THISISABORZOIBOOK

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v3.1

ToJohn,Jill,andJake

Thesubjectisthereonlybythegraceoftheauthor’slanguage.

—JoyceCarolOates

PROLOGUE

This is a book of first steps. Their meaning will change as yourexperience changes. This book contains the bones of many argumentsand observations—a vertebra here, a mandible there—but the wholeskeletoniswhatyoumakeofit.You’llfindasmuchaboutthoughtandperception here as you will about language. There are no rules, onlyexperiments.Thepremiseof this book is thatmost of the receivedwisdomabout

how writing works is not only wrong but harmful. This is not anassumption.It’saconclusion.Like most received wisdom, what people think they know about

writingworksinsubtle,subterraneanways.Forsomereason,weseemtobelievemost strongly in the stuff that gets intoourheadswithoutourknowing or remembering how it got there. What we think we knowabout writing sounds plausible. It confirms our generally false ideasaboutcreativityandgenius.Butnoneofthismeansit’strue.WhatI’velearnedaboutwritingI’velearnedbytrialanderror,which

is how most writers have learned. I had to overcome my academictraining,whichtaughtmetowriteinawaythatwasuselesstome(andalmost everyone else). Unlearningwhat I learned in college—teachingmyself to write well—is the basis of what I know. So is a lifetime ofreadingandaloveoflanguage.Therestcomesfromyearsofwritingandteaching writing. The ideas and suggestions in this book have beentestedagainandagain,byme,bymystudents,andbywriterswhohavefiguredthesethingsoutforthemselves.A couple of cautions before you begin. This book isn’t meant to

replace the received wisdom. “Received” means untested, untried,repeatedoutofhabit.Everything inthisbookismeant tobetestedalloveragain,byyou.Youdecidewhatworksforyou.Thisisperhapsthemost important thing I have to say. There’s no gospel here, no

orthodoxy,nodogma.Partofthestruggleinlearningtowriteislearningto ignorewhat isn’tuseful toyouandpayattention towhat is. If thatmeansarguingwithmeasyoureadthisbook,sobeit.This is a book full of starting points. Perhaps they’ll help you findenoughclarityinyourownmindandyourownwritingtodiscoverwhatitmeanstowrite.Idon’tmean“writethewayIdo”or“writethewaytheydo.”Imean“writethewayyoudo.”Here’sastartingpoint.Youmayhavenoideawhatwayyouwrite.Ihopethisbookwillhelpyoufindout.

Note:Iusetheword“piece”alot.Itmeanswhateveryou’rewriting,whateverthegenre,whateverthelength.

Contents

CoverTitlePageCopyrightDedicationEpigraph

PrologueFirstPage

AcknowledgmentsANoteAbouttheAuthorOtherBooksbyThisAuthor

Here,inshort,iswhatIwanttotellyou.Knowwhateachsentencesays,Whatitdoesn’tsay,Andwhatitimplies.Ofthese,thehardestisknowingwhateachsentenceactuallysays.

Atfirst,itwillhelptomakeshortsentences,Shortenoughtofeelthevariationsinlength.Leavespacebetweenthemforthethingsthatwordscan’treallysay.

Payattentiontorhythm,firstandlast.

Imagineitthisway:Onebyone,eachsentencetakesthestage.Itsaystheverythingitcomesintoexistencetosay.Thenitleavesthestage.Itdoesn’thelpthenextoneuporthepreviousonedown.Itdoesn’twavetoitsfriendsintheaudienceOrpausetobeacknowledgedorapplauded.Itdoesn’ttalkaboutwhatit’ssaying.Itsimplysaysitspieceandleavesthestage.

Thisisn’tthewholeartofwritingwell.Itisn’tevenmostofit.Butit’saplacetobegin,andtobeginfromagainandagain.

Shortsentencesaren’thardtomake.Thedifficultyisforcingyourselftokeepthemshort.

Thereareinnumerablewaystowritebadly.Theusualwayismakingsentencesthatdon’tsaywhatyouthinktheydo.Whichcanthereaderpossiblybelieve?Yoursentencesoryou?

Theonlylinkbetweenyouandthereaderisthesentenceyou’remaking.There’snosignofyourintentionapartfromthesentencesthemselves,Andevery sentencehas itsownmotives, itsowncommitments,Quiteapartfromyours.

Itadheres toasetofrules—grammar,syntax, thehistoryandcustomsofthelanguage,aworldofechoesandallusionsandsocialcues—thatpaynoheedtoyourintentions,Ifyoudon’theedthoserules.

It’shardtopayattentiontowhatyourwordsareactuallysaying.Asopposedtowhatyoumeantosayorwhatyouthinkthey’resaying.Knowingwhatyou’retryingtosayisalwaysimportant.Butknowingwhatyou’veactuallysaidiscrucial.It’seasiertotellwhatyou’resayinginashortsentence.

You’vebeen taught tobelieve that short sentencesarechildish,Merelyafirststeptowardwritinglongersentences.

You’d like to think your education has carried you well past shortsentences.

Butyou’vebeendeliveredintoawildernessof falseassumptionsandbadhabits, A desert of jargon andweak constructions, a land of linguisticbarbarism,Aplacewhereit’snearlyimpossibletowritewithclarityordirectness,Withoutclichésormeaninglessphrases.

True,youcansoundquitegrown-up,quiteauthoritative,inthemannerofcollegeprofessorsandjournalistsandexpertsineveryfield.

(Youmaybeacollegeprofessor,ajournalist,oranexpertinsomefield.)Howwelldotheywrite?

Howmuchdoyouenjoyreadingthem?

You’llmakelongsentencesagain,butthey’llbeshortsentencesatheart.

Sentenceslisteningforthesilencearoundthem.Listeningfortheirownpulse.

Here’sanexperiment:Payattentiontoallthenoiseinyourheadasyougoaboutwriting.

Muchof it iswhatyoualreadyknowaboutwriting,which includes:Thevoicesofformerteachers,usuallyutteringrules.

Ruleslike,“Don’tbeginsentenceswith‘and.’”(It’sokay.Youcanbeginsentenceswith“and.”)Thethingseverybodyknowsorassumesaboutwritersandhowtheywork,Whetherthey’retrueornot.

Thethingsyoufeelyoumustormustn’tdo,withoutreallyknowingwhy.Thethingsthatmakeyouwonder,“AmIallowedto…?”(Yes,you’reallowedto.Notforeverandalways,butuntilyoudecideforyourselfwhatworksandwhatdoesn’t.)

Write these things down—the contents of the noise in your head as youwrite.

Youcan’treviseordiscardwhatyoudon’tconsciouslyrecognize.

Theseassumptionsandprohibitionsandobligationsaretheimprintofyoureducationandthecultureyoulivein.

Distrustthem.

Whatyoudon’tknowaboutwriting isalsoa formofknowledge, thoughmuchhardertograsp.

Trytodiscerntheshapeofwhatyoudon’tknowandwhyyoudon’tknowit,Wheneveryougetaglimpseofyourignorance.

Don’tfearitorbeembarrassedbyit.Acknowledgeit.Whatyoudon’tknowandwhyyoudon’tknowitareinformationtoo.

Let’smakeasimplelistfromtheprecedinglines:

1.Whatyou’vebeentaught.2.Whatyouassumeistruebecauseyou’vehearditrepeatedbyothers.3.Whatyoufeel,nomatterhowsubtle.4.Whatyoudon’tknow.5.Whatyoulearnfromyourownexperience.

Thesearethewaysweknownearlyeverythingabouttheworldaroundus.Keeptheminmind,especiallywhenyoubegintothinkaboutwhattowriteandhowtowriteaboutit.

Let’sthinkaboutwhatyoualreadyknow.

Inyourhead,you’llprobablyfindtwomodelsforwriting.One is the familiarmodel taught inhighschoolandcollege—amatterofoutlinesanddraftsandtransitionsandtopicsentencesandargument.

The othermodel is its antithesis—theway poets and novelists are oftenthoughttowrite.Wordsusedtodescribethissecondmodelinclude“genius,”“inspiration,”“flow,”and“natural,”sometimeseven“organic.”

Bothmodelsareuseless.Ishouldqualifythatsentence.Bothmodelsarecompletelyuseless.

Looselylinkedtothesemodelsaretwoassumptions:

1. Many people assume there’s a correlation between sentencelengthandthesophisticationorcomplexityofanideaorthought—evenintelligencegenerally.Thereisn’t.

2.Manypeopleassumethere’sacorrelationbetweenthereader’sexperiencewhilereadingandthewriter’sexperiencewhilewriting—her state of mind, her ease or difficulty in putting wordstogether.Thereisn’t.

Youcansaysmart,interesting,complicatedthingsusingshortsentences.Howlongisagoodidea?Doesitbecomelessgoodifit’sexpressedintwosentencesinsteadofone?

Learntodistrustwordslike“genius,”“inspiration,”“flow,”“natural,”and“organic”whenyouthinkaboutyourwork.

(Don’tusethemwhenyoutalkaboutiteither.)TheyhavenothingtodowithwritingAndeverythingtodowithveneratingwriters.

Whyshortsentences?They’llsoundstrangeforawhileuntilyoucanhearwhatthey’recapableof.

Buttheycarryyoubacktoaproseyoucancontrol,To a stage in your educationwhen your diction—your vocabulary—wasundercontroltoo.

Shortsentencesmakeiteasiertoexaminethepropertiesofthesentence.(Learntodiagramsentences.It’seasy.)Theyhelpeliminatetransitions.Theymakeambiguitylesslikelyandeasiertodetect.

There’s nothing wrong with well-made, strongly constructed, purposefullongsentences.

Butlongsentencesoftentendtocollapseorbreakdownorbecomeopaqueortripovertheirawkwardness.

They’repastedtogetherwithfalsesyntaxAndrelyonwordslike“with”and“as”tolengthenthesentence.

They’reshortonverbs,weakinsyntacticvigor,Fulloffloating,unattachedphrases,oftenoutofposition.Andworse—theendofthesentencecommonlyforgetsitsbeginning,Asifthesentencewerealong,wearyroadtothewrongplace.

Writingshortsentencesrestoresclarity,thedirectnessofsubjectandverb.Itforcesyoutodiscardthestrongelementsoflongsentences,Likerelativepronounsandsubordinateclauses,Andtheweakonesaswell:Prepositionalchains,passiveconstructions,anddependentphrases.

Writingshort sentenceswillhelpyouwrite strong,balancedsentencesofanylength.Strong, lengthy sentencesare really just strong, short sentences joined invariousways.

Youdon’thavetowriteshortsentencesforever.OnlyuntilyoufindacompellingreasonforalongsentenceThat’sasclearanddirectasashortsentence.You’llbetemptedtosay,“Butshortsentencessoundsochoppy.”Onlyastringofchoppysentencessoundschoppy.Thinkaboutvariationandrhythm,Therhythmcreatedbytwoor threesentencesworkingtogether,Rhythmassoundandechobutalsorhythmasplacement.Learntousethepositionofasentence,thepositionofaword—First?last?—asanintensifier,anaccentinitself.Canashortsentencesoundlikeaharbinger?Anadumbration?Canitsoundlikearepriseoracoda?Listen.

Howshortisshort?Thatdependsonthelengthofthesentencesyou’reusedtowriting.Oneway to keep sentences short is to keep the space between them as

emptyaspossible.Idon’tmeanthespacebetweentheperiodattheendofonesentenceandthefirstwordofthenext.Imeanthespacebetweentheperiodandthesubjectofthenextsentence.Thatspaceoftengetsfilledwithunnecessarywords.Mostsentencesneednopreamble—orpostlude.

It’sperfectlypossibletomakewretchedshortsentences.But it’s hard to go on making them for long because they sound sowretchedAndbecauseit’seasytofixthem.Makingthemlongerisnotthewaytofixthem.

Tomakeshortsentences,youneedtoremoveeveryunnecessaryword.Yourideaofnecessarywillchangeasyourexperiencechanges.The fact thatyou’ve includedaword in thesentenceyou’remakingSaysnothingaboutitsnecessity.Seewhichwordsthesentencecanlivewithout,Nomatterhowinconspicuoustheyare.Everywordisoptionaluntilitprovestobeessential,Something you can only determine by removingwords one by one Andseeingwhat’slostorgained.Listen for the sentence that’s revealed as you remove one word afteranother.You’llheartheimprovementwhenyoufindit.Try,forinstance,removingtheword“the.”Seewhenthesentencecandowithoutitandwhenitcan’t.

Without extraneous words or phrases or clauses, there will be room forimplication.

Thelongerthesentence,thelessit’sabletoimply,Andwritingbyimplicationshouldbeoneofyourgoals.

Implicationisalmostnonexistentintheprosethatsurroundsyou,Theproseoflaw,science,business,journalism,andmostacademicfields.Itwasnonexistentinthewayyouweretaughttowrite.Thatmeansyoudon’tknowhowtouseoneofawriter’smost importanttools: The ability to suggestmore than the words seem to allow, Theabilitytospeaktothereaderinsilence.

Whyarewetalkingaboutsentences?Why not talk about thework as awhole, about shape, form, genre, thebook,thefeaturestory,theprofile,eventheparagraph?

Theanswerissimple.Yourjobasawriterismakingsentences.Mostofyourtimewillbespentmakingsentencesinyourhead.Inyourhead.Didnooneevertellyouthis?Thatisthewriter’slife.Neverimagineyou’veleftthelevelofthesentencebehind.

Mostofthesentencesyoumakewillneedtobekilled.Therestwillneedtobefixed.Thiswillbetrueforalongtime.Thehardpartnowisdecidingwhichtokillandwhichtofixandhowtofixthem.

Thiswillgetmuch,mucheasier,butthedecisionmakingwillneverend.

Awriter’srealworkistheendlesswinnowingofsentences,Therelentlessexplorationofpossibilities,

Theeffort,overandoveragain,toseeinwhatyoustartedouttosayThepossibilityofsayingsomethingyoudidn’tknowyoucould.

Shape, form, structure, genre, thewhole—thesehave awayof clarifyingthemselveswhensentencesbecomeclear.

Onceyoucanactuallyseeyourthoughtsandperceptions,It’s surprising how easy it is to arrange them or discover theirarrangement.

Thisalwayscomesasarevelation.

Whatwe’reworkingonprecedesgenre.Forourpurposes,genreismeaningless.It’samethodofshelvingbooksandawardingprizes.

Everyformofwritingturnstheworldintolanguage.Fictionandnonfictionresembleeachother farmorecloselythantheydoanyactualevent.

Theirtechniquesareessentiallythesame,apartfromsheerinvention.Thisisnottodisparageaccuracy,soundresearch,andimpartiality.Thosearewonderfultoolsfornovelists.

I’minterestedinthegenreofthesentence,Thegenrethat’salwaysoverlooked.Manywritersseemtobelieveweliveinauniverseofwell-definedliteraryforms: The memoir, the profile, the feature, the first novel, the bookproposal,Alistofpredetermined,prescriptivelinguisticshapes

Heapedonawagonandheadedtomarket.

WritersworryabouttheseshapesandtheirdictatesLongbeforethey’reabletomakesentencesworthreading.Theyaspiretobenaturewriters,Forgettingthatnature,asasubject,isonlyasvalidasyourwritingmakesit.

They feel the formal burdenof thememoir pressingupon them,Thoughthere’snosuchthing.

Theybelievethatwritingproseisasformulaicaswritingascreenplay,Asruledasasonnet.

Theybelievethegenrethey’vechosenDeterminesthewaytheyshouldwrite,Completewitharoadmap,ifonlytheycouldfindit.

Butgenresaremerelyoutlinesbyanothername.Bettertobediscoveringwhat’sworthdiscovering,Noticingwhatyounotice,And putting it into sentences that, from the very beginning, Open thereader’strustandcuriosity,Creating a willingness in the reader to see what you’ve discovered, Nomatterwhatgenreyoucallit.Or,betteryet,makethereaderforgetaboutgenrecompletely.

Ifyoumakestrong,supplesentences,Improvise,understandandexploityourmistakes,Keepyourselfopentothepossibilitieseachsentencecreates,Keepyourselfopentothoughtitself,Andreadlikeawriter,Youcanwriteinanyform.

Youalreadypossesssomeimportantassets.Youknowhowtotalk.Howtoread.And,presumably,howtolisten.You’vegrownupinlanguage.Youhavetheevidenceofyoursenses.Theupwellingofyouremotions.Thepersistentflowofthoughtsthroughyourmind.Thehabitoftalkingtoyourselforstagingconversationsinyourhead.Imaginationandmemory.

Withluck,youwerereadaloudtoasachild.SoyouknowhowsentencessoundwhenreadaloudAnd how stories are shaped and a great deal about rhythm, Almost asmuchasyoudidwhenyouweretenyearsold.You may even have the capacity of knowing what interests you— Or,betteryet,knowinghowtodetectwhatinterestsyou.

You’realsotwopeople,writerandreader.Thisisatremendousasset.

Youcanonlybecomeabetterwriterbybecomingabetterreader.Youhavefarmoreexperienceasareaderthanyoudoasawriter.You’vereadmillionsofwordsarrangedbyotherwriters.Howmanysentenceshaveyoumadesofar?

But you’ve been taught to read in a way that tells you almost nothingabouthowtowriteOrwhat’sreallytobefoundinthebooksyouread.

Youweretaughtthatreadingisextraction.

Youlearnedtogathersomethingcalledmeaningfromwhatyouread,AsifthewordsthemselvesweremerelysmokesignalsBlowingawayinthebreeze,leavingatraceofcognitioninthebrain.You’vebeentaught,too,thatwritingisthebusinessofdepositingmeaningtobeextracted later,Thata sentence is the transcriptionofa thought,thehuskofanidea,Valuableonlyforwhatittransmitsorcontains,notforwhatitis.You’vebeentaughttooverlookthecharacteroftheproseinfrontofyouinordertogetatitsmeaning.Youoverlook the shapeof the sentence itself for themeaning it contains,Whichmeansthatwhileyouwerereading,AllthosemillionsofwordspassedbyWithoutteachingyouhowtomakesentences.

Wetakeforgranted,asapremisebarelyworthexamining,thatchangingthewordsinasentence—eventheorderofwords—musthaveaneffectonitsmeaning.Andyetwe thinkand readandwrite as if the fit between languageandmeaning were approximate, As though many different sentences werecapableofmeaningthesamething.

Ourconventionalideaofmeaningissomethinglike,“whatcanberestated.”Itmeansasummary.Itmeans“inotherwords.”

Youknowhowtotheorizeandsummarize,Howtoidentifyideologiesinthetextsyouread.Youdoverywellonthereadingcomprehensionportionofthetest.ButnoonesaidawordaboutfollowingatrailofcommonsenseThroughtheunderbrushofthesentencesthemselves.Nooneshowedyoutheaffinitiesatworkamongthosethicketsof inkOrexplainedthatthewholelifeofthelanguageLiesinthesolidityofthesentenceandcannotbeextracted.

Writingwellandreadingwellmeanpayingattention toall the subtletiesembodiedinasentenceInitsexactformandnoother.

Howmanysubtleties?Whatkinds?Thatdependsonhowperceptiveyoubecome.

No twosentencesare the sameunless they’reexactly the same,word forword.(And,inalifetimeofwriting,it’sunlikelyyou’lleverwritethesamesentencetwice.)

Any variation in wording changes the nuances that emanate from the

sentence.Discoveringthosenuances,andusingthem,arepartsofthewriter’sjob.We’lldiscoverafewshortly.

Butfirst,whatifmeaningisn’tthesolepurposeofthesentence?Whatifit’sonlythechiefattributeamongmany,atool,amongothers,thathelpsthewritershapeorrevisethesentence?Whatifthevirtue,thevalue,ofthesentenceisthesentenceitselfandnotitsextractablemeaning?Whatifyouwroteasthoughsentencescan’tbesummarized?What ifyouvalueeveryoneofasentence’sattributesandnotmerely itsmeaning?

Strangelyenough,thisishowyoureadwhenyouwereachild.Childrenreadrepetitivelyandwithincredibleexactitude.Theydemandtheverysentence—wordforword—andnoother.Themeaning of the sentence is never a substitute for the sentence itself,Nottoasix-year-old.

Thisisstillanexcellentwaytoread.

Thepurposeofasentenceistosaywhatithastosaybutalsotobeitself,Notmerelyasubstratefortheextractionofmeaning.

Thewordsinasentencehaveadegreeofspecificityorconcreteness.Theyhavecomplexhistories.Theyderivefromdensecontexts—literature,culture,theworldsofwork.They’vebeenshapedbycenturiesofwriting,Centuriesofutterancebylivinghumanbeings.Theyresonatewiththeghostsofalltheirearlierforms.

Thesentenceitselfhasarhythm.

Ithasvelocity.

ItusesmetaphorandsimileOr hyperbole or metonymy or alliteration or internal rhyme or one ofhundredsofotherrhetoricaldevices.

Ithelpsdefine thedramaticgesture thatyou—thewriter—aremaking inthepiece.

Itstirsorgratifiesthereader’sexpectations,onmanylevels.Itidentifiesthereader.Itgivesthereaderpause.Itnamestheworld,usingtheactualnamestheworldalreadycontains.Perhapsitrenamestheworld.Andthisisonlythebeginning.You’rethecuratorofallthesequalitiesinthesentencesyoumake,Whichlietherealmostunnoticed

Ifyou’reinterestedonlyinextractingordepositingmeaning.

Yourtaskisn’tmerelytowritewiththesequalitiesinmind.It’storeadwiththeminmindtoo,You’relearningtowrite,gatheringmaterialstowriteFromeverythingyoureadaswellaseverythingyouwriteAndfromeverythingyounoticeintheworldaroundyou.Learningtowritebeginsanywhere,atanytimeinlife.

There’sanothertroublewithmeaning.We’vebeentaughttobelieveitcomesneartheend.As if the job of all those sentences were to ferry us along to the placewheremeaningisenacted—to“thepoint,”

Justbeforetheconclusion,Whichrestates“thepoint.”

Thisisespeciallytrueintheschoolmodelofwriting.Rememberthepapersyouwrote?

Tryingtosavethatonegoodideatilltheveryend?Hoping to create the illusion that it followed logically from thepreviousparagraphs?

Youwerestallinguntilyouhadtenpages.

Much of what’s taught under the name of expository writing could becalled“TheAnxietyofSequence.”

Itspremiseisthis:Togetwhereyou’regoing,youhavetobegin in just therightplaceAndtaketheproperpath,

Whichdependsonknowingwhereyouplantoconclude.

ThisislikenotknowingwheretobeginajourneyUntilyoudecidewhereyouwantittoend.Begininthewrongplace,makethewrongturn,Andthere’snogettingwhereyouwanttogo.

Whynotbeginwhereyoualreadyare?Isthereonlytheonewaytogetwhereyou’regoing?

YouweretaughtinschoolthateachsentenceRestsonall theothers likea singlecard inahouseof cards,Acarefullyconstructedhouseoflogic,

Fragileandeasilydislodged.

That’sonereasonschoolpapersoftenbeginwithseveralfalsestarts.ThepieceproceedsafterthethirdintroductoryparagraphAndusuallyhastwoconclusions.

You were taught so much about outlining and transitions and theappearanceoflogic.

PerhapsyoufacethedifficultiesyoudoBecauseyouweretaughtsomuchaboutoutlining

Andtransitionsandtheappearanceoflogic.

Youwere given amodel of writing inwhich the sentences, Inextricablyoverlapping,seamlesslytransitioning,

Pointforwardtowardtheconclusionthatjustifiestheirexistence.

InschoolyoulearnedtowriteasifthereaderWereinconstantdangerofgettinglost,AproblemyouweretaughttosolvenotbywritingclearlyButbyshacklingyoursentencesandparagraphstogether.

Thinkabouttransitions.Rememberhowitgoes?Lateintheparagraphyouprepareforthetransitiontothenextparagraph—Thegreatleapoverthevoid,acrossthatyawningindentation.

Youweretaughttheartoftheflyingtrapeze,Butnothowtowrite.

Whywereyoutaughttodwellontransitions?Itwasassumedthatyoucan’twriteclearlyAndthatevenifyoucouldwriteclearly,Thereaderneedsahandrailthroughyourprose.Whatdoesthatsayaboutthereader?Thatthereaderisessentiallypassiveandinneedofconstantherding.

Areyouthatkindofreader?Doyoutumble,uncomprehending,throughthegapsbetweenparagraphs?Doyoutripoverellipses?Do you require constant supervision while walking down corridors ofprose?

Do you lose the writer’s train of thought unless you’re reminded of itconstantly?

Nosentencecanaffordtobemerelytransitional.Ifyou’vewrittenclearly—Andyouknowwhatyou’vesaidandimpliedAssurelyasyouknowwhatyouhaven’tsaid—ThereaderwillnevergetlostreadingyourproseOrhavetroublefollowingyouwithouttransitions.AreaderislikeliertogetlostcuttinghiswaythroughThejungleoftransitionsthancrossingthegapofawell-madeellipsis.

Andwhatabouttopicsentences?Their only purpose is to announce the subject of the paragraph you’reabouttoread,Asifyou’dneverfigureitoutotherwise.In journalism, the equivalent of the topic sentence is the notorious “nutgraf,”Aparagraphthattellsyouthecontentofthearticleyou’reabouttoread,Asifyoucouldn’tproceedwithoutaprécis.

