Every day I do the Swagbucks* daily poll. Yesterday’s question definitely got my attention:
Today I checked the results: More than half (55 percent) the respondents want to be superior wordsmiths.
Naturally I wish the percentage had been a little higher. But as a writer and a writing coach, I’m glad to see that scribbling edged out singing.
I’m also curious as to why.
One year ago I started my online course, Write A Blog People Will Read, along with a writing coaching business and this writing-focused blog.
To celebrate, I’m giving away a copy of WABPWR. If you haven’t yet convinced yourself to buy it and take your writing to the next level*, you should at least enter to win.
Recently I invited my newsletter subscribers to contact me with their blogging questions, issues or stumbling blocks. (I’d like to extend the same offer to blog readers, but more on that a little later.) First, I’d like to share one of the reader’s questions.
It sounded something like this:
“How much do you need to have pre-written before you start up a blog? I feel like I need a lot of them done in advance.”
The subscriber wants to buy the blogging course* and also hire Grayson Bell to set up a WordPress site for free.** However, she didn’t want to do either one until she felt more ready.
Naturally I want more people to sign up for the course. But I didn’t push her to get started now-now-now. Here’s why.
Too tired or uninspired to start writing? Maybe a little pressure will do the trick. I call it “the phantom deadline.” You can do this in a couple of different ways.
1. Make believe that you have an editor. Specifically, pretend that he’s an editor screaming for copy. Choose a topic, sit down and start writing. You should get into the flow within a few paragraphs and be able to create something readable.
And if you don’t? You’ve got something to edit later on. Point is, you’ve got something.
Unless you’re very, very lucky, good writing doesn’t just flow from the brain directly onto the page/screen. We have to practice the craft before we’re much good at it.
Generally we also have to keep practicing. Although I’ve been making a living as a writer for more than 30 years, I’m not dumb enough to think I know everything about the written word.
Professional musicians and sports figures still practice. Writers should, too.
Finally, an explanation for why we sometimes type “teh” instead of “the”: It’s because what we see the version that exists in our heads rather than the one on the screen.
Incidentally, the computer tried to auto-correct “teh.” In fact, it auto-corrected again when I tried to type it in the previous sentence.
But that doesn’t mean computers are smarter than we are. In fact, this article from the Wired website says that ignoring typos is actually the sign of an intelligent brain.
Writing is a “high-level task” that generalizes the simpler stuff (e.g., letter + letter + a bunch of other letters = words) so that writers can turn those words into sentences that convey meaning.
We already know how the words are spelled, so we can skip over the incorrect use of its/it’s or the name of the person whose works we’re quoting. Thus when we see it “Freeman” instead of “Freedman,” it can look OK to us because we’re busy thinking about the concepts that our words impart.
Think that typos don’t really matter, as long as the meaning gets through? You’re wrong.
During my newspaper years I kept a file folder of letters that extolled my virtues as a reporter. Some came directly to me, and others were copies of letters to the editor.
Back in the days of print journalism relatively few people let you know that you did something right. But oh, if you did something wrong – or simply not to the reader’s personal satisfaction – boy, would your phone ring!)
The idea for keeping the good letters came from a colleague, who called it her “stroke file.” Thus I labeled my folder “Ego Strokes” and kept it handy for dim days.
“It’s that time again” is one of the easiest ways to start a blog post. And by “easiest,” I mean “laziest.”
Yes, it’s hard to come up with a new way to write about any seasonal topic. Believe me, I know. I wrote for newspapers for 18 years and certain things had to be covered annually: the state fair, fishing season, the upcoming school year, “The Nutcracker,” the Iditarod, and on and on and on.
Pretty sure that I’d have been slapped if I’d turned in an article that began with “It’s that time again.”
(This is a guest post from Abigail Perry, who blogs at I Pick Up Pennies. She won the People’s Choice honor at the 2014 Plutus Awards. Abigail and I share some blogging pet peeves, probably because we also share DNA: She’s my daughter.)
Before you go any further, be warned: The following tips are steeped in sarcasm. But if that’s what it takes to encourage better writing, then I make no apologies.
Yep, I’m a writing snob. But if something offends you then you might be an offender. (Emoticons? Excessive GIF use? Non-use of contractions? Please.) Many a truth is spoken in snark.
This is for your own good — and for the greater good. I’m not the only reader whose eyes bleed when a blogger uses “it’s” as a possessive. Focus on the information contained within the semi-withering language, then go and sin no more.
And if you’re a fellow Sarcastic? Come sit by me.
1. Do not use dictionary definitions. A professor once told me that if you have to use a dictionary definition in a paper, you’re done. It’s just no good. Having read a few blog posts that use them, I’m inclined to agree.
Definitions interrupt the flow of a post. Depending on the thing you’re defining, it can also feel a little insulting to the reader. We know what words like “frugal” and “freedom” mean.
Folks who want to live in mansions of words probably view blogging as the tiny house of creative expression.
I wonder how many great writers pass on the chance to blog because they think it’s too limiting?
If you think you can tell your story only in massively complex paragraphs, you may be right. Plenty of books and even “short” stories go on and on and on to describe a single object or era.
You may also be wrong. Sometimes excess verbiage can smother the point you’re trying to make. As I note in the Write A Blog People Will Read course, some things are better stated succinctly: Not devoid of color and verve, but rather of gratuitous padding.
One of the chapters in the Melinda Moustakis book “Bear Down, Bear North: Alaska Stories” is just 55 words long. Fifty-five words. Read this and tell me whether or not she needed more adjectives:
