The Writing Center

Showing v. Telling

2009-08-12T14:49:00.000-07:00

As I said in last month’s blog, it’s been a delight to catch up with former students on Facebook. A small group of students I taught many years ago in a creative writing class remain my all-time favorite—and through the magic of Facebook, I’ve become reacquainted with a few of them.

They came to my classroom eager, precocious and word-smart. All I had to do was give them a writing prompt, a few good examples and they set their pens to scratching. They were a teacher’s dream. After leaving high school, all of them used their writing skills—either as students or aspiring authors—and several continue to write for a living. Alas, I can take none of the credit. They were gifted from the start. All I had to do was nurture their talents.

Back in the day (a perfect cliché for pre-technology), teachers rarely had the chance to discover if their efforts paid dividends for students later in life. So you can imagine how thrilled I’ve been to discover that most of my students remember at least one writing tip I stressed in creative writing class. One student, who works in public relations as a technology writer, told me, “I still live by the “Show, Don’t Tell” mantra—and my clients are quite tired of hearing it!” I admit, I preached “show, don’t tell” like the gospel.

But when I wrote my former student back, I asked, “Now that you can’t get the ‘show, don’t tell’ mantra out of your head, have you spotted reasons for flouting the rule when it serves a good purpose?” (Of course she has!) Like any rule, it’s sometimes meant to be broken—especially when narration, argumentation or interpretation are the most logical means to an end.

But before flouting “show, don’t tell,” make sure you’ve mastered it and know when to use it for maximum effect. Instead of droning on about a time you were nervous, “show” us how your heart quivered, your stomach plunged and the blood throbbed in your temples. Instead of “telling” us about a serious car accident, help us “hear” the screeching tires, the shattering windshield, the crunching metal, and “see” the driver as she unbuckles her seatbelt and climbs out of the broken window, shards of glass raining down on her head. Instead of describing an argument with a co-worker, insert the actual dialogue so we can “hear” the heated volley of words. Invite readers inside by engaging their senses. In short, “show, don’t tell.”

Writers would be foolish not to “show” dramatic action, dialogue and vivid description whenever possible, but don’t be afraid to move beyond it when it serves your purpose. Sometimes, the only way to unearth the underlying story is to “tell” your readers about it, to suggest or interpret its larger meaning. Consider Ralph Ellison’s opening line, “I am an invisible man,” to his 1953 novel, “Invisible Man.” Rather than “showing” the color of the character’s skin, he “tells” us how society views him because he is a man of color.

Also, never try to “show” every detail in an effort to stick to the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth (whether real or imagined). If the crux of your story is a car accident that occurred at midnight, do you need to “show” the driver as she wakes up, stretches and yawns the morning before the crash? Probably not. Be selective.

So it boils down to this: “Show, don’t tell,” unless telling is the best way to show. Proceed with caution.

In Defense of Facebook

2009-07-02T13:08:00.000-07:00

A version of this month’s blog was published in July’s edition of The Jacksonville Review, as a rebuttal to the publisher’s note that appeared in May’s issue of The Review.

Although a busy workload—followed by a vacation—forced me to skip last month’s column, I still had time to stew about the publisher’s note, “Forget Facebook—Meet Me at Pony,” in May’s issue of The Jacksonville Review. It’s been stuck in my craw for the past two months.

You see … well … I have a confession to make: I use Facebook … that’s right. And I’m getting tired of Facebook-cynics’ knee jerk reactions to the mere mention of FACEBOOK (let alone invitations to join!). They provide a litany of reasons why they’ll never be caught lurking in the denizens of Facebook.

As publisher Whitman Parker said in May’s issue, “I fear too many Facebook folks are building their sense of community and self-esteem based on the number of hits they receive and the number of online friends they ‘collect’.”

But he didn’t stop there. “Here in Jacksonville,” he conjectured, “I bet the majority of citizens would prefer to have a live [rather than online] discussion at Pony Espresso, The Good Bean, the Bella Union, or many of the other places fostering healthier, human-focused interaction.”

“Unfortunately,” he went on to say, “I suspect many are using Facebook as a digital meeting place to substitute stepping-out into the real world.”

Hold the phone! I use Facebook and I step-out into the real world every day. I see, I touch and I hug someone—every day. For me, and most of my “friends,” Facebook is not a “substitute” for personal interaction. Emphatically. My sense of community is derived from face-to-face contact with real live people in real time.

But I also use Facebook.