The obsession with transition negates a basic truth about writing, Amagicaltruth.Youcangetanywherefromanywhere,Alwaysandalmostinstantly.ThegapbetweensentencesissometimesapauseforbreathAndsometimesanechoingvoid.Andifyoucangetanywherefromanywhere,

YoucanstartanywhereAndendanywhere.Thereisnosinglenecessaryorder.

Here’sanotherbasictruth.Proseisn’tvalidatedbyaterminalmeaning.Ifyoulovetoread—assurelyyoumust—youlovebeingwhereveryoufindyourselfinthebookyou’rereading,Happytobeinthepresenceofeverysentenceas itpassesby,Notbidingyour timeuntil themeaning comesalong.

Writingisn’taconveyerbeltbearingthereaderto“thepoint”attheendofthepiece,wherethemeaningwillberevealed.

Goodwritingissignificanteverywhere,Delightfuleverywhere.

Thetransitionsyouuseshouldexist forthe loveof transition,Toemployandhonorourabidingaffection

For the turn that so often takes place in our reading, The turnwhen thestorychangesorredirectsitself.

Theyrecallthemoment,aschildren,whenwecameuponthephrase“Andthenoneday.”

Youknowexactlyhowthosefourwordsfeel.Youknowexactlywhattheydo.Whenyougetlostinyourwriting,rememberthem.Don’tusethem:thinkaboutthepossibilitiestheycontain.Theabilitytogatherandredirect,Toriseabovetheleveloftheproseandlookaround,Asifyouwerestandinginacrow’snestLookingoutoveraseaofwords,Detectingashiftinthewind,

Achangeinthecurrent,Anewimpetusinyourexpectations,Andpointingitouttothereader.

That’satransition.YouknewhowitworkedandfeltWhenyouwerebarelyoldenoughtoread.

ThetransitionsyouweretaughtinschoolaremerelyThe nervous stitching together of sentences and paragraphs, A cross-hatchingofself-reference.

The syntactic result of all that connecting and transitioning— Linkingsentencesandparagraphstoeachother—

Istheverystuffyoucutawayinordertowrite

ShortsentencesAndmakeyourselfintelligibleagain.

The extra space you feel between short sentences ismostly Themissingapparatusoftransitionandconnection.

Theanxietyabouttransitionisn’tcausedonlybyTheprospectofareaderlosingherwaybetweenparagraphs.

It’salsocausedbytheperiodattheendofasentence,Asiftheperiodmarksaboundaryofcomprehension.Thisisoneofthewayslongsentenceshappen.

Mostovercrowdedsentencescanbebrokenaparteasily.They became overcrowded because thewords and phrases and thoughtstheycontainSomehowseemedtobelongtogether

Intheshelterfoundtotheleftoftheperiod,The writer huddling words and phrases together into a single longsentence.

Related ideas coexisting side by side in two or three short sentencesDoesn’tseemtobegoodenough:

Theymustlivetogetherinthesameramshacklesentence.

Acrowdedsentencebetraysthewriter’sworrythatthereaderwon’tfollowtheproseIfpartedbyaperiod.

Italsobetraysthewriter’slassitude,The lazy shuffling of words together into a single sentence Instead ofdecidingwhatreallymatters

Andfindingtheverbalenergytoconstructseparatesentences.

A single crowded sentence means giving up all the possible relationsAmongshortersentences—thefriction,thetension,

Thestaticelectricitythatbuildsupbetweenthem.Asinglecrowdedsentencehasonlyitselftorelateto,Onlyanenervatedcommunionamongitsparts.

Whatelsewereyoulearning?Youwerelearningtododgethe“I”inyourprose—Andyettosoundcoywhenindulginginit,Asthoughyouwerewritinginfrontofamirror.

In writing nonfiction, were you ever asked to be the narrator, To speakdirectlytothereader,

Todecidewhatdramaticgestureyouweremakingandactuponit?Wereyouaskedtowriteinordertobeheard,tobelistenedto?Askedtowriteapiecethatmatteredtoyou?Wasthereeverasatisfactoryanswertothequestion,“WhyamItellingyouthis?”Besides“It’sdueonMonday”?

Youwere taught the perfect insincerity of thewriting exercise,Asked towritepiecesinwhichyoudidn’tandcouldn’tbelieve.

Youlearnedastrangeventriloquism,Sayingthingsyouwereimplicitlybeingaskedtosay,Knowingthatnoonewasreallylistening.Youwerebeing taught towrite as part of a transaction thathadAlmostnothingtodowithrealcommunication,

Learningtotreatthemakingofsentencesasbusywork,Agropingforwords,anactofdrudgery,A way of dressing up your meaning or your argument with almost noattention to the character of the words or sentences you were using,Unlessyouweretryingtoimitate

Thestiffandimpersonalmannerof“formal”prose.

Youwerealsolearningtodistrustthereaderandyourself.

Doyourememberfeeling,whenyouwerewritingapaperforschool,Thatyourvocabularywassteadilyshrinking?

Bytheend,thesamefewwordsseemedtobebuzzingAroundandaroundinyourhead,likeflieswearyoffeeding.That’sasymptomofboredom.Youwereboredfromthestartandforgoodreason.You were repeatedly asked to persuade or demonstrate or argue, Toreiterateorproveorreciteorexemplify,

Togothroughthemotionsofwriting.Youwerealmostneveraskedtonoticeorobserve,witnessortestify.You were being taught to manage the evidence gathered from otherauthoritiesInsteadofcultivatingyourown—Tosimulatelogic

ButnottowritesoclearlythatWhatyouweresayingseemedself-evident.

YouwerealsolearningtodivorceyourexperienceasareaderFromyourinexperienceasawriter.

Whenwhatyouneededmostwastotrustyourexperienceasareader.

Inschool,we’retaught—orweabsorbtheidea—thatwritingFlowsoutofthecreativewriterlikelavadowntheslopeofavolcano.

Anuninterruptiblestream.And yetwe study thework itself as if itsmolten fire hadhardened intorock.

Buttheworkisn’taneruptionfromtheauthor’sbrain.Itdoesn’tmerelyflow.And it remains more dynamic, as written—on the page—than we letourselvesimagine.

Weforgetsomethingfundamentalasweread:Everysentencecouldhavebeenotherwisebutisn’t.Wecan’tseeallthedecisionsthatledtothefinalshapeofthesentence.Butwecanseetheresidueofthosedecisions.

Ifyoulookatthemanuscriptsofwriters—Handwrittendraftspreservedinmuseumsandlibraries—Youcanoftenseethechangestheymadescribbledbetweenthelines.Whatyoucan’tseearethechangestheymadeintheirheadsbeforethosesentenceswereeverinscribed.

Ifyoucouldlookthroughthespacesbetweenthesentences,Throughthedoorintothewritingroom,intothatwriter’shead,You’dseethateverywordwasdifferentonceAndthatthewriterwascontemplatingAnincalculablenumberofdifferences,Feeling herway among the alternatives that presented themselves, Untilsettlinguponwords thatwere finallywrittendown,Then revisedoverand over again— Before they were printed, published, reprinted inanthologies,Andtreatedasthoughthey’dbeencarvedinstone.

Itwasallchangeuntiltheverylastsecond.

Every work of literature is the result of thousands and thousands ofdecisions.Intricate,minutedecisions—thiswordorthat,hereorwhere,noworlater,againandagain.It’sthelivingtissueofawriter’schoices,Notthefossilrecordofanancient,inspiredrace.Interrogatethosechoices.Imaginethereasonbehindeachsentence.Whyisitshapedjustthiswayandnotsomeotherway?Whythatchoiceofwords?

Whythatphrasing?Whythatrhythm?

The purpose of these questions isn’t to construct a theory, A hypothesisabouthoworwhythewriterwrites.

Thepurposeistohelpyounoticetheshapeofwhatliesbeforeyou.TheanswerstothesequestionsmaybenothingmorethanNoticingtheeffectofaskingthem.

ImaginereadingJaneAustenorJamesBaldwinandwondering,Whyisthesentencethiswayandnotanotherway?

Thatsoundslikeatrivialorunanswerablequestion.Until you imagine revising the sentence, giving it a different rhythm,Substitutingadifferentword,adifferentstructure.

ReviseasentencebyAustenorBaldwin?Whynot?It’sanexperiment.Tryit,andyoubegintoglimpsetheinherentnecessitybindingthewriter’schoicestogether.

Youbegintoseetheinvisibletensionsthatarcfromlinetoline,Paragraphtoparagraph,pagetopage.

Thesearen’tconstructionsoflogicormeaning.They’re echoes and responses,moments of candor and their aftereffects,Featsofresilienceandattention,soundandimpulsion.

“Whyisthissentencethisway?”

Findsitsanswerin“Whyisthatsentencethatway?”Whichsoundscircular,untilyoubegintounderstandhowEachvariationshapesandaffirmsothers,Creatingtherestraintofgoodprose,AbalanceofforcesandinternaltensionsThatmaketheminutesteffectsdiscernible.

Thisisn’tadescriptionofthewriter’sgeniusorinspirationorintention.Itdescribesthewayeverysentenceinfluenceseveryothersentence.Itdescribesthewriter’salertnesstohersentences.Thewayhersentenceslistentooneanother.

Prose is the residue, the consequence, of the writer’s choices, Choicesabouttheshapeofeachsentence

Andhoweachsentenceshapestheothers.

That’showweneedtoread,aswriters—Paying attention to the decisions embedded in each sentence, Decisionsvisibleinthestructureofthesentenceitself.

What youwrite—what you send out into the world to be read— Is theresidueofthechoicesanddecisionsyoumake.

Choicesanddecisionsyouareresponsiblefor.

Andwhatarethechoices?That’slikeasking,whatarethenuances?Itdependsonhowperceptiveyoubecome.

Thecentralfactofyoureducationisthis:You’ve been taught to believe that what you discover by thinking, Byexaminingyourownthoughtsandperceptions,

Isunimportantandunauthorized.

Asaresult,youfearthinking,Andyoudon’tbelieveyourthoughtsareinteresting,Becauseyouhaven’tlearnedtobeinterestedinthem.

There’sanotherpossibility:Youmaybeinterestedinyourthoughts,Buttheydon’thavemuchtodowithanythingyou’veeverbeenaskedtowrite.

Thesameistrueofwhatyounotice.Youdon’tevennoticewhatyounotice,Becausenothinginyoureducationhastaughtyouthatwhatyounoticeisimportant.

Andifyoudonoticesomethingthatinterestsyou,Itdoesn’thavemuchtodowithanythingyou’veeverbeenaskedtowrite.

Buteverythingyounoticeisimportant.Letmesaythatadifferentway:Ifyounoticesomething,it’sbecauseit’simportant.Butwhat younoticedepends onwhat you allowyourself tonotice,Andthatdependsonwhatyoufeelauthorized,permittedtonoticeInaworldwherewe’retrainedtodisregardourperceptions.

Who’s going to give you the authority to feel that what you notice isimportant?

Itwillhavetobeyou.Theauthorityyoufeelhasagreatdealtodowithhowyouwrite,andwhatyouwrite,WithyourabilitytopayattentiontotheshapeandmeaningofyourownthoughtsAndthevalueofyourownperceptions.

Beingawriterisanactofperpetualself-authorization.Nomatterwhoyouare.Onlyyoucanauthorizeyourself.Youdothatbywritingwell,byconstantdiscovery.

Nooneelsecanauthorizeyou.Noone.Thisdoesn’thappenovernight.It’sasgradualastheimprovementinyourwriting.

Startbylearningtorecognizewhatinterestsyou.Most people have been taught that what they notice doesn’t matter, Sotheyneverlearnhowtonotice,

Notevenwhatintereststhem.Or theyassume that theworldhasbeen completelypre-noticed,Alreadysiftedandsortedandcategorized

Byeveryoneelse,bypeoplewithrealauthority.And so they write about pre-authorized subjects in pre-authorizedlanguage.

WhydoIsaythis?Whenstudentsarefreetowriteanythingtheywant,What theywrite first are pieces theyhope look like something they sawpublishedsomewhereAboutsubjectstheybelievearepre-authorized

BecausesomeonehasalreadywrittenaboutthemIn pieces they hoped looked like something they saw publishedsomewhere.

Afirstpieceofthatkindisatacitwayoftakingshelterundertheauthorityofsomeoneelse’sperceptions.

It’s also away of saying, “I know you’re not really interested inwhat Ithinkornotice.”

Butthat’stheverythingthereaderisinterestedinIfyoursentencesallowhimtobe.

Isitpossibletopracticenoticing?Ithinkso.

ButIalsothinkitrequiresasuspensionofyearningAndapauseinthedesiretobepouringsomethingoutofyourself.Noticingisaboutlettingyourselfoutintotheworld,RatherthansiphoningtheworldintoyouInordertotransmuteitintowords.

Practicingnoticingwillalsohelpyou learnmoreaboutpatienceAnd thenatureofyourmind.Noticingmeansthinkingwithallyoursenses.It’salsoanexerciseinnotwriting.

Sowhatisnoticing?Apinpointofawareness,Thedetailthatstandsoutamidallthedetails.It’scatchingyoursleeveonthethornofthethingyounoticeAndpayingattentionasyoufreeyourself.

Itrequiresnogear,nospecialtools,noapparatus.Youpracticenoticingaspartofyourordinarylife.

Whatdoyounotice?Whateveryounotice.Behavior,thought,overheardwords,light,resemblance,Emotion,totality,particularity,Whateveryoufindinthehabitatofyourperceptions,Anything,nomatterhowminute,Whetheryou’reworkingorreadingortakingthesubway.Thepatternisparticulartoyou,Anelementinwhatgetsconstruedas“style.”

Whatyounoticehasnomeaning.Besuretoassignitnone.Itdoesn’trepresentorsymbolize

Orbelongtosomeworldtheoryorallegoryofperception.Don’tputwordstoit.Anddon’tcollectit.Letitslipaway.Bepatientforthenextthingyounotice.

There’salwaysanurgeamongwritersToturnfleetingobservationsandmomentaryglimpsesIntometaphorsand“material”asquicklyaspossible,Asifeveryperceptionendedinatrope,AsifthewriterwereadynamoTurningtheworldintowords.Thegoalistheopposite:Togetyourwords,yourphrases,Ascloseasyoucantothesolidity,Thematerialityoftheworldyou’renoticing.

Rushingtonoticeneverworks,Nordoestryingtonotice.Attentionrequiresacunningpassivity.

Let yourselfwonderwhy this thing, this instant, this suddenness, caughtyourattention.

Whatyou’renoticingisn’tonlywhatstruckyou.It’salsohowyourmind,yourattention,getsfromplacetoplace,Fromthesteadycurrentofyourthoughtstotheirsuddeninterruption.

Noticewhatyounoticeandletitgo.

Youcanalsomakesentencesthewayyougoaboutpracticingnoticing.Catchingaphraseinyourhead,Exploringthepossibilitiesitoccasions,Thenreleasingit,

Makingnothingmorethanavanishingsentence,WhichyoudonottransfixinsomecollectionofsentencesOretherizeinajar.

You’llneverrunoutofnoticings,Andtherearemorethanenoughsentencestoletafewgo.

Theurgetowriteissostrong.Aspiringwriterswantsobadlytobepouringsomethingoutofthemselves.Youneedaplacewhereyoucanpracticenoticingandmakingsentences—Observationsofgenuineclarity,Sentencesofvigor,invention,andself-perception.Thatplacewouldbeyourmind.

WhatyougetinreturnforthisgatheringandreleasingIshabit,ease,trust,andasenseofabundancethatsustainsyourwriting.Andyourmindneverrelinquisheswhatreallymatters.

Asyoupracticenoticing,noticehowthicklyparticledWithnamestheworldaroundyouis.Thiswillgraduallybecomepartofyournoticing,Lookingnotforwordstomakeusseethewayyousaw—Butforthenamesofwhatyou’venoticed,NamesthatannouncethewhatnessoftheworldToasinglespecies.

It’shardtograspatfirstthedensity,thespecificityWithwhichtheworldhasbeennamed.Thisisaplanetofoverlappinglexicons,Generationaftergeneration,tradeaftertrade,ExpeditionafterexpeditionsentouttobringhomeNameuponname,termsofidentityinendlessdegreesofintricacy,Andall

athand,ifyoulookforthem.

Don’tneglectsucharichlinguisticinheritance.It’syourbusinesstoknowthenamesofthings,Torecoverthemifnecessaryandusethem.Thisisn’tmerelyamatterofexpandingyourvocabulary.It’s a matter of understanding that everything you see and know AboutyourpresenceinthismomentofperceptionIsoverlaidbyaparallelhabitatoflanguage,Namesthatlietacituntilyousummonthem.

Andyetyou’vebeentaughttomakesentencesInwhichinertverbsactabstractlyuponfacelessnouns,Towrite on a theoretical basis,which deprives theworld of its content,And to use passive constructions, which absolve everyone ofresponsibility.

What’sametaphorintheproseyouweretaughttowrite?Astageprop,aparaphrase,aclarification,atbest,Nearlyalwayscumbersome,borderingoncliché,Almostalways timid, rarely serious,usually self-conscious,And toooftenstretchedoutoverthreeorfoursentencesInordertocreateanextendedmetaphor,Whichisacruelanalogicaldeath.

Atruemetaphorisaswiftandviolenttwistingoflanguage,Arenamingofthealreadynamed.It’smeanttoexpireinasuddenflashoflightAndtoreveal—inthatburstofillumination—Acorrespondencethatmustbeliterallyaccurate.Anygiveinthemetaphor,anyindeterminacy,Anditbecomesacloudofsmoke,notaflashoflight.

Likeanyrhetoricaldevice,thelessyouuseit,themoreeffectiveitis.

Try making prose with a poetic seriousness about its tools— Rhythm,twists of language, the capacity to show the readerWhat lies beyondexpression,

ButwiththegaitsofproseandaplainnessinreserveThatpoetryrarelypossesses,anexaltedplainness.

Oneofthehardestthingsaboutlearningtoreadwellislearningtobelievethat every sentence has been consciously, purposely shaped by thewriter.

Thisisonlycredibleinthepresenceofexcellentwriting.

Youmay notice, as youwrite, that sentences often volunteer a shape oftheir own And supply their own words as if they anticipated yourthinking.

Thosesentencesarenearlyalwaysunacceptable,Dull and unvarying, yielding only a small number of possible structuresAndonlythemostpredictablephrases,theinevitableclichés.

Aclichéisdeadmatter.Itcausesgangreneintheprosearoundit,andsoonerorlateriteatsyourbrain.

Youcan’tfixaclichébyusingitironically.Youcan’tmakeitlessgangrenousbyappearingto“quote”itorinvertitorjokeaboutit.Aclichéisn’tjustafamiliar,overusedsaying.It’sthedebrisofsomeoneelse’sthinking,Anygroupofwordsthatseemtoclustertogether“naturally”Andenlistinyoursentence.The only thing to do with a cliché is send it to the sports page Or thespeechwriters,whereitwillliveforever.

Volunteer sentences occur because you’re not considering the actualsentenceyou’remaking.

You’relookingpastittowardyourmeaningsomewheredowntheroad,Ortowardtheintentofthewholepiece.

Somehow that seems more important than the sentence you’re actuallymaking,Thoughyourmeaningandtheintentofthewholepiece

Dependentirelyonthesentenceyou’remaking.In fact, you’re distracted from the sentence by your intention And bywonderinghowsoonyou’llbedone.

You’redistractedfromtheonlythingofanyvaluetothereader.

VolunteersentencesaretherelicsofyoureducationAnd the desire to emulate the grown-up,workaday prose that surroundsyou, Which is made overwhelmingly of sentences that are banal andstructurallythoughtless.

Avolunteersentenceisalmostalwaysaperfunctorysentence.Thatcanchange.Butonlyafteryearsofquestioningtheshapesofsentencesyouread,Andeverysentenceyouwrite.

Don’tlettheword“years”alarmyou.Thinkofitasmonthsandmonthsandmonthsandmonths.

YoumaythinkavolunteersentenceisaninspiredoneSimplybecauseitvolunteers.

Thisisonereasontoabandontheideaofinspiration.AlltheideaofinspirationwilldoIsstopyoufromrevisingavolunteersentence.Only revisionwill tell youwhether a sentence that offers itself isworthkeeping.

Thewriter’sjobisn’tacceptingsentences.

Thejobismakingthem,wordbyword.

Volunteersentences,Volunteersubjects,Volunteerstructures.Avoidthemall.

Mostaspiringwriterswritetoosoon.Theythinkwritingisatransitiveactinsteadofanintransitiveone.Everythingtheyknowaboutwriting—allthoseimagesofwriterswriting—Hastensthemtothedesk,Wheretheysitperchedoverthekeyboardorpeninhand,Caughtinananticipatorygesture,Eyesintentonthepossibilitiesofthescreen,Poised at the brink of thought, but not actually thinking, As though byleaningforwardasentencewilltipoutoftheirheadsAndontothepage.

Butwritingisn’tperformeduponadeviceorinastateofanticipation.

Consider the bad habit of typing, preliminarily, two or threewords—Anaturalstarttothesentence,youthink—Andthenwaitingfortherestofthesentencetorevealitself.But after two or three words the sentence is already foredoomed, Itsstructurepredetermined.Twoorthreewords,andyou’vealreadyreducedtheremainingchoicesToasmall,depressinghandful.It’s shocking to realizehowquicklyyoubecomewedded to those twoorthreewords,Howharditistoabandonthemforanalternative.

Sometimes,goingoveryourwork,youdiscoverThatyoucan’trememberhoweverysentencecametotakeitsshape.You come across vestiges of unconsciousness in your prose, Amnesiac

stretcheswheresentencesseemtohavewrittenthemselves.Thisisnotagoodthing.

Whentheworkisreallycomplete,thewriterknowshoweachsentencegotthatway,Whatchoicesweremade.Youbecomenotonlyalivingconcordanceofyourwork,abletosaywherealmostanywordappears.Youalsocarrywithinyouthememoryofallthedecisionsyoumadewhileshaping your prose, Decisions invisible to the reader except in theresidueofyourprose.

Itsoundsimpossibletoknowsomuchaboutwhatyou’vewritten.Andyetit’sinevitable.Somethingyoudon’tevenhavetothinkaboutIfyou’vebeenthinkingaboutyoursentences.

This brings us back to the difficulty of knowing what your sentencesactuallysay.Theproblemmostwritersfaceisn’twriting.It’sconsciousness.Attention.Noticing.Thatincludesnoticinglanguage.

The fundamental act of revision is literally becoming conscious of thesentence, Seeing it for what it is, word for word, as a shape, and inrelationtoalltheothersentencesinthepiece.

ThisissurprisinglyhardtodoatfirstBecauseourreadinghabitsareimpatientandextractive.And becausewe’ve been blinded to the actuality of prose— Its physicalsubstance—Bythepursuitofmeaning.

Theverynatureofreadingencouragesustobelievewe’relookingthroughtheprosetoworldsontheothersideoftheink.

Thefamiliaritywithwhichweknowourownlivesissometimesdisabling.Writingisaspecialinstanceofthat.In responding to your own prose, you’re responding in some sense toyourself,Andnomatterhowhardyou look, you’re almost invisible toyourself,Camouflagedbyfamiliarity.One basic strategy for revision is becoming a stranger to what you’vewritten.

Tryreadingyourworkaloud.Theearismuchsmarterthantheeye,Ifonlybecauseit’salsoslowerAndbecausetheeyecan’tseerhythmorhearunwantedrepetition.

Buthowshouldyoureadaloud?There’sself-awarenesseveninthis,Atendencytooverdramatizeorbecomeself-conscious,To read as though the words weren’t yours, Mechanically, withoutlistening,AsthoughyouweresomehowhidingfromtheirsoundOrmerelyfulfillingaroteobligation.

Try reading the words on the page as though they were meant to bespoken plainly To a listener who is both you and not you— Animaginarylistenerseatednottoofaraway.Thatwayyourattentionisn’tonlyonthewordsyou’rereading.It’sonthetransmissionofthosewords.As you read aloud, catch the rhythm of the sentences withoutoveremphasizingit.Readsothelistenercanheartheshapeofthesyntax.Youbethelistener,notanotherperson.

You’llbestoppingoften.

Readingaloudforcesyoutochoosehowyou’llreadaloud,Whatcharacteryou’ll play, what version of yourself you’ll present, What dramaticgestureyou’remakingasyouread.Theactofwritingrequiresexactlythesamething,Thoughwepretenditdoesn’t—Anothergoodreasontoreadyourworkaloud.

Ifyoudon’tknowwhatImeanbyrhythm,Imagineasinger’sphrasingofthelyricinasong.Inprose,it’ssubtler,thebeatandthemusicquieter.Try reading aloud some of everything you read, nomatterwhat it is, Acoupleofparagraphsfromthenewspaperoratextbookoranovelorapoem.Especiallyapoem.Thisishowyoubegintounderstandrhythmanditsabsence.

