Ratings102
Average rating4.2
This book starts well but meanders off the rails, as many of Lamott's anecdotes and examples are not as useful or amusing as she seems to think. When it's good, it's one of the more enjoyable books about writing that I've read so far. When it's bad, it's a toxic cocktail of condescension and insecurity that comes off as more repellent than relatable.
I started out taking notes, then stopped. By the end I was just relieved not to be Lamott's friend or student. Whether she's jokingly wishing cancer scares on her successful peers, likening being a writer to having a mental illness or autism, pouring scorn on students who dare to dream of being published, describing a Chilean author's work as “like primitive art”, or saying that people at the Special Olympics all “bear a familial resemblance”, her off-putting tangents quickly outweigh the usefulness of her advice. Add a dose of irrelevant God-bothering and it's like she set out to get on my last nerve.
At one point, Lamott describes receiving a note from a magazine editor, which says, “You have made the mistake of thinking that everything that has happened to you is interesting.” She says it was mortifying, but it clearly wasn't mortifying enough to prevent this book.
Anyway, the advice boils down to: persist with writing, even if it sucks, and don't be afraid to ask for help. You already knew that.