There’s a scene in “The Commitments” (a terrific movie about the rise and fall of a soul band in working-class Dublin) where self-appointed manager Jimmy Rabbette is auditioning singers. A parade of musicians knock on Jimmy’s door; he opens it a crack and demands, “Who are your influences?” Hearing responses like, “Barry Manilow,” “Joan Baez” and “Spandau Ballet,” he repeatedly slams the door in disgust.
Who are your influences?
Recently, I reconnected (if you’ll indulge a personal anecdote) with one of my influences. During the holidays, looking for something to read in between finishing book 3 of the “Game of Thrones” series and starting “Gone Girl”—yes, I’m just now getting to that—I had a taste for material that was less dark and intense.
So I picked up an old favorite, “The Wind in the Willows,” Kenneth Grahame’s charming story of the Water Rat, his kindly friend Mole, and the motorcar-addicted Mr. Toad. I immediately found myself in familiar territory: Not only had I read Grahame’s beautiful story many times since childhood, but I recognized the pattern and rhythm and structure of the writing. The way Grahame works in threes, stringing together three words or phrases in a singsong pattern. The way he inserts knowing little asides. The way he uses metaphor to convey an idea.
The recognition struck like lightning: This is how I write. Little did I know, writers I loved in childhood—Grahame and E.B. White and A.A. Milne—would in ways large and small influence my own work decades (and decades) later. Of course, I don’t propose to compare my writing to theirs—with all due modesty, I’m competent, but not that good—but I can’t help but realize that I’ve borrowed styles and techniques from authors I’ve loved. It’s entirely subconscious. But the influence is there.
Who are your influences?
Think about the people—writers, designers, artists, mentors, colleagues, managers—whose craft and technique have informed your own work. Do you regularly revisit, review or reread those influences?
Shouldn’t you?