Imitation and Emulation: Stealing Style, Structure, and Subject from Other Writers
By Sarah Callender | October 6, 2022 |
When I was a little kid, my younger sister and I would play a game called “Lip or Tongue?”
It went like this: Concealing my mouth with my hand, I would EITHER stick out my tongue just enough to make it look like my lower lip, OR I would keep my tongue in my mouth and, I don’t know, try to make my lower lip look like a tongue. Then, the big reveal: I’d remove my hand, and my sister, ever the good sport, would have to guess (you guessed it) whether my lower lip was in fact my lower lip, OR my tongue was masquerading as my lower lip. Hence the name of the game: Lip or Tongue?
I had a very happy childhood. A little weird too, but also very happy.
I don’t know why I liked this silly game as much as I did. Perhaps I thought I was really sneaky and talented with my chameleon-esque tongue. Perhaps I fancied myself a master of deception and illusion. Perhaps I appreciated games (and questions) where there were more absolutes than gray areas. My lip was either a lip, or it was a tongue. This or that.
Regardless, I now teach middle schoolers who, by definition, straddle elementary and high school, as well as childhood and teenagery. They are just noticing the beauty–and the frustration–of life’s many gray areas. They are just starting to appreciate the joy of wrestling with the concepts like truth, law, justice, compassion. They also want to know the rules, or at least, they want to know how the adults in the room choose to define the rules. Once they do, they can decide how, if, or when to get around the rules. Or when to break them entirely.
For example: Lying is bad, but are there situations where lying is acceptable? Stealing is wrong, but are there some situations where Robin Hood antics are noble? What does it mean to be a good friend? Is love enough? Is war ever justified? Is it alright to break my parents’ rules when my parents’ rules are stupid?
The world’s a confusing place for us adults, even more confusing for middle school students who, at least for a time, have the prefrontal cortex of a prehistoric reptile.
So when I asked my students to read Linda Rief’s “Rambling Autobiography,” then study the syntax, juxtaposition, diction, and voice, then imitate Rief’s piece as they crafted their own “Rambling Autobiographies,” students were confused.
“But isn’t that plagiarism?” one asked.
“Right,” another chimed in. “It’s stealing another writer’s ideas.”
“And it’s cheating!” a third said. “Like, I’m not supposed to copy Joshua’s essay, but it’s OK to copy a famous writer’s writing? That’s definitely cheating.”
“Not exactly,” I said, and I proceeded to try to explain the difference between imitation and plagiarism, between seeking inspiration and stealing ideas.
But my own explanation sounded watery. And the eyes of even one middle schooler can hold so much disdain.
I sighed. “You’re right,” I said. “When I ask you to imitate a piece of writing, a structure, genre, or stylistic devices, it does seem like I’m asking you to plagiarize.”
Some nodded. Others frowned.
“So you are asking us to copy someone else’s work,” summarized one of the frowners.
Gah! This was no game of Lip or Tongue, that was for sure.
“I think,” I said, “it’s good to study other people’s work. We can learn a lot from studying others’ writing, just like you can learn a lot from a piano teacher, a soccer coach, a mentor. If you’re a golfer, you study Tiger’s swing. If you’re an actor, you study the way Meryl Streep plays with her glasses.
Only blank expressions.
“OK … if you’re a teenager with access to social media, you might find inspiration from your favorite ‘influencers.’” Here I did indeed use air quotes, partly to show my own distain for “influencers,” partly to show that I don’t understand what an “influencer” is or does or how they even came to be in the first place. “Then you might take what the ‘influencer’ is hawking or flaunting, and use it as inspiration. If you are inspired by someone’s creation, and you use that inspiration to create something of your own, something that’s unique, then it’s not stealing.”
But even as I heard the words coming from my mouth, I realized I was trying to convince my students of something I wasn’t entirely sure was true. To me, there really is something uncomfortably squishy about the line between emulation and plagiarism, between seeking inspiration and sneaking into someone’s private property and stealing their creative capital.
Weeks later, I’m still not sure where to draw that line. I’m still not sure where–or if–the definitions of emulation and plagiarism intersect.
