Published by The Royal Bank of Canada

The Practical Writer

Written words form the mainstay ofcommunications in organizations.But they often fail to do their job.Here, a guide to writing that meansbusiness. There’s nothing to it butblood, toil, tears and sweat. . .

[] From time to time most educated people arecalled upon to act as writers. They might not thinkof themselves as such as they dash off a personalnote or dictate a memo, but that is what they are.They are practising a difficult and demandingcraft, and facing its inborn challenge. This is tofind the right words and to put them in the rightorder so that the thoughts they represent can beunderstood.

Some writers deliberately muddy the meaning oftheir words, if indeed they meant anything tobegin with. When most people write, however, it isto get a message across. This is especially so inbusiness and institutions, where written wordscarry much of the load of communications. Thewritten traffic of any well-ordered organization isthick and varied- letters, memos, reports, policystatements, manuals, sales literature, and what-have-you. The purpose of it all is to use words in away that serves the organization’s aires.

Unfortunately, written communications oftenfail to accomplish this purpose. Some organiza-tional writing gives rise to confusion, inefficiency,and ill-will. This is almost always because theintended message did not get through to thereceiving end. Why? Because the message wasinadequately prepared.

An irresistible comparison arises between writ-ing and another craft which most people have topractise sometimes, namely cooking. In both fieldsthere is a wide range of competence, from the greatchefs and authors to the occasional practitionerswho must do the job whether they like it or not. In

both, care in preparation is of the essence. Shake-speare wrote that it is an ill cook who does not lickhis own fingers; it is an ill writer who does notwork at it hard enough to be reasonably satisfiedwith the results.

Unlike bachelor cooks, however, casual writersare rarely the sole consumers of their own offer-ings. Reclusive philosophers and schoolgirls keep-ing diaries are about the only writers whose workis not intended for other eyes. If a piece of writingturns out to be an indigestible half-baked mess,those on the receiving end are usually the ones tosurfer. This might be all right in literature, be-cause the reader of a bad book can always toss itaside. But in organizations, where written com-munications command attention, it is up to therecipient of a sloppy writing job to figure out whatit means.

The reader is thus put in the position of doing thethinking the writer failed to do. To make others doyour work for you is, of course, an uncivil act. In arecent magazine advertisement on the printedword, one of a commendable series published byInternational Paper Company, novelist KurtVonnegut touched on the social aspect of writing:"Why should you examine your writing style withthe idea of improving it? Do so as a mark of respectfor your readers. If you scribble your thoughts anywhich way, your readers will surely feel that youcare nothing for them."

In the working world, bad writing is not only badmanners, it is bad business. The victim of anincomprehensible letter will at best be annoyed

and at worst decide that people who can’t say whatthey mean aren’t worth doing business with. Writea sloppy letter, and it might rebound on you whenthe recipient calls for clarification. Where onecarefully worded letter would have sufficed, youmight have to write two or more.

Muddled messages can cause havoc within anorganization. Instructions that are misunderstoodcan set people off in the wrong directions or putthem to work in vain. Written policies that areopen to misinterpretation can throw sand in thegears of an entire operation. Ill-considered lan-guage in communications with employees can tor-pedo morale.

A careful writer mustbe a careful thinker

In the early 1950s the British Treasury grew soconcerned with the inefficiency resulting from poorwriting that it called in a noted man of letters, SirErnest Gowers, to work on the problem. Out of thisGowers wrote an invaluable book, The CompletePlain Words, for the benefit of British civil ser-vants and anyone else who must put English topractical use. (Her Majesty’s Stationery Office,London, 1954.)

Gowers took as his touchstone a quotation fromRobert Louis Stevenson: ~~The difficulty is not towrite, but to write what you mean, not to affectyour reader, but to affect him precisely as youwish." To affect your reader precisely as you wishobviously calls for precision in the handling oflanguage. And to achieve precision in anythingtakes time.

Gowers suggested that the time spent pursuingprecision more than cancels out the time wasted byimprecision. People in administrative jobs mightwell protest that they were not hired as writers,and that their schedules are crammed enoughwithout having to fuss over the niceties of gram-mar and the like. The answer to this is that it is animportant part of their work to put words on paper.It should be done just as thoroughly and conscien-tiously as anything else for which they get paid.

