First, one must determine precisely “what-and-what do I wish to say and present,” before you may write. Writing must be mimicry.
The advice works because clarity of intention comes before clarity of language. You cannot mimic well, or choose the right form, until you know what you are actually trying to say and to whom you are saying it. Vague purpose produces vague sentences no matter how polished the phrasing. Writing, at its root, is imitation of something you admire or understand — a voice, a structure, a rhythm — refitted to carry your own meaning.
Say you want to explain why a small town's diner matters to its regulars. Before writing, decide: is this a tribute, a slice-of-life scene, a piece of gentle humor? Once decided, you can mimic the right model — Bradbury's warmth, maybe — deliberately.
The caution: mimicry taken too far becomes imitation without ownership. The goal is borrowed shape, not borrowed voice.
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