Real Talk: How to Give Writing Advice Without Sounding Like a Know-It-All

Writing advice is like handing out road maps to people driving in circles.

You’d think giving writing advice would be easy, right? Just whip out a list of “rules,” sprinkle in some quotes from Hemingway or King, and bam!—instant guru status. But here’s the thing: most writers don’t want advice. What they want is validation. Or maybe a pat on the back for that first draft they swear will be the next Great American Novel. So how do you give advice without sounding like some sanctimonious gatekeeper? You do it like this:

Step 1: Acknowledge the Pain (Because Writing Hurts, Damn It)

Before dishing out advice, remember this: writing is mostly suffering. Long hours hunched over a keyboard, self-doubt gnawing at your soul, rejection emails stacking up like spam offers for miracle diets. When giving advice, start with empathy. Say something like:

“Yeah, writing sucks sometimes. It’s hard, lonely, and doesn’t always pay off. But hey, if you’re still doing it, that means you’ve got guts. Respect.”

A little commiseration goes a long way. No one wants advice from someone who acts like they’ve never had a manuscript rejected.

Step 2: Be Honest, Even If It Hurts (Especially If It Hurts)

Most writing advice is sugar-coated garbage. “Write every day.” “Follow your passion.” “Show, don’t tell.” Sure, these nuggets sound good, but they’re about as useful as a fortune cookie when you’re drowning in plot holes.

Here’s some real advice:

• “Your first draft is trash.” No exceptions. It’s supposed to be. Stop treating it like it’s sacred.
• “Not everyone will like your writing, and that’s fine.” Stop chasing universal approval—it doesn’t exist.
• “If you can’t handle criticism, you’re in the wrong field.” Writing is public vulnerability. Embrace it or find another dream.

Harsh? Maybe. But the truth sets writers free (or at least wakes them up).

Step 3: Customize It (Because Not All Writers Are the Same)

Telling every writer to “write 1,000 words a day” is like telling every chef to make spaghetti. Some writers are sprinters, banging out drafts in bursts of creative chaos. Others are marathoners, slow and steady, editing as they go. The key to giving good advice is tailoring it:

If they’re stuck, recommend a writing sprint: “Set a timer for 20 minutes and see what spills out.”

If they’re too precious about their work, suggest this mantra: “Perfection is the enemy of done.”

If they’re paralyzed by self-doubt, remind them: “Even Shakespeare wrote crap first drafts—you just don’t see them.”

Advice is like seasoning: too much ruins the dish, but the right amount can make it sing.

Step 4: Sprinkle in Personal Horror Stories

Want people to actually listen to your advice? Share a war story or two. Talk about that time your editor ripped your manuscript apart or when your “brilliant” novel idea got rejected by every agent in New York.

For example, I once sent a story to a magazine, confident it was a masterpiece. They emailed back: ‘Not for us.’ No explanation. Just those three words. I spent the next week questioning my life choices. But you know what? I kept writing, and eventually, that story found a home. The moral? Rejection is just a rite of passage.

Stories like these make your advice relatable. Plus, they remind other writers they’re not alone in the struggle.

Step 5: Leave the Door Open

The best advice isn’t a commandment; it’s an invitation. Instead of saying, “You must write every day,” try, “Experiment with writing every day and see if it works for you.” This gives writers room to breathe and discover their own rhythm.

End with encouragement:

“Writing’s a weird, messy journey. No one has all the answers—not me, not Stephen King, not even your favorite author. But if you’re willing to keep experimenting, failing, and learning, you’ll find your way.”

Final Thoughts: The Fine Line Between Advice and Arrogance

Giving advice is tricky. Done right, it inspires. Done wrong, it alienates. Remember, you’re not the voice of God—just a fellow traveler with a few extra maps in your pocket. Share them humbly, with a wink and a nod, and let others decide which paths to take. And who knows? Maybe someday, the writer you helped will come back and thank you. Or maybe they’ll surpass you, leaving you bitter and muttering, “Damn, I gave them that advice.” Either way, you’ll know you did your part.

Now go forth and dispense your writerly wisdom—with humor, honesty, and just a touch of cynicism.