Matt Bell doesn't just recount a week at the Association of Writers & Writing Programs conference; he distills the chaotic energy of 10,000 writers into a rigorous philosophy on how to inhabit the past and how to teach the future. The piece stands out because it bypasses the usual conference gossip to offer a masterclass in historical empathy and the practical architecture of revision, grounding abstract literary theory in the visceral reality of the human body.
Rewriting the Past Without Analysis
Bell's most provocative claim is that historical fiction requires the author to temporarily abandon their modern analytical framework. He argues that "The fiction writer is trying to create a false memory with the force of history," a sentiment that reframes the genre not as a documentation of facts, but as an act of immersive reconstruction. He suggests that the goal is to build a worldview specific to a time period, asking what an 18th-century apple planter feared or what a medieval soldier knew that we have forgotten.
This approach is particularly effective because it challenges the modern tendency to judge the past by present standards. Bell writes, "Your book can be smarter, more ethical, and more curious than its characters." He insists that while a character might be blind to biodiversity or hold hostile views toward indigenous peoples, the narrative itself must hold a deeper truth that the character cannot see. This creates a tension where the reader understands more than the protagonist, a technique that adds layers of irony and tragedy without breaking the historical illusion.
"The less factually known about your subject, the more room you have to maneuver as you write."
Bell advises writers to "write into the gaps of the historical record" and to avoid the trap of over-reading secondary analysis. He notes that he read roughly 300 books for his novel Appleseed, yet deliberately skipped the analytical parts to focus on "telling details, contemporaneous reactions and ideas." This is a crucial distinction for busy writers who often feel paralyzed by the volume of research required. By prioritizing sensory details—the "salt smell of the sea" or the "crispness of a first bite into an apple"—Bell argues that we can bridge centuries.
Critics might argue that this method risks romanticizing the ignorance of historical figures or glossing over the systemic horrors they participated in. However, Bell counters this by emphasizing that the author's job is to model a world that holds up to scrutiny in the present, even while writing honestly about characters living in a different model. He draws a parallel to the legacy of Johnny Appleseed, a figure whose mythos often overshadows the complex reality of his life, suggesting that fiction can fill the void where history is silent.
The Architecture of Revision
Shifting from the past to the craft of writing itself, Bell deconstructs the myth of the "craft book" as a dry, didactic manual. He describes his own book, Refuse to Be Done, as emerging from a decade of muddling through revision without a map. "In all that time, I was never actually taught how to revise, only to do it," he writes, highlighting a systemic gap in literary education. His solution is a three-draft process: an exploratory first draft, a structural second draft that involves a full rewrite, and a polishing third draft.
The argument here is that the "full second draft rewrite" is the most challenging yet necessary step, a concept that resonates because it validates the struggle of the writer rather than offering a shortcut. Bell notes, "Writers are so hungry for practical advice and tangible steps they can take to better their writing. They don't want an easy way out of the work, but they do want a way forward." This pragmatic approach turns the craft book into a toolkit rather than a lecture.
"There's no one way to write a novel; there's no one way to write a craft book either."
Bell's personal journey from a MFA student to a teacher at Northern Michigan University and Arizona State University adds weight to his advice. He mentions that the content for his book was "battle-tested" over nine years in workshops and public talks. This longevity suggests that his methods are not just theoretical but have survived the rigors of actual application. He also encourages beginners to write their own craft essays, observing that students who claim they have "no business telling other people how to write" often produce the most extraordinary insights.
A counterargument worth considering is that the "three drafts" model might feel too rigid for writers who rely on organic discovery or who struggle with the discipline of a full rewrite. However, Bell's framing of the process as a "private practice" rather than a universal law leaves room for adaptation.
A Legacy of Community
The piece concludes with a moving tribute to Dan Wickett, the founder of the Emerging Writers Network and a mentor at Dzanc Books. Bell describes the "celebration of life" not as a somber event, but as a reaffirmation of the literary community's resilience. He recalls the "ugly crying" at the podium and the stories shared by those whose careers Wickett helped launch.
This section serves as a reminder that the "craft" Bell discusses is deeply social. The literary ecosystem relies on the networks built by figures like Wickett, who championed writers of Bell's generation through the Emerging Writers Network. Bell's reflection on Wickett's death underscores that the "old story" of literature is one of continuity, where the work of the past informs the voices of the future.
Bottom Line
Matt Bell's commentary offers a rare blend of high-level literary theory and gritty, actionable advice, successfully arguing that historical fiction requires emotional immersion over analytical distance. While his rejection of secondary analysis might seem risky to some historians, his emphasis on sensory truth provides a compelling alternative for narrative construction. The piece's greatest strength lies in its humanization of the writing process, reminding readers that the most effective craft books are born from genuine struggle and shared community.