Austin Kleon’s lovely little (literally) book titled Steal Like an Artist: 10 Things Nobody Told You About Being Creative, starts with two epigraphs.
The first from Picasso: “Art is Theft.”
The second from T.S. Eliot: “Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal; bad poets deface what they take, and good poets make it into something better, or at least something different. The good poet welds his theft into a whole of feeling which is unique, utterly different from that from which it was torn.”
Picasso’s quotation is black and white, this or that, lip or tongue. Eliot’s is full of gray shades. But neither truly helps us understand why and when we can use others’ work to inspire and inform our own.
Where then is that line between imitation and theft? Or between imitation and emulation? Can we actually hone our craft by literally copying pages of Kurt Vonnegut or Zora Neale Hurston, Ocean Vuong or Mary Roach? And how far do we have to go to make something our own unique style? Can we borrow plot lines and creative story structures without fear that we are stealing others’ ideas?
It’s not a Lip or Tongue situation, that’s for sure.
This is where you come in, I hope, to weigh in:
When we use other writers’ work as models for our own, is that stealing? Or cheating? Or plagiarizing? How do we (as students ourselves) seek inspiration from a literary muse without copying or stealing?
I’m also curious to hear where you find inspiration for your writing. Where do you go to steal, imitate, or emulate? Who are your literary muses?
I’m genuinely uncertain and curious, and I hope your opinions will either quell or validate my confusion (as both a writer and a teacher).
Please, dear WU Community, don’t be tight-lipped in sharing your opinions. Please don’t hold your tongues.
[coffee]
A Middle Grade novelist (and Middle School English teacher), Sarah Callender lives in Seattle with her family. Because Sarah dislikes cleaning anything that will just get messy again, she tidies the house and weeds the yard only when absolutely necessary. This allows her time to focus on her true–and somewhat fraught–passions: writing, Abe Lincoln, and Tony’s Chocolonely chocolate bars. Equally passionate about mental health advocacy, Sarah is a member of The Stability Network. Sarah’s first novel, LUCY IN BETWEEN, will be published by Margaret Ferguson Books/Holiday House in 2026.
I prefer to analyze what and why other writers do, and then decide if I want to do something similar; most of the time I do not, and the reason I noticed something was that it hit me wrong somewhere on the shins.
I don’t want to repeat, for my readers, stylistic trends that annoy ME.
For example, some authors describe each new character in detail when first we encounter them – I choose to write in a deep realistic third person pov and if my character has no reason for thinking about the hair style of the new character at the moment they’ve met for brunch, that doesn’t get into the story at that point. If I need it in the story, brunch is not the choice of interaction, but a new five-gallon hat on that character which is way too big says ‘tiny head’ just fine.
Once I decided I didn’t want a narrator – and the observations a narrator makes – in the current trilogy, I made sure nothing implies there’s another party in the room.These stylistic choices tend to self-reinforce and are the first place I look when some passage seems ‘off.’
Call it anti-plagiarizing to use other writers as examples I don’t want to follow.
I love every bit of this, Alicia. Thank you for sharing these ideas and these specific examples. They are so helpful!
I also love the reminder that we can often learn as much by studying what we don’t like as we can from studying that which delights and buoys us. As I age, and as I look at people a bit older than I am, I often think, “I want to be just like that person.” Or, “Please, God, let me NEVER become that person.”
What a great comment to start my morning!
Hi Sarah – True story: two or three years into my writing journey, I realized I was writing epic fantasy, but I was so clueless that I didn’t even know what to call it. I also realized I hadn’t read anything new in the genre in over a decade. I only knew a few people who knew anything about it, so I asked them. Someone told me I should be reading George R.R. Martin. The Tolkienesque “R.R.” made me skeptical, but off to Borders I went (see? it was a long time ago).
I started reading A Game of Thrones, book one of A Song of Ice and Fire, and I was swiftly horrified. He had family clans that adopted animal sigils, the two most prominent being wolf and lion. *I* had two prominent family groups, and you guessed it: they are the wolf and lion clans. He also had a prominent secondary character named Arya. I honestly thought I’d made up the name Arya (as if no one else ever could come up with that combination of those four letters).