Itwillalsoimproveyourabilitytoreadaloud,Whichwillhelpyoudiscerntheunderlyingtexturesofyourprose.Howwellyoureadaloudrevealshowwellyouunderstandthesyntaxofasentence.Doyouremember,inschool,goingaroundtheroom,Eachstudentinturnreadingaparagraphoutloud?Rememberhowwellsomestudentsreadandothers,howbadly?Itwasadifferenceincomprehension,Notofthesentence’smeaning,Butofitstexture,pace,structure,actuality.

Don’treadstraightthroughwithoutstopping.Readuntilyoureardetectsaproblem.Stopthere.

Howwillyouknowthere’saproblem?Somethingwillsoundfunny.You’ll feel a subtle disturbance, a nameless, barely discernible tremorinsideyou.Youwon’tsay,“Aha!Thatpronounhasthewrongantecedent!”(Thoughsoonyouwill.)You’llsimplyfeelthatsomething’swrong,withoutknowingwhat. (This also happens when you’re reading silently, but lessemphatically.)

Payattentionnow:No matter how much you know or learn about syntax, grammar, andrhetoric,Thissmallinternalquaver,thisinnerdisturbance,Isthemostusefulevidenceyou’lleverget.Someday,you’llbeabletoarticulatewhatcausesit.Butfornow,what’simportantistonoticeit.Noticingisalwaysthegoal.Actually,thegoalrightnowisnoticingthatyou’renoticing.Onedaymerelynoticingwillbeenough.

Youalready experience these faint stirrings in thepresenceof sentences,Butyoudidn’tknowtheymattered.Thisturnsouttobetrueofmanythingsyounotice.

Noonetaughtyoutodisregardtheseinnersensations.Noonetaughtyoutobeawareofthemeither.Nooneevenacknowledgedthattheyexist.Youthoughttheyweren’tsignificant—Mainlybecausetheywereoccurringwithinyou.Andwhatdoyouknow(you’realwaystemptedtoask)?Youknowalot,especiallyinapreconsciouskindofway.

Noticethosestirringsnow,andkeepnoticing.Neverstop.They’reasignofyourskillandexperienceasareader,Andthey’reimmenselyusefultoyouasawriteralways.

Writingrequiresahighdegreeofinneralertness,Especiallywhenthingsaregoingwrong.

Soonyou’llknowexactlyhowtofindthethingsthataregoingwrongAswellasthethingsthataregoingright.

But until then—and even long after—you’ll find it easier to detect aproblembythedisturbanceitcausesinsideyou.

Thismeanspayingattentionnotonlytoyourwritingbuttoyouremotions.I don’t mean large-scale emotions—sad, mournful, depressed, suicidal,elated.

Imeanapaleandnamelessunease,Asifapoorlyconstructedsentencecouldmakeyouslightlyhomesick.Thefaintvertigocausedbyanambiguityyoucan’tquitedetect.Themalaisegivenoffbyanawkwardnessinthesyntax.Youwon’tbeabletonamethefeelingasyntacticalproblemcauses.Itdoesn’thaveaname.Whatmattersiswhatitpointsto.Findoutwhat’scausingitandfixitEvenifyou’renotsurehow.

Here’sanotherwaytomakeyourproselooklessfamiliar.Turneverysentenceintoitsownparagraph. (HitReturnaftereveryperiod.Ifwritingbyhand,begineachnewsentenceattheleftmargin.)Whathappens?

Asudden,graphicdisplayofthelengthofyoursentencesAnd,betteryet,their relative length—how it varies, or doesn’t vary, from one to the

next.Variationisthelifeofprose,inlengthandinstructure.

Havingallyoursentences inacolumn,oneabovetheother,makesthemeasiertoexamine.

Suddenlyyouseesimilaritiesinshape.Younotice,forinstance,howyoursentencesclingtoeachotherInsteadofacceptingtheirseparateness.

And you can begin to ask questions—simple ones—that will help youunderstandhowtoreviseAndmakebettersentences.

Howmanysentencesbeginwiththesubject?Howmanybeginwithanopeningphrasebeforethesubject?Orwithawordlike“When”or“Since”or“While”or“Because”?Howmanybeginwith“There”or“It”?Whatkindsofnounsdoyousee?Abstractions?Generalizations?MultisyllabicLatinatenounsendingin“-ion”?Oraretheythesolidnamesofactualthings?Isthesubjectofthesentenceanactorcapableofperformingtheactionoftheverb?

Canyouadjustthesentencesoitis?Ordoesthesubjectofthesentencehidetheactionofentitiesthatareabletoact—humans,forinstance?

Howcloseisthesubjecttoitsverb?Aretheyseparatedbyaninsertedphrase?Whatdoesthatdotothevelocityofthesentence?Howmanyoftheverbsarevariantsof“tobe”—“is,”“are,”“were,”“was,”andsoon?

Aretheverbsactive,energetic?Ordotheymerelyconnectorarrangeorpresentorrelate?Aretheconstructionspassive?

Howoftendoestheword“as”appear,andinwhichofitsmanysenses?Are you using “with” as a preposition or as a false conjunction, a falserelativepronoun?

Arethereinadvertentrepetitions—wordsrepeatedunintentionally?Iseveryphraseinitsproperplace,everyword?Iseverythingnexttowhatitshouldbenextto?Anythingoutrightungrammatical?Wordsusedimproperly?Doverbsthatrequiredirectobjects(transitiveverbs)lackthem?Ifthere’samodifyingphraseatthestartofthesentence,doesitmodifythesubjectofthesentence?(Itmust.)Canthesentencebebrokenintwoorthree?

Dothesequestionssoundoverlytechnicaltoyou?They’rebasic.Buttheyraiseanothermistakenassumptionaboutwriting.

Manypeopleassumethere’saninherentconflictbetweencreativityandacritical,analyticawarenessofthemediumyouworkin.

They assume that the creative artist works unconsciously And thatknowingtoomuchaboutmatterslikegrammarandsyntaxdiminishesorbluntscreativity.

Thisisnonsense.Youdon’tneedtobeanexpertingrammarandsyntaxtowritewell.Butyoudoneedtoknowthedifferencebetweentransitiveandintransitiveverbs.

Betweenactiveandpassiveconstructions.Therelationbetweenapronounanditsantecedent.Allthepartsofspeech.Thedifferentverbtenses.Thenatureofparticiplesandtheirroleasmodifiers.

Thesubtletiesofprepositions—thehardestpartofspeechevenfornativespeakersofEnglish.

You need a toolbox of rhetorical devices, like irony, hyperbole, And thevariouskindsofanalogy.

You need an ever-growing vocabulary—and with it the awareness thatmostwordscarryseveralmeanings.

YouneedtolookupevenfamiliarwordseverytimeyouhaveadoubtAndespeciallywhenyoudon’thaveadoubt.

Thatis,veryoften.Thatis,everytimeyouwrite.

Thehistoryofawordispartofitsmeaning,Sometimeseventhebetterpartofitsmeaning.You’reresponsibleforthenuancesofthewordsyouuse.Howelsecanyouuseexactlytherightshadeofmeaning?Howelsecanthereadertrustyou?Youcan’tdisclaimthisresponsibility.Thosenuancesareembeddedinetymology.

Agoodexample:thewordautopsia,WhichIcameacrosswhileworkingonabookofmyown.

Ithought—byinferencefromthecontextandbyanalogywith“autopsy”—Thatautopsiameantacollectionofstuffedordissectedanimals,Thesortofcollectionanaturalhistorianmightaccumulate.

But if I had thought more carefully and considered the word’s roots, Iwouldhaverealizedthatitmeans

Acollectionofobjectsonehas“seenforoneself.”IdiscoveredthatwhenIlookedupthefamiliarword“autopsy,”Whichmeans,etymologically,toseeforoneself.You’ll need to look up nearly every word you use for longer than youthink.

It’stheonlywaytobesureofmeaning

AndetymologyAndpronunciation,whichhasabearingonrhythm.

Thinkofyourvocabularyasyourautopsia—Wordsyou’veactuallyseenforyourself.

Ifyoudon’tknowthelanguageofgrammarandsyntax,trythis.Beginwiththepartsofspeech.Copyorprintoutacoupleofpagesbyanauthorwhoseworkyoulike. (Forexample, theopeningofJohnMcPhee’sComing into theCountry.)Gathersomecoloredpensorpencils.

Chooseonecolorandcircleallthenouns.Pausetoconsiderthem.Thenchooseadifferentcolorandcirclealltheverbs.Pauseagain.Ditto the articles, adverbs, adjectives, prepositions, conjunctions, andinterjections.

Anythingleftover?Thereshouldn’tbe.This will clarify the parts of speech, and it will help you see how theauthorusesthem.

Ifawordpuzzlesyou,lookitup.Agooddictionarywilltellyouwhatpartofspeechitis.Don’tjustimaginedoingthissomeday.Doit.It’sinteresting.

Nowtryaslightlyharderversionofthisexperimentonaseparatecopy.Circlethedirectobjects.Theindirectobjects.Theparticiples.

Therelativepronouns.Themetaphorsandsimilesandanalogies.Anywordthatseemstobeusedinawaythatdistortsitsmeaning.Anyparticularlyrhythmicphrasesorsentences.Anyspotwhereyousenseachangeindirectionortimeorvoice.Anyphrasethatinterestsyou.Anywordthatstopsyou.Anythingyounotice,whetheryouthinkitmattersornot.Itmattersbecauseyounoticedit.

Doanyofthewordssurpriseyouorcallattentiontothemselves?I’mnotaskingwhetheryouknowwhattheymean.You’vealreadylookedupeverywordyoudon’tknow.Haven’tyou?

It’seasiertoansweracomparativequestionThanaquestionthatdependsonanimplicitstandardofjudgment.“Is this sentence longer than that one?” is easier to answer than “Is thatwordpoetic?”

You don’t need much experience to tell whether one sentence is longerthananother.

Butyoudotosaywhetherawordispoeticinusage.Thatexperienceiseasytocomeby.It’scalled“readingpoetry.”Turntothepoets.Learnfromthem.

Atfirst,askcomparativequestions.They’llhelpyouunderstandhowwritingworks.Examinethequantitiesthatappearinprose—Thethingsthatcanbemeasuredorcounted:

Rhythms,patternsofrepetition,lengthofwordsandsentences,Lengthofparagraphs,thebreadthofanellipsis.

Examinethedistancebetweensentences.Somelieclosetogether,makingsmallstepsforward.Othersseemtostandwellapartfromeachother,Advancingthepiecediscontinuously.

ThesekindsofquestionswillhelpyouunderstandThecharacterofwhatyou’rereadingandhowitwasmade.WetakeforgrantedthatwhatweloveinourreadingisPerception,wisdom,poetry,wit,irony.Yet it’ssurprisinghowoftenwhatweloveisreallyfoundinthematerialstructure,theconcretedetails,therhythmofthesentences.

Askyourselfquestionsaboutthewordsyoufind—especiallylessordinaryorlessfamiliarwords.

(Butquerythefamiliaronestoo.)Wheredotheycomefrom?Whatlineofworkaretheyin?Who’slikelytousethem?Andinwhatcontext?Thiswillremindyouthateverywordcarriesasocialfreight.

Now perform the same experiment with an author whose work has adifferentfeel.

(TryJoanDidion’sessay“SomeDreamersoftheGoldenDream”inSlouchingTowardsBethlehem.)

Then try itagainwithapage fromaverydifferentcontext—Abusinessarticleorabestselleroracriticalessayinanacademicjournal.

Whatdoyoufind?Differentpatternsofusage,differentlexicons,

Which create, in turn, different textures and rhythms in the sentencesthemselves.

Trythesameexperimentonsomepagesofyourownprose.Whatdoyounotice?

Makesomecomparativelists:HowdoesthemenagerieofDidion’snounscomparewiththemenagerieofMcPhee’snounsorthenounsinacriticalessayorabusinessarticle—orsomethingyou’rewriting?Askthesamequestionaboutverbsandsentencestructures.Askyourselftoohowpresentthewriterfeelstothereader.Howstrongisyoursenseofthespeakerornarrator?Howisthatsensecreated,andwheredoyoudetectit?

Imagineitthisway:Everypieceisanecosystemofwordsandstructuresandrhythms.Howrichanddiverseistheecosystemineachofthesepieces?Fromwhichdoyouderivethemostpleasure?Andwhy?

Bepatientwithyourselfandthethingsyoudiscover.Thisisn’tatest.Everyreaderwillnoticedifferentthings.Youwon’tknowthesignificanceofeverythingyounotice.Don’tletthatdeteryou.Don’ttrytogiveameaningtothethingsyounotice.Justobservethem.Again, theeffectof thesediscoveriesmaybenothingmorethanNoticingtheeffectofmakingthesediscoveries.You’ll becomemuchmore adept at seeing how your own sentences areshapedandwheretheysucceedandgoawry.

Thinkingintermsofgrammarandsyntaxisalsoagoodwaytomakeyoursentencesseemlessfamiliar.

Suddenly you’re looking at their bones and muscles, The way they’rejoinedandthekineticsoftheirmovement.

Butnotice.The point of learning the fundamental language of grammar and syntaxIsn’tcorrectnessorobeyingtherules.

It’skeepingtherulesfromobtrudingthemselvesuponthereaderBecauseyou’veignoredthem.

Thereaderisjustlikeyou,Full of subtle, distracting feelings when things are going wrong in asentence.

Everyreaderisalwaystworeaders.Onereadswithadeep,intuitivefeelforthewaylanguageworksAndyetwithoverwhelmingliteralness.

This reader (no matter what he consciously knows about grammar orsyntax) is troubled by mistakes, misspellings, And especially thesyntacticalmiscuesthatcauseambiguity.

Thisreaderwillalwaysstumbleoveryourerrors.If a sentence offers an ambiguous path—two ways of being read—thisreaderwillalwaystakethewrongone.

Theother reader—literate, curious,adaptable, intelligent,open-minded—Willfollowyouanywhereyouwanttogo

Aslongasyourproseisclear.(Moreonthisexcellentpersonsoon.)Everyreaderisbothofthesereadersinone.Writeforbothtogether.

Here’s another reason for learning the basics of grammar and syntax:Syntactic and grammatical accuracy is the precondition for being sure

Yoursentencessaywhatyouthinktheysay.

It’snotroubletolearnthesethings.Knowingthemdoesn’tdetractfromyourcreativityorspontaneity.Whatyou’relearningisn’tacodeofethicsortherulesofproperbehaviorindecentsociety.Itisn’tetiquetteortablemanners.Youaren’tbeinghandcuffedordetainedor taught tocurtsyOr forced towearaborrowedtieatafancyrestaurantOrcompromisingyourstandards.

You’remerelylearningwhatis:The names of the kinds ofwords, their relation to each other, and theirfunctions.Like a painter’s knowledge of color and the laws of perspective, A jazzmusician’sknowledgeofchordstructuresandhisinstrument.

Yourjobasawriterismakingsentences.Yourother jobs include fixing sentences,killing sentences,andarrangingsentences.If this is the case—making, fixing, killing, arranging—how can yourwritingpossiblyflow?Itcan’t.

Flowissomethingthereaderexperiences,notthewriter.

Awritermaywritepainstakingly,Assemblingtheworkslowly,likeamosaic,Fittingandrefittingsentencesandparagraphsovertheyears.Andyettothereaderthewritingmayseemtoflow.

Thereader’sexperienceofyourprosehasnothingtodowithhowhardoreasyitwasforyoutomake.

You’re not writing for a reader in the mirror whose psychological statereflectsyourown.Youhaveonlyyourownworkingworldtoconsider.Thereaderreadsinanotherworldentirely.

Sowhy not give up the idea of “flow” and accept the basic truth aboutwriting?It’shardwork,andit’sbeenhardworkforeveryoneallalong.There’sagoodreasontobelievethis,apartfromthefactthatit’strue.If you think that writing—the act of composition—should flow, and itdoesn’t,whatareyoulikelytofeel?Obstructed,defeated,inadequate,blocked,perhapsevenstupid.Theideaofwriter’sblock,initsordinarysense,Existslargelybecauseofthenotionthatwritingshouldflow.

Butifyouacceptthatwritingishardwork,Andthat’swhatitfeelslikewhileyou’rewriting,Theneverythingisjustasitshouldbe.Yourlaborisn’tasignofdefeat.It’sasignofengagement.Thedifferenceisallinyourmind,butwhatadifference.

Thedifficultyofwritingisn’tasignoffailure.It’ssimplythenatureoftheworkitself.

Forthewriter,theword“flow”isatrap.Soisanywordthatsuggeststhatwritingisaspontaneousemission.Writing doesn’t flow, unless you’re plagiarizing or collecting clichés orenlistingvolunteersentences.

You’ll experience certain kinds of suddenness as you work: The illusionthattimeispassingquickly,Anepisodeofunusualmentalclarity,Analmostunnoticedtransitionfromonemoodtoanother.

Thepieceyou’reworkingonmaytakeajumpforward,And you notice the jump instead of the hours and days of thinking thatenabledit.

Everythingmayflowwhenyou’resettingthoughtsdownonpaper.Butthat’sjotting,notwriting.

“Flow”meanseffusion,aspontaneousoutpouringofsentences.Butwhatitreally,secretlymeansiseasywriting.

Themoreyouknowaboutmakingsentences,theeasieritistofixthem,Toget out of trouble, to find the really good sentences— The bettersentences—hidingbeneaththeskinofyourthinking.

Whatmattersisn’thowfluidlythesentencesareemitted.Onlyhowgoodtheyare.

It’seasytobelievein“flow”ifyoucan’tfeelthedifferencebetweenadeadsentence and a living one Or see the ambiguities you’re accidentallycreating.

Inotherwords,“flow”isoftenasynonymforignoranceandlaziness.It’salsoasignofhaste,theurgetobedone.

WhydoIsayallthis?Becausesomanywritersworrythattheirwritingisn’tflowing.Theyworrythattheycan’tliveuptoexpectations—toaculturalillusion—Andtheygetintroublewiththemselvesbecauseofit.

Don’tunderestimatehowharditistodiscardaclichélike“flow,”eveninyourownassumptions.

Likesomuchelseaboutwritingwell,Gettingridofuseless,evenharmful,ideasishardwork.

Whatlurksbehind“flow”?Aboveall,theideaofnaturalness.

“Natural”isawordthatinvitessuspicion.Itshouldalwayspresentitselfinquotationmarks,Asignthatitsmeaningisslippery.Humanscanjustifyalmostanythingbycallingitnatural.Naturalnessisthepervasivemyth—theonetorootoutofyourhead.

There’snothingnaturalaboutwritingexceptthetendencytoassumethatit’snatural,Thankstoafalseanalogywithtalking.

The connection between talking andwriting is nearly as complex as theconnectionbetweenreadingandwriting.

Youprobablydon’trememberlearningtotalkasachild.Youprobablydorememberlearningtoshapelettersandspellwords.Talkingisnatural.Writingisnot.Most children can say words before they’re two and speak in sentencesbeforethey’rethree.

Theycansingthealphabetsongalmostassoonastheycansing.But they can’t write the alphabet until they can hold an instrument ofwriting.

Itmayseemstrangethatthemanualdexterityneededtoholdapencil—oruse a keyboard—comes later than the lingual and mental dexterityneededtospeak.

Butitdoes.

Inwriting,there’salwaysaseparateness,Thesenseofmanipulatingatoolforproducingwordsatarm’slength,Outthereattheendsofyourfingers,

Unlike speaking, which arises invisibly from within, like thought andbreath.

Inwriting,there’sapsychologicalseparatenesstoo,Thesenseofwatchingyourselfthinkandthinkingaboutitasyoudo,Aself-consciousnessthat

interrupts the movement of your thoughts If you experience it whiletalking.

HumanshavealanguageinstinctButnotnecessarilyawritinginstinct.ThedifferencebetweentalkingandwritingIsthedifferencebetweenbreathingandsingingwell.Ittakesyearsofworktowritewell,Andonlypartofthatislearningtotype.

“Natural,”likeflow,isalsoaneffectinthereader’smind.Itdoesn’tdescribetheactofwriting.Itdescribestheeffectofwriting.

Andlike“flow,”“natural”isoneofthewordsbehindwriter’sblock.Solet’ssupposethere’snosuchthingaswriter’sblock.There’slossofconfidence

Andforgettingtothink

Andfailingtoprepare

Andnotreadingenough

Andgivinguponpatience

Andhasteningtowrite

AndfearingyouraudienceAndneverreallytryingtounderstandhowsentenceswork.Aboveall,there’sneverlearningtotrustyourselfOryourcapacitytolearnorthinkorperceive.

Peoplewillcontinuetobelievethatwritingisnatural.Thisharmsonlywriterswhobelieveitthemselves.

Andyetgoodproseoftensoundsspoken,Asifthewriter—orthereaderreadingaloud—weresayingthesentences.(Thisisn’tthesameassoundingcolloquial.)But the arc of education—and the arc of emulation—are usually Awayfromspokennessandtowardtheunspeakable,

Towardlonger,moreconvolutedsentencesUsingmoreelaboratesyntaxandmorejargon-likediction.

There’s nothing natural about making sentences that sound spoken, Nomatterhownaturaltheysound.

Whataretheircharacteristics?They’refairlyshort.They’rerhythmic,oftenwiththerhythmsofactualspeech.Thedictionissimple—veryfewmultisyllabicwords.Soistheconstruction—almostnosuspendedphrasesordependentclauses.Thissimplicitymakestherhythmmoreperceptible.There’s also an acute awareness of the listener’s attention andunderstanding,Asenseofcontextualalertness,andavividsenseoftheunspoken.

Theseareallqualitiesworthbuildingintoyourprose.Theymustbecreated,discovered,revealed,constructed.Theydon’tappear“naturally.”

It’salwaysworthaskingyourselfifyoucanimaginesayingasentenceAndadjustingituntilyoucan.

Justasit’salwaysusefultoaskyourself,“WhatexactlyamItryingtosay?”Theanswertothatquestionisoftenthesentenceyouneedtowritedown.

When your prose begins to stiffen and your thoughts get stuffy, It’ssometimesworthreworkingthepieceyou’rewritingasifitwereAletteroralonge-mailtoafriend,

Someonewhoknowsyouwellbuthasn’tseenyouinawhile.Whathappens?Theproserelaxes,thesentencesgrowmoreinformal.Youremembertousecontractions,Eventhewordsgrowshorter.Suddenly thingsareclearerand simplerandmoredirect,as if theywerebeingspoken.

Butsomethingelsehappenstoo.There’s suddenly awider variety of tone, an emotional latitude,A sensethat the readerwill be able to fill in the gaps, Even the possibility ofhumor.

Whythedifference?Itisn’tthechangeingenre.It’sthechangeinthereader.You’re writing to someone who knows you, who understands yourallusions,Yourpatternsofspeech,who’squickandempathetic

In reading your thoughts and feelings, whether they’re spoken orunspoken.

Whatmakesthisreadervaluableisasenseofconnectionandkinship,Anintuitivegraspofwhatyousayanddon’tsay.

YoucanmakeanypiecefeellikeaninformalletterByusingthegenericcharacteristicsofaninformalletter.

Butit’sfareasiertogetthatfeelBywritingtothereaderyouimaginereadingit.ThereaderyouconstructinyourimaginationChangesthewayyouwritealmostwithoutyournoticingit.

Behind“flow”there’ssomethingelse,Evensomethingecstatic—Thepriorityofthoughtsoversentences.Thoughtsleapingahead,wordsbarelykeepingup,Ahecticchase.Ortheotherwayaround,Sentences spinningoutof eachother,oneafter thenext,Phraseelicitingphrase,words—ifnotsentences—rushingaheadofthought.

Itfeelslikeinspiration.

We’veallhadthesemoments.They’reenticing.Themistakeisovervaluingthem.

Youhaveaneffusiononeday.Itspawnsapiece.Asthepieceevolves,youtrytoprotectthoseoriginal,effusivesentences.Onlytorealize,atlast,thatwhatyou’rewritingwon’tcometogetheruntilthey’vebeenremovedorrevised.

Whatwereyoutryingtoprotect?Thememoryoftheexcitementyoufeltwhenthosewords“cametoyou.”(Wheredidthey“come”from?)Youwereprotectingthememoryoftheexcitementofreallyconcentrating,Ofpayingcloseattentiontoyourthoughtsand,perhaps,yoursentences,The excitement of feeling the galvanic link between language andthought.

Thatexcitementmatters,andthememoryofitisworthpreserving,Evenifthosesentencesaren’t.

Concentration,attention,excitement,willbepartofyourworkingstate.Daily.Flow,inspiration—thespontaneousemissionofsentences—willnot.Thatdistinctionisworthkeepinginmind.

Writeconsciously,deliberately.Learnhowtogetoutoftrouble.Learnhowtofreeyourselfwhenyou’restuck.Learnhowtoknowwhatyou’redoingwhenyou’remakingsentences.

Theworkingsofyourunconsciousmind,Thecurrentofyour subterranean thoughtsand intuitions,The flickeringsof insightand instinct—Thesewillalwayssurface, ifyouwriteclearlyenoughtoletthem.But they’re only some of the tools of your dailywork,Which ismakingsentences.

Themost damaging andobstructive cluster of ideas you face as awriterarenearlyallrelatedtotheideaof“flow.”Like“genius.”And“sincerity.”And“inspiration.”

