Nib #50 — Dickens’ "Show, Don’t Tell" Masterclass

Read The Elements of Style by William Strunk and E.B. White. That’s it. That’s basically the whole Nib. Notice we say read Strunk & White. You need not read it more than once, or keep a dog-eared copy on your desk, or esteem it above all other writing books. It’s a little text book, not the Bible.  But the fact is, Strunk & White’s 100 pages of clear, concise prose contain more practical writing instruction than most young professionals today received in 17 years of formal education. The Elements of Style may not be the best writing book ever written. But it is easily the most accessible (it can be read in a single sitting) and the most gallant. This is the true spirit of the laws Professor Strunk laid down for students taking his English 8 course at Cornell University a century ago. The book’s rules are merely tools that enable writers to take care of their readers. “Always their motivation is fellow feeling,” journalist Andrew Ferguson — one of the best writers you’ll ever read — wrote in a 2009 appreciation, "‘Elements’ at 50". As Ferguson writes, the book’s commitment to clarity and correctness: “isn’t ‘bossiness.’ It’s not even grammar, really: It’s etiquette, and etiquette, properly understood, is a branch of morality.” That’s the best way to understand and read The Elements of Style. It’s a good book, in every sense of the word, and can make all young writers better. Until next week… keep writing!

For many writers, the hardest and most time-consuming sentence to write every day is the first one. Where do I begin? and Where do I go from here? are so open-ended they can paralyze writers before they even start typing. This is why outlines are so helpful even for shorter compositions. They keep writers on track, point-by-point and paragraph-by-paragraph. For longer projects that can’t be written in a single sitting, try this tip from Ernest Hemingway: “The best way is always to stop when you are going good and when you know what will happen next. If you do that every day when you are writing a novel you will never be stuck.” Papa had novels in mind, but his advice is just as valuable to writers of longer speeches, essays, and non-fiction books. It’s natural to try to close one’s writing day by finishing a section, a chapter, or an important paragraph. But if doing so leaves you unsure where to start tomorrow, you might be better off leaving today’s work not quite finished. Hemingway’s trick sets writers up to jump back into their work as soon as they sit back down. It may seem counterintuitive to deliberately end a writing session on an incomplete thought. But if completing that thought gives you instant, daily access to momentum, it will end up saving you much more time and frustration in the long run. So, if you want to write like Hemingway, it turns out you don’t have to do it standing up, naked, surrounded by six-toed cats. Just step away from the keyboard every day knowing what you’re going to write next. Until next week… keep writing!

If you want to cultivate a reputation as a good writer, never show anyone else your first drafts. Most inexperienced writers — whether students or young professionals — don’t appreciate just how bad first drafts are (See Nib #8: First (Worst) Drafts ). Not their first drafts; all first drafts. Rough drafts always teem with innocent but embarrassing mistakes like misused words and tense disagreements. Even worse, they are full of bad writing — overlong sentences, purple flourishes, awkward phrases, and confusing transitions. No matter how smart or talented you are, if you hand someone a first draft of something you write, they are going to think you’re illiterate. Don’t even share first drafts to solicit feedback on them. A typical first draft is so bad that only the writer himself can improve it — because no one else can even discern the text’s intended meaning. Ideally, you should not share — let alone submit — anything rougher than a third draft. The first edit should clear your draft of mistakes. The second should smooth out the clunkiest bits. Third drafts will still need polishing, but they should at least be coherent. (For frame of reference, you are reading the seventh draft of this Nib.) Of course, keeping your first draft to yourself will not magically make your writing better. But it will protect your reputation from the harshest judgments. And, in a world where your peers do share their rough cuts, it will make you look like Jane Austen by comparison. Until next week… keep writing!

Why young writers should know Orwell's *third* most famous piece of writing.

You may not like the serial comma, but your readers will. And that should be all that matters.

Never write just to write. Every composition should have a purpose. And writers should have that purpose clear in their heads before they start writing, when they are writing, and while they revise and edit their writing. This goes for every kind of writing — and every kind of purpose. If, for instance, you’re asked to write a fundraising appeal, your goal is to raise money. It’s not to edify or entertain or impress — except insofar as those things open your audience’s wallets. If you’re writing to persuade, then persuade. If to entertain, then entertain. If to inform or inspire, then inform or inspire. Don’t have any other agenda. If you’re writing for someone else — a boss or client or organization — don’t smuggle in your two cents. Don’t try to put your spin on someone else’s pitch. Know your audience, know your purpose, and serve both. Even if you’re writing a story or poem you’ll never publish, focus on rendering characters, plots, or images as perfectly as you can. Even if you’re journaling for no reason other than to develop your skills, that’s a purpose too. In writing, as in life, begin and persevere with the end in mind. Focus and discipline don’t stifle self-expression; they sharpen it. Until next week… keep writing!

