Posted on June 9th 2014
Can Writing Be Taught?
By Alex Linder
Can writing be taught? Some say yes. Some say no. They are both right. But they are not talking about the same thing.
To the extent writing is error identification, it can be taught. That part is science. Instruction availeth in spreading its standards.
To the extent writing is the artful arrangement of words, it's largely beyond instruction.
Mediocrity develops. Genius unfurls.
Some people can paint. Some can't. Some can sing. Some can't. Some can write. Some can't. It's inborn.
You can't teach anyone to create word art any more than you can teach someone to create oil art or vocal art. The ability to write is genetic.
Teaching pretty much taps out at conveying the rules of spelling and grammar and simple construction; beyond that, about all that can be done is a modest enhancement in the ability to avoid the grosser cliches. Teaching can't really bring anything truly positive, genuinely artistic out of the student, it's wholly involved with avoiding or reducing the negative. Which is still something valuable.
Next week I'll go into the reasons for widespread semiliteracy in an age of universal public education. If you've read or listened to what I've said about homeschooling, you know the answer already.
Today I want to focus on one thing: cliche aversion. Even those with little talent can improve their writing by recognizing and avoiding cliches. By cliches I mean a much broader concept than what is normally intended by that word. Wherever an adjective is ordinarily coupled with a noun - that is a cliche. Breaking up these word-blocks by replacing the adjective or the noun is a good way for non-artists to improve their writing. You don't need deep talent to think about what you're saying. Rather than, as a woman, being satisifed, even proud, of your ability to come up with the cliched expression, you can and should instead look for reasons not to use the typical expression.
Little thinking goes into most writing. Lacking artistic talent is not the same as lacking the ability to think. So think. Think about the words you are using. Don't go with the conventional expression if you can come up with something better. Something closer to the reality. This will make your writing subtly different, and it will burr the reader, gently rasp him, like a slightly too cool breeze. It will make him just a bit more alert than he usually is, and that's a good thing. He will have to pay attention. You're not just producing boilerplate like everyone else does.
This is not the same thing as innovation for innovation's sake. If a cliche is effective, then there's no reason not to use it. I like 'the bottom line.' I think it effectively conveys the sense of the thing, even if everyone uses it and it's as cliched an expression as it gets. Same thing with 'at the end of the day.' So I use them. But if I didn't like them or didn't think they worked, I wouldn't use them just because they are now conventional. Just because everyone else does something is not a reason to do it - nor is it a reason not to do it - the other mistake that has become common, particularly in non-verbal settings.
We are talking about improving writing here; if you're happy communicating with others in cliches, then that's great. They will like your verbal comfort food, and you won't have to put in any effort beyond a modestly logical structuring. But if you desire to write something a little more refined, a little more interesting, a little more artful, a little better, then thinking about the word-couplings you use, the cliches in the broadest sense, is a good place to start. Good writing, for the untalented, will begin with active thinking. The words you use are a matter of choice. You are the master. You do not have to use the same words in the same way others do.
It works like this: someone says 'cutting edge.' It's original and effective. It's easy to see in your mind. A million people copy the use. Eventually someone artistic gets bored. Changes it to 'bleeding edge.' Which is also effective and picturesque. The pioneer gets the arrows, as has been said. Eventually the masses follow this too. The alteration becomes the cliche. Now I have used pushing edge, just to give it a different twist. It is not as sharp as the original or the first alteration, but it has some value in bringing out a different aspect of the operation in question - the straining. It's perfectly grammatically valid, too. Why does the edge have to be cutting or bleeding? It doesn't. It can be whatever you want it to be - that makes sense. See, you have to think. You have to figure something out - if you can. That's where the talent comes in. But whether you have lots or little talent, you can still think about what each word and each term means. These slight little alterations won't precisely substitute for genuine talent, but they will set your writing apart in an effective and legitimate way. You are not expressing things differently for reasons of self but for reasons of sense. You want to bring out a different angle or aspect of the thing in question, and, in a meta-sense, convey to your readers that you are paying attention to the world around you and the language you choose to describe it. This serves the meta-meta purpose of enhancing literary culture, which is necessary in a world in which writing must compete with video, which was not the case in the 19th century, obviously.
So today's lesson is to consider a cliche as a much broader category than you have in the past, and consciously choose to decouple the usually coupled in order to achieve new and legitimate discriminations and depictions. I will come back to this matter of cliche in future columns, but until then, just try to notice in your reading the thousands upon thousands of undeclared or, might we say, amateur cliches of which most writing -- most professional writing, even -- is composed. Legitimate individuation, like preventing forest fires, is up to you. It's, by definition, not something someone else can do for you - beyond alerting you to the problem, as I have done here. If you wish to subcontract your sentence-formation choices to the mass-average, then you'll be like everybody else, and you'll reap the same not-very-satisfying result. But verily I say unto, thinking will make you a deeper and more interesting person, and this will reflect in your writing.//