Still, the books were so good, I tore through all that had then been released, and I’ve been reading them as soon as they release since (yeah, been a dearth there lately). My problem, I thought, was that everyone would assume I’d stolen from Martin. Here’s what happened. After reading him, I rewrote my first trilogy. A reader then suggested I “sounded like” GRRM, and I was outraged. “I had wolf and lion clans long before I read him,” I ranted. (I’d changed the name of my character from Arya). My astute reader said, “It’s not that. You *sound* like him.”
I looked back and realized she was right. I’d subconsciously adopted quite a few Martin-isms, mostly in the form of archaic phrases and manner of speech in dialog. I went back through and quite consciously tried to eliminate these things. This was almost fifteen years ago, and I flatter myself to think that what’s happened since is that I developed my own voice once I stopped worrying about sounding like Martin, or anybody else.
Guess what–I still have the wolf clan and the lion clan. I just had my first big review of my upcoming debut, and the reviewer (whom I greatly respect) was kind enough to compare me to three epic fantasy authors. You guessed it–there among those I’ve been compared to is none other than George R. R. Martin. And I couldn’t possibly feel more honored.
Wonderful essay, full of laughs, as always. (I’m with you on the influencers, and will forever air-quote that word.) Thanks, Sarah! Hope your march toward pub day is going smoothly.
Thank you, Vaughn! I wish I could say, “I write epic fantasy.” It sounds so badass. And your great story reminds me of when, a few years back, I devoured a writing partner’s new manuscript in just a few days. I loved the style and the narrative voice so much, and I loved it so much that I unintentionally internalized, adopted, imitated, copied (whatever it was) her style and voice when I went back to my own work. It was a little embarrassing to realize I could be so swayed. Do chameleons get embarrassed by how how quickly they adopt the colors or hues of something else? Maybe. I sure was.
I am SO happy for you! I haven’t had the change to watch the review, but I look forward to doing it (and celebrating alongside you) this weekend. No one deserves the accolades more than you, Vaughn. I do mean that.
Sarah, the year I read The Underneath by Kathi Appelt, I loved it so much ended up incorporating her way of repeating important words in my own prose. My critique partners too. We didn’t realize it until we were critiquing our stories and wait a sec… I love her work. I go to so many mentors for inspiration. Katherine Patterson, Laura Amy Schlitz, Kate diCamillo–I’m sure your kids know them well.
Yes! It’s funny how easily we can absorb others’ style … it shouldn’t surprise me. Eight years living in Chicago gave me a slight accent that my California family found funny and delightful. We adapt to our surroundings adopting traits and mannerisms. When we read, I suppose we do the same thing. After all, living in a novel is just like living in a new city, a new decade, a new world. Thanks, Vijaya!
Hi Sarah. The exchange with your students shows that, as a writer, you can’t ever be accused of lacking scruples.
The real question is: what does the writer want to accomplish by using someone else’s writing? Is it being used in furtherance of the lifelong task of getting better as a writer? Or simply as a quick-fix shortcut to achieve commercial success? The first stems from a simple acknowledgement that “nothing will come of nothing,” as King Lear says. We all stand on the shoulders of those who wrote before we did. The second involves aping the literary moves of successful genre writers, hitching one’s own wagon to theirs. That goal, in my view, is scruple-free.
Thanks for this, Barry! And you’re right … in this (as in many situations) the intent makes all the difference. And thank you for that beautiful King Lear quotation. I haven’t read that since college, and I don’t currently teach any Shakespeare. My son, Will, is named after him (as well as after my husband’s best buddy). Makes me want to go see some productions. Thanks for always sharing your wisdom with the WU community.
Sarah, your students are so lucky to have you. I love the Eliot quote. As I taught my own two–we are what we eat; we are also what we read, the music we listen to, etc. And what we make has our unique stamp, good or bad. Ideas are free. No two people will write the same story given a prompt. Plagiarism is copying the arrangement of the words and passing them as your own.
