A framework for becoming a better writer

A means to an end. (Telegrapher’s keyboard, Internet Archive Book Images)

When I was in fourth grade, a teacher asked me how I felt about writing.

“I don’t like it,” I said. “It makes my hands hurt.”

She went on to explain that what she meant by writing was not the physical act of marking the page, but “making up stories.” This, I liked just fine.

I think of this conversation often for two reasons. First, it reminds me that my students don’t necessarily see the world the way I do. They may even have a different definition of the words we’re using.

And second, it gives me an opportunity to consider a student’s perspective on writing, specifically. Even if they understand that by writing, we mean composition and not transcription, could they still be working from a limited definition?

Many students (and adults) do, in fact, dislike writing. They are anxious about organizing their ideas and self-conscious about their work. But many of these same individuals relish the opportunity to make a well-timed joke, debate arcane aspects of their favorite fandoms, and advocate for a cause they care about. They have a desire to express their point of view.

What if we offer a more expansive definition of writing? We could define writing as “recording your ideas, in words, in any medium.”

Songwriting, playwriting, screenwriting, speechwriting — it’s all writing. Texting is certainly writing, unless your so-called text consists solely of emojis — you’ve got me there. But even extemporaneous speech could be considered writing if we go to the effort to make an audio or video recording or transcription.

If to write is to record our ideas in words, then what makes our writing effective?

I would argue that the effectiveness of our writing can be measured by the extent to which our ideas can be received and understood by others.

If I want to make people laugh with a tweet I’ve written, I have to deeply understand the conventions of Twitter and my audience there. If I want to get an A on a paper about the circumstances that led to World War I, I must have a strong command of the conventions of academic writing and an awareness of what my teacher is looking for.

For people to understand me, I have to be able to communicate clearly, structuring my language that is appropriate to the medium I’ve chosen.

How do we learn the conventions of the medium we’re working in? We study what the most successful communicators have done and work to emulate them.

If we approach the standard language arts curriculum from this framework, everything falls into place. We write to be understood, and we study the work of others in order to learn how to do this. Vocabulary, spelling, mechanics, literary analysis — everything comes into play.

This “what’s in it for me” approach can help reluctant writers to see the benefit of improving their writing. But there’s a sneaky bonus in there: As we read and listen to the ideas of others, we are also expanding our world. We grow in our ability to empathize with the experiences and perspectives of others, whether or not we agree with their views. Our developing empathy improves our own ability to put our ideas across in a way that they can be better received.

Words, unique to the human experience, can directly connect one mind with another across time and space. It behooves everyone to master the skill of using words effectively — no writer’s cramp required.