Each time I think I’ve reached a new writing peak, I need only glance at a piece of classic literature to realize I’m not even in the foothills. At first, the mountain looked clear. But as I approached, it became obscured and now, the undulations, endless. Because they are. There actually is no top.
That said, the grade of those hills does grow more gradual with experience. Each year, I’m less horrified by the poor quality of my writing the prior year. Recently, I’ve really started to enjoy it.
I now see that I’m staring down infinity and have grown accustomed to the idea that though my stride grows longer each year, I will never arrive. I’m just here to enjoy. As a result, I’m noticing more detail. Also as a result, my writing’s grown more specific.
Where are you on your writing journey? Rushing to the top? Burnt out and ready to decamp? Celebrating at the peak? Take a moment to breathe. Perhaps you’ll find solace knowing your journey is destinationless. And though you must keep moving, the thrill of speed or the glory of praise may actually be a distraction from the details that’ll make your writing great.
I keep all the radiant words and phrases I encounter, saved in one unbroken paragraph. Here is a snippet (new ones since I wrote the issue):
Rurient speculation. The chlorinated light. Hunting ground for the poetic imagination. A festival of self-abuse. Cryptid. Opprobrium. Thistledown. Glimpses of afterglow, retinal ghosts, psychic gossamer. Considerably mauled. Like all masonry, concrete is subject to deterioration problems such as (alphabetically): blistering, chipping, coving, cracking, crazing, crumbling, delamination, detachment, efflorescence, erosion, exfoliation, flaking, friability, peeling, pitting, rising damp, salt, fretting, spalling, subflorescence, sugaring, surface crust, and weathering—most of these caused, as usual, by water.
Isn’t that a splendid final sentence? Your radiant words will look out of place in the chlorinated light of the office. But they’re meant to. Their ability to irk bosses and horrify the legal department is proof of their power. Find uses for them at work.
The best way to eliminate cliché is to become aware of it. The workplace has a way of anesthetizing us all to worn, meaningless phrases, but once you see them, they’re difficult to unsee.
For example: Take it to the next level, low-hanging fruit, best of breed, disruption, passionate about x.
Wherever you encounter a cliché, ask, “Literally, what am I saying here?” And just say that. And if you’re unsure, picture it being illustrated, and the artist taking you at your word. Help them get it right.
Designers are rarely provided sufficient information to do their job. We writers tend to toss the Google Doc over the fence without communicating its purpose, the effect we hope it achieves, how it’ll be used, or what we mean by “insert graphic here.” Which, understandably, affects the quality.
10 tips for making their work easier and the output better:
Add more subtitles and interstitials than you think necessary
Leave annotations that over-explain what you want
Put those annotations in brackets
Use a consistent color to distinguish those annotations
Explain the effect you hope to have on readers
Send a screen share video
Give specific examples
Complete the data
Offer fallback options
Put the images in a folder
And with that, we conclude this year's second season of Longview, on writing craft. What have you learned? Did you find yourself drawing from any of the practices in season one? Whatever your thoughts, even if constructive, I'd love to hear.
For next week
Pick one of the above exercises and give it a real try. Keep it up for a habit-forming three weeks.
Chris Gillespie CEO
Fenwick
Letters is inspired by conversations with the Fenwick team. Meet them. Our artwork is by Haven Peckover.
In the next issue
We begin a new season: editing craft.
Writing tip
The missing ingredient is time
Many workplace writing errors are not the result of character defects or a lack of talent. They’re due to rushing. Few people edit themselves sufficiently and many submit writing without sleeping on it. You should demand more time. That front-loaded self-editing will save hours of group editing later with compounding savings across the organization.
You can defend this change by picking a specific turnaround time and dressing it in the uniform of corporate authority: the service level agreement (SLA). Deflect blame onto the system. “I wish I could, but for quality, our SLA is five days.” Enforce it even when you don't need it so it's there when you do.
What we're reading
The Long Now Foundation. This is what an immensely clear purpose reads like. You get the whole story from the homepage.
