In Defense of Imitation: Why It’s Okay To Sound Like Your Favorite Writers
Each time we workshopped one of my poems in college, I worried someone would stop mid-line, raise their eyebrows, look at me, and comment, “this is from Carl Phillips, right?” And I’d be speechless, surrounded by the gravity and guilt of… plagiarism.
It never happened. At most, someone offhandedly said my poem was “in the vein of [insert poet].” That was truer than my anxiety of being called a fraud. I didn’t plagiarize a word or phrase from any writer, but I performed what I call conceptual plagiarism: While writing poems, I always read another poet. I borrowed concepts, subjects, feelings, and syntax until it was as if their voice was passing through mine.
For example, if Robert Frost wrote a poem about a boat leaving a harbor, I envisioned, “a boat emptying of the bodies that brought it there.” Was that true plagiarism? No, of course not. All I took from him was the idea for boats to signify isolation. But in my guilt-ridden mind, I felt unoriginal and fake.
All writing begins like that.
Here’s a thought: every word you write for the first few years will sound like someone else’s. For example, in his memoir On Writing, Stephen King, the famous, million-book selling writer (Oh, that Stephen King!) says,
“Stylistic imitation is one thing, a perfectly honorable way to get started as a writer (and impossible to avoid, really; some sort of imitation marks each new stage of a writer’s development).”
King hits the nail. Imitation is the mark of beginning. All artists—painters, writers, musicians, stained glass makers, you name it—most likely became interested in that art because they interacted with piece of art in that field. They had an appreciation before they took action. It makes sense that their work beckons to the influences that jumpstarted their passion.
Don’t believe me? Let’s look at some examples. We already have Stephen King. How about another behemoth of English Literature: William Shakespeare. If you look at some of his most famous plays, you see that Romeo and Juliet, Hamlet, and Othello were based on stories by other writers. Think about that. The greatest writer in English found his inspiration in others. He didn’t create the stories. Instead, he wrote his own versions and made them better.
Still suspicious? Pablo Picasso is considered one of the most influential artists of the 20th century and co-invented Cubism. However, he wasn’t always an innovator. There’s a famous anecdote that tells of Picasso, upon exiting a gallery of children’s drawings, says, “When I was their age I could draw like Raphael, but it took me a lifetime to learn to draw like them.”
Whether it’s true or not doesn’t really matter, but the sentiment rings true. He was a masterful painter at a young age who could do so in the vein of the old masters, but instead of fading into copycat status, he worked to discover a new language and style that conveyed his true voice.
Whether it’s a subject matter or technique, you will mimic. I know that may bog you down. Some people give up because they think they will always be derivative. And maybe they will. What can you do to avoid that?
(1) Seek out new influences. Don’t impede your improvement by sticking to the same writers. Instead, read widely. That means female writers, male writers, writers of color, writers in translation, writers from this century, and onward until the ideas and language spinning around become different from what you used to write.
(2) Don’t try to please everyone. The opposite of the first point is true. When you are writing, it’s impossible to incorporate every writer and concept without sounding like an awkward hodgepodge of voices and opinions. While you’re in the beginning phase of writing seriously, it’s best to focus on one writer for each piece, emulating their style. Ask yourself, “How would [writer A] write about this?” Don’t copy a piece of theirs word for word, but emulate their language until you have a strong grasp on it. Then move onto the next writer.
(3) Write constantly. I cannot stress this enough. Writing is the only way you will become a better writer. It may be obvious now, but after a couple months of unoriginal writing, people give up. Don’t give up. Write before you go to bed, write in the mornings, write on your phone, write on napkins, write in bed, write and write and write. There’s no exact timeline, but I promise eventually you will sound more like yourself than your hugest influences. And soon, others will want to imitate you.
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