I check out photos, videos, comments, links, musings and lame jokes from friends and family who live both nearby and far away. It’s the best way to swap photos with my kids, who live in Eugene and Portland, and keep up with my nephew in Texas. One of my “friends” is a former exchange student from Alba, Italy who stayed with us—and whom we visited in Italy. And the best treat of all has been reconnecting with old friends from high school and college, as well as former students. None of it would be possible without Facebook.

I’m also networked with people I see regularly: friends, neighbors, colleagues, clients. And ironically, Facebook has brought us closer. When we see each other—face-to-face—the time together is richer because we’ve shared bits of our lives with each other on Facebook. All it takes is a half-hour or so, three or four times a week. (Sure, some people—especially teenagers—are obsessive about social networking, but my experience tells me they’re the exception, not the rule.)

And another thing: I haven’t sacrificed my privacy. I haven’t splashed the gory details of my life for the entire online world to see. (And thanks to Facebook settings, users control who can and cannot see their pages.) I’ve developed a profile and a “voice” that honestly represent who I am without revealing information best reserved for intimate conversation. Unremarkably, I am a friend, a colleague, a professional and a social networker at the same time. I run a business and a household, parent my kids (albeit from afar), work in the garden, walk my dog, clean the garage, read, write, exercise—and use Facebook.

But the best part of each day is spending face-to-face time with loved ones, friends, neighbors and my dog Walter. Facebook could never replace or replicate that.

There’s no disputing that technology has revolutionized both the workplace and our personal lives. E-mail remains a constant, but the evolving world of online communication—social networking, blogging, podcasting, photo sharing, texting—is radically changing the way we think, communicate and interact. Facebook (and all its variants) reflects the world we live in today. We can choose to join that world or resist it, but if we “ignore” its inevitable advance, we risk obsolescence.

If it’s true that a newspaper is history’s first draft, then Facebook just eclipsed it. For a literate society, it’s become a way to document life as we live it.

See you in July!

2009-06-05T16:24:00.000-07:00

I'm on vacation this month, but I'll be back in July!

The Real Story

2009-05-02T18:08:00.000-07:00

In the age of technology, books and newspapers face stiff competition. Americans spend huge chunks of time watching television, surfing the Internet, gawking at You Tube and scrolling through Facebook. How can writers begin to compete?

By never forgetting that we’re storytellers, regardless of the medium we use. Whether we write TV scripts, web copy, blogs, Facebook postings, editorials, features, short stories or novels, it’s the underlying human story that hooks readers.

In an interview with “Rolling Stone” magazine, Don Hewitt, who recently stepped down after 36 years as the executive producer of CBS’s “60 Minutes,” explained the guiding principle of the show this way: “A producer came to me one day and said, ‘Why don’t we do a story about acid rain?’ I said, ‘Acid rain isn’t a story. It’s a subject. Tell me a story about somebody whose life was ruined by acid rain, or about a community trying to do something about acid rain, but don’t tell me about acid rain.’”

Hewitt said that most stories on “60 Minutes” rely on the dramatic structure common to all good stories: conflict, struggle and resolution. He called them, “little morality plays.”

It’s not the facts about the city council meeting, the teabag protests, a family’s deportation to Guatemala, the fictionalized account of a woman’s immigration from England to America that fascinate us. It’s the human story behind the facts. It’s the human emotion—told through specific details, descriptions, anecdotes, conversations and narratives—that pull us into a story.

Just like everyone else, I received an e-mail link a few weeks back to a You Tube video of a woman named Susan Boyle. She recently wowed judges on a show called “Britain’s Got Talent” and became an instant You Tube sensation hours after she belted out a song from “Les Miserables” that brought the house down. But why all the fuss?

It’s the human story behind her performance that’s taken the world by storm. Here was an unemployed, plain-looking, 47-year-old woman dressed in a party frock, who had never performed in front of a large audience, who turned a house of skeptics into true believers. She was sensational, yet humble—and she touched a chord in us all.

No matter what the medium or genre, as long as we never lose sight of the Susan Boyle stories and the “little morality plays” underneath the facts, opinions, events and plots, we’ll pull readers in and keep them hooked.

Yes, readers need to know who, what, when, where, why and how, but not to the exclusion of the story’s beating heart. An infusion of dramatic structure—conflict, character development, dialogue, struggle, anticipation, climax and resolution—can pump life-blood into fiction and nonfiction alike.

Not every story involves a life-and-death struggle against evil, like the recent rescue of the American sea captain held hostage by Somali pirates. But a simple story about a local group’s efforts to install a bicycle lane on a busy street might have a dramatic backstory. Maybe their efforts were set in motion by the tragic death of a beloved local teacher who was struck by a car while riding her bike on the street’s narrow shoulder. If the human toll is never revealed, readers may never understand the group’s passion, doggedness and eventual triumph. That’s the real story.