No one should be led to believe writing is easy.As great a genius as Dr. Samuel Johnson describedcomposition as ~~an effort of slow diligence andsteady perseverance to which the mind is dragged

by necessity or resolution." Writing is hard workbecause thinking is hard work; the two are insep-arable. But there is some compensation for theeffort invested in trying to write well.

The intellectual discipline required to makethoughts come through intelligibly on paper paysoff in clarifying your thoughts in general. Whenyou start writing about a subject, you will oftenfind that your knowledge of it and your thinkingabout it leave something to be desired. The ques-tion that should be foremost in the writer’s mind,~~What am I really trying to say?" will raise therelated questions, ~¢What do I really know aboutthis? What do I really think about it?" A carefulwriter has to be a careful thinker- and in thelong run careful thinking saves time and troublefor the writer, the reader, and everybody elseconcerned.

The problem is that many people believe thatthey have thought out ideas and expressed themcompetently on paper when they actually haven’t.This is because they use nebulous multi-purposewords that may mëan one thing to them andsomething quite different to someone else. Gowersgave the example of the verb «involve," which isused variously to mean ~~entail," «include," ~~con-tain," «imply," "implicate," "influence," etc., etc. "Ithas.., developed a vagueness that makes it thedelight of those who dislike the effort of searchingfor the right word," he wrote. "It is consequentlymuch used, generally where some more specificword would be better and sometimes where it ismerely superfluous."

The right word will almosttell you where it should go

There are plenty of other lazy man’s wordslurking about, threatening to set the writer upbeside Humpty Dumpty, who boasted: ~’When I usea word, it means just what I want it to mean." It istherefore wise to avoid words that can be taken inmore than one way in a given context. This ties inwith the first commandment of practical writing,which is: "Be Specific." "Specify, be accurate, giveexact details- and forget about fine writing andoriginal style," Rudolph Flesch says in his book,How to Be Brief.

Style tends to take care of itself if you select theright words and put them in the most logical order;so, to a large extent, do grammar and syntax. Findthe right word, and it will almost tell you where ina sentence it should go.

This is not to say that grammar and syntax arenot important. Words scattered on a page at thediscretion of the writer simply would not be com-prehensible. The rules of language usage also exerta degree of discipline over your thinking about asubject by forcing you to put your thoughts inlogical order. Many grammatical conventions areintended to eliminate ambiguity, so that you don’tstart out saying one thing and end up sayingsomething else.

Most literate people, however, have an instinc-tive grasp of grammar and syntax that is adequatefor all ordinary purposes. The rules of usage (inEnglish more so than in French) are in any caseflexible, changeable, and debatable: new words areinvented as the language lives and grows, and asolecism in one generation becomes respectable inthe next. So while grammar and syntax have theirroles to play in written communications, they mustnot be adhered to so slavishly that they interferewith intelligible expression. Gowers quoted LordMacAulay with approval on this score: ’~After all,the first law of writing, that law to which all otherlaws are subordinate, is this: that the wordsemployed should be such as to convey to the readerthe meaning of the writer."

Vocabulary is usually theleast of a writer’s problems

Since words come first, an ample vocabulary isan asset in conveying meaning. Oddly enough,though, people who have difficulty getting theirwritten messages across rarely lack the vocabularyrequired. They know the apt words, but they don’tuse them. They go in for sonorous but more or lessmeaningless language instead.

People who are perfectly able to express them-selves in plain spoken language somehow get theidea that the short, simple words they use in

everyday conversation are unworthy to be com-mitted to paper. Thus where they would say, "Wehave closed the deal," they will write, "We havefinalized the transaction." In writing, they «utilizeavailable non-rail ground mode transportationresources" instead of loading trucks. They getcaught in «prevailing precipitant climatic condi-tions" instead of in the rain. They «utilize amanual earth removal implement" instead of dig-ging with a shovel. When so many words with somany meanings are being slung about, nobody canbe quite sure ofjust what is being said.

The guiding principle for the practical writershould be that common words should always beused unless more exact words are needed fordefinition. The reason for this is so plain that it isall but invisible. It is that if you use words thateverybody knows, everybody can understand whatyou want to say.