Distrustthesewords.Theystandforcherishedmyths,butmythsnonetheless.

“Inspiration”iswhatgetsyoutothekeyboard,Andthat’swhereitleavesyou.Inspirationisabouttheswifttransitionsofthought,Suddenrealizations,Almostallofthemcarefullypreparedforbycontinuousthinking.

Inspirationhasnothingtodowiththesustainedeffortofmakingprose.

You’llhavemanyserendipitousmomentswhilewriting.You’lllearntoexpectthem.But“inspiration,”asit’scommonlyused,isjustanotherwordfor“flow.”

Thinkofalltherequirementswritersimagineforthemselves:

Acabininthewoods

Aplainwoodentable

Absolutesilence

Afavoritepen

Afavoriteink

Afavoriteblankbook

Afavoritetypewriter

Afavoritelaptop

Afavoritewritingprogram

Alargeadvance

Ayellowpad

Awastebasket

Ashotgun

Theearlylightofmorning

Themoonatnight

Arainyafternoon

Athunderstormwithhighwinds

ThefirstsnowofwinterAcupofcoffeeinjusttherightcup

Abeer

Amugofgreentea

Abourbon

Solitude

Sooner or later the need for any one of these will prevent you fromwriting.

Anythingyouthinkyouneedinordertowrite—Orbe“inspired”towriteor“getinthemood”towrite—

Becomesaprohibitionwhenit’slacking.Learntowriteanywhere,atanytime,inanyconditions,Withanything,startingfromnowhere.Allyoureallyneedisyourhead,theoneindispensablerequirement.

Ifyouconsciouslyshapeyourwriting,Knowitsinsandouts,understanditssubtleties—Thenyouknowexactlywhatyou’redoingAndarethereforemanipulatingthereader.Which,ofcourse,youare.

Wehatethethoughtofbeingmanipulated,Andyet readingmeanssurrendering to themanipulationsof theauthor’sprose.

Thisisanexperiencewelove,lovesomuch,infact,Thatwehopetobeabletomanipulatereadersourselvessomeday.Readersusuallychoosenottothinkofitthatway.Theyprefernottothinkofitatall.Butyoushould.

One of the few sad parts about writing is that it’s almost impossible tosurrendertothemanipulationofyourownprose.

(It’sjustaswell.)Whatprevents it is thememoryofall thechoicesyou’vemadeHoveringaroundeverysentenceyou’vewritten.

Inwriting,it’simpossibletoexpresssinceritysincerely.Thatis,justbybeingsincere.Youreallymeanwhatyoumeantosay.Youfeelanintensesincerityburninginsideyou.Andyetyoursentencesfeelchokedorformulaic.Writing can’t convey sincerity—or any other emotion or mood in thewriter—simplybecauseyoufeelit.

Webelievesostronglyinsincerityandnaturalnessofexpressioninwritingthatwe’realmostunabletoseehowfalsethisbeliefis.

Ifyouwantthereadertofeelyoursincerity,yoursentenceshavetoenactsincerity—verbally,syntactically,evenrhythmically.

Theyhavetorevealthesignsofsincerity—amodestyanddirectness—Justasyoudowhenyou’retalkingsincerely.

IfyouspeaksincerelywithsomeoneBut in a voice andmanner that suggest you’re being ironic,Whowouldbelieveyou’resincere?

Sincerityisadramaticroleforyouandyoursentences.Thatmakesitsoundinsincere.But the apparently insincere manipulation of language is the tool thatpersuadesusofyoursincerity.

There is no simple, sincere, “natural” space or role for you to occupy inyourwriting.

Writing is always a gesture requiring your dramatic presence, nomatterhowsubtle—Apresencemadeupofrhetoricalchoices:

Choices aboutwho you are in relation to your subject and your reader,Choicesaboutyourpresence in thepiece,aboutdiction, structure,andthe rigor or casualness with which your sentences are constructed orlinked.

TheemotionalpowerthereaderfeelsDependsonhowclearlyyouknowwhatyourwordsaredoing.Thatclarityisn’tnatural.It’sartificial,theresultofhardwork.

Youbethenarrator.Letusbethereaders.You’lldiscoverthatbeingthenarratorisnotthesameasbeingyourself.It’sarole,andadramaticone.Absorbitandinhabitit.

You’realwaysbuildingahabitationinyourprose,Aplacefromwhichyouspeaktothereader.

You’renevermerely,sincerelyyourself.Thequestionthenbecomes,whoareyou?That’saquestioneverypieceneedstoanswer.

Novelists, short-story writers, and poets understand the gesture in theirwriting.

Theyknowtheyoccupyadramaticroleandarhetoricalspace.They’re rarely afraid to be the narrator or actor, to perform the act oftelling a story, Even if they’re telling it under the guise of their ownname.

Thesenseofwhoyouare,whatroleyouchoosetoplay,Whatgestureyoumaketowardthereader—Thesethingsarefarmoreimportantthanideasof“style”or“voice.”

Askedtowriteshortsentences,writersoftensay,“Butwhataboutmystyle?Whatwillthatdotomyvoice?”

Asifthey’resuretheyhaveone.“Style”and“voice”arepassiveconstructs,Markersofindividuality,bowtiesofself.TheyhavemoretodowithwhatthewritermakesofhimselfThanhowthereaderexperienceshisprose.

Theideaof“voice”atleastimpliesanotionofdramaticpresence,Asenseofthewriter’sgesture.

Butwhat’sawriter’s“style”?

Style is an expression of the interest you take in the making of everysentence.It emerges, almost without intent, from your engagement with eachsentence.It’sthediscoveriesyoumakeinthemakingoftheproseitself.

Weassumethatstyleisself-expression.Itcanbe,butonlyinthissense:It’sthefusionofyourcommandoflanguageandyourcommitmenttoyourownintent,EvenasyourintentshiftsundertheweightandopportunityOfthediscoveriesyoumakeasyouwork,Discoveriesthatarelinguistic,conceptual,structural,imaginative.

Thisdoesn’tsoundlikeausefulorconventionaldefinitionofstyleOrmuchlikeself-expression.Butitdoesclarifyanimportantthought:“Style”shouldn’tlingerinyourawareness.Youdon’tneedtothinkaboutstyle.It’saslikelytoappearinthecharacterofyourthinking,Theshapeofyourideas,yoursenseofhumororirony,Asitisinany“stylistic”markersintheproseitself.But this will only be true if your prose is clear enough to reveal thecharacter of your thinking, the shape of your ideas, and your sense of

humororirony.

Whereambiguityrules,thereisno“style”—oranythingelseworthhaving.

Pursueclarityinstead.Inthepursuitofclarity,stylerevealsitself.Yourclaritywilldifferfromanyoneelse’swithoutyourintendingtomakeitdiffer.

Yearslater,lookingbackoveryourcollectedworks,Youcancontemplateyourstyleatleisure.Butfornowyouhavemoreimportantthingstothinkabout.Likerevision.

Allwritingisrevision.That’snotwhatyoulearnedinschool.Inschoolyoulearnedtowriteadraftandthenrevise.

Butimaginethis:Youbegintocomposeasentenceinyourhead.Youdon’twriteitdown.Youletthesentenceplaythroughyourmindagain.(It’sonlysixwordslong.)Youreplaceoneortwoofthewords.Youadjusttherhythmbychangingtheverb.Youdiscardthemetaphor.Youdecideyoulikethesentence.Youwriteitdown.Isthiscomposition?Orrevision?

It’sboth.

ComposingasentencealwaysinvolvesrevisionUnless youwritedown thewordsof a sentence exactly as theypop intoyourhead.Andwhywouldyoudothat?

Youlookatthesentenceyou’vewrittendown.Youchooseasimplernounandastrongerverb.Isthisrevisionmerelybecausethesentencewasalreadywrittendown?Orisitcompositiontoo?Itmakesnodifference.

Asit’staughtinschool,revisionmeanslittlemorethanCorrectionafterthefact(Orpossiblyproofreading,acompletelyforgottenbutinvaluableskill).Thisbecomesclearwhenstudentsaskiftheycanreviseapiece.Theymeancantheyfixwhatalreadyexists,Adjustasentencehereorthere,Moveacoupleofparagraphs.

Theynevermean“Letmereimaginethepiececompletely,BeginningwithmyapproachtothesubjectAndkeepingonlythehandfulofsentencesthatactuallyworked.”

Writersateverylevelofskillexperiencethetyrannyofwhatexists.It can be overwhelming—the inertia of the paragraphs andpages you’vealreadycomposed,thesentencesyou’vealreadywritten,Nomatterhowroughtheyare.

Whetheryoulovewhatyou’vewrittenornot,Thosesentenceshavethevirtueofalreadyexisting,Whichmakesthembetterthansentencesthatdon’texist.Orsoitseems.

Andyetbecausethey’reroughandprovisional,Theyformanoverlappinggridwithunsuspectedgaps,Anetworkthatseemstodefyrevision.FixingonesentencealmostalwaysmeansfixinganotherandthenanotherAsthoughrevisionwereaninfinitelyrecursiveact.

There’salmostneverenoughtimeforrevision,ifrevisioncomesafterthefactAndifit’sreallyrevision.

Solet’schangethings.Trythisinstead:Reviseatthepointofcomposition.Composeatthepointofrevision.Acceptnoprovisionalsentences.

MakenodraftsAndnodraftsentences.Bringthesentenceyou’reworkingonasclosetoitsfinalstateasyoucanBeforeyouwriteitdownandafter.

DothesameforthenextsentenceAndrightonthroughtotheend.Thinkofcompositionandrevisionasthesamething,Differentversionsofthinking,Philosophicallyindistinguishable.

Theusualpremise is that compositionbrings somethingnew to thepageAndrevisionfixesit.

This is a useless distinction, and it creates a false sense of priority— Abeliefthatthewriter’srealworkismakingnewnessoutofnothing,Asifcreativity only takes place where the ink stops and the blank pagebegins,Wherethecursorsitsblinking.

Asifnewnesscouldn’toriginatebetweensentencesorwithinasentence.Asifrevisionwereessentiallysecondaryanduncreative.

Revision(orcomposition)justasoftenmeansWritingfromthemiddle—fromthemanymiddles—andnottheend.Theend—wherethepagegoesblank—hasnopriority.You’renotreading,pickingupwhereyouleftoff.You’rewriting.Youleftoffeverywhereatonce.Youmayhaveleftoffinthemiddleofaparagraphmanypagesago,Andeverythingsincehasbeenadetour.

Youmayfindthepathyou’relookingforonlybytakingadetour.Asyoubeginrereadingapieceyou’reworkingon,Don’thurrytoresumeworkattheend.Treateverysentenceyoureadasifitwerestillunderrevision.

Composingandrevisingatthesametimewon’tbeeasyatfirst.You’llmakesentencesthatseemfinishedandthenfindflawsinthem.Findingflawsishowyoulearntomakebettersentences.Enjoyit.Youcan’tpreventyourselffromrepeatingamistakeyouhaven’tnoticed.You’llhavetoreadyourworkmany,manytimestofindalltheproblemsembeddedinit.

Evenexperiencedwritershavetodothis.Someflawsdoawonderfuljobofhiding.

So,you’llberevisingeachsentenceasyoucomposeit.Composingeachsentenceasyoureviseit.Andyou’llreadandrereadeverysentenceyoumakemanydozensoftimes,Siftingoutproblemsastheymaterializeinfrontofyou.

You’llbelookingforflaws.Butalsoforopportunities—andformissedopportunities:Thingsyoumighthavesaid,ideasyoumighthavedeveloped,Connectionsyoumighthavemade.

Revisionisn’tonlytheactofcomposition.Revisionisthinkingappliedtolanguage,Anopeningandreopeningofdiscovery,AsearchforthesentencethatsaysthethingyouhadnoideayoucouldsayHiddeninsidethesentenceyou’remaking.

Revisionisthewriter’sreading,Thehabitofnoticingchoices,Noticingthateverysentencemightbeotherwisebutisn’t.

Languagewritheswithurgencytobesayingsomething.Yourjobistounderstandandcontrolthaturgency.

Atfirst,whatyoumeantosaywillemergeBysettingasidethethingsyoudon’tmeantosayAswellastryingtosaythethingitself.

Learningtodothiswilltakesometime.You’llfeelasthoughyou’veboggeddown,Asthoughyou’llneverfindyourwaytotheend.But you’ll also find yourself making discoveries you never could havepredicted,Findingthoughtsyouneverknewexistedbecausetheydidn’texistUntilyouwereexploringsentencesfortheirimplicitpossibilities.

Withpractice,thiswillbecomeamoreefficientandmorecreativewaytowrite,Awayofdiscoveringwhatyoudidn’tknowyoucouldsay,

Whichalsomeanslearningsomethingimportantaboutyourself.

It’salsoavastlymoreinterestingwaytowrite.With practice, itwill becomemore efficient in every sense, Faster,moreaccurate,andfarmoredirectthanthewayyouweretaughttowrite.

You’lllearntotrustitimplicitlyAndyourselfaswell.

Wheredosentencescomefrom?Howdotheyrevealthemselvesinyourthinking?Weliketothinkwemovefromthoughttoexpression,Withnomorefussthanahandshake.

Sometimesyouknowjustwhatyouwanttosay,Andyoufindthewordstosayexactlythat.But just as often what you want to say emerges as the sentence takesshape.

Thethoughtisn’tprimaryorabsolute.Thethoughtisonlyahint.Languageoffersguidanceandresistanceboth.

Thesentencebecomesthethoughtbybringingitfullyintobeing.Weassumethatthoughtshapesthesentence.Butthoughtandsentencearealwaysacollaboration,Thesumofwhatcanbesaidandwhatyou’retryingtosay.

Inwritingyoulove,thesentencesareendlesslyvarious.Howdoyoufindthatvarietyinyourownprose?Onewayisbylookingforsameness,uniformity,andworkingagainstit.Youwouldn’trepeatthesamewordsoverandoveragain,Sowhyrepeatsomanysentencestructures?Better to look for that variety as you’re thinking andwriting, Giving asmuchattentiontotheshapeofthesentenceAsyoudotowhatyou’retryingtosay.

Sometimesarhythminsinuatesitself.Youfindyourselflisteningforechoes,opportunities.Sometimes you find yourself watching the traces of words, Phrases,memories,flittingthroughyourmind.Eachofthesecanengenderasentence,offerashape.Beresponsivetothevariationsthatpresentthemselvesasyouthink.

Soon, you’ll grasp that sentences originate and take their endless varietyFromwithinyou,fromyourreading,Yourtactilememoryforrhythms,Yoursenseoftheplayfulnessattheheartofthelanguage,Yourperceptionoftheworld.

You’lllearntoletasingleword,asimplerhythm,Athingyou’venoticed,Generateasentenceyoudidn’texpect.Thisrequiresachangeinyourmentalhabits.

Andareconsiderationofhowyouwork.

Intheoutlineanddraftmodelofwriting,thinkingislargelydoneupfront.Outlining means organizing the sequence of your meanings, not yoursentences.

Itderogatesthemakingofsentences.Itignoresthesuddennessofthought,Thesurprisestobefoundinthemakingofsentences.Itknowsnothingofthethoughtfulnessyou’lldiscoverasyouwork.

Itpreventsdiscoverywithintheactofwriting.Itsays,planningisonething,writinganother,Anddiscoveryhasnothingtodowithit.

ItoveremphasizeslogicandchronologyBecausetheyofferapparently“natural”structures.ItpreservesthecohesivenessofyourresearchAndleavesyouwithaheapofprovisionalsentences,Whicharesupposedtosketchthethoughtsyou’vealreadyoutlined.

Itfailstorealizethatwritingcomesfromwriting.

You’remorelikelytofindtherightpath—Theinterestingpaththroughyoursubjectandthoughts—Inasentence-by-sentencesearchthaninanoutline.

Thestandardmodelwastesthecontemplativespaceofwriting.Canyouthinkallthegoodthoughtsinadvance?

OutlininghasatleastasmuchtodowithrescuingthewriterfromhimselfAsitdoeswithplanningtheshapeofthepiece.

It’smeanttofreeyoufromthinkingasyouwrite.It provides a catwalk across the open spaces in yourmind To keep youfromfallingintoruminationasyouwrite.

You’llneverknowwhatyouthinkuntilyouescapeyouroutline.

Thepurposeofanoutlineisalsotoconserveyourmaterial,todistributeitevenlysothatmeaningdisclosesitselfneartheend.

Here’sabetterapproach.Squanderyourmaterial.Don’trationit,savingthebestforlast.Youdon’tknowwhatthebestis.Orthelast.Useitup.There’splentymorewherethatcamefrom.

Youwon’tmakenewdiscoveriesuntilyouneedthem.

Whatwritersfearmostisrunningoutofmaterial.Thesoundofawriter’sfearsisthesoundofnothing—Notyping,noclicking,noscratchingofpens.ButyoucanonlyrunoutofmaterialIfyouhaven’tbeenthinkingornoticing.

Trythis:Nooutline.Research,reading,noticing,interviewing,traveling,payingattention,notetaking—all thework you do to understand the subject,whatever it is,whateverkindofpieceyou’rewriting.

Rereadyournotes,andtakenotesonthem.Andagain.Takenotesonyourthoughts.Mostofall,takenotesonwhatinterestsyou.Becertainyou’vemarkedoutwhatinterestsyou.Don’tmakeanoutlinefromyournotes.Don’tturnyournotesintoaroadmapforthesentencestocome.

Rereadyournotes.Nomatterhowlongorshorttheyare.

Thenthink.Andthinkagain.Learntobepatientinthepresenceofyourthoughts.Learntobeequallypatientinthepresenceofanewsentenceoraphraseyoulike.

Letyourselfpauseandworkonthatsentence.Inyourhead.

Don’twriteitdown.Bepatient.Payattentiontoeverythingyou’rethinking.Noticeyourthoughts,Seeifyoucanfeelyourawarenessilluminatingthem.

Ifyou’repayingattention,you’llnoticethatsomeofyourthoughtsinterestyouandsomedon’t.

Howcanyoutell?You’llstopandrethinkthethought,Pauseinitspresence.

Letthethoughtsthatinterestyoudistractyou.Askyourselfaboutthem.Whydotheyinterestyou?Whatwereyouthinkingaboutbeforetheyappeared?Thencomebacktothemainsequence,Unlessyou’vediscoveredabettermainsequenceByfollowingathoughtyou’reinterestedin.

Don’ttrytodistinguishbetweenthinkingandmakingsentences.Pretendthey’rethesamething.Don’trushyourthinking.Don’trushtomakesentences.Seewhathappenswhenyou try toputwords toa thought that interestsyou.

Seewhatwordsthethoughtitselfispresentingandtrymakingasentenceout of them, A sentence like the ones we’ve been talking about, withrhythmandclarityandbalance.

Notavolunteersentence.See if the thought you’re interested in becomes sharper and clearer bymakingasentencefromit.

Itmaybecomemoreobscure.Whatdoesthattellyou?Don’tpanic,keepworkingatit.

Ifyoumakeasentencewhilethinking,Itdoesn’tmeanyouhavetomakemoresentencesimmediately.You can go back to thinking and see what the business of making asentencestirredupinyou.Itmayhavedislodgedotherthoughts,otherconnections.

No onewill teach youhow towaitwhile you think orwhat towait forwhileyou’rethinking.You’llhavetoteachyourself.Aboveall,you’llhavetoteachyourselftobepatient.

Tryingthisonceortwicewon’tdo.It’saskill,notaninstinct.Youmayhavetotryitinsmallincrements,Andyoumayhavetoclingtoapartialoutlineforawhile.That’sokay,Aslongasyou’repreparedtoabandonit.It’samapoftheplacesyoumayendupnotgoing.

Practice,Andyou’lllearntotrusttheagilityandcapacityofyourthinking.You’ll learn that you don’t have to set aside inviolate chunks of time tothink.You’ll find yourself working—thinking, making sentences—in the briefintervals of your ordinary life, In increments no longer than a fewseconds.Howlongdoesathoughttake?Orasentence?

Your thinking will help you discover what interests you in the subjectyou’ve chosen No matter how indirectly or elliptically or obliquelyconnecteditis.

Anythread,anyperception,anylink,anyphrase,anyintuition.Youmaydiscoveranorderlywaytogoaboutthis,Oryoumaymovethroughyourthoughtsinwaysyoucan’tpredict.Itmakesnodifference.Resistthetemptationtostartorganizingandstructuringyourthoughtstoosoon,Boxingthemin,forcingthemintogenre-sizedcontainers.

Postponethesearchfororder,forthesinglelinethroughthepiece.Letyourthoughtsoverlapandcollideandseewhattheydislodge.

Howdoyoubegintowrite?Lookforasentencethatinterestsyou.Asentencethatmightbeginthepiece.Don’tlooktoohard.Justtryoutsomesentences.Lotsofthem.Seehowtheysound.Doanyofthemsoundfirst?Discardthemreadily,easily,withnosenseofloss,Thentryoutsomemore.Thisisimportant.Getusedtodiscardingsentences.

You’reholdinganaudition.Manysentenceswilltryout.Onegetsthepart.You’llrecognizeitlessfromthecharacterofthesentenceitselfthanfromthepromiseitcontains—promiseforthesentencestocome.

Thiswillgeteasierwithpractice.Don’tbealarmedifittakesadayortwooftryingoutsentencesBeforeyoufindthepromisingone.Itmayonlybepromisingenoughtoleadyoutotherealfirstsentence.

Becasualaboutthis.Lookforasentencethatinterestsyou,Asentencewhosepossibilitiesyoulikebecauseofthepotentialyouseeinitswake.Idon’tmeana“fantasticfirstsentence”oronethatsounds“introductory.”

Idon’tmeanasentencethatsoundsfirstbecauseitsoundslikeotherfirstsentencesyou’veread.Idon’tmeanthekindoffirstsentenceteacherssometimestalkabout—theonethatgrabsthereader.Thereaderdoesn’tneedgrabbing.Sheneedstofeelyourinterestinthesentenceyou’vechosentomake.Nothingmore.

Whatmakesthefirstsentenceinteresting?ItsexactshapeandwhatitsaysAndthepossibilityitcreatesforanothersentence.

A beginning needs no éclat, no cleverness, no tricks, No coyly hiddenawarenessofwherethepiecewilltakeus.Theopeningsentenceisonlycreatinganopeningforthenextsentence.

Butthere’salsonothingincidentalaboutthatfirstsentence.You—your role as awriter, the role you construct, your presence to thereader—youandyourfirstsentencebegintogether.

You want to begin the piece, not introduce it, which is the differencebetween a first sentence alreadymoving at speed and a first sentence

thatwantstogeneralizewhileclearingitsthroat.

Thebeginningisonesentencelong.It leads to the next sentence and is largely indistinguishable from othersentencesleadingtothenextsentence.SomanywritersstumblebymakingthefirstsentencetrytodotoomuchAndendupmakingeverysentencetrytodothesame.

Out of all the possibilities created by the first sentence, Make a secondsentence,fullofmorepossibilities,evendisconnectedones.Seeifyoucanwritethesentencethatarisesfromthefirstsentence,Notthesentencethatfollowsfromit,Evenifthatmeansthesecondsentenceliesatsomedistancefromthefirst.ThesecondsentenceyouwritemayturnoutNottobethesecondsentenceafterall.Itmaybetheninth.Thesentenceisn’tburdenedbythequestion,wherewillitgo?

Thepieceisnowtwosentenceslong.Nottwosentencesplusthemissingpagesthathauntyou.Thenextstepistomakethepiecethreesentenceslong.

Don’tworryabouttrajectoryorsequence.Don’tlookfurtheraheadthantwoorthreesentences.Anddon’tplanthosesentences.Writetheminyourheadinstead.

Resistthetemptationtorushaheadtoseewherethey’repointing.Whatmattersisn’twherethey’repointingButwhatinterestsyouinthesentenceyou’remaking,Whichyoumayhavetodiscoverasyoumakeit.Don’tsteerthesentenceswhereyouwantthemtogo.Seeifyoucanfollowthemthere.

Theymaybegoinginmanydifferentdirectionsatfirst.

Don’tgettrappedbythethoughtofwritingsequentially.Ifyouuncovera sentence that seems tobelong toanearlierpassage,Gobacktothatpassageandworkthere.

Youhavenoideawhatyou’regoingtosayUntilyoudiscoverwhatyouwanttosayAsyoumakethesentencesthatsayit.Everysentenceisoptionaluntilitprovesotherwise.Writingistheworkofdiscovery.

Imaginesentencesinsteadofwritingthem.Keepthemimaginaryuntilyou’rehappywiththem.Animaginarysentencesomehowfeels lessbound thanoneyou’vewrittendown.

MakingsentencessoonceasestobeaseparateactAndbecomespartoftheprocessofthinking.Aren’tyoualreadythinkinginsentences?

You’lldiscoverthattheactofmakingsentencesinyourhead—Composingandrevisingatthesametime,

Makingthemsharperandmoreaccurate—Tendstouncoverthoughtsyoudidn’tknowyouhad,Allowing you to say things you didn’t know you knew how to say Insentencesstrongerthanyouknewyoucouldmake.

Soonyoufindyourselfexpecting tosay thingsyoudidn’tknowyouknewhowtosay.