It’s fine to copy when you are trying to learn something. For instance, to learn how to write picture books, I didn’t just read and study hundreds of them but I actually copied them out in manuscript form to see what they look like on the page without the pictures. How short they are! You get a feel for the flow of the words. I’ve not done this with novels, but I learned story structure by dissecting a few favorite novels. Looking at the TOC of nonfiction books is such a great tool to learn how to organize your own book. Granted, that copying a structure might create a derivative work, but when you’re learning, that’s okay. I think of these elements as writing with training wheels. At some point you take them off and go…and as long as you are moving, you’ll be okay. Learn your own style. Look Ma, no hands!
And Sarah, I was so pleased to see that your book has a title and release date (2024 feels far away but it’ll go fast). Congratulations!!
Thanks, Vijaya! What a brilliant idea to copy the text of picture books. That way we can separate the imagery from the text … it can be too easy for me to think that the art will carry the story when my words can’t, and that’s just lazy writing! After playing around with picture books, I now bow down to those who tackle that genre. It is NOT for the careless or lazy. :)
For anyone who is interested, I have found this book to be so helpful: https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/630143/writing-picture-books-revised-and-expanded-edition-by-ann-whitford-paul/
Hi Sarah! This is such a great article, and your students sound amazing.
I definitely look to other authors to learn how to improve my work. I read thrillers not just for enjoyment, but to get a better handle on plotting; poetry, to figure out how to say as much as possible well in as few as possible words (obviously still working on that one); and specific authors for structural elements I admire — Alice Hoffman, for example, not just for her beautiful stories, but for how she seamlessly incorporates flashbacks in her work, Lee Child for pacing and Madeline Miller for her swooping character development arcs. I’ve written enough that I’m confident in my own voice style, and I don’t see analyzing these elements as plagiarism, but rather as adding tools I can use to my own toolkit to build something completely different.
And BIG congrats to you on your great news! I’m so happy for you and can’t wait to read.
Yes, Liz! I love the idea that studying and analyzing other writers helps us fill our writer’s toolkit. Thank you for that reminder. And thank YOU for writing such a beautiful novel. In the case of Darling Girl, I absolutely can judge a book by it’s beautiful cover. You know what you’re doing, girl! :)
Sarah, as always, lots to consider here and how you bring it all together, lip and tongue, love that! There is also that old saying, nothing new under the sun. And for readers who devour fiction, doesn’t it often build within us like a vine of roses and thorns that we cannot cut away? You can’t live on the planet without influence (and forget influencers!) You cannot be a writer without something you have read or a film you have seen unconsciously or consciously forming your own oeuvre. So delighted for you book coming out…hope to follow, Beth
Thank you, Beth! Your words here offer such a beautiful simile. I just paused to think back on all of the novels that impacted me as a reader (and likely me as a writer too). It’s impossible to know which books and which writers have become part of my DNA, but I love the idea that our genetic make up as writers is the product of many parents. Thanks, as always, for sharing!
Hi Sarah,
You ask a great question, what’s the difference between emulation and copying? OK, what’s the difference between being influenced and copying. You answered it, it’s a gray zone.
I’ve read a lot of books by different authors in different styles and genres, and it’s helped me determine what and how I want to write. In my most recent WIP, I took off from Hamlet for a mystery, more cozy than noir. Those who read the book (but don’t read this) won’t realize I took off from Hamlet. If I just change the names, it’s copying. OK, Hamlet became Hal, and Elsinore became Allynsmore. But that’s pretty much where the similarities end.
I set out to provide a satisfying and similar but different reading experience for lovers of detective stories. I’m jumping off of some Shakespeare, and some things happen that also happened in books by Dashiel Hammett, Raymond Chandler, Rex Stout, Sarah Paretzsky, Donna Leon, Kenneth Millar, Agatha Christie, Sir Arthur Conan-Doyle, and Shakespeare himself. But they happen differently, to different characters, in a different tone, for different reasons, and in a different time. The Ophelia figure is still spurned and drowns, but in a Volkswagen Rabbit with worn tires and in a heavy rainstorm; she’s distraught, drives too fast for the conditions, breaks through a barrier, and ends up in the lake. It’s an accident.
