'genius'.
There are times in life when writing is extremely important. But there are also periods in life when writing takes a back seat. And that's ok. It doesn't mean it's forever. That's very hopeful.

A nice little guide on "becoming" a writer, as it talks about the ideas of talent, creativity, how to open to a mindset and a practice of writing, and freeing yourself to write and be a writer. It wasn't life changing and I found the language cadence a little awkward (maybe due to an older style of language from the 1930's), as I found myself re-reading sentences to get the the meaning in full. Overall, an encouraging voice for aspiring writers.

"When you have succeeded in establishing these two habits--early morning writing and writing by agreement with yourself--you have come a long way on the writer's path. You have gained, on the one hand, fluency, and on the other control, even though in an elementary way. You know a great deal more about yourself, in all likelihood, than you did when you embarked on the exercises." pg. 81

"A kind of musing introspection or of speculation only sketched in is found in the essay writer's notebook, although with a grain of drama added and with the particularizing of an abstract speculation by assigning the various elements of the problem to characters who act out the idea, there is promise of the more meditative type of novelist." pg. 85

"Next set yourself to discover if you can see any connection between a good morning's work and the conditions of the evening before. Can you tell whether or not the good writing came after you had spent an active day, or after a quiet one? Did you write more easily after going to bed early, or after a short sleep? Is there any observable connection between seeing certain friends and the vividness or dullness of the next morning's work? How did you write on the morning after you had been to a theater, or to an exhibition of pictures, or to a dance? Notice such things, and try to arrange for the type of activity which results in good work." pg. 95

"It is well to understand as early as possible in one's writing life that there is just one contribution which every one of us can make: we can give into the common pool of experience some comprehension of the world as it looks to each of us. There is one sense in which everyone is unique. No one else was born of your parents, at just that time of just that country's history; no one underwent just your experiences, reached just your conclusions, or faces the world with the exact set of ideas that you must have. If you can come to such friendly terms with yourself that you are able and willing to say precisely what you think of any given situation or character, if you can tell a story as it can appear only to you of all the people on earth, you will inevitably have a piece of work which is original." pg 121

"Since this is so, it behooves you to know what you do believe of most of the major problems of life, and of those minor problems which you are going to use in your writing." pg.129

Her questionnaire:
"Do you believe in a God? Under what aspect? (Hardy's 'President of the Immortals,' Wells' 'emerging God'?)
Do you believe in free will or are you a determinist? (Although an artist-determinist is such a walking paradox that imagination staggers at the notion.)
Do you like men? Women? Children?
What do you think of marriage?
Do you consider romantic love a delusion and a snare?
Do you think the comment 'It will all be the same in a hundred years' is profound, shallow, true or false?
What is the greatest happiness you can imagine? The greatest disaster?"

"If you find that you are balking at definite answers to the great questions, then you are not yet ready to write fiction which involves major issues. You must find subjects on which you are capable of making up your mind, to serve as the groundwork of your writing. The best books emerge from the strongest convictions--and for confirmation see any bookshelf." pg. 130

"Once we have learned to use words we must be forever using them." pg. 133

Book: borrowed from SSF Main Library.

Lovely and inspiring. In the how-to creative writing jungle, the best heartwarming book.

I'd read this many years ago and enjoyed it, and I liked it even more this time. It's simpler, more insightful and inspiring than many recently-written books on writing. I hope I can make myself follow the routine-building assignments she describes.

Here are a few of the passages I highlighted:

These two strange and arbitrary performances — early morning writing, and writing by prearrangement — should be kept up till you write fluently at will.

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Those who are sensitive enough to want ardently to become writers are usually a little too suggestible for their own good. Consciously or not, they may have fallen into the temptation of imitating an established author. It may be a genuine master of writing; it may be (and too often is) the author whose work is having the greatest vogue at the moment.

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The best way to escape the temptation to imitate is to discover as early as possible one's own tastes and excellences.

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The repetitions, the recurrent ideas, the frequent prose forms in these pages will give you your clues. They will show you where your native gift lies, whether or not you eventually decide to specialize in it.

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In my experience, the pupil who sets down the night's dream or recasts the day before into ideal form, who takes the morning hour to write a complete anecdote or passage of sharp dialogue, is likely to be the short story writer in embryo. Certain types of character sketching, when it is brief and concerned with rather general (or even obvious) traits, point the same way. A subtler analysis of characters, a consideration of motives, acute self- examination (as distinct from romanticizing one's actions), the contrasting of different characters faced by the same dilemma, most often indicate the novelist. A kind of musing introspection or of speculation only sketched in is found in the essay writer's notebook, and with the particularizing of an abstract speculation by assigning the various elements of the problem to characters who act out the idea, there is the promise of the more meditative type of novelist.

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I think that holding up the work of each pupil in class for the criticism of the others is a thoroughly pernicious practice, and it does not become harmless simply by allowing the manuscript to be read without assigning its authorship publicly.

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I recommend an almost inhuman taciturnity to my students, at least about work that is being done at the moment.

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It is well to understand as early as possible in one's writing life that there is just one contribution which every one of us can make: we can give into the common pool of experience some comprehension of the world as it looks to each of us. There is one sense in which everyone is unique. No one else was born of your parents, at just that time of just that country's history; no one underwent just your experiences, reached just your conclusions, or faces the world with the exact set of ideas that you must have. If you can come to such friendly terms with yourself that you are able and willing to say precisely what you think of any given situation or character, if you can tell a story as it can appear only to you of all the people on earth, you will inevitably have a piece of work which is original.

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No human being is so poor as to have no trace of genius; none so great that he comes within infinity of using his own inheritance to the full.

What’s a word greater than grateful that I could use to describe how fortunate I feel to have been recommended this book?

I took my sweet long time (25 days) working through this short book (175 pages). I found myself reading and re-reading so many sentences and paragraphs throughout—trying to tattoo the deeper, distilled meanings onto my hippocampus.

This book on writing is unlike so many others in that it’s not focused on craft and techniques (i.e. character development / plot / pov / sentence structure / etc.). If that’s what you’re looking for—this ain’t it my good friend (maybe checkout The Art of Fiction by John Gardner or On Writing Well: The Classic Guide to Writing Non-fiction by William Zinsser).

This book by Dorthea Brande (1893-1948) is a book about befriending your own brain and developing the ability to recognize and bridge the different rolls the conscious and unconscious parts of the mind play in writing.

“Most of the methods of training the conscious side of the writer—the craftsman and the critic in him—are actually hostile to the good of the unconscious, the artist’s side; and the converse of this proposition is likewise true. But it is possible to train both sides of the character to work in harmony, and the first step in that education is to consider that you must teach yourself not as though you were one person, but two.”

Out of all the books on writing I’ve read thus far—I so wish this had been the first I found. This book builds self-confidence in anyone who’s been hungry their whole life for words and wants to finally taste their own and *hopefully share something exquisite with the world one day.

*Fun fact: This book was originally published in 1934 and went out of print for years and years. Thank goodness the wisdom within these pages lives on thanks to a recognition that this still deserves a spot on our collective conscious bookshelf.

The book can’t help itself for being a little dated simply just because of the passage of time, but disregarding that, this was a fantastic little help with ye olde “not writer’s block, but also not in the flow of writing” type sentiments.