You’llgetintothehabitofsurprisingyourself.ThereaderwillfeelthefreshnessofthediscoveryintheproseBecausethewriteralmostalwaysrevealstheexcitementofmakingadiscoveryInthe

rhythmandthevividnessofthesentencesthemselves.

Butyoudistrustyourmemory.You’reafraidyou’llforgetthesentencesyou’reimagining.Whywouldyou?They’reimportant.

Writethemdown,justincase.Andthengobacktothinking—imaginingsentencesandtheirpossibilities,Feelingyourwayintoeachnewopportunity.

But imagine the sentence in its entirety—and the next one too—beforewritinganythingdown.

Sitbackfromthekeyboardornotepad.Sitback,andcontinuetothink.That’swheretheworkgetsdone.

Youmayglimpsewherethepiecemightgo.Youmayevenseeyourwaythroughtotheend.Ifyoudo,you’llfeelafreshanxietyaboutforgetting,Asif theforestwereclosinginonthepathyouseebeforeyoucanreachThewarm,welcomingcottagewherewritingisover.

But thought isn’t as fleeting as you think, nor does it come completelyunbidden.

Ifthethoughtwasworthhaving,you’llrediscoveritorfindabetterone.Thefearofforgettingandtherushtobedonearecloselyrelated.

You’lllearntotrustyourmemoryasyouwork,Thoughitisn’tevenamatteroftrustingyourmemory.You’llrealizethatthinkingandrememberingarealmostindistinguishable.You’renotonlyimaginingsentencesyouwanttowritedown.You’re also reexploring your subject, sifting your research And all the

elementsthatmakeupyoursubjectEvenasyou’reimaginingsentences.Soon the distinction between thinking about your subject and Thinkingaboutsentencesvanishes.

You’llhavestoppedmakingsentencesinquarantine,In the special ward set aside for sentence making once the outline isfinished,Thewayyouweretaughtinschool.Instead, writing becomes intrinsic to the act of thinking, Completelyintertwinedwithit.

You’realsolearningtotrusttheabilitytoworkinyourheadAndlearninghowyourmindworks,Whichissomethingyoumaynothavenoticedbefore.

We’realwayshasteningtobedonewriting,Butwe’realsohasteningtogetoutofthepresenceofourthoughts.Everythingaboutthinkingmakesusnervous.Wedon’tbelievethere’smuchofvaluetobefoundthere.Wedon’tknowwhenwe’llcometotheendofourthoughts,Butwethinkitmaybesoon.

Why?

Yourmindissilentyetfilledwithvoicesanduncertainty.The uncertainty you feel is one of the places sentences will come from,Andexperiencewillmakeyouruncertaintymorecertain.Stopfearingwhatyou’llfindasyouthink.

Giveyourselfovertothisexperiment.Yourintentionswilldivergefromthemselves.Yourstartingpointmayleadtoplacesyoudidn’timagine,Placesthataskyoutoreconsideryourstartingpoint.

Youmayfeelyourselfclingingtoyouroriginalintention.Why?Becauseitcamefirst?WhynotfollowthecrosscurrentsofyourthinkingAndseewheretheylead?Idon’tmeanfollowthemblindly.Allow your thinking to adjust your intentions in the light of yourdiscoveries.ThismaymeanrelinquishingyouroriginalintentionIfyoufindabetteroneasyouwrite.

Thepieceyou’rewritingissimplytheonethathappenstogetwritten.If you’d begun another way, made a different turn, even started in adifferentmood,Adifferentpiecewouldhavecomeintobeing.Thewriter’sworldisfullofparalleluniverses.Youdiscover,wordbyword,theoneyoudiscover.Tenminutes later—anotherhourof thought—andyouwouldhave foundyourwayintoadifferentuniverse.Thepieceispermeabletotheworldaroundit.It’sresponsivetotimeitself,totheveryhourofitscreation.

Thisisanimmenselyfreeingthingtounderstand.

Itliberatesyoufromtheanxietyofsequence,Thefearthatthere’sonlyonewaythroughyoursubject,Onlyoneusefulapproach.

Learn to accept the discontinuity between yourself and what you write,Thediscontinuitybetweenyourwill,yourintention,yourplanAndthediscoveriesyoumakeasyouwork.

Abandontheideaofpredetermination,Theshapingforceofyourintention,

Untilyou’vegivenitupforgood.Bringyourintentions,byallmeans,butacceptthatthelanguageweuseIsalanguageofaccidentals,alwaysskewingawayfromthecourseweset.Thisissomethingnottomournbuttorevelin—Not only for the friction and sideslip inherent in the language But forfreeingusfromthenarrownessofourpreconceptions.

Imaginethis:Thepieceyou’rewritingisaboutwhatyoufindinthepieceyou’rewriting.Nothingelse.Nomatterhowfactual,hownonfictional,howpurposefulapieceitis.Soonerorlater,you’llbecomemoreinterestedinwhatyou’reabletosayonthepageandlessinterestedinyourintentions.You’ll rely less on the priority of your intentions and more on theimmediacyofwriting.ItmaysoundasifI’mdescribingaformlesssortofwriting.Notatall.Formisdiscoverytoo.It’sperfectlypossibletowritethiswayevenwhenconstrictedbyAnarrowsubject,asmallspace,andatightdeadline.

Howdoyoudecidewhatworks?Whatdoyoudowhenyoursentencesseemtowaverinqualityandvaluebeforeyoureyes?Youreadwhatyou’vewritten,anditlooksgood.Youreaditagain,anditlooksbad.Youreaditathirdtime,andnowyoucan’ttell.Youremergingskillasareaderwillhelp.You’ll read your sentences against the backdrop of all the rest of yourreading.

You’llgetbetteratexaminingyourownchoices—theonesyou’vealreadymade And the ones you see waiting to be made as you reread whatyou’vewritten.Before longyou’llnoticepossibilitiesyouwouldhavebeenblind toonceuponatime.You’llseethatsomeofyoursentencesarestillconjectural.You’llstopseeingonlythenarrowprocessionofthesentencesyou’vemadeAndstartnoticingthethoughtsandimplicationssurroundingthem.You’llbecomestrangelyawareofwhatyou’vechosennottosayAndhowthataffectsthesoundofyoursentences.

Writers too often respond to whole chunks of what they’ve written,Whetherit’saparagraphortheentirepiece.Youreaditandthink,“Thisisterrible,”andthrowthewholethingawaywithasinkingheart.Youreaditandthink,“Thisisterrific,”withasmileandsetitaside,done.Bothresponsesendyourengagementwithwhatyou’vewritten.

There’sabetterway.Startbyfixingthesentencesthatneedfixing. (Therewill surelybe some. If you can’t findany, lookharder, orbeginrereadingthisbook.)Explorethepossibilitiesthatopenup.Continuemakingsmall,incrementalchangesAtthesentencelevelwhereveryouseeproblems,Withnoprioritygiventothebeginningorendofthepiece.Listenforrhythm.

Keepreadingandrereadingwhatyou’vewritten.Anythingthatstrikesyou—anythingthatcausesasubtle,inwardsensationof discomfort, an inner alarm, no matter how faint—stop there andfigureoutwhat’sgoingon.ItmayhavetodonotwiththesentenceitselfButwithitsrelationtosomeothersentence.

There’snorush.

It’ssurprisingwheretheseincrementalchangeslead,Howtheysolidifywhatseemstobeunstable,Howtheyopenupdirectionsyouhadn’tglimpsedbefore.Youmayfindthatthemostimportantsectionofthepiece—asectionyouhaven’t written yet—emerges from the gap createdwhen you break alongsentenceintwo.

It’struethatthesimplestrevisionisdeletion.But there’s often a fine sentence lurkingwithin a bad sentence,A bettersentencehidingunderagoodsentence.Workwordbyworduntilyoudiscoverit.Don’t try to fix an existing sentence with minimal effort, Withoutreimaginingit.Youcanalmostneverfixasentence—Orfindthebettersentencewithinit—Byusingonlythewordsitalreadycontains.Iftheyweretherightwordsalready,thesentenceprobablywouldn’tneedfixing.AndyetwriterssitstaringataflawedsentenceasifitwereaRubik’sCube,Trying to shift the same words round and round until they find thesolution.Takenoteofthispoint:itwillsaveyoualotoffrustration.Thisappliestoparagraphstoo.You may not be able to fix the paragraph using only the sentences italreadycontains.

Howsoonwillyoubegettinggood?Whynotaskhowsoonyou’llbegettingclear?Lookforimprovementwhereveryoufindit,Andbuildoneveryimprovement.Butdon’tlookfortoomuchimprovementallatonce.

Findingaflawisanimprovement.Soisdiscardinganunnecessarywordorusingastrongerverb.Writingevenoneclear,balanced,rhythmicsentenceisanaccomplishment.Itpreparesthewayformoregoodsentences.Itteachesyouhowyourespond,inwardly,toasuccessfulsentenceofyourownmaking.

Ifyouwriteagoodsentence,howwillyouknowit’sgood?Youmayknowit’sgood,feelcertainaboutit.Butyou’relikeliertosenseaninwarddifference,Asubtlefeelingtellingyouthissentenceisn’tthesameastheothers.Evenbeginningwritersnoticethis.Learningthatfeelingisimportant.It’saguideandanincentivetomakingmoregoodsentences.

Thisdoesn’thappeninavoid.Ithappensagainst thebackdropofyourconstantreading,Yourunendingexposuretosuperbsentences.

AndthenonedayYou’llwriteasentencethatsaysmorethanitswordsalonecansay.You’llknowthatitsayswhatyoumeanwithouthavingsaidit,Andyou’llknowthatthereaderknowsittoo.

Thiswillsoundimpossibleuntilyou’vedoneitonce.Thenyou’llseehowpossibleitis,andhowinviting.Itletsthereadercompletethethought.Itsetsanechoinmotion.Thisiswritingbyimplication.

Don’tletthesuccessofasentenceoraparagraphorapiecedeteryou.Somewritersfreeze,fearingthenextonewon’tbeasgood.Somewriterspolishasingleparagraphuntilitglows,Fearingthatthenextparagraphwillruinitsomehow.Acceptit:you’llsurelyfailagainandjustassurelysucceed.There’snothinglinearorsteadyinyourgrowthasawriter.Andthemomentyoufindyourselfgettinggoodatonething, It’s timetopushonintounsafeterrain.

To do this work requires a balance between your commitment to thesentencesyou’remakingAndtheknowledgethateachofthemcouldbeotherwise.

Someshouldbeotherwise;someshouldn’t.MakethatsimpledistinctionagainandagainAndyou’llgetgoodatmakingthatsimpledistinction,Whichisthefoundationofwriting.You’lllearntolivesomewherebetweencertaintyandflux.You’ll learn to remember that your sentences don’t acquire their finalinertiaUntilyoureleasethem.

There’snothingpermanentinthestateofbeingwrittendown.

Your sentences, written down, are in the condition of waiting to beexamined.

Youcommityourselftoeachsentenceasyoumakeit,Andtoeachsentenceasyoufixit,RetainingthecapacitytochangeeverythingandAlwaysrememberingtoworkfromthesmall-scale—Thescaleofthesentence—upward.

Rejoicinganddespairaren’tverygoodtoolsforrevising.Curiosity,patience,andtheabilitytoimproviseare.Soistheabilitytoremainopentotheworkandletitremainopentoyou.

Don’tconfuseorderwithlinearity.You’ll find more than enough order in the thoughts and sentences thatinterestyou.

ByorderImeanmerelyconnections—Someclose,someoblique,someelliptical—Orderofanykindyouchoosetocreate,anywayyouchoosetomove.

Don’tgiveintothememoryofyourschoolwriting,The claustrophobic feeling that there’s only one right order of arguing,proving,demonstrating,Theassumptionthatlogicpersuadesthereader

Insteadoftheclarityofwhatyou’resaying.

There’slittleactuallogicingoodwriting.There’sacurrentofthoughtsandideasandobservations.Somemaybelinkedbyevidence.Onepointmaysubstantiateorcorroborateanother.But what passes for logic or argument is usually little more than asuccessionofideasConnectedmostlybyproximityandanalogy.

Writingdoesn’tproveanything,Anditonlyrarelypersuades.Itdoessomethingmuchbetter.Itattests.Itwitnesses.Itsharesyourinterestinwhatyou’venoticed.Itreportsonthenatureofyourattention.Itsuggeststhepossibilitiesoftheworldaroundyou.Theevidenceoftheworldasitpresentsitselftoyou.

Proofisformathematicians.Logicisforphilosophers.Wehavetestimony.

Thelogicofwriting,asyoulearnedit inschool,TurnsouttomeanlittlemorethananobsessionwithtransitionAndthescatteringofrhetoricaltics—overused,nearlymeaninglesswordsandphrases.

Infact.Indeed.Ontheonehand.Ontheotherhand.Therefore.Moreover.However.Inonerespect.Ofcourse.Whereas.Thus.

Thesearelogicalindicators.Emphasizers.Intensifiers.

Theyinsistuponlogicwhetheritexistsornot.Theyoftencomefirstinthesentence,Tryingtosteerthereader’sunderstandingfromthefront,Asifthereaderwereincapableoffollowingalogicalshiftinthemiddleofthesentence,Asifthesentencehadbeenwrittenintheorderthewriterthoughtofthewords,Withoutanyreconsideration.Thesewordstakethereader’sheadbetweentheirhandsandforcehertolookwheretheywantherto.Imaginehowobnoxiousthatis,That persistent effort to predetermine and overgovern the reader’sresponse.

Thesephrasesalsoobscurethecontentofyoursentences.Ifapieceistrulyassuredinitsorder,nomatterhowconnectedoroblique,Itneedsnologicalindicators.Itwillbeobviouswhenonesentencenegatesoraffirmsanother.Thesewordsbetraythewriter’sanxiety,Thefalsebeliefthatproofisnecessaryandpossible,Thatpersuasionisjusta“thus”away.Theyalso try tobolster the apparent authority of yourpieceBy echoingtheapparentauthorityofotherpeopleWhocan’twriteandwhodistrusttheirownthinking.

Asimpleexperiment:Tryremoving“but”whereveryoucan,Andseeifthesenseofnegationorcontradiction—Thefeelofareversaltakingplace—isn’tstillpresent.“But”isalwayspreferableto“however,”Exceptintherarecaseswhere“however”ispreferableto“but,”Whichhaseverythingtodowithrhythm,formality,andcontext.Andyes,youmaybeginasentencewith“but.”

Anotherexampleoflinearity:chronology.Chronologywillalwaysofferitselfasthe“natural”meansoftellingastoryorrecountinganevent.

Butthere’snothing“natural”aboutmovingchronologicallyinwriting.It’sarhetoricalchoiceamongmanychoices,andusuallyadulloneatthat.It feels likeaprivilegedchoiceonlybyanalogywiththesequenceofourownlives.

Chronologyinourlivesis“natural”inalimitedsense.Weliveontime’sarrow,Andourdaysandnightsfollowtheclock.Butthere’snosuchthingasthought’sarrowOrmood’sarrowOrmemory’sarrow.

Consider your interior life—what you feel and think and the ways youremember.

Howmuchofitischronologicalinorder?Briefsegmentsmaybeimbuedwiththeorderlinessoftime.But in their relation to each other the elements of our internal lives aremorelikelytobeassociative,evendissociative,Linkedinwaysthathavenothingtodowiththeclockorthedaybydayoflifeitself.

WritingisoftenanappealnottotheorderofourchronologicallivesButtotheorderofour internal lives,Which isnonchronological and, in fact,unorderly.

Resistchronology.Itwillalwaystrytoimposeitself.Breaktheflowoftimeonceitbegins.Betteryet,resistitfromthestart.If there’sapleasure inseeingtimerevealedasweread,There’sanequalpleasureinseeingitsuspended,violated,Andbrokenasonlywritingcando.

Usethesimplepasttense—Avoidingthelayeringofseveralpasts—Andgivethereadercleartemporalclueswhenneeded.

Ittakesaskillfulwritertomaketheordinarymotionoftimeengaging.Narrativeishardertowritethanalmostanythingelse.Novelscontainfarlesschronologicalnarrativethanyouthink.Takeapagefromalmostanynovelist.Lookcarefullyateachsentence.Howmanypropelthestoryforwardintime?Andhowmanyaredevotedtoenrichingoursenseofplaceandcharacter?

Ourlivesarefullofendings.Thesungoesdowneveryday.Weaskforthecheck.Eventuallyitcomes.HowbroadahintdoesittaketomakeareaderwholivesonaplanetfullofendingsFeeltheendofyourpieceapproaching?You’vealreadywrittentheendingyouneed.Youdidn’tseeit,becauseyouwerelookingforsomethingmoredramatic.Thereadersawtheendcomingfrommilesaway.

When I say resist chronology, I also mean resist the chronology ofobservation.Whyreportoneventsintheorderyouobservedthem?WhysticktothesequenceinwhichthingshappenedUnlessthere’sagoodreasonforit?Ialsomeanthechronologyoftheevidenceyougather,Thewayittendstoclumptogetherinyournotesandpieces,LumpsofthisandlumpsofthatasifeverywordAdheredstickilytoacohortofequallystickywords:Thetranscriptoftheinterview,thequotationfromanarticle,Thesequence

ofyourimpressionsasyouarriveonthescene.

Yourjobisn’ttoarrangechunksofevidence,Chunksoftheworldintheorderyougatherthem.Yourjobistoatomizeeverythingyoutouch,To dissect your evidence into its details and particulars and Resist theinherentjargonofyoursubject,Breakingaparteveryclodofwordsyoucomeacross.Your jobis toundotheadhesivenessof theevidenceyou’vegathered, Itstendencytoclumpintoindissolubleunits.Dissolvethem.Payattentiononlytowhatinterestsyouinit.Breakthecomplexityofwhatyou’velearnedintotheverysmallpiecesofamosaicShapednotby theclumpingofevidencebutbyyourconsciousdecisionsasawriter.Usetheonedetailyouneedasyouneedit.Bewareofthewayitstickstootherdetails.Whyreproducethewholescenewhenonlyonemomentmatters?Useonlythequotationyouneedwhereyouthinkitbelongs,Andonlytheverybitthatmatters.Useonlythewordsyouchoose.

Writingisawayoforderingperception,butit’sjustasoftenareorderingofperceptioninaformpeculiartothewriter’sdiscovery.Tellingtakestheorderyouwantitto,whichmayhavenothingtodowiththeorderthatseems“natural,”theorderthatvolunteersitself.

The order of what you’re writing is determined by your interest in thematerial And the sense you make of it and by your presence to thereader.You’renotjustfillingspacenow.

Here’sanexperiment:

Copyorprintouta coupleofpages fromanonfictionworkyouadmire,somethingnotpurelymemoir.

(For example, the opening of Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood.)Underlineeach factorassertion,everydetailof landscapeorcharacterortimeorcausation.

Rememberthateverythingyou’rereading—Theverysceneinyourmindthatemergesfromthepage—Isaconstructofassembledfacts.Thenaskyourself,howdoestheauthorknowthesethings?

Seeifyoucanimagine,orguess,thesourceofhisevidenceforeachdetail,Eachquotation,theparticlesofeverydescription.

Makealistofthosesources.Idon’tmeanmerelythebooksandarticlestheauthormayhaveread.Imeanpeopleinterviewed,repeatedvisitstothesiteOndayswhentheweatherdifferedindifferentseasons.Imeanpolicelogsandnewspapers,hearsayandrumor,Countyrecordsandtaxrolls,photoalbumsandgravestones,Anythingtheauthormighthavetouchedupontomakethesepages.

Itaddsuptoquiteacollection,Fromwhichtheauthorhastaken,bitbybit,onlytheelementshewants.Theevidencehasbeenatomized.EachminutedetailhasbeenremovedfromtheimmediateneighborhoodofItsoriginalcontext—whereitwasfirstfoundornoticedortranscribed—And given a new neighborhood in the web of the prose itself,Wherenewlyautonomousfactssurroundit,

Eachofthemrelocatedtoo.

Thisnewneighborhoodisgovernedbymanyforces,includingrhythm.Aboveall,it’sgovernedbythewriter’sneeds.NotbychronologyorlogicorspatialsequenceOranyotherorganizationthatseems,atfirstglance,tobe“natural.”

Therewillbemomentsofchronology,Momentsofanalysisandreflection,Momentsofvisualmovement,Likeatrackingshotinthemovies.Therewillbemomentsofstationarydepth,LikealandscapedrawingbyRembrandt.Buttheorderofthepieceisnotdeterminedbyanysingleoneofthem.Itcanhavemanyorders,allflowingintoone,Whichisthereader’sexperience.

Youweretaughtinschooltoreposeontheauthorityoftheevidenceyougathered,Theresplendentfiguresyouquoted.

Yourememberthosepapers,filledwithgreatlumpsofquotation.Yoursentencespilotedaroundthemlikeashipamongicebergs.

Butwhatifyouweretomusteryourownauthority?Idon’tmeanmakingupfactsandquotations.Imean,whatifthereadertrustedyourprose,Listenedwithinteresttowhatyou’resayingForthesakeofwhatyou’resaying,Insteadofnotingthecomplacency,thedeference,eventheceremonyWithwhichyoubowtotheauthoritiesyoucite?

Whatifthereaderbelieved,somehow,inyou?Listenedforyourvoice,notthevoicesofothers?Watchedforyourperceptions?WhatifthereaderfeltyourauthorityAndthoughtaboutquotingyou?

Inourworld—thewritingworld—

Authorityalwaysrestsinthehandsofthereader,Whocansimplyclosethebookandchooseanother.ThemostfashionablenovelsandthegreatestpoemsCannotforceyoutoreadthemselves.Authorityalwaysbelongstothereader.

Areaderwho’sopenedabooktoitsfirstpageisinatenderpredicament,Whethershe’sstandingintheaisleofabookstoreorsittingathome.Alltheauthoritybelongstoher—theauthoritytoclosethebook.Andyetshe’swilling—yearning—tosurrenderherauthoritytotheauthorAndkeepreading.

ReadersexercisetheirauthorityalmostunconsciouslyIntheirsearchfortheauthoritythatbelongstotheauthor.

As a reader, you know the feeling of looking up after eighty pages andwondering how you got there, The sense of immersion, of entering asharedbutprivatespace.

Alltheauthorityawritereverpossessesistheauthoritythereadergrantshim.Yetthereadergrantsitinresponsetohersenseofthewriter’sauthority.

Authorityarisesonlyfromclarityoflanguageandclarityofperception.Authorityishowthereader’strustisengaged.“Authority” is another word for the implicit bond between writer andreader,Thedesiretokeepreading.Thedesiretofollowthewriterwherevershegoes.Thequestionisn’t,canthereaderfollowyou?That’samatterofgrammarandsyntax.Thequestionis,willthereaderfollowyou?

You’vebeentoldagainandagainthatyouhavetoseducethereader,Sell

thestoryintheveryfirstparagraph. (Nonsense, but it explains a lot of badwriting.) The reader isn’tlookingfortheteaseofasingleparagraph,Ornumbinglycleverprose,orsentencesfullofself-exhibition.Thereaderisinlovewithcontinuity,withextent,withduration,Aboveallwith presence—the feeling that each sentence isn’t merely a staticconstructbutinhabitedbythewriter.Examineyourselfwhilereadingandseeifthatisn’ttrue.

Rhythmisavitalsourceofthewriter’sauthority.If the sentences were shaped any other way, the rhythm would becompletelydifferent.Rhythmcomestothereaderasaprecursorofmanythings.Itanticipatestheintelligibilityofthesentence.Itgroundsthetongueandthemind.Itcreatesbalanceandpropulsion.It’sdeeplyassuringandworthgettingright.

Mostofall:Authorityarisesfromthewayyouwrite,Notfromthesubjectyouwriteabout.Nosubjectissogoodthatitcanredeemindifferentwriting.Butgoodwritingcanmakealmostanysubjectinteresting.That’sthepointofmyepigraphfromJoyceCarolOates:“Thesubjectisthereonlybythegraceoftheauthor’slanguage.”Yourgrace,yourauthority,doesn’tborrowthesubject’svalidity:Itcreatesit.Thesubjectcanneverjustifyyourproseorredeemitsfailures.

When it comes to writing, the intensity of the writer’s feelings and Thepowerofthesubjectmeanalmostnothing.Weonlyglimpsethatpowerandintensity

Inthepowerandintensityoftheprose.

Yetsomehowwebelievethatsubjectiseverything.WebelievethewriterisherstoryAndthatherauthoritysomehowdependsonwhat’shappenedinherlife,Thatherauthorityisauthenticity.Peopleclamortotelltheirstoriesinwords.Thisdoesn’tmakethemwriters,Nordoesitmaketheirstoriesmatter.

youareyourstory,wheredoyougetanother?

Ifyouunderstandhowtobuildsilenceandpatienceandclarityintoyourprose, How to construct sentences that are limber and rhythmic andpreciseAndfilledwithperception,Youcanwriteaboutanything,evenyourself.

Youmayfeeluncomfortablewiththeword“authority.”Perhaps it soundsdominant, overbearing, “authoritarian.”Youmayneedtoworkontheproblemofself-deprecation,Self-distrust,Especially when it comes to noticing the world around you And whatyou’reabletosayaboutit.You may be used to denying your perceptions and dismissing yourawareness.YoumaybecaughtinaconstantstateofdemurralOrhavethehabitofbelittlingyourself.

