A Writer Learning to Write

As student writers, we never really stop to think of how we're implementing certain techniques in our pieces; we merely let the information flow from our minds into text. We revise and rewrite, but we never take the time to truly understand what works and what doesn't. It's as if it's habitual--as if it's common sense--to recognize awkward phrases and confusing sentences. We can easily distinguish good writing from bad; however, we never truly consider what constitutes "good writing."

Two long, and rather difficult, readings take us away from fiction and stories and into politics and science. Although these aren't your typical writers writing about writing, both pieces provide us with important insights into what makes for good writing.

George Orwell's essay "Politics and the English Language" argued that the decadence of language is a result of political and economic externalities. Bad language usage is spread by tradition and imitation; even people who should and do know better apply these faulty tactics, including Orwell himself. Politicians, in particular, are a major contribution to the corruption of languages. Regardless of their party, politicians apply hackneyed phrases such as bloodstained tyranny and free peoples of the world, presenting themselves in a fairly robotic manner. Their diction consists largely of euphemism, question-begging, and sheer vagueness, as none of them want to name things without calling up the atrocious mental images.

Although many readers might have viewed Orwell's essay as a guide to "what not to do" in writing, I viewed his piece as a wakeup call. He illuminated that the English language now suffers from specific mental vices, vices of which are habitually written by most of us. Applying dying metaphors, operators or verbal false limbs, pretentious diction, and meaningless words often indicates that a writer is simply lazy. When a piece of writing is stale of imagery and lacks precision, the writer displays traits of vagueness and incompetence. More than often, these writers either have something to say and simply don't know how to say it, or they have nothing to say and bullshit their writing with a string of contrived statements.

Personally, I most related to his argument on pretentious diction. Back in high school, my English teachers called me "Queen of Academic Diction." Basking in my glory, I constantly felt the need to live up to their expectations. Thus, when writing an essay, or just writing in general, I always made a conscious effort to include big words. Orwell, however, made me realize that simplification is key, as big words often cloud a writer's meaning. Writers often hide their meanings behind complex phrases, as opposed to inserting simple words that would suffice in lieu of the phrases. Attempts to sound sophisticated typically lead to a vague piece of writing.

My key takeaway from Orwell's essay would be to, simply put, say what you mean. Most college students need to acknowledge that when they bullshit their writing and include fluffy words, they surrender themselves to language. "What is above all needed is to let the meaning choose the word, and not the other way about."

George D. Gopen and Judith A. Swan's article "The Science of Scientific Writing" aims to not only discuss the science behind scientific writing, but to also inform writers of the needs of readers. They argue that complexity of thought need not lead to impenetrability of expression, as improving the quality of writing actually improves the quality of thought.

As a writer, I gained the insight of writing with the reader in mind. Sure, we formulate our words based upon our audience, but do we ever stop and think about the structure and the syntax, and how it all combines to convey our message? Swan and Gopen stress that "information is interpreted more easily and more uniformly if it is placed where most readers expect to find it," indicating that a reader's expectations greatly factors into his/her comprehension. Structure should be set up in ways for the reader to understand the piece. "If [their] structural expectations are continually violated, readers are forced to divert energy from understanding the content of a passage to unraveling its structure." Their focus is then placed on a smaller portion of the bigger picture. In addition, writers should consider the relativity of their first and last sentences. If they, themselves, cannot follow their writing from Point A to Point B, how could they expect their readers to do so? Readers expect a grammatical subject to be followed immediately by the verb, and anything that intervenes between the two is read as an interruption. We also must think of our sentences as stories with plots. "Beginning with the exciting material and ending with a lack of luster often leaves us disappointed and destroys our sense of momentum." Writers should begin their sentences with old information and introduce/lead into new information. (Old info = topic position; new info = stress position). Doing so presents their readers with a sense of connectivity--a sense of fluidity, as the writer makes an apparent effort to connect the dots.

What struck a chord for me, as a writer, is the superiority of a reader's need for receiving the material over a writer's need for unburdening themselves of their information. We typically write to get our message out in the world, however, we don't really think about the various ways our one message could be perceived. Simple miscommunications can lead to misconstrued takeaways. Therefore, don't try to be better than your reader by leaving out information. "It matters only whether a large majority of the reading audience accurately perceives what the author had in mind."