Ever since I was in sixth grade, I’ve wanted to become a professional creative writer. Needless to say, I still haven’t willed my fantasy to fruition. Even after reading and writing more, I still looked down at my inked notebooks and papers and thought: “This sh*t still sucks.” Despite my own criticisms, I’m somehow still hopeful about my progress with learning more about the art of fiction. Here are some lessons that I’ve learned so far:

Write for yourself.

Properly grasping this seemingly redundant piece of advice is in the same vein as playing the piano or driving a car: the concept is easy to learn, but difficult to master.

Writers don’t have a live audience watching them draft. If they did, writers would face a nightmarish reality when the people eventually exit the studio. Instead of entertaining others, protect the intimacy that you share with your project until it is ready to be judged by rational and irrational readers alike.

Have a plan.

Whether or not this means developing a visual storyboard or numerous sticky notes is irrelevant.

Do robbers storm into a bank, raid its vaults, and live to tell the tale without a blueprint or inside info? If so, locate and question any and all witnesses of the heist.

Please note that having a plan is not a blood oath. George R.R. Martin asserted the idea of two types of writers—architects and gardeners. In short, architects feel comfortable with mapping out their stories out while gardeners prefer to improvise, not knowing what may rise from the ground until they’ve finished. In my opinion, architects should know that their plan is subject to many changes and, therefore, open to them. As for the gardeners, they should always be aware of their end goal (whatever that may be) or risk losing their story’s integrity.

Be “literary.”

There are certain queries that span throughout all “good” writing. How do you want the audience to connect with you? Likewise, how do you want them to connect with the main character of your story? Do they remain valiant in the face of evil, or do they crumble like wet sand between fingertips when faced with adversity? Are they alone? Do they feel alone? Show the audience how the character is before sharing why the character is like that. And, for the love of what you consider holy, write all stories — fictional or factual — as stand-alone products.

Establish reasoning.

Characters need a clear motivation. A character that wants nothing is a poor individual without a cause and, therefore a nuisance for everyone tracking the character’s whereabouts. A life without reason hits too close to home for many and may inflict existential dread and misery in readers.

Recall one of the many essays you were forced to write in school. Teachers enforced a uniform structure for essays which involved an introduction, a thesis, a body, and a conclusion. Theses exist in stories too and are usually presented by the protagonist — the stronger a thesis is, the more relatable your characters become and the more interesting your plot becomes. Also remember about other factors of the larger picture before toiling away on a keyboard. Like your character needs a motivation, so do you. Have a reason to write your story, even if the reason is combating boredom.

Cherish your failures.

First drafts are always trash. Correction: first drafts are trash, in a dumpster, burning alongside an amalgamation of feces, rotting food, and charring self-insert fan fiction. But don’t worry, there’s something to salvage from the ashes.

For early drafts, always take the time to learn from your own writing. Get second opinions from literate people whom you definitely trust. Your writing will see itself remedied if you truly care about your work, and you will see your writing become decent because you cared and, therefore, know when it’s ready for the world. Writing, in this aspect of the creative process, is a form of meditation: focus and self-reflection is required to present art that is genuinely meaningful and firm in its conventions.