Watchforthechroniclanguageofself-disparagement,Themomentswhenyousay,“Myproblemis…”Or“Itdoesn’tmatterwhatIthink.”Ifyousaythesekindsofthings,youprobablysaythemoutofhabit,almostunconsciously.Thisisaproductofyoureducationtoo,athomeandatschool.

Payattentiontoit.Recognizehowharmfulitis.Itsmessage—subliminalandovert—isthatyourperceptionsareworthless.

Doeverythingyoucantosubvertthishabit.

The most subversive thing you can do is to write clearly and directly,Assertingthefactsasyouunderstandthem,Yourperceptionsasyou’vegatheredthem.

You’llgroundyourownauthorityinthelanguageitselfAsyoursentencesbecomebetterandbetter.Youmayneedtowriteforyourselfforawhile,Andlistenonlytothelanguage.That’sokay.ThefirstpersonwhoneedstobepersuadedofyourauthorityIsyou.Don’tmakeitimpossibletopersuadeyourself.

Partofthetroublemaybethis:You’reafraidyourideasaren’tgoodenough,Yoursentencesnotcleverororiginalenough.

Butwhatifyourideasarecoherentandthoughtful?Whatifyourperceptionsareaccurateandtrue?Yoursentencesclearanddirect?Whatifallowingustoseewhat’saccurateandtrueisamongthebestworkwritingcando?SayingtheobviousthingbrieflyandclearlyandObservingthecriticaldetailarehardenough.

It’ssurprisinghowoftenideasthatseemobvioustoyouAreinnowayapparenttothereader.

Andviceversa.What seems like common sense to youmay come as a revelation to thereader.Theonly sure testofyour ideas iswhether they interestyouAndarouseyourownexpectations—Thecapacityforsurprisethatyoudiscoverasyouwork.

One purpose of writing—its central purpose—is to offer your testimonyAboutthecharacterofexistenceatthismoment.Itwillbepartofyourjobtosayhowthingsare,Toattesttolifeasitis.Thiswillfeelstrangeatfirst.You’llwonderwhetheryou’reallowedtosaythingsthatsoundNotmerelyobservantbuttrue,Andnotonlytrueincarefullyframed,limitedcircumstances,Buttrueforallofusand,perhaps,foralltime.Whoaskedyoutosayhowthingsare?Wheredoyougettheauthoritytodoanyofthis?Theanswerisyourstofind.

Somepeoplethinkthatdisciplineisimposedfromwithout,Regularhours,strictcontainment,rigorousexclusion.Some people think discipline is revealed from within, Enlightenment,purity,solidityofintent.

Discipline is nothing more than interest and expectation, a lookingforward.It’sneverhardtoworkwhenyou’reinterestedinwhatyou’reworkingon.

Butwhatifyouhatewhatyou’reworkingon?Ithelpstoexaminethecontentofyourloathing.Whatisityouhate?Themovementofyourideas?

Thenatureofyourprose?Theobligationsandprohibitionsyoustillsecretlyhonor?Therulesandfearsyouclingto?

Doesit feelasthougheverywordyousetdownispartofaninescapabletrap?

Asthoughyou’refollowingalogicororderthat’snotyourown?Buildingamazewithnothingbutdeadends?Writinginalanguageyouwouldneversay?

It’ssurprisinghowoftenthetroublewithapieceofwritingHasnothingtodowiththewritingitself.

The trouble is anything that keeps you from looking with undivertedattentionatwhatyou’rethinkingandtryingtosay,Athowyou’retryingtosayitandwhatthesentenceisrevealing.

Anythingthatkeepsyoufromwatchingtheforegroundofyourmind.

True discipline is remembering and recovering—inventing if necessary—whatinterestsyou.

Ifitdoesn’tinterestyou,howcoulditpossiblyinterestanyoneelse?

Theproblemmaynotbethesentencesatall.Itmaybetheexpectationsthatseemtoemergeasyouwrite,Thedifferentaudiencesyou’retryingtoplease,

Thecriticismsyouimagine,The conventions you’re obeying without actually choosing them, Theconstraintsofgenre,

Nottomentionanendlessarmyofvolunteersentences.

Areyouwritingonatrulyblankscreenorpieceofpaper?Or are youwriting on a palimpsest of rules and regulations, Things youthinkyoumustdo,methodsyoumustconformto?

Makeyourselfawareoftheforcesgettinginthewayofyourwriting.

Youmaybecreatingsyntacticaland logicalpatterns thatcast themselvesforwardIntofuturesentencesandendupconstrictingyou.

Parallelismsandcontrasts,forinstance.Theyseemtoofferstructureandguidance,butthey’retyingyourhands.Notice how instinctively you grasp any pattern, any parallel, Anyconnectionthatpromisestohelpyoudefinehow

Thenextfewsentences,thenextfewparagraphs,willlaythemselvesout.It’s as though you can’t help wanting the piece to move faster or seemeasiertowrite.

Resistthatinstinct.

You’llrecognizethefeelingwhenthathappens,thesenseofbeingtrapped,Coercedintowritingasentenceofapredeterminedshape.

OneofthemostpowerfulfeelingsawriterexperienceswhileworkingIsasense of obligation, of having tomake a sentence or a paragraph Thiswayorthatway,beingobligedtowritethatsentenceorthatparagraph.

It’saterriblefeelingandalwaysasignoftrouble.Questionthatobligation.Seeifyoucanthinkyourwayaroundit.

Avoiding what you feel youmust write is asmuch a part of writing Asdiscoveringwhatyoudidn’tknowyoucouldwrite.

Everysentenceisentitledtostructuralfreedom.

Yetpartofthewriter’seconomyissometimesfindingThe simplest, most direct route, making a simpler, plainer sentence,Acceptingthatinthevarietyofsentencesyoumake,

Somewilldotheirworkmosteffectivelyiftheydoitinastraightforwardmanner.

Plainsentencesareaspurposefulandefficientasthesentencesthatseemtoresonate.

Thewaytorecoveryourinterest,yourdiscipline,oftenbeginsonasmall

scale,Byfixingsentences,workingonsyntax,Lookingforproblemsinthesentencesthemselves.Asyouwork—sentencebysentence,thoughtbythought,Makingthisphrasebetter,thatverbstronger—yourmoodwilllifttoo.Theworkwillrescueyouinsteadofyourescuingit.

Nowit’stimetotalkabouttheotherreader.Perhapsyou’vebeenwonderingaboutherallalong.Notthereaderwithageniusfortakingyouliterally,WhoalwaysmakesthewrongturninambiguoussentencesAndstumblesoversyntacticalblunders,But the other onewho lives beside her in the very same brain: Literate,curious,adaptable,intelligent,andopen-minded.

Let’sbeginbypresupposingsheexists,Whichismorethanyoureducationpresupposes.

Nearlyeverythingyou’vebeentaughtaboutwritingAssumesthatthereaderisploddingatbest,Alwaysdistractedandneedinga surfeit of superficial clevernessTokeephisheadpointedtowardthetext.

You’llfindthatassumptionallaroundyou.

WeremovetheunfamiliarwordsforhimSohe’llneverhavethechancetolearnthem.Weover-reasonforhim,fillingourprosewithapproximationsoflogic,Sohe’llfeelhe’shadagoodthink.

Theordinaryreader—theordinaryaudience—isabarrenconceit.Itguaranteesasharedmediocrity.Don’tpreconceivethereader’slimitations.They’llbecomeyourown.

Towritewell,itisn’tenoughforyoutoreaddifferently.Imaginethereaderreadingdifferentlytoo,AlivetothemovementoflanguageAndthequalitiesofwritingthatdependOnanunspokenunderstandingbetweenwriterandreader:Wit,irony,inference,andimplication.

Imagineareaderyoucantrust.

Thissoundslikeasimpleimperative.But the difference between writing for the reader implicit in youreducation And writing for one you trust is the difference betweenwriting clumsily, Using all the grappling hooks of transition and falselogic,Andwritingwell,abletomovebrisklyandfreely,

Goinganywherefromanywherealmostinstantly.

All your life you’ve been reading books that trusted you, Trusted yourintelligence,yourkeenness,

Yourabilitytofeelaninvisiblewink,Tofollowanytrail,Evenwhileyouwerelearninginschoolnottotrustthereader.

Thebooksthattrustedyoumostmaybetheonesyoulovebest.

Andwhathappensifyoutrustthereader?

Allthedevicesofdistrustfallaway,Thepretenseoflogic,theobsessionwithtransition,Thecreeping,incrementalmovementofsentences,Sentencessteppingoneachother’sheels.

WiththemgoallthedevicesMeanttooverawethereader,thatapingofauthority

Whichevenyoungwriterslearnsosoonandsowell—AproseabouthierarchyanditsdemarcationsRatherthantheauthorityofclarityanddirectness.

Whywouldyoutrytooveraweareaderyoucantrust?Thereaderyoucantrustisareaderpredisposedtotrustyou.Inthatreciprocityliesthejoyofwritingandreading.Youcan’ttrustthereaderwithoutalsotrustingyourself.

ThetrustworthyreaderisalerttothewayyoursentencesCreatepromisesandcontracts.Theseimplicitpromisesareadescantrunningthroughyoursentences.

If you write ambiguous sentences, you create a state of uncontrolledimplication, And among those implications are commitments to thereaderthatcan’tbefulfilledBecausethewriterisn’tawareofthem.Butthereaderfeelsthembeingmadeandbroken,againandagain.

YoursentencescomeonebyoneontothestageAndleaveitonebyone,withoutassistingeachother.Buttheylistenintentlytooneanother,Withspecialattentiontothepromisesthey’vemade.

Inthesyntaxandrhythmofthesentences,Inthepaceofthought,theintensityofmovement,Thecrescendoanddecrescendo,Thetrustworthyreaderlearnsthewriter’shabitudeandhowtomovewithit.Youconverse,inasense,withthevoiceontheothersideoftheink.

Thatkindofreadingisthepleasureofbeingsummonedoutofourselvesbythegrace,Theferocity,theskillofthewritingbeforeus.Howelsetoexplainourloveofevendifficultwriters?

Theiragilityevokesouragility.Wemoveattheirspeed,elliptically,obliquely,Howevertheymove.

ImagineacellistplayingoneofBach’ssolosuites.Doesheconsiderhisaudience?(DidBach,forthatmatter?)DoesheplaythesuitedifferentlytoaudiencesOfdifferentincomesandeducationsandsocialbackgrounds?No.Theworkselectsitsaudience.

You’llbetemptedtoask,“Whoisthereader?”Thebetterquestionisalways,“WhoamItothereader?”Andalso,“Howmanyversionsof‘I’arepresentinthispiece?”Whosaidtherehadtobeonlyone?

Soonerorlater,you’llalsowonder,“WhatcanIexpectthereadertoknow?”It’saperplexingquestionforwriters,Awayofasking,“Howmuchofmyworldoverlapswiththereader’s?”

Hiddenbehindthatphilosophicalquestion isamorepracticalone:“HowmuchdoIhavetoexplain?”

It helps to remember that your prose is going to be read Against twodifferentbackdrops:Whatthereaderknowsaboutreadingandwhatthereaderknowsaboutlife.It’ssurprisinghowmanywritersforgetthelifepart.

TrustingthereaderisawayofcontrollingThetemptationtoover-narrate,over-describe,over-interpret,over-signify.Itletsthereadersharetheburdenofcomprehension.

Thisispartoftheconstantnegotiationbetweenwritersandreaders.Agoodreaderwillfollowagoodwriterwherevershegoes,Andthegoodwriterwilldoallshecantohelp.

That’swhylearningtoreadyourownworkasareader,Notasitswriter,issohelpful.Learntotrustyourselfasthereader.You’llneverknowanothermorethoroughly.

Insteadofwritingforanimaginaryaudienceofreaders,howeverlargeorsmall,Trywritingforthereaderinyourself,Astandinforthereaderyoutrust,Who’salwaysathandandalwaysconsistent.Likebeingthenarrator,thisisakindofrole-playing—Impersonating the literal-minded reader and the trusting reader at thesametime.

ItmeanstryingtocometoyourworkWithouttheimmenseforeknowledgeofhavingwrittenit.Anditmeansimaginingthereader’sexperienceAshegatherswhatheknowsaboutyourpieceOnlyfromwhateachsentencereveals,oneaftertheother.

Thiswould be impossible if you hadn’t spent somuch timeAs a readeryourself making your way through other writers’ works, Orientingyourselfinunfamiliarworlds,sentencebysentence,Learningcharactersanddecipheringplots,wordbyword,Absorbing arguments, and tracing the meditative currents of essays,Undauntedbythenewnessofthenextthingyouread.

Beingyourownreaderdoesn’tmeanyou’rewritingonlyforyourself.Itisn’tsolipsismoregocentricity.

It’soneofthewriter’simportanteconomies,A faith in the kinship between you and the reader who isn’t you, Theassurance that what interests you will interest the reader If yoursentenceswarrantit.This you will have to take on trust—that you and the reader Aremorealikethanyouliketothink.Otherwisehowwouldanyofthisbepossible?

Besidesbeingyourownreader,you’realsoyourowneditor.Youronlyeditor.Yourwritingisyourresponsibility,firstandlast,ineverydetail.Noonewillfixitorcleanitup.It’syourjobtobeclear,precise,intelligent,resourceful,poetic,andwiseInproseofstaggeringclarity,allofitperfectlyproofread.That’swhyyoubecameawriter,isn’tit?

You’renotresponsibleforyourreaders’ignorance,Andthey’renotresponsibleforyourerudition.Knowwhatyouwanttoknow,learnwhatyouwanttolearn,Usewhatyouwanttouse,Withoutworryingwhetheryou’rewanderingoutofthereader’sdepth.

AtthesametimeshowatendercareFor the reader’s attention,hisknowledgeofplaceand time,His senseofhiswhereaboutsinthepagesbeforehim.Pausenowandthentomakesurehe’swithyou.Bring him up to the crow’s nest to get a feel for the current andwhereyou’reheaded.Thissoundscontradictory,Iknow.Butthen,somuchofwritingis.

Whenwillyoubedone?

Thisisn’taboutgettingtotheendofthewritingdayandoutofyourheadatlast.It’saboutknowingwhenapieceisfinished.

Thisquestionisavariantof“HowwillIknowwhentostoprevising?”Aquestionthatringswithacertainfear,AsthoughyoumightspawnathousandmutationsofeverysentenceWithnomeansofnaturalselection.

“Done”isn’tabsoluteorarbitrary.Norisitreallyaboutlearningyourlimitsasawriter.It’sacompromise.

Thisisanotherofthewriter’seconomies,Knowinghowfartopushapieceandwhentoletitgo.There’ssometimesarelentingwhenyoustopatlast.Moretime,moremoney,moreresearch,moreintelligence,Mighthavemadeadifference.

Butthere’ssometimesacertaintytoo,Theknowledgethatthisparticularparalleluniverseisnowcomplete.

“Done enough” sounds too callow todescribe the compromise, So call it“perfectionenough,”Asperfectaspossibleunderthecircumstances.

There’snoobjectivemeasureof“done.”It’sanassurancewithinyourself,A response to the work that’s as much feeling as judgment, A feelingderivedfromyourrichexperienceofthecompletenessOfallthebooksyou’vereadinyourlife.

Atfirst,“done”willcometoosoon.

You’llthinkyou’refinishedonlytofind,again,Howwellsomesentenceshideambiguity.Or “done” may seem too remote, an unimaginable state of perfectionAchievedafterinfiniterevision.

Butinacertainsense,thecompletenessofyourpieceWillhavebeeninherentinitallalong.Youcomeuponitwithonefinalrevision,onefinalfix.It’slikelytotakeyoubysurprise.

You’re urging forward every word, every phrase, Every sentence, everyrhythm,untiltheyfindtheirbalance,theircoherence.Youmay thinkyouknow,at the start,whatyouwant that coherence tofeellike.Butitwon’t.

Solet’snottalkabout“done.”It’spremature,somethingyou’lldiscoverforyourselfwhenthetimecomes.You’llneedtoknowtwothings:Youwon’twriteafinalsentenceandthen“TheEnd,”And thedistance tocompletionwill changewith thechanges in thewayyouwrite.

Thebetterquestionnowisthemorefearfulone:“HowwillIknowwhentostoprevising?”You may not be able to tell yet whether your revisions are reallyimprovements.

Sorevisetowardbrevity—removewordsinsteadofaddingthem.Towarddirectness—languagethatisn’tevasiveorperiphrastic.Towardsimplicity—inconstructionandwordchoice.Towardclarity—aconstantlookoutforambiguity.

Towardrhythm—whereit’slacking.Towardliteralness—asanantidotetoobscurity.Towardimplication—thesilentutteranceofyoursentences.Towardvariation—always.Towardsilence—leavesome.Towardthenameoftheworld—yourstodiscover.Towardpresence—thequietauthorityofyourprose.

Andwhenthingsarereallyworking,That’swhenit’stimetobreakwhatalreadyworks,

AndkeepbreakingitUntilyoufindwhat’snext.

Ibeganthisbookbywriting,Knowwhateachsentencesays,Whatitdoesn’tsay,Andwhatitimplies.

Thewaytokeepgoing?Neverstopreading.SaymorethanyouthoughtyouknewhowtosayInsentencesbetterthanyoueverimaginedForthereaderwhoreadsbetweenthelines.

SomeProseandSomeQuestions

Herearesomepassagestoexperimentwithasyoureadthisbook.

Butlet’ssetasideafewresponses:Whetheryoulikeapassageornot.Whetheryouliketheauthorornot.Whetherornotyouthinktheauthorlikesyou.Whetheryoulikewhatapassageissaying.Thosearen’tusefullayersofresponsefortheseexperiments.

Let’salsosetasidethequestionofmeaning,significance.Don’tbeconcernedwithwhattheauthoris“tryingtosay.”Each of these passages—with one or two possible exceptions—is

boundtootherpassagesintheworkitwastakenfromandisthereforeincomplete.

Watchyourselfcarefully.Youmaybetryingtodiscoverthingsthatcanlaterbeconvertedinto

meaning.Youmayalsofindyourselftryingtodescribethestyleoftheproseor

itsideologicalortheoreticalcontent.Don’t.Themostvaluablethoughtsmaybetheonesthatbegin,“Idon’tknow

ifthisisimportantbut…”or“Thiswillsoundlikenitpicking…”

Allyou’redoingisnoticingwhatyounotice.Trytoresistdecidingwhetherwhatyounoticeisimportantornot.Ofcourseitis,evenifyoucan’tsaypreciselywhatitisyou’venoticed.

Beginbyreadingthesepassagesaloud.

I’ve already listed some of the questions youmight ask about thesepassages(onthispage).

Youwillthinkofmanyothers.

MYBANDANNAISROLLEDonthediagonalandretainswaterfairlywell.Ikeepitknottedaroundmyhead,andnowandagaindip it into the river.Thewater is forty-six degrees. Against the temples, it is refrigerant andrelieving.Thishasdoneawaywiththeheadachesthatthesuncausedindaysbefore.TheArcticsun—penetrating,intense—seemsnotsomuchtoshineas to strike.Even the tricklesofwater that rundownmyT-shirtfeelgood.Meanwhile, the river—theclearest,purestwater Ihaveeverseen flowing over rocks—breaks the light into flashes and sends themupwardintotheeyes.Theheadacheshaveremindedmeofthekindthataresometimescausedbyaltitude,but,forallthefactthatwehavecomedownthroughmountains,wehavenotbeenhigherthanafewhundredfeetabovethelevelofthesea.Driftingnow—acanoe,twokayaks—andthankingGoditisnotmyturnineitherofthekayaks,Iliftmyfishrodfromthetinesofacaribourack(lashedthereinmid-canoetotheduffel)and send a line flying toward a wall of bedrock by the edge of thestream.Agrayling comesup and, after somehesitation, takes the lureandrunswithitforatime.Idisengagethelureandletthegraylinggo,beingmindfulnottowipemyhandsonmyshirt.Severaldaysinuse,theshirtisapproachingfilthy,buthereamonggrizzlybearsIwouldprefertostinkofhumanitythanoffish.

JOHNMCPHEE,ComingintotheCountry

THE DISTANCE FROM NEW ORLEANS toAlexandria is about190miles.The first 90miles, from New Orleans to Baton Rouge, are on a throughway, astraight, fast road on the east side of theMississippi, far enough backfromthebanktoavoidmeanders,andhighenoughoverthemarshestoobviatebridges.Thereisnothingworthalonglook.Thebayousparallelthe roadon either side like stagnant,weed-strangledditches, but theirlife is discreetly subsurface—snapping turtles, garfish,watermoccasinsandalligators.Themammalsarewaterratsandmuskratsandnutria,athirdkindofrat.Thenutria,particularlyferocious,isexpropriatingtheotherrats.Birdlife,onthedaywedrovethrough,wasapatrolofturkeybuzzards looking down for rat cadavers. There pressed down on the

landscape a smell likewater that householders have inadvertently leftflowers in while they went off for a summer holiday. It was an idealsettingfortalkaboutpolitics.

A.J.LIEBLING,TheEarlofLouisiana

THETIDEWASOUT.Sofarastheeyecouldseetherestretchedthemattedbentsofthemudflats:asoftmonotonyblendedofgreyandgreenandblueandpurple.Ithadaquiltedlook,forthethousandsofrivulets,whichcastanetworkoverit,followedthesamecoursedayin,dayout,andhadworndownthemudintochannelsbetweenthehummockssomefeetdeep.Tothe small creatures which lived here this must have been a mostfantastic landscape. At the bottom of these deep channels the tinystreams, only a few inches wide, had their established, deeply gravenwaterfalls, their rapids which tested to the utmost the gallantry ofstraws,andlakeswithbaysandbeaches;andontheislandsgrassrootsfoundpurchaseonthemudbygrippingitandoneanothersothattheygrew into cushions of jungle, one plant rising on another likeminutevegetablepagodas.Thescenewasincisedandoverstuffedwithprofligateingenuity;anditwasoddtothinkofallthiselaborationbeingwipedouttwice in every twenty-four hours, the rivulets losing their identities inthe rough inundationof the tide, the springinggrasses, soobstinate intheirintentionofmakingdrylandoutofmud,becomingthebottomofthe sea. There was the same spendthrift and impermanent fabricationgoing on at ground level as there was over our heads, where greatclouds, momentarily like castles, temples, mountains, and giant birds,wereblownbythecleansingwinterwindtotheedgesof thesky,herenot clipped away by hills or streets and astonishingly far apart. Therecould not have been a more generous scene, nor one which was lesssuitedtoreceivetheremainsofMr.Setty,whofrominfancyhadbeensodeeplyinvolvedincalculation,andsounhappily,whohadtriedkeepingfiguresoutsidehisheadandgotsenttoprisonforit,andhadkepttheminsidehisheadandgotkilledforit.

REBECCAWEST,“Mr.SettyandMr.Hume”

TO MY AUNT MAE—Mary Elizabeth Davenport Morrow (1881–1964), whosediarywhenIsawitafterherdeathturnedouttobealistofplaces,withdates, she and Uncle Buzzie (Julius Allen Morrow, 1885–1970) hadvisited over the years, never driving over thirtymiles an hour, placeslike Toccoa Falls, Georgia, and Antreville, South Carolina, as well asrandom sentences athwart the page, two of which face downindifference, “My fatherwas a horse doctor, but not a common horsedoctor” and “Nobody has ever loved me as much as I have lovedthem”—and a Mrs. Cora Shiflett, a neighbor on East Franklin Street,Anderson,SouthCarolina,Iowemyloveofreading.

GUYDAVENPORT,“OnReading”

EVENWHENYOUWATCHtheprocessofcoal-extractionyouprobablyonlywatchit for a short time, and it is not until you begin making a fewcalculations that you realise what a stupendous task the “fillers” areperforming.Normallyeachmanhas tocleara space fouror fiveyardswide.The cutterhasundermined the coal to thedepthof five feet, sothat if theseamofcoal is threeor four feethigh,eachmanhas tocutout, break up and load on to the belt something between seven andtwelve cubic yards of coal. This is to say, taking a cubic yard asweighingtwenty-sevenhundredweight,thateachmanisshiftingcoalataspeedapproachingtwotonsanhour.Ihavejustenoughexperienceofpickandshovelwork tobeable tograspwhat thismeans.When Iamdigging trenches inmy garden, if I shift two tons of earth during theafternoon, I feel that Ihaveearnedmy tea.Butearth is tractable stuffcompared with coal, and I don’t have to work kneeling down, athousandfeetunderground,insuffocatingheatandswallowingcoaldustwitheverybreathItake;nordoIhavetowalkamilebentdoublebeforeIbegin.Theminer’sjobwouldbeasmuchbeyondmypowerasitwouldbetoperformontheflyingtrapezeortowintheGrandNational.IamnotamanuallabourerandpleaseGodInevershallbeone,buttherearesomekindsofmanualworkthatIcoulddoifIhadto.AtapitchIcouldbea tolerable road-sweeperoran inefficientgardenerorevena tenth-ratefarmhand.ButbynoconceivableamountofeffortortrainingcouldIbecomeacoalminer;theworkwouldkillmeinafewweeks.