The human struggle is always the real story, no matter what the medium. Writers should plumb it for all it’s worth.

Rehearsing to Write

2009-04-01T15:22:00.000-07:00

Dorothy Parker (1893-1967), an American writer best known for her sarcastic wit, once said, “I hate writing; I love having written.”

Can you relate?

It doesn’t matter if you’re a student hammering out a term paper, a manager pounding out a report or a professional writer eking out a story just under deadline, the pressure builds. We agonize, procrastinate, flounder and finally, we choke out a draft. “Why is it so hard?” my clients ask.

I only wish more writers would turn to me before the copyediting or proofreading stage. At earlier stages, it’s still possible to turn a mediocre piece of writing into a great one. I’m happy to assist writers at any stage—and I’ll even polish without suggesting major changes, if requested—but I can’t help but feel bad about the barren stretches they traveled alone, beads of sweat dripping down their foreheads. I wish I’d been there to wipe their brows—and give advice—when the going got tough.

The struggle of writing is the stuff of legend. As the story goes, Ernest Hemingway would lock himself in a room with a bottle of whiskey and emerge a day later with a new short story. As he once said, “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”

It’s a pity Hemingway and Parker didn’t live long enough to benefit from the shift in writing instruction—from product to process—that debuted in the early 1970s. Pioneered by writing experts such as Donald Murray, a Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist and University of New Hampshire professor, The Process Approach revolutionized the way writing is taught.

The Process Approach breaks down writing into a logical sequence: prewriting, writing, revising and editing. Each step leads to the final goal—publishing (which can include anything from a blog posting, to a letter to a friend, to a magazine article). The Process Approach is built on the premise that writing doesn’t exist in a vacuum. It’s meant to be read by a targeted audience.

When you understand that writing is a process, you take it a step at a time, avoiding the trap of comparing your blank screen (or piece of paper) with your favorite novels and columns (“I’ll never be able to write like that!” you think). Published writers—just like you—build their work one word, one paragraph and one chapter at a time. Break down the process into bite-sized pieces, follow the logical sequence of The Process Approach and the struggle will shrink, if not melt away.

When a deadline is looming, it’s tempting to scrimp on the pre-writing stage and we usually pay the price, as Hemingway would say, in blood. Think of pre-writing as a writing-rehearsal. Once you’ve selected a topic, scene or character, give yourself plenty of time to think about it before your fingers hit the keyboard. It’s like taking notes inside your head.

After you’ve tossed your ideas around for a spell, try a free-writing, which gives you another opportunity for rehearsal. Impose a time limit, say 20 minutes, and write without worrying about spelling, punctuation, grammar or form. Keep your fingers (or the pen) moving the entire 20 minutes. Follow your ideas wherever they lead you, without censure. The goal is to loosen up enough to discover what you have to say about the topic. Usually, a focus emerges.

Now you’re ready to start the first draft. But remember: If you falter—and the sweat starts popping out on your forehead—go back to the rehearsal stage or seek the advice of a trusted peer, teacher, editor or coach. Problems at the “writing” stage—or any stage—usually crop up because you didn’t give due diligence to the preceding stage. Makes sense, huh?

Linda Bowman, a writer, editor and writing coach, has been helping people master the writing process for over 20 years. Contact her at The Writing Center at www.tuneyourwriting.com.

Use the Active Voice

2009-03-01T18:58:00.000-08:00

Having worked with writers of all different ages and education backgrounds, I’ve observed first-hand that most of us possess an innate sense of what makes good writing—even if we don’t have the terminology to explain it. It doesn’t matter if it’s been 30 years since our last grammar lesson or if we missed grammar altogether. We know good writing when we read it or hear it.

If I explained that in “active voice,” the subject in a sentence does what the verb describes, whereas, in “passive voice,” the action described by the verb is done to the subject, would you instinctively know what I mean? Probably not.

But if I ask you which sentence in the following pairs sounds better:

• “Shawn fumbled the ball” or “The ball was fumbled by Shawn”?
• “The pilot landed the plane” or “The plane was landed by the pilot”?
• “Lightning struck the tree” or “The tree was struck by lightning”?

I’ll bet money you pick the first sentence in each pair—the active voice. It’s more forceful and direct and creates a stronger image. It’s not about right or wrong; it’s about vigor.

