write better, live better
8 Jul
Strunk and White’s The Elements of Style is a classic style guide, and it’s useful in many ways. Arguably one of its biggest contributions is that it gets us to think about the way we put words together. William Strunk demanded mindfulness, and that’s a good thing.
But it’s also a lot to live up to. For many would-be writers, Strunk and White can be downright intimidating. And that’s not a good thing.
Strunk doesn’t help things by using his signature voice, which even I find forbidding. Have you ever checked out his rant against the word “hopefully,” for example? Nine times out of ten, idiomatic American English speakers use “hopefully” to mean roughly “I hope,” as in “Hopefully, I’ll finish this report today.”
Strunk sneers at this usage. “Hopefully” is an adverb that means “in a hopeful manner,” as in “The dog looked hopefully at the table scraps.”
Of course, Strunk’s own castigation of misusers of hopefully is a little, ah, less charitable, and it exemplifies the voice problem that I describe above:
This once-useful adverb meaning “with hope” has been distorted and is now widely used to mean “I hope” or “it is to be hoped.” Such use is not merely wrong, it is silly. To say, “Hopefully, I’ll leave on the noon plane” is to talk nonsense. Do you mean you’ll leave on the noon plane in a hopeful frame of mind? Or do you mean you hope you’ll leave on the noon plane? Whichever you mean, you haven’t said it clearly. Although the word in its new, free-floating capacity may be pleasurable and even useful to many, it offends the ear of many others, who do not like to see words dulled or eroded, particularly when the erosion leads to ambiguity, softness, or nonsense. (William Strunk Jr. and E. B. White, The Elements of Style. Fourth ed. New York: Longman, 2000. 48)
Ouch. Just listen to that accusatory “you” in the passage. Let me clarify that it’s not a matter of whether Strunk is right. He is. My objection is to the tone. The message implicit in The Elements of Style is that writing well is a hopelessly complex endeavor, fraught with pitfalls and rife with opportunities to make yourself look like a fool.
We all know that writing is hard work. But you’re looking to a style guide for help, not contempt. This holier-than-thou attitude is why I see so many creative, bright people who say they can’t write because they don’t know what a comma splice is.
If only there were a more friendly style guide that also focuses on making thoughtful choices as a writer. Turns out there is. It’s my pleasure to introduce you to John R Trimble and his book Writing with Style: Conversations on the Art of Writing.
Trimble provides sound advice, and his book is a pleasure to read. His opening section, “Fundamentals,” focuses on large-scale issues like structure and readability. He attacks the purveyors of the “religion of Formal English” in a thought-provoking chapter entitled “Superstitions.” And of course, he includes a lot of specific guidance on matters of style, usage, and punctuation.
What do you think are the most important qualities to have in a writing style guide? Let us know in the comments!
12 May
Okay, Writing Power Writers’ Circle members, I’ve given us all some time in May to finish our April goals. (Sometimes you need just one more weekend, right?) How did you do? Let us know in the comments. We’re eager to hear.
Those of you who haven’t introduced yourselves, please join our intrepid band of writers today! All you have to do is introduce yourself and set some writing-related goals for the next month. So far, I have been amazed at how well public accountability works to shore up weakening motivation or to stave off that little procrastinating voice.
I am fairly happy with my progress: I have drafted my article. (I should note that I did use the weekend of May 2 and 3 to finish up.) It has since been marinating: I have taken a week or so away from it in order to get perspective. Now, I have to go back and see whether it’s any good. Gulp.
I have at least two other versions of this project floating around. One I completed several years ago for a graduate seminar, and the other is my first attempt at a rewrite. I am going to mine these drafts for useful bits, but I don’t think they’ll be very helpful at this stage. Even though they deal with the same topic, neither has the argumentative goal that my current draft has.
I don’t regard these two failed attempts as wasted work at all, by the way. Sometimes you can’t see a project clearly without going down a couple of promising paths that end up in dead ends. They help clarify where you need to go. Who knows, though: maybe I’ll find a usable sub-point. That’d be like finding ten dollars in an old jacket pocket. I don’t expect it, but you never know.
