Read a metric fuckton of books. Read the news. Read the good stuff and the bad stuff so you can ID the bad stuff and throw it out on its ass. Better yet, lock it up and chain it in the attic because the bad stuff might just be useful someday. Grow balls and show your writing to people. Preferably, people who care to read your writing, and have balls. If you get nothing but sugar and no one gives you the business then there’s some shenanigans of the ball-lacking variety. If it doesn’t seem constructive then throw that out on its ass, too.
Then go out. If you’re a social type go be in a crowd and listen to them and tell them stories. Go do rowdy things and mellow things, in the order you see fit. Or both at the same time if you get my meaning. Keep your peepers peeled at all times, ALL TIMES. Watch everyone and everything and talk to every goddamn person. Especially the mean looking ones. Don’t ignore the nice looking ones, either. And if you’re creepy you should probably avoid kids. Unless you have kids, then that might be alright. If this isn’t you, this whole people business, then still go out, and still WATCH EVERYTHING. Use every sense at all times because you’re not a photographer and you’ve got to cover bases. Farms are pretty but they smell like a cow’s tookus, sound like a Merry Melodies performance, feel like no one thing, and taste sort of like stale water, sometimes.
And finally, when you make it and revel in the glorious fruits of your labor, when all the world’s adoration is upon you and you are content with that which you have created, don’t forget old Vic. I’ll be kicking cans in alleys and WATCHING EVERYTHING, dealing with the barrage of stories that must all be written. When you see me sitting there, come on over and give me some advice. Tell me, tell us all in fact, what you have learned about yourself, your writing, and the world.