Nib #67 “Limbo”
This triduum weekend, do yourself — and your writing — a favor and read this poem, “Limbo,” by Sr. Mary Ada of the Oblates of Saint Joseph.
Limbo
The ancient greyness shifted
Suddenly and thinned
Like mist upon the moors
Before a wind.
An old, old prophet lifted
A shining face and said:
“He will be coming soon.
The Son of God is dead;
He died this afternoon.”
A murmurous excitement stirred
All souls.
They wondered if they dreamed —
Save one old man who seemed
Not even to have heard.
And Moses standing,
Hushed them all to ask
If any had a welcome song prepared.
If not, would David take the task?
And if they cared
Could not the three young children sing
The Benedicite, the canticle of praise
They made when God kept them from perishing
In the fiery blaze?
A breath of spring surprised them,
Stilling Moses’ words.
No one could speak, remembering
The first fresh flowers,
The little singing birds.
Still others thought of fields new ploughed
Or apple trees
All blossom-boughed.
Or some, the way a dried bed fills
With water
Laughing down green hills.
The fisherfolk dreamed of the foam
On bright blue seas.
The one old man who had not stirred
Remembered home.
And there He was
Splendid as the morning sun and fair
As only God is fair.
And they, confused with joy,
Knelt to adore
Seeing that he wore
Five crimson stars
He never had before.
No canticle at all was sung.
None toned a psalm, or raised a greeting song.
A silent man alone
Of all that throng
Found tongue —-
Not any other.
Close to His heart
When the embrace was done,
Old Joseph said,
“How is Your Mother,
How is Your Mother, Son?”
Happy Easter, and until next week… Keep writing!
One of the most common questions the Nib gets from young writers is, “What do I do when superiors in my office suggest changes to my drafts that I disagree with?” The answer is very simple: make the changes. But what if they throw off the rhythm? What if they undermine a delicately crafted metaphor? What if they add three sentences and that means 50 words have to be cut somewhere else? Again: make the changes. There are several reasons why. First, they’re your bosses. Do what you’re told. Second, 99% of what we write does not matter — so neither do 99% of suggested edits. Third, and most important, the more obligingly you take people’s edits, the fewer you’ll get. Resist edits, and you’ll get a reputation as a prima donna, whose writing therefore deserves extra scrutiny. Take your superiors’ suggestions, and over time they will trust your writing enough not to nitpick it. Once your reputation is established, you’ll even earn the standing to occasionally push back. Taking edits is good for your soul and your career. Until next week… keep writing!
Rule #13 in Strunk & White still holds: “Make the paragraph the unit of composition.” Don’t think of your writing as a collection of words or even sentences, but paragraphs. Each paragraph should present One Complete Thought — one idea, one step in the story you’re telling or the argument you’re making. Paragraphs signal all this simply by how they look. The line break and indentation tell the reader, We’re done with the previous idea and moving on to a new one. Take advantage of those visual cues as you draft and revise your work. Open paragraphs with some kind of topic sentence to tee up what follows. Close them with a good kicker that polishes off the point or springboards readers into the next paragraph. You can even outline your piece this way — plan one paragraph for each main point in your outline. Readers read in paragraphs, so writers should write in paragraphs too. Until next week… keep writing.
When writing first drafts, writers are usually still working out what we think. One result is duplicate sentences. We unconsciously state the same thought in different ways, often back to back. Just like the two previous sentences! Or consider these examples: This bill will only raise taxes on people making more than $1 million per year. It won’t raise taxes on anyone making less than seven figures. The hotel was farther from the city than we expected. We were surprised by how long it took to get downtown. This kind of repetition is natural in conversation. But good writing doesn’t ask readers to pay for the same real estate twice. When editing your writing, be on the lookout for twin sentences. Pick the one that sounds best, or take the best from each to form a better one, and delete the rest. Until next week… keep writing!
The hardest part of writing about public policy is making substantive arguments without getting lost in the weeds. Disagreements over policy minutiae in a speech or op-ed have reduced more than one congressional office to a Hobbesian state of nature. So here are two tips for finding the right balance between wonkiness and accessibility. Tip #1 : Ask yourself who your audience is. If they are experts, then write wonky. If they’re laymen, make the language more accessible. If the answer is somewhere in between, Tip #2 is that when you have to write for both, write to both. Think of your audience as two particular people: Dr. X, a world-renowned expert on your topic, and Mrs. Y, a smart, educated, and curious layman. Set your tone, choose your words and emphases, and present your argument and evidence in such a way that it won’t bore Dr. X or bewilder Mrs. Y. Provide enough context so non-experts can follow along, but not so much that experts will feel their intelligence insulted. If you can connect with both Dr. X and Mrs. Y, you’ll connect with everyone in between them too. Until next week… keep writing!