In the passive sentences above, the original objects of the verbs (“ball,” “plane” and “tree”) become the subjects of the sentences. None of the passive constructions are incorrect; they’re just weak.

One strategy for building active sentences is to avoid the use of “to be” verbs: is, are, was, were, had been, would be—the list goes on and on. The subject doesn’t act, but is acted upon, resulting in less vigorous sentences. Which constructions sound stronger?

• “She was seen by Sam” or “Sam saw her”?
• “There were branches blocking the road” or “Branches blocked the road”?
• “He had been forced to move out of his home because of foreclosure” or “Foreclosure forced him out of his home”?

In the active sentences—the second one in each pair—the “to be” verbs get out of the way so the meaning rings clear. Notice, too, that the active sentences are shorter than the passive ones. A side-benefit of active voice, then, is tighter, more concise writing.

So what causes us to lapse into passive voice?

Too often, I think, we forget to apply our innate sense of good writing to our own work. And because writing isn’t easy, we get intimidated, and before we know it, we’ve downshifted into passivity. We’ll sound more scholarly if we say, “The ball was fumbled by Shawn,” rather than spitting out the truth: “Shawn fumbled the ball,” right?

We need look no further than the 85-page handbook on grammar and usage, “The Elements of Style,” for answers. Written by William Strunk Jr. in 1919 and revised and updated by E.B. White in 1959, it remains—to this day—the gold standard for composition students (which means “all of us”).

Chapters I and II offer 22 basic rules of composition, but it’s Rule 14 that makes me quake in my boots. Every time I write a passive sentence that depends on a weak, “to be” verb for its survival, I feel the ghost of Strunk shouting from the rafters, “USE THE ACTIVE VOICE,” and I heed his command.

Try this: On your next piece of writing—no matter what the purpose or audience—challenge yourself to write the entire piece without using a single “to be” verb. Enlist verbs that push hard and create motion, imagery, sound and smell. Use verbs whose sounds suggest what they mean: slither, dazzle, twirl, sizzle, pamper, sniff. When you revise, banish every passive construction you can do without. Then stand back and watch your writing jitterbug.

Cut the Fat

2009-02-01T19:35:00.000-08:00

Robert Browning said it best: “Less is more.”

So why do we write as though “more is better”? Why do we use five words when one is sufficient? Why do we think we sound smarter if we use fancy words over simple? Why do we use passive language when arguing a point? Why do we dodge and evade when the goal is communication? Why all the repetitious redundancies? (Who, me?)

Why are we full of hot air?

As William Zinsser says in his classic writing guide, On Writing Well, “Clutter is the disease of American writing. We are a society strangling in unnecessary words, circular constructions, pompous frills and meaningless jargon.” Okay, so we’re windbags. But finding out why we’re “strangling in unnecessary words” is not nearly as important to me as helping writers cut the fat. Period.

I call it “tightening.” It means making each sentence as lean and clean as possible; cutting every word that doesn’t pull its weight. As an editor and writing coach, clutter is the most noxious weed I encounter; tightening terminates it (like that fancy wording?).

Sometimes readers slog through so much clutter they have no idea what the writer means by the sentence’s end. Other times, writers use so many inflated words—trying to sound intelligent—that the sentence is unintelligible. And what about passive sentence constructions? After several in a row, the reader is left with a string of weak-kneed drivel. Then there’s the artful dodger, who dances around the truth with evasions and euphemisms. And what about all those “baby puppies,” “small smidgeons” and “true facts”? Redundancies, all.

It’s time to tighten—and you can do it at any stage of the writing process. I tighten as I’m writing a first draft and again, as I revise. Once you get the hang of it, your writing will never be the same again. It becomes your secret weapon.

Try this: Look over a recent piece of your writing with a magnifying glass. It doesn’t matter if it’s an office memo, an application letter, a short story or a memoir. Get out the red pen and mark every word that’s not absolutely necessary. Be ruthless.

Then rethink and tighten. It works like this:

• “We agreed to collaborate” becomes “We collaborated.”
• “After encouraging consultation with her supervisor, she decided the time had come to actuate her potential by going back to school” becomes “With her boss’s encouragement, she went back to school.”
• “I offered my assessment of the plan” becomes “I assessed the plan.”
• “I would tend to agree with her position in theory” becomes “I agree with her.”
• “Generally speaking, the reduction in force failed to distress him” becomes “Being fired didn’t faze him.”
• “The factual evidence proves that we heard the song once before in the past” becomes “The evidence proves we heard the song before.”

