Writing

I have begun the process of working with an editor.

Although I have, what I believe is, a working relationship with the English language, my status as a writer is still somewhat of a neophyte. I have written thousands of pages of material. Most of those pages were legal in nature.

Legal writing is almost mathematical in its structure. Although I believe there is an art in writing an effective, comprehensive and self-contained agreement, there is little artistic value in the words themselves. A client pays for the certainty of a lawyer’s writing but not the clarity. The average layperson does not understand the run-on, complex, multi-conditional sentences that make for good legal drafting. But the confusability factor alone gives appearance of good writing.

Certainly the law has had a significant formative impact on my lexicon and syntax. But before I was a lawyer I was a thinker. I was a guy who wanted to know the “why” – the “why” about everything. Of course that included the “why” about power.

Studying sociology and religion at university gave me more than ample opportunity to read and write. As much as I was able to read all the right things, I was prone to write in an overly stylistic and somewhat verbose manner.

As I struggled against the powers of authority – giving them my consent to use their ability to grade me to obtain from them my certification as an educated mind – I found that it was in my best interests to submit to the critique of a particular T.A. named Michel.

Michel was a divinity doctorial student in the heart of writing a thesis which was focused on the meaning and the historical socio-cultural implications of a small set of sentences in one of the Epistles of Paul.

Who would have thought that so much could be said about so little.

Nonetheless, given his task, I could find no better authority on the subject of communicating in writing.

After my third exasperating “B” from Michel I was left with two choices. Fight with him or submit to him.

So I asked him, “Why?”

He described my writing as full of ideas and logic but absent any discernible pattern of communication. Simply, he said that I wrote in circles using complex, hard-to-read sentences and repetitive language.

He encouraged me to simplify my language. He suggested that I avoid adjectives and adverbs and just say what I meant in one sentence – not six.
After two more papers, Michel told me I got it. I was rewarded with “A”s from that day on.

That lesson helped me with the ability to write legalistically. My law practice helped me hone that direct simple style. Those two experiences - those lessons in writing - made me a pretty good lawyer.

However, I am not sure either has helped me write for you.

Today my new-found ally in the world of words says that my sentences lack style. They are terse and uninteresting. So I turn to her for input to make my writing better.

Once again I submit to an authority – in this case an authority on writing and communication. I do so happily. I do so because I want to be a writer so bad that the desire over powers me.

Her ability to make me better is the mechanism that will make me pay her to listen to her criticisms.

Incredible power isn’t it?

Whether it is my T.A. Michel, my clients or my new found editor I submit to their power because more than anything else before, I want to write for you.

Power - is it good or bad?

I still can’t seem to answer that one.