Part of the purpose of this blog is to document my writing journey. What does that entail? Honestly, I’m not quite sure. Right now, it’s me sitting down and writing about whatever I find interesting or entertaining, usually on some pretty questionable websites that would make my mother blush.

I’ve read reflections from popular authors, but most of them just say a lot of words without really saying anything. Then I stumbled across this gem: a twelve-year-old girl in 1959 wrote to C.S. Lewis – yes, the Narnia guy – asking for writing advice. His response made me chuckle and got my gears turning.

And let me tell you, the man did not hold back. Forget the polite “follow your dreams, kiddo.” Nope. It reminded me of comedian Zarna Garg’s bit about Indian parents brutally killing their kids’ bliss (in case you’re curious, here’s the clip – it’s hilarious: https://www.facebook.com/reel/372214889041185) – same energy. Lewis went full-on British uncle, handing out unsolicited commandments. Forget the polite “follow your dreams, kiddo.” Nope. He went full-on British uncle, handing out unsolicited commandments. Some were basic, almost obvious, but still solid, the kind of advice I used to give my students and tried to pound into my kids’ heads. Stuff like: “Turn off the radio,” “Don’t use a typewriter,”( I know this is outdated and moot, but be patient, stay with me, and you’ll see …. Keep reading), and my personal favorite, “Avoid nearly all magazines.” (Sorry, Vogue, Lewis said you’re trash.)

“Turn off the radio.”

Lewis really thought The Beatles were going to ruin an entire generation of writers. Meanwhile, I’m over here cranking out essays with Spotify blasting Eminem or Barry Manilow’s “Copacabana” (don’t judge) on repeat. Honestly, half my creativity comes from soundtracks I’d be embarrassed to admit to in public. If I followed his advice, I’d be staring at a blank screen, wondering if my keyboard could double as a coaster.

“Avoid magazines.”

He basically meant: don’t fill your head with fluff. Fair enough. But let’s be real, some of my best one-liners come straight out of guilty-pleasure rags like People or Us Weekly. Lewis wanted me to read Plato; I’m over here stealing inspiration from celebrity breakups and squirrel-pizza theft stories. (True story: one of those headlines gave me an opening line for a feature. Beat that, Plato.)

“Don’t use a typewriter.”

Lewis swore typewriters “destroy your sense of rhythm.” My sense of rhythm was destroyed the day I attempted Zumba, so let’s not blame QWERTY. And sorry, Clive, but if you think I’m handwriting full drafts like it’s 1959, you clearly haven’t wrestled with modern wrist tendonitis. I’ll admit I still jot handwritten notes for work, but if I had to write whole articles that way, I’d be selling organs to pay the mortgage.

“Take pains to be clear.”

Okay, fine. This one I’ll give him. I’ve reread my own writing enough to know I occasionally channel riddles wrapped in metaphors wrapped in caffeine-fueled rambling. (I call it “style.” My editor calls it “please fix immediately.” She also never misses a chance to slap my hand for starting sentences with verbs. I promise, M – I’m working on it.)

My Reflection: Advice That’s Both Brilliant and Bonkers

Here’s the thing: Lewis wasn’t wrong about the core stuff. Read good books, or honestly, any books. It sharpens your grammar and your thinking. I tell my kids to “read a book” so often, I might as well tattoo it on my forehead.

And write about what actually interests you. The older I get, the shorter my attention span becomes. Some days I feel like the ADHD kid in class playing pencil hockey at the back of the room (no offense to my fellow ADHDers, I have been clinically diagnosed, medicated, and suspect CVS swapped my prescription for Tic Tacs). That’s why my boss has me pitch my own stories. If I care about the topic, I write better. If I don’t, I dig until I find an angle that makes it interesting. Every story has one, it’s all about which perspective will actually take the reader on a ride.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not questioning or criticizing a literary legend. There’s something charming about Lewis’s cranky wisdom. It reminds me that writing is less about rules and more about rhythm, your own rhythm. Scribble in a notebook, hammer the keys on your laptop, or voice-dictate into your phone while stuck in traffic. Whatever works. At the end of the day, no one cares how the words got there; they just care that they landed. Lewis may have sworn off typewriters, but I’m pretty sure he’d forgive us for using whatever tools we’ve got, as long as the end result sings.

So thanks, C.S. Lewis, but I’ll keep my playlists, my trash magazines, and my laptop. Honestly, your old-school rules still make more sense than half the “life hacks” influencers peddle on Instagram. And Lord knows, I’ve tried more than a few of those hacks; most were stupid, and some literally blew up in my face.