I enjoy learning how writers write. I like to know what they have to say about their work. Where do they write? What strategies do they use.? How do they know when they’ve written well? Variety is expected. Similarities are more instructive.
Some time ago I watched a TV interview with Historian, Daniel Boorstin. He was living at the time in a small D.C. apartment with his dear wife Ruth. He said early each morning he would walk to the nearby Library of Congress. Then he’d spend the day making extensive longhand notation from centuries-old books that couldn’t be removed from the library.
Evenings were spent writing from his notes and sharing it all with Ruth. He said that without Ruth, his books would be twice as long, and half as readable.
Hemingway, in an article about his Key West days, said he typically wrote from early morning ‘till noon. After lunch he would read through what he had written, scratching out unnecessary words as he read. Around 5:00 pm, he would put away the manuscript and walk to Sloppy Joe’s where he would drink until closing time. Next day he would do the same.
He said his goal was to write one true sentence, then try to follow with another one.
Two ways of writing with a nexus between them: Get rid of clutter by honing the work into clear true sentences. That doesn’t guarantee good writing but It’s a good thing to keep in mind; I try to keep it in mind when I write.
I may never write a great piece. If I keep trying though,
I might write well.
I’ve certain ideas about writing that guide my thinking.
The last part of writing is the pen, pencil, or keystroke.
The first part is deciding what to write about? Then, I must convince myself that it’s a topic worth writing about? Next, I try to reduce all that I might say about the topic into what needs to be said? I usually write about what I know. Nonetheless, I do research names, dates, and details I might remember wrong.
Now the crafting part of writing can begin.
I am by nature a designer. Whether with graphics or writing, my intentions are the same; I try to reduce complexity into simplicity, as truly and as beautifully as I can. My thinking on this may match other writers, or not. I don’t know. I don’t speak for others. I speak for myself.
It’s my way of writing.
Many writers start with an outline. I’m sure that’s a sensible technique, though I don’t use it. Instead, I roll the topic around in my head. I start telling myself a story about the story I intend to write. This goes on for days, a large part of the process is getting rid of details that are interesting but don’t really contribute to the main point. After I’ve settled on content
I begin to retell the story in my head with more and more complete sentences. I do this for several more days.
By the time I sit down to my laptop I can nearly recite what I’m about to keystroke.
I do my keystroking in the kitchen. I’ve other rooms
I could choose. I choose the kitchen.
The kitchen window looks out on my deck and wooded backyard. I can look up from the keyboard and watch the daily theater of bird, squirrel, and chipmunk. I tune the small TV on the countertop to Music Choice Channel: Light Classic.
I open the silverware drawer, wedging the laptop upright between drawer and edge of counter. It’s a good place to write, bright, pleasant, and on warm days I can enjoy a balmy breeze through the open window.
I fuss with getting the first sentence and first paragraph right because I’m very mindful of the advice the Roman poet, Horace, offered aspiring writers: “Let not your reader depart from beginnings that refuse to start”.
With all the above decided, I sit down, fingers flying, and dash off the piece.
No I don’t. That’s not what happens.
My fingers don’t fly, they peck slowly, very slowly, which is just as well. The sentences I’ve worked out in my head, once typed, aren’t quite as well-crafted as I’d imagined. Speech (even in thought) slides carelessly around specifics.
Sentences I imagined clearly stated in my mind reveal themselves to be not so clear when written. Thought, like talk,
is not quite settled.
Talk flits from one topic to another. Jargon, clichés, and partial sentences roam where they will. Vagaries abound. Speaker and listener alike barely notice.
Writing exposes sloppy sentences as incomplete thought. Sometimes when grammatically corrected, I realize the corrected sentence doesn’t say what I’d intended. When I finally manage to write what I intended to say, the sentences that follow need to be reshuffled, too. Sometimes I have to revise the whole piece. Sometimes accumulated foggy sentences dupe my theme into imagining the ditch is the open road. There’s nothing left then but to abandon the vehicle altogether.
Clear writing defogs foggy thinking.
Once the fog is blown away aesthetic consideration begins. This process is much aided by straightforward sentences. Gratuitous adjectives, adverbs, and parenthetical expressions happily cling like barnacles to otherwise clear prose. If they don’t have a real job to do, I must scrap them off the page.
Clean sentences make a good start. More is required. Does what I’ve written have life to it? Does it sing, or at very least, speak compellingly? Singing is sadly rare; compelling is more attainable. The task is the same. How can I turn adequate but mundane sentences into interesting sentences?
Pictures are more interesting than words. Examples are pictures. If I can show in words what I might otherwise only describe in words, I do. I shamelessly use quotes, similes, metaphors and analogies to add color to plain prose whenever possible.
When I first heard Rod Stewart sing, “Every picture tells a story, don’t it”, pleasant visions of “story-doughnuts” rolled ‘round my head.
Had I read that line instead of hearing it, I would’ve never thought of doughnuts. Though even in writing, the right word compared to almost the right word, can have big consequences.
When I have the slightest doubt of possible confusion,
I revise.
I try to use common English words as often as I can. Sometimes an exotic word says it better. In such cases, I try to provide context that makes the meaning of the unusual word understandable.
Surprisingly, common words mixed with occasional exotic words make the exotic word seem like a new friend being introduced to old friends. It produces an elegance of rhythm that invites conversation.
Some years ago I knew an excellent writer who advised, “Never write down to your reader”. That’s always good advice. When I write, I think of myself as speaking to friends with mutual interests.
Oscar Wilde said, “The secret to being a bore is to tell all you know”. Leave space for your reader to reflect. Implication is more interesting than explication. “Yes, I know, something very like that happened to me”.
Thoughtful readers weave part of themselves into everything they read. Make it inviting for them to do so.
Never say, “It is understood”, when you can say,
“I understand”. Readers like to know who’s doing this understanding. Bureaucrats favor third-person phrasing because it allows them to avoid responsibility. Writers should be better than that. Say what you mean and take full responsibility for saying it.
These are the rules of writing I try to follow. It’s hard. Failure is easy; intelligent feedback helpful - though my most brutal critic remains, myself.
Writing, when done well, should appear effortless, even though it’s not.
I do the best I can to achieve that illusion.
Sometimes I succeed.
I keep trying.