Writing Tools

When I was 30 years old, I wrote a column that revealed my goal in life was to write one good book. The problem: I didn't know how.

Today I can stand in front of a stack of 15 books that carry my name as author or editor. I've learned a few tricks along the way, many of which I shared in a live chat on Friday, Jan. 8. You can read the chat below to find out some of my strategies.

I wrote an essay when I turned 30 about all the things I realized I would never accomplish in my life, things I had once daydreamed about, such as playing center field for the Yankees or starring in a movie with Ann-Margret. I also described a few things that I would like to accomplish, and one of them was to write a book.

When I tried to write my first book, Free to Write: A Journalist Teaches Young Writers, in 1984, I realized I did not know how to write one. I had no process, no toolbox, no set of steps. So I borrowed one. An early collection of works by John McPhee, The John McPhee Reader, contained an introductory essay by Bill Howarth on McPhee's method. I followed it to the letter: gather your reporting, copy all your raw material, put one copy away, take the other copy and cut it up into the obvious content chapters, file the bits according to topic, create an index card file that corresponds to the elements in the content files, play with the order of the cards to find an architecture for the book, sit down and write an opening without reference to any of your materials, place the first index card on your wall near your workspace, open the corresponding file, begin to draft chapter one.

All the books I have authored or edited -- now up to 15 -- have been produced from some variation of McPhee's method, one that he has taught to a generation of talented young writers at Princeton University, including journalist and novelist Jennifer Weiner, who also happens to be a Poynter grad.

My favorite writing exercise involves the revision of a single sentence about a funeral service held at the Georgia Aquarium for a beluga whale, dead from a bacterial infection. The loss of the charismatic mammal was deeply felt and inspired a public ceremony of mourning. Mark Davis covered the event for The Atlanta Journal-Constitution, a moving account that included this sentence:

The crowd gathered and knelt around the 12-foot creature.

This is a fine sentence, but I've argued that it could be better and have offered a revision more aligned to the writer's mission and purpose.

When I teach this example, I challenge the writers in the classroom or audience to make the repair: "Try to improve this sentence," I say, "without adding or deleting or changing a word. See if you can improve it by taking Mark's words and moving them around." A number of revisions are suggested, but my favorite goes like this.

I've come to praise the paragraph, not to bury it. Such appreciation was not always my thing. The early instruction I received made construction of a paragraph seem so mechanical, so formulaic, so detached from my writerly instincts that I rebelled.

The paragraphs in my favorite books did not always have a topic sentence, three supporting examples and a sharp, logical conclusion. Some just seemed to start and then, after a while, stop. The length of paragraphs was not arbitrary nor the content incoherent. But what I saw -- more often than not -- were chunks of information. Thin newspaper columns contained small chunks; magazines bigger chunks; and books the biggest chunks of all.

Paragraphs come in all shapes and sizes, some as long as a sacred scroll, others short as a single word, their variety offering the reader many benefits. If a sentence expresses a complete thought, then a paragraph can:

• Move the reader through the elements of an argument.
• Advance the movement of a narrative.
• Create the white space that relaxes the eyes and settles the mind.
• Enhance the signature style or authentic voice of a writer.

Read more for examples and exercises.

In my writing and teaching, I've come to understand the value of the word "diction" in solving some of my most important language problems. It comes from the Latin word for "oratory" and "speech" and belongs to a cluster of words from the same root, including "dictionary," "dictum," "dictation" and even "dictator." Imagine taking dictation from a dictator!

If you have good diction, it means that you enunciate words clearly, the way Brian Williams does as NBC news anchor, or the way jazz singer Diana Krall performs "I've Got You Under My Skin."

But that is not the primary definition. The American Heritage Dictionary defines "diction" as "the choice and use of words in speech or writing." The key word is "choice." In most cases, writers choose words that fit their topic and appeal to their audience. You will choose a different set of words if you write for "Reader's Digest" than if you write for "Playboy." The language of a blogger will differ if that writer is choosing words for a blog on politics, or sports or parenting. The grave T.S. Eliot used a different poetic diction from that of the sprightly Ogden Nash.