Now revise. Just make sure that in the process of tightening, you don’t squeeze the life out your writing. The goal is to cut the fat without changing your original meaning or losing your voice.

See you in February!

2009-01-18T21:34:00.000-08:00

I'm combining January and February into one blog, so check back in early February.

Just Do It

2008-12-02T17:28:00.000-08:00

“There are years that ask questions
and years that answer.”
-Zora Neale Hurston

It’s early December, which means it’s time for me to write the annual holiday letter—because in my family, the task always falls to me.

I arise from bed with determination. After transferring a load of laundry from the washing machine to the dryer, I eat some oatmeal, make coffee and with a steaming cup in hand, I climb the stairs to my office, walking right past the unread newspaper. I open the lid of my laptop with ceremony and push the power button with a flourish. Settling into my chair, I sip coffee as I watch the screen come to life. I open a new Word file and name it “Holiday Letter.2008.” So far, so good.

But instead of staring at the screen, I stare out the window above my desk, looking for inspiration. Then I remember how much more inspired and focused I am after a brisk walk or run. And besides, the sun’s out this morning. I need to catch some Vitamin D before the clouds move in. I lace up my running shoes, put the leash on the dog and we hit the open road.

When I return an hour later, I’m greeted by the buzzzzz of the dryer alarm, reminding me I need to fold the clothes before they wrinkle. As I head upstairs, folded clothes in hand, I notice the dog hair that’s collected in the corners of the stairs. No choice but to vacuum. And while I’m at it, I realize it would be silly to only vacuum the stairs. So I vacuum the whole house.

Then I remember today’s priority. I march back upstairs and as I plop down in front of the computer, I catch a whiff of myself. Phew! After all that walking and vacuuming, I have no alternative but to shower.

Refreshed, I return to my desk and decide I should reread holiday letters from past years. I’m so flooded with nostalgia that I barely hear the sound of Steely Dan on my cell phone, my daughter’s ring tone. Can’t ignore her call—we haven’t talked in over a week. Forty-five minutes later, I’m back at my computer.

But before my fingers hit the keyboard, I make the mistake of looking up at the clock. It’s time for lunch. I march back downstairs and slap together a peanut butter sandwich. While I eat, I glance at the newspaper splayed out on the kitchen table. I don’t let myself read the conclusion of any story that jumps to another page.

Enough is enough. I march back upstairs, slide my legs under the desk, and with a deep sigh, begin to write. And as I do, I remind myself of the goals I set for myself each year:

1) To remember who my audience is—friends and family—who accept me for who I am. Why would I need to impress them with lengthy descriptions of my trip to Spain, the achievements of my kids and my husband’s work accomplishments? (The trip immersed me in a new culture; the kids have found their niches and are happy and healthy; and Jim still finds his job stimulating.)

2) To write in first-person. Although I’ll mention something about every member of my family, the viewpoint of the letter is mine. I remind myself how irritating I find letters in which the writer—for example, Kathy—writes about herself in third-person.

3) To use my own speaking voice. I want to sound like I’m talking to friends and family around the kitchen table.

4) To find the blessings in the last year. And the humor—always, the humor.

5) To not be afraid to tell the truth. Maybe, as Zora Neale Hurston reminds me, the last year has been one with more questions than answers. No need for gory details. Just enough honesty, grace and reflection for my friends and family to know that next year, I’ll probably have more answers.

Don't Forget the Road Map

2008-11-06T17:08:00.000-08:00

Over the last few weeks, the Rogue Valley's Indian summer has given way to rain and fog. When my kids were young, they'd squeal with delight when they'd wake to the drizzly or foggy mornings of November, because they knew--being native Oregonians--that the holiday season was just around the corner.

Next month, I'll offer some tips on writing a holiday letter, but this month, it's time to get organized. Before tackling any writing project, take the time to plot your course: Make a road map.

Any kind of road map will do. Experiment with several organizational techniques until you find one that suits you. Though the formal outline has its firm believers, I find it tedious and confining--and I trace it back to good ol' Mrs. Steinman.

She was actually young and stylish--so unlike the stereotype of the old, stodgy English teacher--but she hammered away for months, it seemed, on how to write a formal outline. Invariably, I'd spend more time obsessing about the "correct" way to outline than on the actual writing assignment. So I took an alternate route. When I was required to hand in an outline with my final draft, I'd write the essay first--using my own technique--and then I'd outline my completed essay.

But if formal outlining works for you as a prewriting tool, by all means, use it! Writers who swear by the process claim that a project will virtually "write itself" if you've invested enough time in an outline. Knowing how all the parts fit together before you start writing is a distinct advantage, but formal outlining is only one approach among many.

