Let’s talk about bad writing — the kind that makes you laugh, cringe, roll your eyes, or is the gateway to better things.
Take birthday cards, for example. Does anyone else deliberately seek out the cheesiest message? I mean the ones with groan-worthy puns, strained rhymes, and rhythm that just… doesn’t. I love those! There’s an art to writing something that insincere. It’s harder than it looks to hit just the right note of emotional falseness while still fitting everything on one folded A5 card.
In other words: the perfect birthday card.
And what about genre fiction? Don’t get me wrong — good genre fiction is just good fiction. I love a dark thriller, clever sci-fi, or a juicy romance. But there’s also a quiet joy in reading something so wildly predictable it wraps around you like a blanket. After a bad — or just overwhelming — day, I don’t want to wrestle with layered metaphors. I want to know who the killer is, and that the dog survives.
Then there are the moments when someone else’s bad writing just… brightens your day. Like the time you’re copied into an email that very obviously wasn’t meant for you — especially when you’re the one being gossiped about. Hehehe. I mean, sure, ouch. But also — schadenfreude!
One of my personal favourites: back when I was still teaching, a parent returned a message I’d sent out, proofed in red pen. And look, fair enough — I’d made two genuine errors. But he also “corrected” four perfectly fine sentences. I was so tempted to re-proof it and send it back to him. Luckily, professionalism prevailed. (Barely.)
And if you really love bad writing, you need to check out the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest. It’s a competition for deliberately terrible first sentences — named after the guy who gave us “It was a dark and stormy night.” Some of the entries are absolute gold. If you’ve got a flair for the overly dramatic and under-edited, give it a go.
But here’s the thing: bad writing isn’t just funny — it’s useful.
Let me explain.
You know when you start writing and everything that comes out feels terrible? Good. That’s exactly how it should feel. You’re not writing a masterpiece yet. You’re clearing out the mental clutter, like you would clean a pantry. Get everything out first — all the expired ideas, weird metaphors, and questionable adjectives — and then you can decide what’s worth keeping.
That mess you’ve made? That’s your brainstorm. Let it be weird. Let it be chaotic. Don’t judge it. You’re just giving yourself something to work with.
And what follows is your ‘bad’ first draft. Because honestly, what are you going to revise if nothing exists? Famous writers agree. Ernest Hemingway is (maybe apocryphally) quoted as saying: “The first draft of anything is shit.” Or more politely, he definitely did say: “The only kind of writing is rewriting.”
Vladimir Nabokov went even further:
“I have rewritten — often several times — every word I have ever published. My pencils outlast their erasers.”
So if your first go feels bad — fantastic. You’re doing it right.
Also – write bad people. Listen to your baser impulses when you’re trying to make characters real. Whether they’re fictional, or people you remember (especially yourself!), perfection is boring. Let them be petty. Let them make inglorious decisions. Your reader will care more if your characters feel real — flaws and all.
I’ll leave you with this thought: bad writing isn’t a failure. It’s a first step. Or a laugh. Or a very satisfying eyeroll. But either way — it’s worth celebrating.
You need something.
Want to explore your own bad writing – and the path to improvement? Contact me for a chat!