ROFL from TMI.

If you happen to be acronymically impaired, that secret message means Rolling On the Floor Laughing from Too Much Information. I may have come of age in the Age of Aquarius, but I'm growing old in the Age of the Acronym.

When I was a little kid in Catholic school, some of the other students would write the letters JMJ atop their papers and worksheets. I felt clueless until someone filled me in, that those capital letters were a kind of prayer to the Holy Family: Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

Years later in college, I remember the joy of checking my mail slot and finding a letter from a distant girlfriend. On the back of a fragrant pink or lilac envelope were the letters SWAK. Consider my exhilaration when someone told me they stood for Sealed With a Kiss...

I was a guest this week on WHYY's radio talk show "Radio Times" to discuss coverage of the Tiger Woods scandal. The host, Marty Moss-Coane, seemed at first a little apologetic to her audience that a public radio hour was being devoted to celebrity gossip. She went on to say that a day earlier her show on the war in Afghanistan attracted very few callers. When the talk turned to Tiger, the phone lines lit up. We know now that this story has what old school editors would call "legs."

Based upon that show and what I've heard and read over several days, here are some of my observations, reflections, and questions for further coverage, a notes column on the Tale of the Tiger...

In Roy Peter Clark's recent blog post, What the Best Wrting Teachers Do, How Students Can Learn From Them, he shared behaviors practiced by the best writing teachers. In this week's educator chat, Roy Peter Clark chatted about practices a writing teacher can follow to help students improve their writing.

We talked about what a good writing coach looks like.

You can revisit this link at any time to replay the chat.

You get report cards, and so should your teachers. You don't need a great writing teacher, or even a good one, to become a good writer yourself -- but it sure helps. And becoming a good writer will help you be a better student, a better worker, a better citizen and a better person.

So what does a good writing teacher look like? If you talk to the experts, they are likely to tell you that you have a better chance of landing a good writing teacher in elementary school, less of a chance in middle school, even less in high school and least in colleges and universities (and don't get me started on graduate and professional schools).

Don't take it from me. Listen to Derek Bok, former president of Harvard University, in his recent study "Our Underachieving Colleges."

As I grow older and less wise, I find myself in arguments with -- of all people -- myself. An Angel version of myself will often appear on one shoulder ready to stick a lance through the Lucifer version of me on the other.

One side of me opposes capital punishment; the other yells "Fry him!" I oppose torture in all cases, sort of. And don't get me started about religion: Catholicism has provided me with enough points/counterpoints to last a lifetime, and maybe an afterlifetime.
 
Which brings me, of course, to the Tale of Tiger Woods. Since news broke of his auto crash and injuries last Friday, I keep running these scenarios through my head of what really happened. Over the years I've heard some of the best journalists say: "That story just doesn't hold up." Or "There's something fishy about that story." As an unabashed fan and admirer of Tiger, I feel a special obligation to pay attention to what happened in the early morning hours, and whether or not it constitutes news.

I'll let you listen in to the debate between my Angel and my Devil. ...

Live inside the English language long enough, begin to see grammar as glamorous, and you will experience many sweet moments of epiphany. The light may shine, for example, when you solve a language puzzle that has long left you baffled. It's the same kind of rush as when you've mastered a new dance step or an elegant new jazz riff on the piano.

It took a long time for me to conquer the distinction between "affect" and "effect," an admission for which I feel no shame. Young writers -– and some prose pros –- confuse these words all the time. To get them straight, you may still have to look them up, the way I have to look up the spelling of "judgment" –- or is it "judgement?" Just a sec ... as I was saying, "judgment."

Two days a week, about 50 steps from my desk, sits another writer in another office finishing up another book. His name is Tom French. We met years and years ago at a Bruce Springsteen concert, and we have been writing pals ever since. We share the same agent and a long friendship, but it is a coincidence that has us writing our books at the same time in the same place.The coincidence has created many collateral benefits, including opportunities to encourage each other to keep going, or to share the challenges and writing strategies of the day.

My book in progress happens to be about the glamour of grammar.