One of the most powerful writing tips anyone can learn is to never just write . Always write to an audience . Before you write word one, before you even outline your composition, clarify in your mind, as specifically as you can, who your reader is. Is it your teacher? Your boss, coworker, or subordinate? A friend, sibling, or parent? A romantic prospect? A business, nonprofit, or government agency? If your audience is a group of people, what kind of people? Are they religious? Educated? Wealthy or poor? Idealistic or cynical? Young or old? Male or female? Conservative or progressive? Knowledgeable or unfamiliar with the topic? If you were talking with these people, you would adjust your tone, word choice, and sentence structure based on who they are. Do the same with your writing. If you want to connect with your audience, you have to know who they are and how they think. Take the time to figure that out before you start writing. It will make your drafting smoother and your drafts better, guaranteed. Until next week… keep writing!
The biggest challenge of editing our own writing is that we know what we meant to say. When we read our own drafts, our brains fill in gaps and “correct” mistakes, tricking us into seeing what we intended to write rather than what’s really on the page. One way to overcome this is to proofread backwards . If you’re working on draft three or four and are starting to get too familiar with the text to see it clearly, try reading the sentences in reverse order. Start with the last sentence, then read the next-to-last, and so on until you reach your intro. Proofing backwards breaks the logical flow of the writing, so you can consider each sentence in isolation. You’ll still need to edit forward for structure, coherence, and flow, of course. But once the forest is in good shape and you’re down to the trees or the leaves — typos, extra words, stray punctuation — proofing backwards is a great way to look at your own work with fresh eyes. Until next week… keep writing!
The Nib this week is simple: read Bret Stephens’s New York Times column, “I’m Begging You: Never Write with AI." For those on this side of the paywall, Stephens’s argument is not about the quality and inauthenticity of AI writing. Rather, it’s about what we lose — as thinkers and as people — when we outsource our writing to a machine. “The problem with writing with A.I. is that it’s mentally enfeebling — an escalator toward a result when you really need to make a daily habit of taking the stairs. As it becomes ubiquitous, it undermines not only our individual ability to write but also a society’s collective ability to reason, a culture’s inner capacity to create and everyone’s reason to care.” The task of writing: “compels us to subject our thinking to the effort of articulation, the rigor of grammar, the tests of intelligibility and coherence, the inspection of others.” Writing requires clear, disciplined thinking. That’s one reason it’s so hard. It can no more be outsourced than healthy eating or daily exercise. “We become better writers,” Stephens says, “by the constant effort that mundane writing demands.” Read the whole thing. Until next week… keep writing!
Smart writers have a weakness for overcomplicated sentences. The more ideas a writer can hold in his head, the harder it can be to present them in a reader-friendly way. If you ever find yourself writing or editing a sentence that feels overstuffed, stop and ask yourself, What is this sentence’s job? Most sentences perform one of three tasks: Saying what something is or is not. Saying what something is or is not like. Saying what something caused or was caused by. Once you decide which job the sentence needs to do, rewrite it as a simple independent clause doing that job and nothing else. Add back only what is necessary to express that one thought. Leave the next thought for the next sentence. If you’re having trouble connecting all your dots in one sentence, use two or three. Your readers will appreciate it. Until next week… keep writing!
This week, another addition to the Nib’s list of phrases writers should always delete from their work: “In today’s world…” First of all, it’s just a longer way of saying “today” or “nowadays” or “these days.” And writers should always look to trim extraneous words. Second, the phrase is clunky. No confident human being in relaxed conversation ever says “in today’s world.” It’s the kind of thing we write when we are insecure and trying to fake it. Be confident. Be relaxed. Don’t let “in today’s world…” survive past your first draft. Until next week… keep writing!
At some point in the last two decades, around became the monster that ate the other prepositions. Every day we read of “debates around immigration” and “plans around the weekend” and “coordination around fundraising.” Good writers have to fight back. Around is a perfectly good word. But it means around. It does not mean about , regarding , for , toward , with , over , on , or to . The problem isn’t grammar; it’s clarity. When one word tries to do the work of half a dozen others, communication breaks down. Writing gets sloppy and readers get confused. Luckily, there’s an easy fix. Young writers who grew up amidst the Great Aroundening should make around a yellow-flag word, like that or issue . Every time you read it in your own work, pause and ask whether another preposition would better capture the relationship you're trying to describe. Prepositional precision may seem like nitpicking. It’s not. It can mean the difference between a clear sentence and a fuzzy one, a fluid paragraph and a clanging one, and a writing sample that earns an interview instead of a rejection. Always go the extra mile for your readers, not around them. Until next week… keep writing!
