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IN RECENT years most of the guidance on better writing in the Air Force has articulated a common theme: make it simple. Write with small words. Keep sentences short. Write the way you speak. Be informal. Write for your audience. Baloney! (Is that sufficiently short and simple?) Get the fire ready; I'm a heretic. If the nation and the Air Force want better writers, I believe they need a different approach. The current game plan is taking us in the wrong direction. Our society is losing the keys, to advanced civilization: progressive reading and writing skills. Now, if you're not interested in what I've got to say on this subject, stop here and read something else. No one reads anything unless he wants to (pleasure, curiosity) or needs to (profession, trade, business, personal welfare), a point I'll return to later. After pushing a pencil for the Air Force from the mid-1950s to the mid-1980s and from the squadron swamps to the Pentagon peaks, I've seen lots of briefings and brochures on how to write more effectively. Much of that guidance stressed simplified writing. And much of that advice came from ivory-tower types with little "combat time" when it comes to writing. My scar tissue says it ain't necessarily so; simpler is not always better. Why must we continue to write down? What's wrong with writing up? If grade-level literacy is declining, why should we steadily retreat instead of fighting to gain ground? As we continue to downgrade vocabulary, grammar, formality, accuracy, and other aspects of good writing, we can look forward to communicating with grunts and sign language. Consider where the nation is now. "We are creating a new nation of illiterates," says federal Department of Education official in a recent issue of Time.1 In an article entitled "The Illiteracy Blight," Publishers Weekly calls the situation a national crisis.2 One observer claims that nearly 60 million Americans can't read or write adequately.3 Evidence abounds, and there is a consensus we are in trouble. Why? Experience and logic tell me that we are emphasizing the wrong things. Why must writing be aimed at the fourth-grade level, or the sixth, or whatever? Why set limits? Why create "fog count" directives that stultify efforts to properly express ourselves? (The Air Force says, "Aim High," but don't try that with a pencil in your hand.) Let's get serious. If we want good writing, we will have to go about it the old-fashioned way--by working for it! By now some of you think I'm arguing the pedant's view: big words, fancy sentences, and lots of ostentatious obfuscation. Wrong! I'm calling for a return to freedom and progress in writing. I believe in using the right word, not necessarily the shortest or longest. The most accurate term is usually the best. If the word has three letters and best represents what you want to say, use it! But if a bigger word more precisely or more powerfully communicates your thought, use it! Using the shorter word just because it's shorter is losing sight of your writing objective. Complicated subject matter isn't going to get simple by being addressed via a bunch of one-syllable words--it's only going to get screwed up. A good writer also needs a synonym now and then to avoid repetition. A healthy vocabulary equals power, communicative power. Just as a great painter uses a variety of colors and strokes to create a meaningful image, the writer well armed with words and phrases can convey messages that move the reader. The dictionary is full of evocative words, and we ought to use them! Using a more precise word can save time by taking the place of a phrase or sentence, thereby making the communication both sharper and shorter. If I write "anorak" instead of "a heavy jacket of a bulky material, with a hood, worn in very cold climates," haven't I saved words? As to the argument that a reader may not understand the word anorok, let him look it up! Better communication is a two-way street. Readers have responsibilities, too. Why are we so quick to blame the writer when a reader doesn't know a word's meaning? Anorak is used in a novel by an author who sells books just as Elvis Presley sold records.4 Or how about the eminent news magazine that wasn't afraid to use the term morganatic recently to describe the marriage of Wallis Simpson to the Duke of Windsor?5 Just as short, simple words aren't always best, staccato sentences aren't always going to get the job done right. Sentences may need to have more than three or four words. I don't like to read something written with short, choppy words and sentences; it often resembles a telegram or a computer printout, with the loss in subtle human communication characteristics of such transmission modes. Complex objects and thoughts often require complex words and sentences. Why should that surprise or aggravate us? Society and the Air Force are becoming increasingly sophisticated. Do we really think that complicated equipment and systems can be managed with rudimentary language skills? If our people can't read and write adequately, how can we handle F-15s