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Last month Publishers Weekly published a great article on writing by John Hodgman, a favorite writer of mine (his The Areas of My Expertise is the funniest book published in the past year)....
His piece triggers a core belief of mine, which is that the one common thread you’ll find among good business books is good writing.
(By the way, an analogue to this theory has to do with the remarkable success of Dilbert. Why is Scott Adams’ business humor so spit-takingly good? Because he’s funny. I can’t tell you how much would-be business humor that has been inspired by his work has fallen flat, and not because the authors don’t know business well. They just aren’t funny. But I digress.)
My favorite business books, ranging from Moneyball by Michael Lewis, to Good to Great and Built to Last by Jim Collins, Who Says Elephants Can’t Dance by Lou Gerstner, and even the obscure A Ghost’s Memoir by John McDonald, all share smart, crisp, prose, spurred no doubt by the ultimate goal of good writing: clear thinking.
There’s good news here. Good writing can be taught. Even those artists who use prose as the means to art learn their craft first. As John Gregory Dunne once wrote: “What civilians do not understand—and to a writer anyone not writer is a civilian—is that writing is manual labor of the mind: a job, like laying pipe.”
Later this year I’ll be teaching a workshop on business writing. And the starting point for anyone wanting to improve their writing is the bible of good writing: The Elements of Style by Strunk and White. (Do NOT use the recent illustrated version of this book. It’s pretty and all, but the illustrations add as much value to the book as earmuffs on your iMac. They contradict the core message of this book, which is to write simply, think clearly, and avoid distracting detritus.)
The next best primer on good writing: two essays from George Orwell. Okay, everyone knows Politics and the English Language, which I think is a very good discussion of the causes and consequences of sloppy writing (again, a function of sloppy thinking.)
But this essay make the most sense when paired with the piece that precedes it in A Collection of Essays: On Shooting An Elephant. The political essay tells you how to write well, while the elephant piece shows you precisely what he means. Clear, powerful, insightful writing that shares a deep message by sharing the right details of a meaningful narrative:
“In Moulmein, in Lower Burma, I was hated by large numbers of people—the only time in my life that I have been important enough for this to happen to me.”
How can you read this opening sentence and not feel compelled to continue? He establishes everything you need to know about what follows: a sense of place, a sense of narrator, and an idea of what’s at stake, all done simply and thoughtfully.
I won’t say too much more about this piece, since my hope is that you’ll please read it right away. I can’t however resist sharing one more passage, buried within the essay. I would consider this the thesis of the piece, though that’s too clinical a term. The following thoughts capture the heart of the piece, the idea (or epiphany) that drives the tale. But Orwell’s genius is displayed, instead, through the deceptively simple story he tells from start to finish.
“And it was at that moment, as I stood there with the rifle in my hands, that I first grasped the hollowness, the futility of the white man’s domination in the East. Here was I, the white man with his gun, standing in front of the unarmed native crowd—seemingly the leading actor of the piece; but in reality I was only an absurd puppet pushed to and fro by the will of those yellow faces behind. I perceived in that moment that when the white man turns tyrant it is his own freedom that he destroys. He becomes a sort of hollow, posing dummy, the conventionalized figure of a sahib. For it is the condition of his rule that he shall spend his life in trying to impress the 'natives,' and so in every crisis he has got to do what the 'natives' expect of him. He wears a mask, and his face grows to fit it.”
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Comments
Tom,
I wonder if you mean that "better" writing can be taught. As one who began his writing career at age 16 with a daily newspaper and since has written five books and free-lance articles for newspapers and magazines across the U.S., and, finally, served as an editor on books, magazines, newspapers, and newsletters, I don't believe writing can be taught. I believe writers who possess skill can become better writers, but if the muse isn't within them, no one can make it appear. Just my take: One opinion among many I suspect.
Posted by: Lewis Green | 09.11.06
Tom,
While I think you make some good points, I agree with Lewis. Students can and should be taught basic writing skills. So many people lack basic grammar and spelling skills these days, it gives me pause. However, people either have a knack for writing, or they don't. I don't believe creativity can be taught. Good writers have an innate gift. They are able to communicate provocatively and meaningfully. Their work offers wit or wisdom, a creative spark or personality, and many times, fresh insights. Not to mention a deft turn with a phrase. These things, in my opinion, can't be taught.
Posted by: Claire Ratushny | 09.11.06
Thank you both for points very well taken. I would agree with the distinction between good writing and something higher, elevated I suppose. Can great writing can be taught? Probably not.
But, having written for many years and taught many folks and edited many writers, I have come to believe that any individual with a sincere intent to write, who applies themself to daily practice and patient industrious work, can improve their writing immeasurably by learning a few key rules.
Look, a house painter and a landscape painter are both painters--and yet each must learn some essentials about doing things right. It's important to have great house painters. And most artistic genuises happen to be technically proficient long before they dazzle us. (Hunter Thompson, a favorite writer of mine, reportedly copied huge extracts of Faulkner by hand as a young writer simply to learn how he did it.)
And so my points here are aimed more at the many of us in the middle ground--who are still learning how to do this challenging craft better.
It would be foolish to promise anyone that one can turn them into a "great writer." Yet those of us who love great writing can help others by sharing what we've learned about how the best scribes put words together in ways that dazzle us. That's probably my point.
Posted by: Tom Ehrenfeld | 09.11.06
I'm sure you *can* teach students how to write -- it's just that not many of them will likely be willing. The thing is: writing is just plain hard work.
Sally Jenkins (Washington Post) says, "Writing is breaking rocks with a shovel. It takes a certain kind of strength.”
Some students just won't have the strength, or the motivation, or the diligence, to do the hard work that's required, because they lack the fire in their gut for writing. Which is not a criticism -- it just is. They simply have a fire in their gut for something else.
In my view, that's what it really comes down to: Do you want to break a rock with a shovel, or don't you?
Posted by: Ann Handley | 09.11.06
Great anecdote about Hunter Thompson, Tom. Reminds me of the Saul Bellow quote: “A writer is a reader moved to emulation.”
(Gee I'm FULL of quotes today! Must not be a day for original thoughts....lol)
Posted by: Ann Handley | 09.11.06
Top - Your link to the article is not working. - Mike
Posted by: Michael A. Stelzner | 09.11.06
Michael -- Fixed now. Thanks!
Posted by: Ann Handley | 09.11.06
Tom,
I agree that a great writer is born with a talent that's ready and raring to go.
At the same time I also believe there are people of lesser talent who can write and who can be taught to improve their writing.
As to whether your students are willing to learn...
The fact they've paid good money to be taught by you shows their willingness.
Jim
Posted by: Jim Sym | 09.14.06
There's no end to the argument over whether writing can be taught or not. What's indisputable is that writing is learned -- no one is born a writer. You teach with the understanding that your students will reach different levels -- and that's OK. Business writing doesn't require the same inspiration (or aspirations) demanded of an Austen or a Zola
Posted by: Jonathan Kranz | 09.14.06