When tackling short pieces--like articles, essays and letters--I rely on one of two techniques. With both approaches, I research and/or think about my topic long before my fingers hit the keyboard. Next, if if I'm using the first strategy, I make a list of the points I want to include. Sometimes I'll put them in a logical order; other times, especially when I know the topic well, I just list the points randomly--so I won't forget them! Using the list as a springboard, I begin my first draft. I call it a "scratch" outline--a working version of Mrs. Steinman's formula.

With the second strategy, I dispense with the list altogether and just plunge in, discovering what I have to say--and the order in which I'll say it--as I write. The very act of writing sets my gears in motion. The result is a loosely structured "free writing," that I carefully organize in the next draft.

If you're a visual learner, try making a tree diagram. Write your main topic (say, "Highlights of 2008") at the top of the page, then divide and subdivide the topic into smaller and smaller parts, branching out on the page like an inverted tree. Then pick the most promising material to write about.

"Mapping (also called "clustering") works in a similar fashion. Write your main idea ("Highlights of 2008") in the middle of the page, then circle it. Next, write down words that relate to the main idea, circle them and draw lines connecting them to the words that triggered them. Once the page is full, look for word clusters; they'll suggest a structure for your first draft.

If only Mrs. Steinman had known that form matters less than function! It's not the technique that matters; it's the act of planning. Starting a writing project without a road map is like driving over Mt. Sexton on a foggy night. Ten minutes of planning this month just might save you an hour of writing next month, when you'll need it the most.

Overcoming Roadblocks

2008-10-03T16:40:00.000-07:00

How often do you forget someone's name, rack your brain for a word that's on the tip of your tongue, struggle to remember the title of a book you loved so much you thought you'd never forget it? Welcome to the club! Given the frenzied pace of our technological world, who's not affected by information-overload? And whether we admit it or not, age-related forgetfulness happens to the best of us. Then there's the simple, garden-variety forgetfulness that stymies everyone--regardless of age--from time to time.

Forgetfulness is one thing. A roadblock--the kind that causes writers to get stuck in their tracks, unable to move forward--is another. (Notice I'm not calling it "writer's block," a convenient, overused term that's sometimes used to justify giving up.) No matter what you call the phenomenon, everyone--whether you're writing the Great American Novel or a job application letter--struggles to find words at some juncture.

We sometimes think that professional writers are blessed with such a wellspring of creativity that writing is effortless. It just ain't so. As my clients have heard me say over and over, regardless of your writing ability, writing is hard work--some of the hardest work you'll ever do. In a George Plimpton interview with Ernest Hemingway in 1958, Hemingway confessed that he had rewritten the last chapter to A Farewell to Arms 39 times before he was satisfied! When Plimpton asked him, "What was it that had you stumped?" Hemingway replied, "getting the words right." If Ernest Hemingway agonized about "getting the words right," is it any wonder that mere mortals struggle?

Another misconception about professional writers is that every time they put their fingers to the keyboard, they're inspired. Trust me, the Muse--a goddess from Greek mythology who inspires the creative process--visits professional writers no more often than the rest of us. And frankly, if we wait around for the Muse to find us, we'll wait forever.

Montana novelist and National Book Award finalist, Sandra Scofield, formerly of Ashland and Jacksonville, has said of the writing process, "Nothing comes fast or easy. Everything is about discovery. You have to think of writing as day labor; you show up." Some days, the words will fly off your fingers, other days, you'll struggle to string together a few good paragraphs. The only solution is to roll up your sleeves and dig in.

But what if one bad day is followed by another and then another? What if the roadblock is bigger than your will to move through it? What if you just can't conjure up that word on the tip of your tongue no matter how much you rack your brain? That's the time to step back and let go.

Rejuvenate yourself. Go for a walk, meditate, do yoga, soak in the hot tub, call an old friend or watch a movie. Get as far away from the writing process as possible. For me, the breakthrough may not happen the same day, but if I'm patient, the right word, the missing argument or the next plot turn will come when I least expect it, usually as hot water washes over my head in the shower. It's like losing your keys. You can look and look and look and never find them until you give up and walk away; then magically, they jump out at you.

Give yourself enough time and space to gain perspective on your writing and before long, that roadblock will come tumbling down.

The Lost Art of Letter Writing

2008-09-01T14:33:00.000-07:00

When's the last time you received a letter from an old friend? I'm not talking about a friendly e-mail (which has its place, as I've said in earlier blogs) or those short thank you notes in which the sender struggles to find words beyond, "Thank you for the blender. I really needed one." I'm talking about an honest to goodness letter. Better yet, when's the last time you wrote a letter?