If all I do is change the names, it’s copying. If I’ve put my name on someone else’s intellectual property, that’s recognizably theirs, and it works to my advantage at their expense, it’s probably plagiarism, at least in spirit and effect. (Not everyone agrees on how far you can go or how careful you have to be.)
But isn’t “the same but different” one of the important criteria that a publisher pays for? And isn’t that the essence of emulation, similarities in experience and response by the reader produced in a way the reader can recognize and enjoy? Isn’t that part of the meaning of the genre—detective stories?
Yes, I believe there’s a difference between emulation and copying, a very blurry and gray difference. Especially for middle schoolers.
Congratulations! You have taught them that stealing intellectual property is wrong just like stealing candy or cars. But they may not be ready for the complexity of intellectual property.
Thank you for your wonderful question. I hope this helps.
Ah, but IS your Ophelia’s death really an accident? Will the reader ever really know? And does it really even matter? :)
This is such a great comment, Bob, in large part because the specific details you use as examples. It reminds me of the time, years ago, when I read Jane Smiley’s A Thousand Acres. I loved the parallels to King Lear … it was probably the first time I realized it was possible to borrow the structure, characters, and theme from another. But, I think even at the time, I thought, Well yeah, Smiley can borrow from Shakespeare; the copyright laws don’t apply, so his work is in the public domain. But your comment, along with other generous folks here, provide ample reason to expand my understanding of what also might exist in the public domain–ideas for example.
Thank you for sharing your thoughts!
Much good conversation here. Another point: Even if you start with another person’s story as an inspiration or guide, when you change the setting, put in your own MC with even a slightly different motivation, then follow the logical implications of those choices, the story will change so much as you write that ultimately, you may be the only person who sees the connection.
Yes, Leslie! Such good points. In fact, there are some real people (relatives, friends, a particular middle school bully) who inspired elements of my first novel. I imagine they won’t have ANY idea that they have played a role in the story, and that’s a good thing.
As I tell my students … always be nice to people; you never know when someone will turn into a writer and write you into their story as the villain! :)
Sarah, your mentioning of Vonnegut brought to mind how you can see broad shades of Twain in his work, with the use of exaggeration and understatement, and of human folly. All of that is in novels like Twain’s Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court and Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse Five (which have time-travel links as well), but the works are so vastly different too. And fabulous in their own ways.
I think it’s a fine thing to look over the shoulder of great writers, but don’t write down the same answers on the test, because the teacher will catch you.
And I do love your lines: “They also want to know the rules, or at least, they want to know how the adults in the room choose to define the rules. Once they do, they can decide how, if, or when to get around the rules. Or when to break them entirely.”
Middle schoolers—I’d never turn my back on those creatures.
Hi Tom! I never knew/thought about the Vonnegut-Twain overlaps. But I absolutely see it now. The wry, dry, dark-at-times humor is certainly present in both.
And you’re right about middle schoolers. I feel my classroom is always only moments away from certain coup d’etat, especially after we have studied Animal Farm and Lord of the Flies. ;)
Here’s a high five! Thanks for the kind and helpful comment.
What a great question, Sarah! As a former middle-school teacher, I love that your students are thinking about these issues. One thing that hasn’t been mentioned is that a beginning writer can learn a lot by deliberately imitating other authors, not for publication but as a learning experience. In order to do that, you have to closely analyse their work. Similarly, novice painters often copy other paintings, not to pass off as their own work but to learn technique. I assumed that was why you assigned your students that exercise.
Yes, absolutely! And I was absolutely blown away by my students’ work. We were reading The House on Mango Street, and students had to use Cisneros’s vignette, “My Name” to inspire their own “My Name” vignettes. In fact, let me ask one of them if I can share hers … she says YES! And keep in mind, this is an 8th grader! :)
Of Cello Strings and Forgotten Things
A friend once asked if they could call me Wendy because I didn’t have an “American name.” At the time, I shook it off with a chuckle – a shrug of the shoulders, a careless nod. Handed them my white flag of surrender, the banner of my culture no longer waving brilliantly in the air. Sagging with defeat.