Tom's book is about life and death at an American zoo. When I describe it that way to people, they look a little puzzled as if that definition needed expansion or exemplification. I can read the question in their eyes, "What about life and death in an American zoo?"  If they had this language available to them, they might say "Life and death in an American zoo" is a topic, not a story. Not a theme. "What is this story really about?"

Since my book "Writing Tools: 50 Essential Strategies for Every Writer" was conceived on this Web site, I would like to bring you up to date on what has happened to the book since its publication three years ago. I also have some news on how you can get your hands on these writing strategies both old and new.

First, news about the book:

• More than 60,000 copies are now in print.
• It is available in hard cover, paper cover, and scholastic editions.
• The cost of a copy continues to decrease: $9.09 is the discounted price offered by Amazon.
• A Quick List of "Writing Tools" is available for free, as are hundreds of essays I've written on the craft for Poynter.org.
• The book is now available in Danish and German and Portuguese translations.
• Poynter.org will now and then republish some chapters of "Writing Tools" that I think have special relevance for journalists.

As a young man, I imagined that the last quarter of my life would be taken up with a little travel, good eating, walking my dog along the seashore and taking my grandkids to the ballpark. But now, at 61, things look a little different. After 30 years at The Poynter Institute, when I peer down that road yonder, I see many more years of productive work -- with a little golf thrown in.

I have always been guided by role models, personal champions whose lives blazed a trail in work and in life. If I imagine doing satisfying and interesting work into my 80s, perhaps into my 90s, I need only follow in the footsteps of three pioneers: Les Paul, Shirley Clark and Gene Patterson. ...

I guess you could say that I'm a late adopter. I have no Facebook account. I remain skeptical of PowerPoint presentations. My favorite technology is still the book, although my new iPhone is catching up fast. I admit it: I still write the occasional essay in longhand.

But something nifty (an old school word) happened a few months ago when my friends at Poynter Online uploaded the podcasts for my book "Writing Tools" on iTunes U. Before you know it, those little audio essays were number 1 with a bullet, with close to a million downloads. O, Brave New World ...

Now filled with confidence -- and with the help of my much younger Poynter colleagues -- I set off on my first Twitter experience. It did not take long to learn the basics, and I now have about 170 "followers" (I prefer "acolytes") and a couple dozen tweets under my feathers.

My primary motivation was not to grow an audience or to keep up with the latest, but to pursue my interest in short forms of writing.

The arrest of Harvard professor Henry Louis Gates Jr. and its aftermath brought to mind a newspaper column written on Sept. 30, 1960, by Gene Patterson, then editor of The Atlanta Constitution. The column gave an account of a traffic accident in a small Georgia town, but, as with most great essays, it turned out to be about something far deeper, and more enduring.

Patterson's comments were inspired by a letter he received from a high school math teacher from Bainbridge, Ga., by the name of Mrs. Anne W. Smith. In the letter Mrs. Smith praised a police officer, W. D. McDaniel, for helping her after a truck squeezed her car into a collision with a parked car. The crash threw her grandbaby from her seat.

Officer McDaniel arrived on the scene, attended to Mrs. Smith and the baby, protected them from the rain, and called a mechanic to help with the car. The officer told Patterson "She was just as nice as she could be. I treated her like I treat anybody who is courteous."

I heard a report on NPR this morning about an Israeli leader who suggested that people not refer to the new strain of influenza as the Swine Flu.

His comment came in deference to Orthodox Jews, those who would not want anyone to think -- should they become infected -- that they had somehow violated the strictest Jewish health and dietary laws.

I get it -- even though the disease is not transmitted by eating pork.

But the same leader showed less sensitivity when he then suggested that the disease be called the "Mexican Flu." After vigorous protests from a Mexican official, this idea was rescinded and the proposed name described as a joke. ...

Although we associate innovation and tech-savviness with the young, no journalists have benefited more from reinvention across media platforms than sports writers of the old school. Wouldn't it be crazy if it turned out to be the old coots who led journalism out of its current malaise?

