100 Books Like On Writing

What I love most about Bird by Bird is the way that Anne Lamott characterises writing as a gift, a giving over to someone else in a manner akin only to being a parent.

While I am not a parent, I am inspired by this idea that the written word can make a person braver and better by virtue of opening them up to the world and people in new ways. Despite the hurdles and difficulties of the practice, which Lamott deftly outlines, she ultimately decides that a writer is pursuing an act of generosity and openness. I really love this idea.

There is a real lack of pretentiousness to Lamott’s writing, which allows you to take these nuggets and accept what otherwise might be sentimental claims that “writing is life” as simple truths. 

I’ve never seen a man’s life told with such clarity and skill as Caro lays out LBJ’s journey. I was in awe of how clear-eyed Caro was about what his story is about: not the facts and dates of LBJ’s life, but what Caro saw in LBJ’s life about ambition, politics, and the powers that shape society.

Caro never for a second loses sight of the story he is telling, and what it is truly about: power, how to get it, and how to yield it. Caro’s adherence to the themes he found in LBJ’s story is inspiring—and completely informed how I approach storytelling.

Before reading On Writing and Writers by Margaret Atwood, I naively believed that writing about writing was necessarily boring. Like a textbook, full of cold, mechanical steps to improve. Atwood’s book proved me incredibly wrong. 

I was mesmerised by Atwood’s self-deprecating charm and disarming wit, and saw myself in her initial query about whether she has the right to write – namely, the right to make grand claims about her practice.

Perhaps what I loved most was her reluctance to offer anything concrete. She dances near a decision, a position, an answer, and then just as quickly, she turns away again. Self-indulgently, I enjoy the idea that writing is a mystery that doesn’t have one answer and that can’t be pinned down. For me, Atwood’s book confirmed this fanciful notion. 

I love this book because it is the handbook of messaging that is purposeful.

It made me a better communicator by teaching me the importance of building a strong, consistent story about who you are and what you want.

Also, this book sharpened my own ability to create messages people remember, to be able to help others do the same. I love how clearly it lays out what makes a story unforgettable. It pushed me to be intentional about the words I choose and how I deliver them, something I use every single day in my work. 

I’m a huge fan of satire, as I believe it can inform and make you think critically, as well as being wildly entertaining.

I think Catch-22 is one of the most perfect satires about the absurdity and tragedy of war. I’m not the fastest reader, but Heller’s dialogue, humor, and sharp observations of the human condition under the perversion of war had me turning the pages quickly. 

I read this book years ago, and it has become such a part of my DNA that I barely remember not knowing the ideas it introduces. A lot of screenwriting books focus on structure and premise, trying to decide what kind of event should happen by which page. This book gave me a freer, more spiritual way to think about and structure stories.

Vogler’s book—heavily influenced by Joseph Campbell’s Hero with a Thousand Faces—showed me how to think of stories as mythical journeys, almost Jungian in their symbolism. How even the most modern or intimate story can be seen as a warrior’s journey into an unknown land; How stories can benefit from being a few degrees closer to dreams or the unconscious.

I've been an avid fan of the book ever since, and can barely think of storytelling separately from the ideas in it. 

I came across Dani Shapiro’s Still Writing at a time when I believed writing to be an impossible, nay, mythical career. Like the imaginary friends from my childhood, I saw it as something I must snap out of if I was ever to find the real thing.

I loved Shapiro’s part-memoir, part-guidebook because she spoke to the true mystery and unknowingness of writing. Clarity, as she puts it, may be the main aim of our game, but it seems to fall further and further away the more we try to grasp it.

The deceptively simple language and tone of Still Writing was a timely reminder for me that, despite the difficulty, risk, vulnerability, and tumult of this discipline, writing is an indelible part of my life, which is not only possible but within my reach. 

What I love about Lee Koffman’s intimate writing memoir is her encouragement and support of the notion that all writers have a different method and that you must find your own tips and tricks to get through the writing practice.

As a high-achieving student, thinker, and writer, I was mortified in classrooms to find that I didn’t have quick answers for things. With time, I came up with something great, but on the spot, I was an inarticulate, floundering mess.

Koffman taught me that truthfulness can not only be found in what you write but in how you do it. I learnt to accept the way my mind worked and realised that in combining the content and the method, you can create something great. 

Now in its tenth edition, this book is for committed writers only. A highly valuable textbook on the writing process, Burroway covers story form, plot, structure, building character, place, and setting, and takes a detailed look at point of view. Each section comes with examples of how things do and do not work, as well as providing a list of suggested readings and writing prompts for further study. This book is a master class in creative writing that also calls on us to renew our love of storytelling and to celebrate the skill of writing well.

Jamilah Thomkins-Bigelow has threaded a beautiful story around Abdul and his love of telling stories but finds it challenging to transition them into written form.

Abdul describes not seeing himself or his community in the books read in the curriculum at school, which amplifies the doubt in his voice and stories being worth of being in a book. One day a class has a visitor, a writer, who Abdul is able to see himself in. While Abdul continues to struggle with self-doubt in his writing abilities, the visitor allows him to break free from the limitations planted and amplified within himself.

In collaboration with Tiffany Rose's illustrations, Jamilah weaves a beautiful reminder for all Black children who have ever had a doubt— that their stories have and will always matter.