In the first three parts of his February speech to the Munich Security Conference, Vice President J.D. Vance asserted his thesis ( Nib #76 ), told his origin story ( Nib #77 ), and laid out the stakes of European elites’ increasing discomfort with democratic values ( Nib #79 ). Traditional rhetorical structure says Part IV is where advocates — like Vance — should turn from windup to pitch, from framing their argument to filling in the frame. As soon as Vance finishes with broad speculations about Europe’s future, he should focus in on one issue or policy. Does he? “And of all the pressing challenges that the nations represented here face, I believe there is nothing more urgent than mass migration.” Right on schedule, the speech’s next ten paragraphs are about Europe’s migration crisis: “Today almost one-in-five people living in this country [Germany] moved here from abroad… “The number of immigrants who entered the EU from non-EU countries doubled between 2021 and 2022 alone. And, of course, it’s gotten much worse since… “It’s the result of a series of conscious decisions made by politicians all over the continent… “No voter on this continent went to the ballot box to open the floodgates to millions of unvetted immigrants.” See how this structure strengthens Vance’s argument. An immigration restrictionist arguing for immigration restrictions is hardly headline news. But by framing the issue as a proxy for European governments’ anti-democratic elitism, Vance puts a much sharper edge on an otherwise unexceptional message. This way, Vance’s speech is not about the controversial political issue of immigration. Rather, it uses immigration to illustrate his broader case for democratic populism. Vance’s frame enables him to criticize European elites not for disagreeing with him and President Trump — a weak position — but for subverting their own constituents’ sovereignty — a much stronger position. This makes Vance’s attack more sophisticated, effective, and pointed — while also more polite and palatable to his European audience. That’s the power of traditional rhetorical structure. Until next week… keep writing!

How smart, young writers can overcome their handicap.

Forty-six years ago this week, Jimmy Carter gave the worst Oval Office speech in American history. “A Crisis of Confidence” — better known today as the “Malaise Speech” — is not only worse than older readers will remember. It’s worse than younger readers can probably imagine. Most of speech’s problems were political: the message, the messenger, and the moment were catastrophically out of sync. And yet, somehow, the writing itself was almost as bad. Remember the setting. It’s summer 1979. Stagflation, gas lines, another recession looming. President Carter, his approval rating now in the low 30s, had already given three major speeches about a seemingly intractable energy crisis. The fourth - scheduled for the evening of July 5 — Carter canceled at the last minute. Then he vanished. No, seriously. He left the White House for a 10-day emotional and spiritual retreat at Camp David, where he met with Important People about What Was Really Wrong With America. On July 15, he returned to Washington to finally reveal his plan to revive the country. This is the first time Americans heard from their president since he disappeared in the middle of a crisis. Everyone is waiting with baited breath. And Carter opens his speech: “Good evening. This is a special night for me.” Say what? “Exactly three years ago, on July 15, 1976, I accepted the nomination of my party to run for president of the United States.” Carter talks about his convention speech, three years earlier. Then Carter talks about all the other speeches he’s given since! Then he talks about the speech he just canceled — and how great it was going to be! Then he talks about his Me Time with celebrities at Camp David: “It has been an extraordinary ten days, and I want to share with you what I’ve heard.” In the first seven paragraphs of his speech, Carter uses some version of the words I or me 21 times! He spends the next three minutes quoting his Camp David guests. And what do you know, almost all of their thoughts aren’t about the energy crisis at all. They’re about… Jimmy Carter! Eight hundred words into a speech about a national economic crisis, the president has only talked about two subjects: himself and what other people say about him. Finally Carter gets around to his big takeaway from all his deep conversations and soul-searing. He was right all along: “These ten days confirmed my belief… but it also bore out some of my long-standing concerns…” Eight of Carter’s next nine independent clauses feature the word I as the subject: “I know… I've worked… I have… I have… I want… I want… I do… I do…” This guy, huh? After nine minutes exonerating himself from blame for the country’s problems, Carter hones in on the real culprit: the American people! “The threat is nearly invisible in ordinary ways. It is a crisis of confidence. It is a crisis that strikes at the very heart and soul and spirit of our national will. We can see this crisis in the growing doubt about the meaning of our own lives and in the loss of a unity of purpose for our nation.” The Nib can’t even. Note the threat Carter diagnoses is “invisible in ordinary ways” — that is, to people less perceptive than Carter. He laments people’s doubts about “the meaning of their lives” and “loss of unity of purpose.” But he just spent nine minutes congratulating himself for his personal virtue and focus. At this point it’s clear, the malaise speech is not even about malaise. It’s about how much better a person Jimmy Carter thought he was than the selfish, venal, mouth-breathing ingrates he was trying to lead! No surprise, then, that when Carter finally gets around to the policy substance of the speech — the energy crisis — almost every solution he proposes involves giving President Carter more power. The one exception? Urging the 224,999,999 Americans who didn’t just helicopter up to the mountains on a whim for some Me Time to stop using so much energy! Finally, if you had any doubt, yes: even Carter’s peroration is obnoxious! “In closing, let me say this: I will do my best, but I will not do it alone.” What the &$#@ is the matter with this guy? "I will not do it alone"? How vain, how arrogant, how out of touch did Carter have to be to not say, “… but I can not do it alone” there? Vain, arrogant, and out-of-touch enough — after a half-hour, self-congratulatory harangue of his countrymen — to then say, three sentences before signing off: “Whenever you have a chance, say something good about our country.” The lesson this week is very simple. Read the Malaise Speech, and then never write like that. Until next week… keep writing!