GEORGEORWELL,TheRoadtoWiganPier

WHAT IS THE CHINESEWAR LIKE?Well,at least it isn’t likewars inhistorybooks.Youknow,thoselucidtidymapsofbattlesoneusedtostudy,theflankslikeneatlittlecubes,thepincermovementsworkingwithmathematicalprecision,thereinforcementsneverfailingtoarrive.Warisn’tlikethat.Warisbombinganalreadydisusedarsenal,missingitandkillingafewold women. War is lying in a stable with a gangrenous leg. War isdrinking hotwater in a barn andworrying about one’swife.War is ahandful of lost and terrified men in the mountains, shooting atsomething moving in the undergrowth. War is waiting for days withnothingtodo,shoutingdownadeadtelephone,goingwithoutsleepandsexandawash.Warisuntidy,inefficient,obscene,andlargelyamatterofchance.

W.H.AUDEN,1939

THEWINTERFIRESOFNEWYORKburneverywhereliketheghatsinBenares.Onthevalueless land north of the ship canal some children, dressed likeaviators,areburningaChristmastree.Anashcanisblazingonthebanksof the river. Rubbish fires glow in the backyards of Harlem. Farthersouth,whereaslumisbeingcleared,thereisalargeconflagrationofoldlathes.AnotherrubbishbarrelandanotherChristmastreeareburningonNinety-sixth Street. On the curb at Eighty-third Street an old wickertable is being consumed with fire. In a vacant lot in the fifties somechildrenareburningamattress.Southof theUnitedNations there isabigfireofcardboardcartonsbehindagrocerystore.Manyfiresburninthe gutters and backyards of the slums; there are bonfires of woodencratesinfrontofthefishmarketandonBatteryPark,untended,anironbasket, full ofwaste, lights the gloom as all these other fires do on awinterduskwhenthedarkbeginstofallbeforethelightsgoon.

JOHNCHEEVER,Journals

IN THE SUMMER OF 1943 I was eight, andmy father andmother and small

brother and Iwere at Peterson Field in Colorado Springs. A hotwindblew through that summer, blew until it seemed that before Augustbroke,allthedustinKansaswouldbeinColorado,wouldhavedriftedover the tar-paper barracks and the temporary strip and stopped onlywhenithitPikesPeak.Therewasnotmuchtodo,asummerlikethat:therewasthedaytheybroughtinthefirstB-29,aneventtorememberbut scarcely a vacation program. There was an Officers’ Club, but noswimmingpool;alltheOfficers’Clubhadof interestwasartificialbluerainbehindthebar.Theraininterestedmeagooddeal,butIcouldnotspendthesummerwatchingit,andsowewent,mybrotherandI,tothemovies.Wewentthreeandfourafternoonsaweek,satonfoldingchairsinthe

darkenedQuonsethutwhichservedasatheater,anditwasthere,thatsummerof1943whilethehotwindblewoutside,thatIfirstsawJohnWayne. Saw the walk, heard the voice. Heard him tell the girl in apicturecalledWarof theWildcats thathewouldbuildherahouse,“atthebendintheriverwherethecottonwoodsgrow.”AsithappenedIdidnotgrowuptobethekindofwomanwhoisthe

heroine in aWestern, and although the men I have known have hadmanyvirtuesandhavetakenmetoliveinmanyplacesIhavecometolove,theyhaveneverbeenJohnWayne,andtheyhavenevertakenmetothatbendintheriverwherethecottonwoodsgrow.Deepinthatpartofmyheartwheretheartificialrainforeverfalls, that isstill the lineIwaittohear.

JOANDIDION,“JohnWayne:ALoveSong,”inSlouchingTowardsBethlehem

I GREW UP IN THE MIDWEST anddespisedhorses. Theones I rode struckme asstupid anduntrustworthy. Iwent toWyomingwhen Iwas young, andtheonestherewereworse.Onacoldmorning,twooutofthreewouldbuckyoudown.Theywere, I felt, anuglynecessity forwherea truckwouldn’tgo.I’vebeenkicked,steppedon,andbitten.BittenIlikedleast.Mymost

trustworthysaddlehorseleanedoveroncewhileIwascinchinghimupandclampedonmyupperleg,turningthethighintowhatlookedlikea

CentralAmericansunset.Ithrewhimdownontheground,half-hitchedhisfeettogether,andputatarpoverhim.Ilethimuptwohourslater:hethoughtIwasthegreatestmanintheworld,onehewouldn’tthinkofbiting.Horsesonlyremembertheendofthestory.

TOMMCGUANE,“Roping,fromAtoB,”inAnOutsideChance

THISMORNING,aninvasionoftinyblackants.Onebyonetheyappear,outofnowhere—that’s their charm too!—moving single file across thewhiteParsonstablewhereIamsitting,tryingwithoutmuchsuccesstowriteapoem. A poem of only three or four lines is what I want, somethingshort,tight,mean,Iwantittohurtlikeawhite-hotwireupthenostrils,smallandcompactandturnedinuponitselfwiththedensityofahunkofrockfromJupiter…Butherecometheants:harbingers,youmightsay,ofspring.Oneby

onetheyappearonthedazzlingwhitetableandonebyoneIkillthemwith a forefinger, my deft right forefinger, mashing each against thesurfaceofthetableanddroppingit intoawastebasketatmyside.Idlelabor,mesmerizing,effortless,andI’mcuriousastohowlongIcandoit,sit here in the brilliant March sunshine killing ants with my rightforefinger,howlongI,andtheants,cankeepitup.After a while I realize that I can do it a long time. And that I’ve

writtenmypoem.JOYCECAROLOATES,“AgainstNature”

I CARE NOT TO BE CARRIED with the tide, that smoothly bears human life toeternity;andreluctattheinevitablecourseofdestiny.Iaminlovewiththis green earth; the face of town and country; the unspeakable ruralsolitudes,andthesweetsecurityofstreets.Iwouldsetupmytabernaclehere.IamcontenttostandstillattheagetowhichIamarrived;I,andmyfriends:tobenoyounger,noricher,nohandsomer.Idonotwanttobeweanedbyage;ordrop,likemellowfruit,astheysay,intothegrave.Anyalteration,onthisearthofmine,indietorinlodging,puzzlesanddiscomposesme.Myhousehold-godsplantaterriblefixedfoot,andare

notrootedupwithoutblood.TheydonotwillinglyseekLavinianshores.Anewstateofbeingstaggersme.Sun, and sky, and breeze, and solitarywalks, and summer holidays,andthegreennessoffields,andthedeliciousjuicesofmeatsandfishes,and society, and the cheerful glass, and candle-light, and fire-sideconversations,andinnocentvanities,andjests,andironyitself—dothesethingsgooutwithlife?

CHARLESLAMB,“NewYear’sEve,”1821

Considereachsentenceonitsown,disconnectedfromthewhole.(That’s inevitably one of the ways you consider the sentences youmake.)

Payattentiontotheordinarywayyoumightsaysomething.Think of that as the backdrop for the questions you ask thesesentences.

Seeanythingpeculiar?Aphrasingyoudidn’texpect?Arhythmmorepronouncedthanitssurroundings?Awordinapositionthatsoundsodd?Note ineachpassagehowvariant in structure the sentencesare—notwoquitethesameinshape.Andhow,when they’re invariant,youcan feel the reasonwhy. (SeeAuden.)

Howclosely—orhowloosely—arethesentencesinapassageboundtoeachother?Can you feel a gap between them—something indiscernible goingunsaid?Are there sentences that explainor fulfill the sentence that precedesthem?Thatbuildarhythmwithothersentences?Sentencesthatmisdirectordecoythereader?Asentencethat’sworkingharderthantheothers—doingmoretodraw

orturnthereader’sattention?Letyourselfaskthequestionwhy.Whyistheauthorchoosingthisword,writingthatsentencethatway?Don’texpecttofindananswer.Expecttofindsomepossibilities.

Herearesomeexamples.

WhydoesJohnMcPheeusetheword“refrigerant”?Whynotsimply“cooling”?Andwhy“thetemples”andnot“mytemples”?Andwhy “days before,” as if thiswere legend, or “level of the sea”insteadof“sealevel”?Notice theword “there” in the parenthetical phrase near the end ofthepassage.Canyoufeelhowitorientsus?HowitsituatesMcPhee?

Takealookattheverbs(andthesentencestructures)inthepassagebyA.J.Liebling.Forthemostpart,they’reprettyplain:“is,”“are,”“was.”Sowheredoesthelifeofthispassagecomefrom?Repetitiondoesonekindofworkhere,another,vastlydifferentkindinthepassagebyAuden.Considertheeconomyofusingtheverb“toobviate.”Can you see that Liebling has left the vase out of the penultimatesentence?Andhowmuchitwouldcomplicatethingstoincludeit?

SlowdownagreatdealasyoureadthepassagebyRebeccaWest.If necessary, take a pen or pencil and indicate the breaks betweenphrasesorclauseswhereshehasn’talreadyusedamarkofpunctuation.Thenreaditaloudagain.Inthispassage, itwouldbeusefultosortthroughthenounsandseewhatkindsthereare,whatcategoriestheyfallinto.Itwouldalsobeusefultobreakthisintoaseriesofshortsentences—

as short as possible (“The tide was out”)—and then watch howWestrecombinesthemintothetexture,therhythm,ofherprose.Look for the modifiers in this passage—individual words but also,

moreimportant,entirephrases.PayattentiontothewaytheyextendandstructureWest’ssentences.

In Guy Davenport, too, it’s worth seeing if you can find the separateassertionsthatunderliethisextraordinarysinglesentenceandturnthemintotheirownsentences:Overtheyears,sheandUncleBuzziehadvisitedplaceslikeToccoaFalls,Georgia,andAntreville,SouthCarolina.Theyneverdrovefasterthanthirtymilesanhour.Thenlookatthewordsthatareleftbehind.This is a sentence built by suspension—a sense of equivalence—not

subordination.Howdoesthatcomeabout?AndwhywouldDavenportwriteasentencelikethis?

InGeorgeOrwell,what’s thedifferencebetween the sentencehe givesus, “When I am digging trenches in my garden, if I shift two tons ofearth during the afternoon, I feel that I have earnedmy tea,” and If IshifttwotonsofearthduringtheafternoonwhenIamdiggingtrenchesinmygarden,IfeelthatIhaveearnedmytea?There’snothingelaborateoruncommonaboutthewordsthatappear

inanyofthesesentences.But notice how patient he is as he builds this passage, step-by-step,

risingfromcalculationtoastonishmenttoakindofself-abnegation.Andyet canyou feel the lackof thus-ness—theway these sentences

standsidebyside,eachoneonitsownfeet?How tempting it would have been to supply this paragraph with

logicalindicatorstobindthesentencestogether.

ThispassagebyW.H.AudenwaswrittenasaradiotalkfortheBBC—tobereadaloud,orratherspokenintoamicrophone.Andyetapart from“Well, at least”and“Youknow”—which suggest

an intimate, colloquial connection with his audience—there’s nothing

herethatdoesn’tsoundwrittentobereadsilently.The sentences that begin “War is…” look repetitive, but it’s worth

notinghowun-repetitivetheyreallyare,structurallyandrhythmically.Listen,too,fortherestraintinthispassage,thethingsAudenrefrains

fromdoing.For instance: he avoids the temptation tobuild a crescendo into the

sentencesbeginning“Waris…”He also doesn’t let these sentences becomemore parallel than they

needtobe.Thougheverything is justashewants it in thisparagraph, itdoesn’t

feeloverdetermined.He’spayingmoreattentiontowhatthereaderhearsthanheistothe

possibilityofbuildingmorepatternintohisprose.

The passage from JohnCheever’s Journals—what kinds of journals arethese?Clearlynot thekindweoftenmean:daily jottings,noteson lifeand

living,aninformalarchiveofemotionsandevents.Atplayhereisperception—thegatheringinhismindofallthesefires

—butalsotheplayofsentencemaking:Howmanywaysaretheretosaysomethingisburning?This passage has no larger purpose than to exist, towork out, for a

moment,thepossibilitiesofsomesentences.Andyetwe feel its inadvertent testimony—thevisionofacity litup

by small conflagrations,a citywherechildren instinctivelygatherneartheflames.Thosechildrendressedlikeaviatorspersist.Look carefully at the rhythm of the last sentence, how it keeps

wantingtosettleintoafamiliar,steadybeatandhowCheeverkeepsitfromdoingso.

Andifyouloseyoursenseofwhatrhythmis,simplyrememberthelineJoanDidionquotesinthispassage:“atthebendintheriverwherethecottonwoodsgrow.”But lookforthecounter-rhythms, thepassagesthataremoreabrupt,

lesssinuous.Wheredothosestaccatopulsescomefrom?This is also a passage to help you remember how brief—and how

extensive—rhythmcanbe.Thefirstparagraphisneutral,almostplain,exceptwhenDidionturns

tothehotwindandthedust—anextendedrhythm.And also the very end: “and so we went, my brother and I, to the

movies”—abriefrhythmicpulse toclose theparagraphandopenwhatfollows.Removetheword“forever”fromthelastsentence.Thefirsttimeyoureadthesentencethatway,itseemstostumbleover

itself.Butcanyoureaditwithout“forever”andstill findtherhythmofits

openingclause?Nowreinsert“forever.”Thisisatestyouneedtobeperformingonyourownsentences.

In the passage fromTomMcGuane, think about the sentence “Bitten Ilikedleast.”A“correct”waytosaythismightbe:Ilikedbeingbittenleast.But there’s a moment of discovery in the gap between “I’ve been

kicked, stepped on, and bitten. Bitten I liked least”—a chance tointensify the compression, the terseness, you can feel all through thispassage.Also a chance, in that bitten-off sentence, to intensify the reader’s

senseofthewriter’scharacter.

TheessaycontainingthispassagebyJoyceCarolOatesalsocontainstheepigraphIborrowfromher.Theellipsisattheendofthefirstparagraphishers.I’llletyoufindthequestionsanddiscovertheexperimentstoperform

here.

We’vebeentaughttocreateakindofvocaluniformityinourprose—one

voice,onetone,averynarrowbandofourselvesvisibletothereader.CharlesLambdefiesallthis,gloriously.Thereissomethingluminescentandcompletelyvariousintheversions

ofhimselfhepresentsinthisessay—asthougheachemotionrevealedadifferentLamb.Don’tworryabout“Lavinian.”Butdopause toadmirehisuseof theverb“reluct”—the rootof the

onlyformweuse,“reluctance.”And just as Lamb is the most various of all these authors, in the

character he presents the reader, this is also themost various passagerhythmicallyandintheshapeofitssentences.Howhardnowtosay,simply,“Iaminlovewiththisgreenearth.”

SomePracticalProblems

Reading these sentences—and my commentary on them—you’ll betemptedtosidewiththewriter,tothink,“Iknowwhathemeans”or“Icanseewhatshe’ssaying.”Butthat’sbecauseitfeelssonormaltotrytodeducethemeaningofthesentenceinsteadofobservingwhatitswordsactuallysay.We’resotrainedtoreadformeaning—tolookthroughthesentencetowhatwethinkis theauthor’s intention—that inoursearchfor it we’re prepared to disregard the literal significance of the proseitself.You may also be tempted to say, “Maybe the writer wants it that

way.” But you can only judge intentionality in context. If all thesentences in a piece are clear and sharp, then perhaps—perhaps!—wecansaythataslightlyaberrantsentenceisintentional,ifthereseemstobea reason for it.But ifmanyof thesentences inapieceareunclear,ambiguous, orweak,we have to assume that intention is irrelevant—indiscernibleatbest.Wehavetoassumethewriterlackscontrol.Thesesentenceswerewrittenbyexcellentcollegestudentswhowent

ontobeverygoodwriters.They—thesentences, that is—arenoworseandnobetterthanthesentencesyou’llcomeacrossonanyday,inanymedium,anywhere.

Shedidn’ttrusthimwithhisaccentorhisgentledemeanor.

Notehow “with”distorts the sentence. It could read,She didn’t trusthim.OrShedidn’ttrusthisaccentorhisgentledemeanor.Andnotetoothat“trust him with” is an active, meaningful locution in English, forexample,Shedidn’twant to trusthimwithhernewcar.Youcan feel thepressureofthatlocutioninthissentence,eventhoughitdoesn’tbelongthere.

Idespisethefeelingofsomethingfallingapartinyourbody.Notetheshiftfromthefirsttothesecondperson.Thismakesnosenseunlesstheauthorisdespisingyou.Thesecondpersonrequiressomeattention,oriteasilygoesawry.

Ericawobbleduncertainlyasshetriedtositdownonthestoolnext tome.Can onewobble certainly? “Uncertainly” is implicit in “wobble” and

“tried.”Anexampleofthekindofredundancythatadverbsoftencreate.

The buffet of diseases, cancers, viruses, and overall deteriorations ourpresentworldhastoofferisimpressiveandwary.Severalproblems,beginningwithanunworkablemetaphor:the“wary

buffet.” The adjectives at the end of the sentence must modify thesubject. The author of this sentence has completely lost track of thebeginningbythetimehereachestheend.

BythetimeIwas11themilieuofdoubts,questions,andskepticismhadculminatedintoadauntingtangleofdespondentconfusion.The trouble?Words used incorrectly: “milieu” and “culminated.” By

“milieu,” he means something like “mix” or “combination.” No suchthingas“culminatinginto”—“culminatingin”ispossible.Thiswouldbea tolerable sentence if it said, By the time I was eleven, my doubts,questions, and skepticism had turned into despondent confusion. Note themetaphoricalfeelingof“tangle”—itwantstobemoreliteral,andplural,than“despondentconfusion”allows.Atangleoffeelings,yes.Atangleofconfusion,no.

Herhair,dyedblack,isneatlyquaffed.A delightful sentence if the author means that her hair is easilyimbibed. The word is “coiffed.” This problem is solved by using thedictionary.

Grimyrindsofsnowstillsquatalongthenorthernwallsofbuildings.“Grimyrindsofsnow”isgood.Butlookwhattheword“squat”does.Itanimatesthealreadymetaphorical“rinds.”Inregularlife,rindsdon’tsquat.

This isaroomwheremorningsarehadin loneliness,andeveningsarehadinrelief.A nice attempt flawed by a very weak verb—“are had.” Slightadditional confusion because, as a locution, “to be had” has a verydifferentmeaning,as in“Wewerehad.”Andwhy theweakverb?Theefforttoheightentheparallelbetweenmorningsandevenings.Butcouldthe sentence be as powerful without a parallel structure? Certainly.Shanghaiedbyasyntacticalchoice.

His gaze was fixed to the ground with an occasional glance at thehorizonforabriefinspectionofthedistancetothenextknoll.He gazed at the ground, but sometimes he glanced at the horizon. Notehow “was fixed” throws everything into disarray. There’s a kind ofverbalpovertyinthissentence.Whyonlyoneverb?Andaflawedoneatthat?Notehow“withanoccasionalglance”and“forabriefinspection”aretryingtodotheworkofverbs.Buttheycan’t.“Toglance”and“toinspect”havebeenturnedintonouns,whichdepletestheirenergy.Notetoothat“gaze”istheoriginofmuchofthistrouble.Theverbagaingetsturnedintoanoun,andanounthat’s incapableofaction.“He,”asthesubject,offersbetterverbchoicesthan“hisgaze.”

Thelifejacketdugintomyarmpitsasheavybootspulledmylegsdown.“As”isnearlyalwaystrouble.What’sitdoinghere?

Insistingonsimultaneity?“And”wouldworkaswellandmoresimply.Note the feeling that these could be someone else’s—anyone else’s—boots.Andnotetoothefeelingthatthelegsaregoingdownwithouttherestofthiswriter’sbody.

OnoccasionEtta Jamesmay faintlybeheard singing in thekitchen, acreekthroughoutthefloorboardsorwhiningfromtheatticceiling.EttaJamesseemstobewhiningfromtheatticceilingandalsotohavebecome,somehow,astreamflowingthroughthehouse.Chaos. Insteadof“Onoccasion”try“sometimes.”“Creek”doesnotequal“creak.”Fromtheattic—not fromtheatticceiling,which is theceilingover theattic,not over the room below the attic. This attempt to list some of thesounds in a house goes completely awry—andwhy?Because one verb—“may faintly be heard”—is trying to govern “creak” and “whining.”Andwhy?Becausethesentence is fundamentallypassive.YoucanhearEttaJamessinging faintly in thekitchen.Youcanalsohearcreaking in thefloorboardsandawhiningfromtheattic.Andwhatifwerevisefurtherandremove theverbsofperception?SometimesEttaJames sings faintly fromthekitchen.Thefloorboardscreak,andtheceilingwhines.

SoIhavefoundmyselfinsidethisintenselyfeminineworldinmuchthesameway as the crossing-dressingmen inSome Like ItHotwhen theyinfiltrateanall-womanjazzband.Atypomakesitsoundasthoughtheauthormeansthesemendressupasstreetcrossings.What’sthetroublehere?ThemeninSomeLikeItHot(and the actors who play them) have names, but the author doesn’tknowthem,orwon’tusethemifhedoes.Heisn’tsurewhetherhecancount on the reader’s knowing themovie. If hewas sure, hewouldn’thaveadded“whentheyinfiltrateanall-womanjazzband.”Also,“muchlikethecross-dressingmen”isbetterthan“inmuchthesamewayasthecross-dressingmen” simplybecause ituses fewerwords.Evenbetter is“muchlikeTonyCurtisandJackLemmon.”

Inthelastrow,Isatbetweenmymotherandfather,thelatterofwhom

wastodiethreemonthslater.“In the last row” sounds oddly placed, though that depends oncontext. Note that “the latter of whom” over-specifies—and over-formalizes—amuch simpler construction: I sat between my mother andfather,whowastodiethreemonthslater.Noticethatthere’snoconfusionaboutwhowillbedying,evenwithout“thelatterofwhom.”Thatphraseandtheforward-lookingpasttenseverb—“wastodie”—doaverygoodjob of draining any emotion out of this sentence. Also, there’s an oddsenseofintentionalityin“wastodie.”What’swrongwiththisversion:Isat between my mother and father, who died three months later? It’sambiguous. Do they both die? Its ambiguity can be resolved easilyenough: I sat between my mother and my father, who died three monthslater.

Throughout the year, the chubby pigeons would perch on the south-facingroofofherhome.This sentence implies that svelte pigeons perched elsewhere.Removing “the” from “the chubby pigeons” helps. As does turning“wouldperch” into “perched.”Thehabitual natureof their perching—which is what “would perch” is meant to suggest—has already beenestablishedby“throughouttheyear.”

SinceIwaslittle,Wallacehasbeenaround.Noticehowdifferentthisversionofthesentencesounds:Wallacehasbeen around since I was little. What’s the difference? “Since.” In theoriginal,ithastheambiguousovertoneof“because,”whichvanishesintherevision.

He shines from stem to stern due to his three chunky gold rings andspiffydressshoes.Perhaps,ifhe’swearingchunkygoldringsonhisstemandspiffydressshoesonhisstern.ButIdoubtheis.Betrayedbyacliché.“Dueto”doestheworkaverbshouldbedoing.

Alotoftheoldercampersstilllooktomeassomeonetheycanconfidein.Asyntacticaltrap.Thesentencestartsoutreadingasthoughitmightsay something like, “A lot of the older campers still look to me likechildren.”Saying“stillregardme”wouldhelp.Butwhatifthesentencesimplysaid,Alotoftheoldercampersstillconfideinme?

Thereisanoldmanwholivesthere.How did this sentence escape fixing? Because it became invisible,that’show.Anoldmanlivesthere.

When the Germans sensed the end of the war, they stopped activelymurderingthenewbornbabiesinthecamp.Thishastheunfortunateeffectofimplyingthat“passivelymurdering”ispossible.

Allofthemareinsomekindofill-fittingjacket.Ofcourseit’sanill-fittingjacket.Allofthemareinit.Pluralpersonsinasingularjacket.

Thefamilyphotosonmymother’ssidearescarce.Look at what the word “the” does. It posits the existence of familyphotoswhicharethenscarce,asifthey’drunawayfromhome.Remove“the”andthesentencemakesmuchmoresense.

Diane’sdeathmusthaveshockedthefamilyintotherealizationthatintheenddeathwouldcomeforthemall.“Realizing that death,” not “the realization that in the end death.”Replacethenounphrasewithaverbform.

Children in this age group are generally developing social awarenessskills where they become aware of the role of the self in relation to

others.“Where”istryingvainlytoserveasarelativepronoun,whichit’snot.

Allitreallysucceedsindoingisholdingaredundancyapart.Childreninthis age-group are generally just becoming aware of the role of the self inrelationtoothers.

Denizens of America’s northwest corner are not exceptionally fond ofproductsderivedfromthe fleshofswine,ofcourse;however they, likeany Americans, were keen to be the beneficiaries of the excessivepoliticalpatronageknownas“porkbarrellegislation.”This is an attempt at humor by being orotund. Is it really true that

peopleinWashingtonandOregondon’tlikebacon?Afterthesemicolon,the pork becomes metaphorical. This sentence is studded with theattributesofproseasitisusuallytaughttoday.It’speriphrastic,illogicalwhileinsistingonitslogic,andawkwardlymetaphorical,andtheauthorisburiedsomewhereundertherubble.