If you remember life before faxes, computers and cell phones, you also remember the joy of discovering a hand-written letter in your mailbox. Sometimes, I couldn't stop myself from ripping open the envelope and reading its contents on the spot. Other times, I'd set the envelope aside until I found a quiet moment in the day when I could savor the letter, like a piece of dark chocolate after dinner. I would sometimes read a juicy letter over and over until I darn near memorized the words.

I miss those letters. Excluding holiday "form" letters (which have their place, just like e-mails), it's been over a year since I've received a good, old-fashioned letter. And it's not because I don't have out-of-town friends. It's because my friends, like everyone else in this fast-paced, digitized world, don't take the time to write letters. What a loss.

Beyond the joy of sending and receiving letters, there's another pearl: When you write a letter, you have a purpose and a specific audience, so your writing is as clear and focused as it ever gets. Think back to the last letter you wrote to a friend--even if it's been a few decades. Did you struggle to find words? More likely, the process was natural, almost effortless. Although journal writing has been touted as one of the best tools to build writing fluency, I think letter writing trumps it a hundred times over.

I started my first journal as a kid, mainly because my best friend kept one. As a young adult, I started several journals, only to fall off the wagon after a few weeks. I thought I lacked self-discipline until I realized that, for me, filling blank pages with words written to no one in particular feels like a fruitless chore. Far from building writing fluency, I would stare at the blank page, clueless about what to say. In fact, the only time I've come close to writer's block is with journal writing.

But give me the audience of an old friend and suddenly I have purpose, clarity of thought and fluency to spare. A few years ago my best friend told me she'd kept all the letters I've written her in a shoe box--and we go way back. I shudder to think what I might have written 20 years ago, but I'm honored that she valued my words enough to preserve them. It's probably the best writing I've ever done. And I owe it to audience and purpose.

Don't get me wrong. If journal writing works for you, by all means, forge ahead. But if a blank page has ever left you wordless, try letter writing--called epistolary writing--instead. Not only will you find your voice and purpose, but you'll do it with panache. And the best part of all? One of these days, when you least expect it, you'll discover a return letter in your mailbox!

Write the Way You Speak

2008-08-02T16:49:00.000-07:00

After last month's blog I talked with several readers about the use of “tone” in e-mails. Most people have a general understanding of tone, but aren’t sure how to use it effectively in e-mails. “How do I make sure I use the right tone?” someone asked. I’m glad to know I’m not the only one who's hit the wrong chord in an e-mail!

We sometimes forget that the best writing sounds like the way we speak. Why should an e-mail to someone be any less engaging than a face-to-face meeting? Don’t let the keyboard stiffen your style or make you less human. Let the reader hear the sound of your real voice.

How do you accomplish this? Read your e-mail aloud several times. Do you hear yourself? Are your words common to your speaking-vocabulary? Do your words convey the message you really intend to say? Are there words and phrases that could be misinterpreted? Don't let the convenience of e-mail stop you from revising before you hit “send.”

Yes, there’s a time for more formal e-mails, but trust yourself to know the difference. More often than not, e-mails provide the perfect opportunity to be less formal, more personal and more genuinely “you.”

E-mail as a Genre

2008-07-17T13:10:00.000-07:00

I want to thank everyone who visited my blog site last month and left comments. This month, I’d like to answer an excellent question—about e-mails.

A blogger wrote, “I’d like to read a blog post discussing ways to avoid sounding like an idiot in e-mails. I sometimes feel embarrassed for the people writing me who come off sounding like a second grader.”

According to a UCLA Center for Communication Policy report written in 2001, 88 percent of Internet users use e-mail, whether for business or pleasure. And in the last seven years, the number of users has grown exponentially.

So if we’re all writing e-mails, what strategies can we use to avoid “sounding like a second grader”? An e-mail may be your first introduction to someone, so make a good impression. Once you’ve hit “send,” there’s no taking it back. And even when you know someone, it’s just as easy to make a good impression as a bad one.

I have a bias. I really like e-mail and I get a little frustrated with those who don’t. I like its ease and immediacy. It’s much less bothersome than a phone call and much quicker than a letter. And, if well written, it strikes a perfect balance between formal and casual.

But I don’t like e-mails that are full of glaring spelling and grammatical errors. Talk about poor first impressions! A few years ago I advertised for an assistant for my business, The Writing Center, and I couldn’t believe the number of introductory e-mails I received that contained glaring errors. Mind you, I was advertising for an editing, tutoring and coaching position for a writing center! Needless to say, it was easy to separate the wheat from the chaff.