Over the next two weeks, I’ll devote some time to revision of this article. Revision is in many ways the real work of writing. In order to maximize my time, I am not going to look for large blocks of time to devote to it: it’s just not realistic at the end of the semester. Instead, I will employ my old dissertation-writing strategy: write a little bit at a designated time every day.
5 May
You have really outdone yourself this time. I mean, you knew you were a good writer, but this - this is great. You have just crafted the perfect analogy (or description, thesis statement, blog post): it’s punchy, it’s tongue-in-cheek, and most of all, it’s just so clever! You giggle every time you read it.
I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but you should seriously consider taking that thing out behind the shed and putting it down. Yep, I’m talking about deletion.
I will never forget the day that I got this advice. I felt as though I had been slapped. What?! Why would I want to cut it? It’s the best writing in the whole piece! This guy obviously just doesn’t get it. Apparently, he can’t recognize good - no, great - writing when he sees it. It must be over his head. It’s just so clever.
Considering that my reader - the guy who “didn’t get it” - was a distinguished professor of English at a top research university and I was a first year PhD student, I am glad I didn’t say any of those things out loud. But I was stunned.
He then shared a line that has stayed with me ever since. When it comes to writing, he said, “Murder your darlings.”
18 Mar
My students typically get into a bad place about their writing style right about now - at midterm. Gripping their temples, they moan, “This is pointless. It’s stupid. You know what I meant.” Just a couple of weeks ago, they had (somewhat glibly) assured me that they were eager to learn how to write with a more powerful, lively, specific style. Now that they have had a taste of how difficult stylistic issues can be, and how deeply ingrained in their prose wordiness is, they’re frustrated. Quite understandably.
Revising to improve writing style can be a tortuous - and torturous - process. All too often, we fix one style error by creating another. Or we can’t think of a different way to phrase our ideas. Sometimes, we don’t even understand the wordy, jargon-filled prose our earlier selves drafted. It’s enough to make a writer want to give up.
But my students are not giving up. They are turning on the assignment instead, demanding to know what’s so great about active voice or what’s so wrong with “due to the fact that.” I find this feistiness encouraging, because it means that they are questioning assumptions about writing. They are thinking critically, even if their goal is nothing more noble than trying to worm out of the hard work of stylistic revision. They need a manageable sentence revision strategy to get them started.
At this point, I introduce the class to my favorite sentence revision technique: Richard Lanham’s Paramedic Method of Revision. It’s simple to understand, easy to do, and effective.
14 Mar
Welcome to Writing Power, the site that aims to help people enrich their lives by improving their writing. If you like what you read, I hope you’ll become a regular reader by subscribing to Writing Power’s RSS feed. In addition, please consider sharing your favorite posts through sites like digg, StumbleUpon, or del.icio.us using the “Share This” link below. Thank you for your support!
So…you’ve been working hard to improve your writing. You have been establishing a writing process, incorporating invention and planning before you draft. More importantly, you have committed yourself to the real work of writing - revision. You are looking at your drafts through your reader’s eyes, adjusting overall organization, word choice, even page design to enhance communication.
Even though your writing passion is focused on personal projects, you find yourself applying your new skills at the office, too. Your emails have become more focused and efficient, and the professional writing you do exhibits increased purposefulness.
In short, you’ve become known as “the writing maven” at work. And as soon as your colleagues recognize your skill, they begin to ask your advice. The problem is, what works for you writing-wise may not work for your colleagues. Not all good writers are good reviewers, just as not all good writers are good writing teachers. It’s a different angle.
So what is a newly-crowned writing maven to do? The following checklist will help you evaluate your colleague’s work systematically and ensure that your feedback is helpful.
6 Mar
It seems like writing a piece governed by cause and effect should be easy. After all, the logic of causes and effects helps give meaning to our lives. Without cause and effect, we might not stick to our exercise or healthy eating regimens. But we think, if I work out, I’ll be more fit. If I eat right, I’ll be healthier. These if-then statements are examples of the logic of cause and effect in action.
Powerful stuff, right? Cause and effect is as natural to our thinking processes as peanut butter and jelly, ham and cheese, hummus and tabouli…. But actually, cause and effect’s seeming ease hides a morass of possible problems. It’s a lot harder to construct a powerful cause and effect argument than it appears.
Like the other organizational strategies we’ve examined, comparison/contrast and analysis, cause and effect seems informative but is really persuasive.