IstudiedabroadthefallofmyjunioryearinFrance.Betrayed by twowords that like to stick together: “study abroad.” I

studied in France the fall of my junior year. The abroadness will beimplicit,unlessthissentencewaswritteninFrance.

I am not a typical daughter of Seattle, though I do love theMarinerswithapassionthatcancausetheuninitiatedballparkcompaniontofleeSafecoFieldforfearoflosinganeardrum.Thelasthalfofthesentencecanbeparaphrasedthus:Iscreamsoloud

it hurtsmy friend’s ear. Nothing is gained by loosing this avalanche ofwords.

As I dive in, the water gives me its usual jolt in the stomach, but IwelcometheshockandhangforamomentintheclosestapproximationofflightIknow.Note how time runs backward and then stops in this sentence. First

the diver feels the jolt of the water but welcomes the shock even in

middive,beforehehashitthewater.

Thetwofamilieslineuplikecompetingrugbyteams.Thebridetakestheplaceoftherugbyballstandingbetweenthetwogroupsinfullweddingregalia.Ametaphorthatbeginstoworkandthenfailscompletely.Thebride

asrugbyballisdeeplyunfortunate.

Whatever ghosts were left in Pompeii had long disappeared, leavingbehindtwistedplastercastsandBritishfamiliesonholiday.There’s a nice idea behind this sentence, but “leaving behind”must

modify“ghosts,”whichmakesthemsoundasthoughthey’dlitteredthesitewithBritishfamiliesonholiday.

Exemptfromarmydutyuntilthecloseofthewarbecauseofalamelegitwasnoticedattheshootingrangethathewasagoodshotandhewastoldthatsomeonelikehimcouldbeusefulatthefront.Automatic revision: make this two sentences, probably three. Note

that “it” was exempt from army duty. And “it” has a lame leg. Thedifficulty?Thepassivevoice—“itwasnoticed…that”and“hewastoldthat”—governs the sentence. Any sentence containing “it was noticedthat” qualifies for instant demolition and reconstruction. Everythingaboutthissentence—“armyduty,”“thecloseofthewar,”“someonelikehimcouldbeuseful”—isfuzzy.

OneatatimeIpullmyfeetuptomykneesandwipemylegsdry.Writtenbyacontortionist.Withtelescopinglegs,itsoundslike.

Infrontofyouagrassymeadowdustedwithcolorfulfloraextends.TranslatedfromtheGerman.Thissentenceistryingtobeexpressive,

descriptive. But “dusted”? “Colorful flora” hides the names of all thewildflowersinthatmeadow—namesthatcouldbelookedupandused.This sentence is trying hard not to say, There’s a grassy meadow. But

why? At least that doesn’t sound like a peculiar inversion of ordinarysyntax.

Throughout the trip we had tried, despite our cameras and the othertourists, topretend thatwewere trueParisians.Weordered inbrokensentencesandstruckupawkwardconversationswithanyonewillingtoputupwithus.Notethatthesecondsentenceis implicitlygoingtotelluswhattrue

Parisiansarelike.Notlikewethought.

Abouthalfwaythrough,IsawtomyutmosthorrorthatIcouldnotapplyaparticularsymboltowhatIwastyping.Why be hyperbolic here? Hang on to your utmost horror. Youmay

need it for somethinggenuinelyhorrifying. “Applyaparticular symbolto what I was typing”? I think the writer means he didn’t know thekeystroke for the symbol he wanted to use. Writers often try to behumorousbybeinghyperbolic.Theyneversucceed.

Thereareat leasteightplaces toeatcrappy foodwithineyesight fromwhereyoustand.“Fromwhereyoustand”isunnecessary.Justplain“nearby”wouldbe

awelcomesubstitutefor“withineyesightfromwhereyoustand.”

Thosewalkingonsolidgroundmight losetheirhats inagustofwind,butthemanicdepressivestandsonaseasonaltightrope.Noticethat“but”isbeingaskedtodowhatitcan’tpossiblydo:yoke

together these twoclauses.Wehaveno ideawhat contradictionmightexisthere,ifonlybecausethefirstclausesoundsliterallyplausiblewhilethesecondismetaphoricallyconfusing.“Aseasonaltightrope”?

Occasionalcarsflashpastus.“Occasional”modifies “cars.” That’s the problem.How can a car be

occasional?Thisuseturnsanadverbintoanadjective.“Occasional,”like

“random” and “typical” and even “stereotypical,” is often—or evenoccasionally—used in an almostmeaninglessway.Don’tmake time orfrequencyanattributeofthevehicle.Letthetimeorfrequencyindicatorstandonitsown.Carsflashpastusnowandthen.

In a steep inner gorge, a sandstone amphitheatre has formed with aribbonwaterfallcascadingfromitshundred-footprecipice.What’s the problem? “With.” It’s trying to be both conjunction and

relative pronoun when all it can be is a plain preposition. It alsoobscures the motion of the ribbon waterfall which “cascades” from a(not“its”)hundred-footprecipice.

Displayed in glass cases and lit up like jewelry, tuna is cherished inJapan.If the tuna comes first, the sentencewon’t sound so strange.Tuna is

cherishedinJapan,evendisplayedinglasscasesandlituplikejewelry.

An array of noble mountains surround the valley. Robust with pines,spruces,andaspens,theyarecolorfullyvibrantinthewarmmonths.Canyou feel theemptinessof themodifiershere—“noble,” “robust,”

“colorfully vibrant”? And note that summarizing word, “array.”Mountainssurroundthevalley.

MydadandIaresimilarinthatwebothhate“stuff.”“Aresimilarinthatwe”equals“both.”MydadandIbothhate“stuff.”

Notethatyoucanevendowithout“both.”

Hehunchedhisshoulders,placedonearmonhis left leg,andslidintothepassengerseatbeforereachingacrosshisbodyforhisseatbelt.Can you actually visualize this action? No. Descriptions of physical

actionrequireincrediblecarebecausewereadthemwithourbodiesaswellasourbrains.

Withthoseclosesttome,Idon’tthinktwiceabouttakinganunsolicitedbite,whereaswith newer acquaintances, Iworrymyprobing forkwillinjureatenuousrelationship.Thiswriter ishaving troublemanagingher stilts. I don’tworryabout

stealingabitefromfriends.ButIdoifit’sanewacquaintance.“Whereas,”“unsolicited,”“tenuousrelationship”—alltrouble,asisthefactthattheliteralforkimplicitinthefirsthalfofthesentencesuddenlyperformsametaphoricalactioninthesecondhalf.

Weholdamythologicalviewofsoldiers.Weseethemflyofffilledwithideologyandreturnweariedandhomesick.Notehow the first sentence leadsus toexpectanexplanation in the

secondsentence—anexplanationofwhatthe“mythologicalview”is.Butitisn’tforthcoming.Andnotetootheambiguityinthesecondsentence.It soundsverymuchas thoughwesee the soldiersoffand then returnhomeourselvesfeelingweariedandhomesick.Filledwithideology?

Lovers on blankets support the theory that Sevillanos aremore publicwiththeiraffectionthanloversanywhereelseintheworld.Butloverswithoutblanketsdisagree.Thewriterneedstoreturntothe

fundamentalquestion:WhatamI tryingtosay?Losing“theory”wouldbeagoodplacetostart.

Thesmalltubeofsunblockweighslittleinmyrighthand.Butit’smuchheavierwhenIholditinmyleft.Thissentenceseemsto

betryingtosay,I’mholdingasmalltubeofsunblockinmyrighthand.

The watching of Super Bowl commercials has truly become a sacredtraditioninthiscountry.“Watching,” not “the watching of”—verb form versus noun phrase.

Thissentencediesbyoveremphasis.Getridof“truly”and“sacred.” Inotherwords, let the sentence relax and trust that the readerwill takeyourpoint.Youdon’thavetobesoinsistent.

Evenwithmydrapespulledback,there’snotmuchvisibilityfromwhereIsit.The possessive pronoun goes awry. Thiswriter seems to bewearing

curtains insteadofeyeglasses. “Thedrapes.”Andhowabout I can’t seemuchfromwhereIsit?“There’snotmuchvisibility”couldmeanthere’saheavygroundfogintheroom.That’showtheword“visibility”isusedoutsidethepeculiarworldofthissentence.

Thearchitecturewasgrayandbeautifulandoldandstretchedoutinalldirections.No,thebuildings—butneverthearchitecture.

Thewomanistwenty-eight,withtheleatherysun-wornskinofaretiredcouplefromFlorida.What a strangewoman this is, to have the skin of a retired Florida

couple in her possession. How could her sun-worn skin (nice phrase)resemblethatofacouple?Whyisshebeingcomparedtotwopeople?Itmusthavebeensomecoupletohaveonlyoneskin.

My mother had started planning this pilgrimage since the day I wasborn.“Since”?Andwhythecompoundpast?Mymotherstartedplanningthis

pilgrimage the day I was born. Or My mother has been planning thispilgrimagesincethedayIwasborn.Thecontinuityof“since”requiresthecontinuityof“hasbeenplanning.”

She looked straight at me as she pulled the steering wheel around tomakeagracefulturnassheshookherheadandsaid:“Whatawaste;Ijustdon’tgetit.”“As”runsamok.Breakingthisintoatleasttwosentenceswouldhelp

eliminate“as.”

TheLincoln-MartiSchoolresidesinLittleHavana,Miami.

“Resides”?Theauthor is clearly tryingnot touse “is.”Butwhy? It’ssimpleandeconomicalanddoesn’tmake thereader feelas though theLincoln-MartiSchoolhadretiredtoFlorida.

Bread,rice,andbananasconstitutedmydiet.Ugly in somanyways.Why not choose a subject that is capable of

eating?Iatemostlybread,rice,andbananas.“Constituted”isthekindofverb—abstract, dull, essentially passive, academic—that shouldimmediatelysendyouhuntingforastronger,moreactiveone.

Ihadneverseentheword“hubris”andallowedmyfamiliaritywiththesimilarlyconcludedword“debris”toguidemypronunciation.Can you hear the writer’s distrust of the reader (or of herself), as

thoughwemightnotnoticethat“hubris”and“debris”bothendin“ris”?I’dneverseentheword“hubris,”soIpronounceditlike“debris.”

I recall listening to a ten-minute soliloquy concerning the tomatoes intherefrigerator,whichthenmovedfromitemtoitemontheshelvesandkitchentable.Can you feel the tomatoes moving about in this sentence? “Which”

wantstopointto“soliloquy”butcan’t.

The small houses are considered “quaint,” with their well-manicuredlawns and expensive landscaping of topiary, hedges, well-pruned fruittrees,cobbledfootpathslinedwithdecorativepathlights.Lookwhat“with”does.Itallowsthewritertojumbletogetherapile

of nouns and adjectiveswithout going to the bother of constructing asentenceusingverbs.Noticehow“with”replacessyntacticalpossibilitiesthatwouldmakethisamuchstrongersentence.

If there isone landmarkhere, it isnot the335,024-square-footanchorstoresobigittakesuptwobuildings.After theopeningphrase,weexpect to learnwhat theone landmark

is,notwhatitisnot.Apromisetothereaderisnotfulfilled.

Whilehospitalschargehundredsofthousandsofrupeesforaprostheticleg,JaipurFootchargestwothousand.The first word is doing the steering, as if readers won’t grasp the

internal logic of the sentence unlesswe get a good long glimpse of itcoming.Hospitals charge hundreds of thousands of rupees for a prostheticleg.JaipurFootchargestwothousand.Thecontrastisperfectlyclearevenwithoutpointingtoit.

Thenthewholecatrisesandstretches,archingitsbackanddrivingeachlegintothegrounduntilitquivers.Pronounproblems.Theantecedentof“it”isclearlymeanttobe“leg,”

andyettechnicallyitis“ground”—thenounclosesttothepronoun.Thiscatmakesthegroundquiver.

After seven hours of zooming, dropping, soaring and twisting throughtheair,thedayhadcometoitsnaturalend.The day loves to zoom, drop, soar, and twist through the air. The

openingphrasemustmodifythesubjectofthesentence.Butitdoesn’t.

Los Angeles is the largest city in Californiawith a population of over4,997,340spanning498squaremiles.What does this sentence actually say? That of all the cities in

California with a population of over 4,997,340 spanning 498 squaremiles,LosAngelesisthelargest,somehow.Again,theword“with”istheculprit. A comma after Californiawould help, but the sentencewouldstill be weak syntactically. “With” is not remotely strong enough tosustainasentencelikethis.

Every morning, just before 9 a.m., artists begin to funnel into thebuilding, as one by one, with deliberate steps, they get off theParatransitbus.

Theartistssomehowfunnel intothebuildingwhileat thesametimegettingofftheParatransitbus.Theproblem?Theoverallsequenceofthesentence, certainly.Howabout getting themoff the bus first and thenhaving them funnel into the building? But the problem is also “as,”which insistson simultaneity.Note that reality is simply imperceptibleinthissentence.

Aworldawayfromhissonandhisgranddaughters,afteroverayearofsuffering of Alzheimer’s and diabetes, he died alone in a hospital inTaiwan.A simple, effective revision—put the right phrase in the right place.

AftermonthsofsufferingfromAlzheimer’sanddiabetes,hediedalone inahospitalinTaiwan,aworldawayfromhissonandgranddaughters.

Herclotheswerenondescript,awhitet-shirtandjeanshorts.Andyetthewritercandescribethem.HowaboutSheworeawhiteT-

shirt and jean shorts? The nature of her clothing—its plainness, itssimplicity,evenitsnondescriptness—willbeapparenttothereader.

Under the bridges connecting the canals’ sides, there are shacks builtfromscrapmetalandwood.Asifthebridgeshadafunctionotherthanconnectingthesidesofthe

canals.Underthebridgesareshacksbuiltfromscrapmetalandwood.

Whatwedoshareincommon,though,isourvoice.“Share” implies “in common.” And note how the force of the word

“though”isalreadyimplicitintheverystructureofthefirstfourwords—“whatwedoshare.”Whatwedoshareisourvoice.

As you enter town, you’re guided down Main Street by two Quakerburialgrounds,oneoneithersideoftheroad.TheseQuakerburialgroundssoundrather like trafficcops.Theonly

wayto fix this sentence is tobackoutof itentirely. Insteadofwriting

from theperspectiveof a procession into town,describe the townandthenletsomeone(ifnecessary)proceedintoit.

Inthedistance,elephantsandbuffalolumberacrossancestralstompinggrounds.Wesay,“Thesearemyoldstompinggrounds,”withoutimplyingthatweactuallystompedthere.Andyetsomehow,inthissentence,it’shardtoavoidthepictureofelephantsandbuffalostompingontheirancestralgrounds. What the writer is trying to say has been distorted by theunbiddenpresenceofacliché.

ThereareconstantlytrucksflowinginandoutofNationalMeats.Thenaturalsubjectofthissentenceis“trucks.”TrucksflowinandoutofNationalMeats. But trucks arebadat flowing.Perhaps “A streamoftrucksflows…”Butperhaps“flow”isabiggerproblemthanit’sworth.

Itwas on a heated summer daywhenmypartnerHeather and IwereassignedtopatrolRiversideCounty.“Heated”?Thismakes theday soundas though ithadbeenwarmedartificially or was perhaps angry with someone. And note howcumbersometheoverallstructureofthesentenceis—largelybecauseitbeginswith“Itwasona…”Onahotsummerday,mypartnerHeatherandIwereassigned topatrolRiversideCounty.This is lessemphatic thanthewriter’s version, but then the writer’s version is also clumsy, and wecan’ttellwhat’sreallybeingemphasizedorsetup.

Followingthefencewebuiltthedaybefore,wehadcomeacrossamudwallow,thecallingcardofwildpigsandasoreinranchers’sides.Thepastsareconfused.“Hadbuilt”and“came.”Askingawallowtobeapigcallingcardandarancher’ssoreatthesametimeisaskingtoomuch.

By1556,biographerGiorgioVasarihadwrittenthatTheLastSupperwas

ruined.This sounds like an assertion about Vasari rather than an assertionaboutTheLastSupper.Whatthesentenceistryingtosayisthis:asearlyas1556,somepeoplethoughtTheLastSupperwasalreadyruined.Thissentence is telling us something different. It could be saying, forinstance, that at last, by 1556, the notoriously slow-writing GiorgioVasariwasabletowritethatTheLastSupperwasruined.Also,notehowinadequatethatdefiningepithet—“biographer”—is.Thisisajournalistichabit,andabadone.

Weknewourmiserableonemileperhourtrekkingratewasdecreasingexponentiallyaswepressedon.Thissentencesoundsneatlyscientific,doesn’t it?Andyet it indulgesin false specificity. If their rate of progress really did decreaseexponentially,they’dnevergetthere.Notehowtheactionofwalking—whichshouldelicitaverb—vanishesfromthissentence,thanksto“ourmiserableonemileperhourtrekkingrate.”

Ileanedagainsttheparapetasthewindblastedmeandlookedoutoverthesea.Thewindlikestolookoutovertheseawheneveritcan.Whodoesn’t?Notehowuseless“as”ishere.

She’swearingtapered,elastic-waist jeans thathang2 inchesaboveherankles, and an oversizedwhite sweatshirtwith a blobby pink heart inthecenter.Howlowisshewearingherjeans?Wehavetobeabletopicturehowshe actually wears them. At the very least, the sentence shouldn’tactivelypreventusfrompicturingit,thewaythisonedoes.

Kaneishadesperatelywantedmetobuynewclothesbecausemineweresobadthattheyembarrasseveryoneintheirproximity.Notice how the author suddenly seems to have vanished from herclothing.Kaneishadesperatelywantedmetobuynewclothesbecausemine

weresoembarrassing.

Itisespeciallynicetositthereintheevening,whenthesunhasjustsetorisintheprocessofsetting.Orisonlyafewminutesawayfrombeginningtheprocessofsettingorperhaps even beginning the process of just having finished setting.Simplify:whenthesunissetting.That’senough.

My hometown gets less annual rainfall than Atlanta or Boston, butsomehowwe’veacquiredthegrayreputation.Finebyme—ourbadrapkeepstoomanyCaliforniansfrommovingnorth.Notehow theendof the second sentence completely contradicts thewriter’s meaning. It says, literally, that she wishes more Californianswouldmovenorth.Getridof“toomany”andthesentencebeginstosaysomethingsensible.

ButperhapslivinginNevadawouldenablemeanappreciationofbeautyinscarcity.“An appreciation of”? A noun phrase. No energy. Static. “Toappreciate”? A verb. Better, but not perfect. Never substitute nounphrases for verbs. “Enable me”? How about this: But perhaps living inNevadawouldteachmetoseethebeautyinscarcity?

Thewavesareloudastheycrashagainstthebeach.Remove “as.” Assume that “crash” contains the quality of loudness.Thewavescrashagainstthebeach.

It is a comforting smell, evoking Proustian memories of sledding andsnowandknittedmittens.Yes,wenowassociateallsensorymemorywithMarcelProust.Wejustdidn’tknowhespentsomuchtimesleddinginhisknittedmittens.

Theworldiscalm,quiet,indifferent,movingatitsownpaceunfetteredbythefrenzyofhumanactivity.Thewriterhasnoideawhat“fetter”means,muchless“unfettered.”

Capitolaisoutsidethepicturewindow.ItwouldbealarmingifCapitolawas insidethepicturewindow.Eventheslightesteffortwillproduceamoreuseful,descriptivesentence.

Theweekbeforemyflighthomedeparted,wedecidedtoexploredrugs.Howabout“theweekbeforeIflewhome”?Thatyieldsaverbinsteadof a noun and removes the unnecessary “departed.” And the phrase“explore drugs”? Strictly a billboard cliché. No one would ever say,“Let’sexploredrugs,”exceptironically.Notraceofironyhere.

Theviewfromthesmallbalconywasofotherapartmentbuildings.What tells you that this sentence needs revising? How about theappalling “was of”? Can you feel how this sentence was written?Beginning with “the view” seemed to make sense. But note howsummarizing thatword is andhow it excludes thepresenceof anyonecapableofdoingtheviewing.

I have never found words, never heard or read any, that would havealleviatedtheachingandemptinessIalwaysfeltfollowingdeath.Thissentencewaswrittenbysomeonewhohasdiedmanytimes.Also“wouldhave”isunnecessary.IhaveneverfoundwordsthateasetheachingandemptinessIfeel.Makethedyinghappeninaseparatesentence.

Mycousin’sbabygurgledinthemiddleofthecarpetedlivingroom,andmournersmovedaroundher,talllegsgatheringnearacheeseplate.This sentence is trying to adopt the baby’s perspective—not a badidea. But don’t those tall legs sound disembodied? They may havegatherednearacheeseplate,butonewondershowtheymanagedtoeat.

ButwhenthePlainsIndianshuntedbison,theyusedeverybitofthekill,fromitsmeattoitsdunganditshoovestoitsbonemarrow;whiteswerenotoriouslywasteful.Two sentences to begin with. Notice the awkwardness of the“from … to” structure, which implies a spectrum of possibilities. It’snearly always awkward. Instead: they used every bit of the kill—meat,dung,hooves,bonemarrow,andsoon.

AnddespiteCrosby’sdistinguishablecrooning,WhiteChristmas’sDannyKayealwaysgotthelaughs.What does “distinguishable” mean here? It means that when BingCrosbycroons,wecantellhe’scrooning.Theauthorprobablymeans“distinctive.”Andnotewhatthissentencedoesn’t say: BingCrosby andDannyKaye are both inWhiteChristmas.ThissentencemakesitsoundasthoughonlyKayeis.

Sheexasperatedlycleansitupwithhernapkinandgetshimmoremilk.It takes only a fleeting thought to realize that “exasperatedly” isgrotesque, a destroyer of rhythm. The writer will need to conveyexasperationsomeotherway.

IhadtotraveltoSpaintoseesmokingonwidespreaddisplay.Note how inactive and unpeopled this is. Smoking is onwidespreaddisplayinSpain,butwho’sdoingthesmoking?

Thewhite steeple sitson the sideofahill across from theLongRidgeTavern.And yet one wonders what happened to the church beneath it.Steeplesdon’tsit,exceptperhapsonthechurchesbelowthem.Theyrise.

While one can lament the decrease in imagination that the televisionshow’s imageryperpetuates or the loss of emphasis placedonpeople’sdistinct intonation, such criticisms discredit the television version by

comparisontoanincorrigibleother,notbyitsownmerit.Onehastobetaughttowritelikethis.Andthenonehastobetaughtnottowritelikethis.Barelyintelligible.

Melissalatertoldmethatarandommanofferedher$800tospankhim.Whateveryouthinkofthisman,hewascertainlynotrandom.Hewasthe very man who was going to offer Melissa $800 to spank him.“Random”hasanactualmeaning,andthisisnotit.

Theairwashotanddampundertheawningofbranchesandleavesthathungoverus.A commonmistake—making explicitwhat’s already implicit.The airwashotanddampundertheawningofbranchesandleaves.

The61–59contestwillberememberedbyDuke’simposingsize,Butler’sresiliency,andthegame’sfinalplay.ThissentencesaysthatDuke’ssize,Butler’sresilience,andthegame’sfinalplaywillrememberthe61–59contest.Theproblem?“By”insteadof“for.”

In the last ten years or so, the revival of the Los Angeles River hasemerged as a major policy priority, as activists have successfullyconvincedpublicofficials that revitalizing theLARiverwillhelp themfixthecity’sworsttroubles.What is theword“as”doinghere?Merely joiningtwosentencesandmakingasingleawkwardone.Remove“as”andyouhavetwopassablesentences.

Cactiaresupposedtobethepinnacleofsurvival.There’sathoughthere,thoughwhatit is isnearlyimpossibletosay.“Thepinnacleofsurvival”makesnosense.Andnotethat“aresupposedtobe”couldimplytheauthor’sdisappointmentwithcacti.

MymomandIdrovetowheretheflameswere.Orperhapsdrovetowardthefire?

Acknowledgments

Thanks to Dan Frank and, as always, to Flip Brophy. I’m grateful forsupport from theUcross Foundation and the John SimonGuggenheimMemorial Foundation. I’ve been aided and helpfully challenged bycolleagues in several English departments, including those at FordhamUniversity, where I first started teaching creative writing, HarvardUniversity,and,especially,PomonaCollege.Mygreatestdebtistomystudentsoverthepastthirtyyears.They’ve

taughtmefarmorethanI’veevermanagedtoteachthem,andthey’vemadeteachingwritingoneofthegreatjoysofmylife.

ANOTEABOUTTHEAUTHOR

VerlynKlinkenborgisamemberoftheeditorialboardofTheNewYorkTimes, to which he also contributesmeditations about his small farm.Those pieceswere collected inTheRural Life. His other books includeMaking Hay, The Last Fine Time, and Timothy; or, Notes of an AbjectReptile.HelivesinAusterlitz,NewYork.

ALSOBYVERLYNKLINKENBORG

Timothy;or,NotesofanAbjectReptile

TheRuralLife

TheLastFineTime

MakingHay