Wendy doesn’t mean “elegant” in Chinese, though. It doesn’t mean “sorry, can you pronounce it again?” in English. It is as stiff as a wooden sled, the d frozen and forgotten, dusted with cobwebs on a weathered porch.
Wendy is not like my name. Shiwen means twisted eyebrows, it means artificial concern, clumsy apologies that land like a newborn falcon scrambling to take its first flight. It ebbs and flows. Shiwen washes foreign sounds ashore like waves frothing on the first day of autumn; the letters soar through the skies like dulcet whistles; the sound resonates like strings of a russet cello pulsing with life. In English, my name drifts blissfully above like cushiony cumuli, the multicolored clouds whose meaning it carries in Chinese.
Shiwen overwhelms unsuspecting tongues. It sticks to your teeth like red bean mochi, powdered sugar dusting pink fingertips. When I am called for attendance on the first day of school, the syllables clash in awkward harmony: in strangers’ throats, Shiwen sounds jagged, like dark chocolate chips kneaded in sugary cookie dough. Like mochi, it thickens impossibly with every attempt. Introductions in America mean flushed cheeks, eyes turned down as my name invades ingenuous mouths with choking authority. Some try to spit it out; others enunciate painfully, glutinous syllables fighting for room, but chewing mochi slowly only makes it harder to swallow.
In Beijing, it is the opposite: hard letters turn soft, but carry a crisp, commanding air, beckoning to your eyes. 诗, shī, smells of blushing roses. It frills and frays around the edges like yellowing pages of poetry, the art for which I was named, curling with the type of grace I have not yet mastered. It perches daintily on wooden stools, it sips pekoe from a flowered mug. 雯, wén, patters on grey rooftops like 雨, the rain its character is made of. Droplets of it hang on foggy windowpanes; absently beautiful, casually delicate. It quivers with transparent lithely perfection.
There, my Chinese name is brewed with mint leaves and green tea. A lemon slice, honey thyme. Wafts of it dance in the air like steam. There, my grandparents articulate my name easily, confidently, and shīwén beams with the reassuring warmth of a childhood friend, hands clasped together like puzzle pieces that fit.
But I am not there. I am in America, where Shiwen is an inconvenience, and my name is disfigured so many times I no longer remember how to pronounce it. In America, where my crumbling eraser creases crinkled Chinese worksheets in frustration, where I forget the same character twenty-seven times in one sitting, where I see books in my mother tongue untouched, not a single furrow blemishing its pages, replaced by threadbare English novels. Where foreign names are fish out of water. With every mispronunciation, my native language’s rough scales scrape palms raw as it slips out from between my fingers: Shewen, Shywin, Shirwin. Here, in America, I cling desperately to my culture and wish that I, too, could be just as pure as shīwén is.
Just wanted to say that your student’s story is wonderful! How impressive. I hope she continues to write, she’s got something! And also that I completely understand how she feels, I live in France and people cannot, for the life of them, pronounce Georgia. In American English, it’s a beautiful song, and in French…it’s really hilariously clumsy and horrible-sounding. And I have also forgotten my English, and my mother language is slowly being replaced by my adopted one. To write so eloquently about displacement as an eighth-grader is a marvellous thing!
Also, about stealing—I say steal away. If you get caught, you learn, if you make it better, you make art. If you don’t get caught and don’t make it better, you’ll probably eventually get so bored with your own work that you’ll start innovating anyway. Worth the risk to me! And regarding the matter of theft, it’s also interesting to look at copyright law in other countries—for example, in France you can copyright a title (my husband, who had a small independent publishing house, once was almost sued by a humongous French publishing house for this very reason, which I as an American found extremely strange. The huge publishers had released a short story collection under the same title; we had published a novel. Where was the problem? Was it really us ‘stealing’ their title? Legally…yes! It was. But only if you’re in France. ??).
Interesting subject!
Wow. Any thoughts I had to comment on your post have left me, after reading your student’s beautiful essay. I’m of Chinese/Taiwanese descent, with many Asian friends, and this girl’s words are so resonant, so poignant. I hope you will let her know that I think she’s extremely talented. I hope she will keep writing. <3
That kid is so good her essay changed the subject.