As you construct your next cause and effect argument, take care to avoid these pitfalls:
Don’t confuse correlation with causation. Say, for example, that you come to work on time or early every day for a week. Then, imagine that your boss gives you a surprise raise. Did your newfound punctuality cause your raise?
In terms of logic and argumentation: no. The punctuality occurred before the raise; the punctuality did not necessarily cause the raise. Timeline correlation doesn’t equal cause and effect.
4 Mar
Yesterday, I began a detailed investigation into some writing strategies that deserve a writer’s attention during revision. Today, we’re moving from comparison and contrast to analysis.
Analysis is a broad term, and many people use it in a broad sense. (I use it all the time myself.) Generally speaking, analysis refers to a process of looking closely, and often critically, at some subject. By “critically,” I don’t mean negatively. I mean carefully, deliberately and evaluatively.
This broad understanding of analysis doesn’t articulate the ways in which analysis differs from other critical processes such as definition, critique, or explanation. As a result, many writers do not analyze as well as they could because they do not have a clear sense of what analysis does. By means of this post, I hope to change that.
3 Mar
A while ago, I discussed revision as re-envisioning. Today, I want to explore a specific area that writers re-envision as they revise: organization.
In the planning stage, writers establish an organizational blueprint. These blueprints vary in complexity from a hasty sketch to a detailed paragraph-by-paragraph plan. However, even the best laid plans can go awry during the drafting stage. And in some cases, it is important to let that wandering take place.
Planning your writing is like planning your life. Should you do it? Definitely. But if your life doesn’t proceed according to the plan, then sometimes it’s best to adjust the plan or throw the plan (or part of it) out the window, right? The same holds true for writing.
Over the next few posts, I will focus on common organizational strategies that can help writers refine their work in revision. These strategies can be used to define the document’s overall organization, but they don’t have to be. They can also be used to organize a particular section or subpoint within the larger work.
First up, an essay question classic that writers too often botch: Comparison and Contrast. Comparison and contrast can be painfully formulaic. One reason for this is that many writers assume that comparison and contrast is conceptually simple and, moreover, that they have mastered the requisite concepts. Let’s take a moment to consider the comparison and contrast mechanism with fresh eyes.
23 Feb
Holly was staring at the page frowning, her brows knitted together in thought. That wasn’t a good sign. Then she smiled, which was an even worse sign. “You have some good analysis and interesting claims in this article, but there doesn’t seem to be much rhyme or reason to the way you present your points. I’m sorry, but it looks like you’re going to have to rewrite the whole thing.”
I had asked for an honest opinion, all right. I mean, what are grad school friends for? But rewrite thirty-five pages before the journal’s deadline? That was crazy talk.
With the submission deadline looming, I asked her to read my article again a few days later. After about twenty minutes, she tossed the draft on the desk. In a tone of mock irritation, she said, “So, you definitely took my advice. The argument is completely different, and much more focused. The question I have is, how did you manage to rewrite the whole thing in a week and still teach, work, sleep…?”
This time, I was the one smiling. “Actually, it only took about three hours. I hardly rewrote any of the paragraphs at all.”
She raised her eyebrows. “You must be delirious from sleep deprivation.”
It was true. My article had gone from a jumbled mess of points to a cogent argument in a few hours. I did it using a simple technique that any writer can employ. It’s called the “says and does” technique, and it can help you get a handle on even the most out-of-control pieces.
21 Feb
I stared out at a wall of glum faces. “What’s going on, you guys? Didn’t you like the reading?” The essay at hand was a masterpiece of nuance, one of the most influential pieces in the modern conservationist movement, and I had hoped it would spark a lively and spirited exchange.
“I read it,” said a student in the second row, shrugging. “But I just didn’t relate to it.”
“Unrelatability,” as I have come to think of it, is the kiss of death for many pieces of writing. If your reader can’t relate to what you’ve written, your great ideas and beautiful phrases are moot. But “relatability,” like flow, is a difficult concept to pin down. It took me a five-post series to explore flow (In case you missed them, here they are: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 ), and I certainly could write five more.
So, what do readers mean when they say that that “can’t relate” to what you have written? And how can you get more of your readers to relate to what you write?