The late great Dick Schaap came up in newspapers as a news and feature writer, expanded his craft into magazines, and became world famous as a book author, a commentator on network television, an interviewer, a radio personality, and host of the ESPN's "The Sports Reporters." He was, as they say in the television world, "the talent," a talent that was rooted in writing, reporting, and knowledge of his field -- the world of sports.

Mitch Albom built his reputation in Detroit as one of America's best sports columnists and has become a kind of cottage industry, appearing regularly on ESPN, hosting his own radio show, and catching lightning in a bottle with the publication of that ultimate best seller "Tuesdays with Morrie." If that were not enough, Albom is also a versatile musician and composer. Albom also proved, however, that such multi-tasking could have its price. He became the center of a fabrication controversy when he wrote a story about the NCAA basketball tournament anticipating events that turned out not to be true.

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Inspired by 25 Random Things on Facebook, here are 25 steps to writing short:
1. Keep a journal where you practice short writing.
2. Practice short writing on small surfaces:  post-it notes, index cards, the palm of your hand.
3. A list of 25 is NOT an example of short writing: It's long writing with 25 short parts -– which is cool.
4. The short bits make a long list more readable, in part because they generate white space, which pleases the eye.
5. Obey Strunk & White: "Omit needless words."
6. Beware: The infinite space on the Internet creates aerated prose.
7. The shorter the passage, the greater the value of each word.
8. Obey Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch: "Murder your darlings."
9. That said, every short passage should contain one gold coin, a reward for the reader.
10. Obey Donald Murray: "Brevity comes from selection, not compression."
11. Obey Chip Scanlan: "Focus, focus, focus."
12. Imagine a short piece from the get-go. Conceive a sonnet, not an epic.
13. Cut the weaker elements:  adverbs, passive constructions, strings of prepositional phrases, puffy Latinate words.
14. The more powerful the message, the shorter the sentence: "Jesus wept."
15. Don't just "dump" short messages: revise, polish, proof-read everything.
16. Try your hand at short literary forms: the haiku or the couplet.
17. Read, study, and collect great examples of short writing, everything from the diaries of Samuel Pepys to the Tweets of your favorite Twits.
18. The best place for an important word in a short passage is at the END.
19. Begin the story as close to the end as possible.
20. Food for thought: Study the prose in fortune cookies and on Valentine candy hearts.
21. Cut big, then small. Prune the dead branches before you shake out the dead leaves.
22. Obey Mark Twain: You may need more time, not less, to write something good and short.
23. Study and discuss this editorial: "They say only the good die young. Spanish dictator Francisco Franco died last night at the age of 83. Seems about right."
24. Write a mission statement for your short writing. Keep it short.
25.  Treat all short forms of journalism –- headline, caption, blurb, blog post –- as literary genres.

My friend Tom French loves Springsteen but hates the Super Bowl. This poses something of a moral dilemma for the Pulitzer Prize winning feature writer. Should he simply ignore the game in Tampa next Sunday and watch the halftime mini-concert? It turns out that Tom is no playa hater. He just hates the game.

But why? "The Super Bowl is the celebration of empty excess," he told me, "a celebration of consumerism. It's the least interesting of the big sporting events. It's a celebration of hype. Those two weeks leading up to the game are designed to whip up the hype. The Super Bowl is not about the players. It's an empty exercise in some of the worst of our instincts."

But, Tom, what about the great victory of the Tampa Bay Buccaneers over the nasty Oakland Raiders in 2003? What about Joe Namath's guarantee of victory in Super Bowl III? What about Lynn Swann's swan-dive of a catch? What about Tony Dungy becoming the first African-American coach to win the Big One? What about the New York Giants upsetting the 18-0 New England Patriots when Eli Manning escaped a swarm of defenders and threw a bomb that a receiver caught on top of his helmet? What about all those cool commercials? What about Janet Jackson's wardrobe malfunction, the flash seen round the world?

OK, team, I've just given you two decent story ideas you can write without traveling to Tampa to cover the game itself. You can find someone who hates the Super Bowl and explore that antagonism. You can find someone who has seen all the Super Bowls and extract their fondest or quirkiest memories.