A common touch with language has alwaysdistinguished great leaders. Winston Churchillcomes immediately to mind; he «mobilized theEnglish language and sent it into battle," as JohnF. Kennedy said. Churchill mobilized the languagein more ways than in his inspiring speeches. AsPrime Minister of Great Britain, he was thatnation’s chief administrator at a time when go-vernmental efficiency was a matter of life and deathfor the democratic world. In A.ugust, 1940, whilethe Battle of Britain was at its peak, Churchilltook the time to write a memo about excessverbiage in inter°departmental correspondence. Itread:

Let us have an end to such phrases as these: ~Itis also of importance to bear in mind the fol-lowing considerations...’ or ’Considerationshould be given to carrying into effect...’ Mostof these woolly phrases are mere padding,which can be left out altogether or replaced bya single word. Let us not shrink from the shortexpressive word even if it is conversational.Churchill’s own wartime letters and memos,

reproduced in his memoirs, are models of effectiveEnglish. It is interesting to speculate on how muchhis clarity of expression, and his insistence upon itin others, helped to win the war. He was, of course,a professional writer who had earned a living from

his pen since he was in his early twenties. He wassomething of a literary genius. In the light of this,it may seem ridiculous to exhort modern white-collar workers to write like Winston Churchill.Nevertheless, the principles of writing whichChurchill followed are not at all hard to grasp.

Churchill was an admirer of H. W. Fowler’sA Dictionary of English Usage, to which he woulddirect his generals when he caught them manglingthe language. Fowler set rive criteria for goodwriting -- that it be direct, simple, brief, vigorousand lucid. Any writer who tries to live up to theseis on the right track.

By keeping in mind two basic techniques you cango some way towards meeting Fowler’s require-ments. These are:

Prefer the active voice to the passive. It will makeyour writing more direct and vigorous. It’s amatter of putting the verb in your sentence upfront so that it pulls along the rest of the words. Inthe active voice you would say, ~’The carpenterbuilt the house;" in the passive, "The house wasbuilt by the carpenter." Though it is not alwayspossible to do so in the context of a sentence, usethe active whenever you can.

Prefer the concrete to the abstract. A concreteword stands for something tangible or particular;an abstract word is «separated from matter, prac-tice, or particular example." Churchill used con-crete terms: "We have not journeyed all this way,across the centuries, across the oceans, across themountains, across the prairies, because we aremade of sugar candy." If he had couched that in theabstract, he might have said: "We have not provedourselves capable of traversing time spans andgeographical phenomena due to a deficiency infortitude." Again, there are times when abstrac-tions are called for by the context because there areno better concrete words, but try not to use themunless you must.

Sticking to the concrete will tend to keep youclear of one of the great pitfalls of modern practicalwriting, the use of ~¢buzz words." These are words

and expressions that corne into currency not be-cause they mean anything in particular, but mere-ly because they sound impressive. It is difficult togive examples of them because they have suchshort lives; the "buzz words" of today are thelaughing stocks of tomorrow. They are mostlyabstract terms (ending, in English, in -ion, -ance,-osity, -ive, -ize, -al, and -ate), but they sometimestake the form of concrete words that have beensapped of their original meaning. The reason forgiving them a wide berth is that their meaning isseldom clear.

Jargon presents a similar pitfall. It has its placeas the in-house language of occupational groups,and that is where it should be kept. It too consistsmostly of abstract words, and by keeping to theconcrete you can shut out much of it. But jargon iscontagious, soit should be consciously avoided.Never use a word of it unless you are certain that itmeans the same to your reader as it does to you.

The combination of the active and the concretewill help to make your prose direct, simple, vig-orous, and lucid. There is no special technique formaking it brief; that is up to you.

The first step to conciseness is to scorn the notionthat length is a measure of thoroughness. It isn’t.Emulate Blaise Pascal, who wrote to a friend: "Ihave made this letter a little longer than usualbecause I lack the time to make it shorter."

Use your pen or pencil as a cutting tool. No pieceof writing, no matter what its purpose or length,should leave your desk until you have examined itintensely with a view to taking the fat out of it.Strike out anything that does not add directly toyour reader’s understanding of the subject. Whiledoing this, try to put yourself in his or her shoes.

Be hard on yourself; writing is not called adiscipline for nothing. It is tough, wearing, brain-racking work. But when you finally get it right,you have done a service to others. And, likeShakespeare’s cook, you can lick your metapho-rical fingers and feel that it was all worthwhile.