So how do you eliminate spelling and grammatical errors? Run your e-mail through a simple spell and grammar check after you complete it. It only takes a few seconds. But remember that spell check won’t pick up all your errors. It won’t, for example, show which version of “to, too or two” is needed. So your next step after using the spell and grammar check is to read over your e-mail several times before hitting “send.” And if it’s a really important e-mail, like a cover letter for a job, ask someone you trust to proofread your e-mail. We sometimes get too close to the writing to catch all our errors.

The next step to writing a good e-mail is to avoid the use of abbreviations. There’s a place for abbreviations—in text messages and instant messaging—but not in e-mails. Yes, e-mails should be short and sweet, but plz don’t abbrvt. Rather, take the time to spell out your words, but chose your words carefully.

One of the most important elements of a good e-mail is tone—which is a hard thing to nail down. E-mails should be concise and get to the point as quickly as possible, but they shouldn’t be abrupt and lacking in the personal touch. It’s easy to communicate tone when we’re speaking, but conveying the right tone in writing is challenging.

So again, I emphasize: Read over your e-mail several times before sending it. If the e-mail is a long one—and sometimes they’re unavoidable—you can propel your reader forward by saying in the first line, for example, “This e-mail is long, but the subject is complicated and deserves a thorough explanation.” Then, do your best to use an economy of words to explain the “complicated” matter.

A couple of other points deserve mention. Avoid the use of all capital letters because IT SOUNDS LIKE YOU’RE SHOUTING! Capitalizing an occasional word for emphasis is fine. Just as you would in a letter, always begin your e-mail with a greeting: “Dear Dr. Gross” or “Hi Ruth.” Closings are important too. Don’t sign off without using your favorite closing, like, “Best Regards,” “All best” or “Cheers,” followed by your name.

Writing experts now regard e-mail as a specific “genre,” so there’s a world of information to impart. I’ll revisit the topic again, but for now, to avoid “sounding like a second grader,” eliminate spelling and grammatical errors, avoid abbreviations, and be concise, yet friendly, in your tone.

Please send more questions!

There's a Writer Inside You

2008-06-20T10:57:00.000-07:00

This blog is dedicated to the writer in all of us. Whether you’re a published novelist, an aspiring magazine writer, a worker drowning in a sea of e-mails or the designated family member who writes the annual holiday letter, writing is an undertaking we can’t avoid.

As a writer, editor and writing coach, I love to talk about the writing. I know, I know, for those who dread the process—and don’t we all, just a little—my zeal might be hard to fathom. While I agree that writing is hard work, it doesn’t have to be painful.

This will not be a blog about the unintelligible rules of grammar (“a pronoun is in the subjective case when it follows a linking verb as a predicate nominative”). I might, however, answer a common usage question from time to time (for example, “What’s the difference between ‘lie’ and ‘lay’?” “What’s the purpose of a dash?”). Although I’ll offer encouragement, I won’t fill the blog with motivational mumbo jumbo (“Clear your mind of distractions, block a chunk of time, put your fingers to the keyboard and voilà, the words will flow!”). Nor will I presume to unlock the mysteries of writing through a one-size-fits-all approach.

In fact, I’ll operate on the assumption that what works for one writer, may not work for another. After many years teaching writing, tutoring one-on-one and talking with other writers, what I know for certain is that everyone operates differently. Some writers work from meticulous outlines and others just plunge in, discovering what they have to say—and the structure it will take—as they write. Some write a complete first draft without rewriting or editing, while others edit the first draft as they write, sometimes so ruthlessly they can barely string a sentence together.

Some writers swear by journal writing as a warm-up device, while others believe it’s a waste of time. For me, the question is not as much about the merit of a technique as it is about helping writers find strategies for success. The goal is not just to get the words out, but to have those words build an argument, create a scene, describe an event, structure a plot or recreate a memory in a meaningful, coherent way. Most importantly, the goal is to help writers find their voices.

I found my writing voice as a teenager, looking for a way to be heard—without interruption—by my parents. I learned to analyze a problem, support my argument and persuade my audience. And I think, on a fundamental level, we all share the same desire—to be heard and understood. Writing can be the record.

To that end, each month, I’ll tackle some aspect of the writing process or offer a strategy to make the task of writing easier, whether you’re a seasoned pro or a tenderfoot. Please send me your writing questions and I’ll do my best to answer them in future blogs.