and advanced logistics systems? Legal documents concerned with subtle points of law are written the way they are because they must be as precise and unequivocal as possible, not because lawyers and jurists are playing games. The long and the short of the writing function ought to be articulated as follows: use the right words and sentences--even if they're long rather than short. The chiefs, colonels, and generals know that. When the hucksters tell you that you have to straighten out the senior folks and get them to write at the fourth-grade level, just remember that the general got to be a general by writing the way he or she does. We also are advised to write for our audience. Well, as I've already asserted, readers need to hold up their end, too. There are only two reasons why you or I have ever read anything: interest and need. In neither case must the writer compromise his meaning because of possible deficiencies in potential readers. The writer's primary allegiance is to his subject, not his readers. (How's that for heresy?) If the author is preparing a nursery rhyme, common words are consistent and appropriate. If the subject is the metaphysical connotations of Nietzsche's Zarathustra, grab your reference books. My experience is that good writing requires a degree of loyalty to the subject. As for the reader, if he picks up something for pleasure, he's on his own. If the material is pertinent to his job or personal life, he ought to know the terms and concepts. We may have our thinking backward when we insist the writer is wrong because the reader doesn't understand. Before you light the fagots at my feet, let me say that I'm not advocating overwriting. What I'm suggesting is that we shouldn't underwrite, either. Furthermore, I do not deny that some Air Force writing needs to be simplified, only that all of it can or should be. To cite just one example, an Air Force writing manual (a good one, for the most part) criticizes the following sentence: "Request this office be notified when your activity's supply of paper clips falls below the 30-day level." The manual suggests that "Let us know when you need more paper clips" would have been better.6 I don't agree. First, the original sentence is close enough (see Rule 2 in the attached guide). Rewriting a memo concerning paper clips is wasting time. There isn't that much wrong with the original version. (Don't call me a pedant if you are the kind of nitpicker who would revise a reasonably comprehensible sentence!) Second, the revision doesn't pass the supidity test (see Rule 1). Do we actually believe that folks won't ask for more paper clips when they need them unless we send them such a memo? The revised memo is rhetorical, a waste of time, because it only states what the reader already knows. Thus, the third problem with the rewrite is the most serious and clearly illustrates my point. The revision significantly changes the message, making the communication less precise and therefore less informative (see Rule 4). Who defines "need" in the second version? Sergeant Bilko may order a two-year supply of paper clips, just to be safe or for trading, even though he has enough on hand to last six months. The point is that the original version said something, contained useful information, and therefore was worth preparing. By trying to be simple and informal, the revision lost sight of the message to be transmitted. Another so-called good writing tip that disturbs me is the suggestion that we should write the way we speak. I don't enjoy conversations laced with "you know," "like, man," and "I mean," so I certainly don't want to read such drivel. If many of us were to write the same way we speak, the written word would constitute a new Tower of Babel. Speakers use mannerisms, tone, body language, inflection, and other devices to help convey the message. Writers function in a sterile environment. The two modes of communication are distinctly different. As the eighteenth-century French naturalist Buffon observed, "Those who write as they speak, however well they speak, write badly."7 Having criticized some of the current guidance on better writing, I have included with this article some suggestions of my own for improving Air Force prose. Good writing, I believe, has three characteristics: substance (important information, serious statements--worth); clarity (organized, sequential words and sentences, using precise and meaningful words--communication); and force (style, originality, format--impact). And you won't acquire these writing skills by trying to reduce your prose to the "see-Jane-run" level. As for winning the paper wars in the Air Force, the attached guide briefly outlines some tips (learned the hard way!) that I've used and added to over many years of bluesuit writing and teaching. These 10 rules may help you. Try them; you'll like them. And concentrate on the subject when you write. We need readers who are more erudite, not writers who are less literate! |
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The Heretic's Guide to Better
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