Lessons from 50 years of writing in Alaska

Whether writing the great novel, a grant proposal or a wrathful email to a politician, careful phrasing can make or break your success. I’m not going to teach you how to write here, but I will here attempt to briefly show some tricks to improve what you’ve written.

Probably the best advice I received in school was “Show, don’t tell!” That means, paint a picture instead of just stating a fact. Instead of saying, “My first story was published when I was 15,” incorporate it into a more rounded sentence as I did above.

Instead of writing, “He came in. He was cheerful,” phrase it more colorfully: “He banged inside, whistling cheerfully.” Or, “He slipped in, eyes twinkling gleefully.” See what I mean? In the former case you’re telling your reader something. In the latter, you paint that picture.

I learned an important lesson in tenth grade when the teacher returned an essay I’d written after having circled in red every “It is” and “It was.” To my mortification, those two little words appeared in nearly every sentence, sometimes twice. Ever since then, when editing my work, I watch for those “cheap” words and replace them with verbs that convey some stronger, more precise or richer meaning.

I watch out for other lazy verbs as well, including “There are” and other forms of the verb “to be” (is, are, was, were, etc.). While a few can actually improve clarity and straight-forward writing, too many indicate laziness or lack of initiative on the part of a writer.

Julie always edits my stories — and I review hers — before a final polishing prior to submitting them to the News-Miner or other magazine. One of the worst of her many insults (I mean helpful suggestions) is “Too many small words!” Then I must run through the story, pick words of three to five letters, and conjure up a longer, often more descriptive or explicit substitute.

A strong vocabulary helps, best acquired by reading a variety of works and authors. (I tend to edit other people’s work in my mind, which helps me practice the editing process, but can prove annoying when I can’t stop myself. (“He shouted” instead of “he said” or perhaps “she ran her fingers through her auburn hair” to paint a more vivid picture than “her hair was auburn.”)

A good thesaurus proves invaluable here. Pick a short word, look it up, and choose a stronger substitute. My computer has a thesaurus, but it pales in comparison to a good “real” book like Roget’s Super Thesaurus. Our tattered, broken-backed copy, purchased decades ago, has served us well. You needn’t have a strong vocabulary if you can cheat with a thesaurus.

Of course you should not use too many big words, either. You run the risk of sounding pompous and didactic when you too often use ones like “sesquipedalian” (which means a foot-and-a-half long, frequently referring to jawbreaker words. I love that.)

I’m always on guard against using the same word twice in one sentence or paragraph. Again, that handy thesaurus proves invaluable in repairing such lapses in attention.

You might notice that much of this is ... no, scratch that. Let’s eliminate that pesky, nondescriptive “is”: You might notice that I apply many of these techniques after the initial writing process. I’ll first re-read what I’ve written for clarity and correctness, making changes on the computer before allowing Julie to pick apart my treasured treatise with her dreaded red pen scribble on the printed manuscript.

Then I’ll go through again making her suggested changes ... most of them, anyway ... as well as spotting a few word repetitions or up-grading “big” to “gargantuan.” [I spelled that wrong, but a quick dictionary check put me right.]

A little humor goes a long way in creating a memorable story or lightening an otherwise stern Letter to the Editor. I do my best, but my funny bone seems to come and go, and the older and more sober I become the harder it is to hit that funny spot.

The story Alaska Magazine bought when I was 15? That short story about raising an orphaned squirrel read like it was written by a 15 year old. But the thing was funny! So they bought it. [“The thing was” may be better than “It was” but I still could have dug around for a better verb than “was.” I didn’t, because often humor hits harder when kept short.]

I am one of my best critics — after letting a story sit for a few days. Just leaving that article or letter alone for a while allows me to read it with fresh eyes. I spot whole paragraphs that flow more smoothly when rearranged; I can substitute a stronger verb for another “it was,” and gee this part seems clear to me but if the reader doesn’t know what overflow is, they might be confused.

In the 1980s I sold a major story to one of the top three outdoor magazines in the nation. However, when I wrote about overflow on a 40 below zero day without defining it as water forced up from below despite the cold, they edited it to read in effect “suddenly it warmed up and we got into water from melting snow.” This demonstrates how a clueless editor may inaccurately alter a knowledgeable author’s work.

[I initially wrote “This goes to show” but upgraded that to “This demonstrates,” substituting one longer word for three short ones.]

I don’t remember the author of a quote that struck me when in school and I can only paraphrase it now ... “For whatever you want to say, find the best noun to describe it, a descriptive adjective that brings it to life and the perfect adverb to make it move.”

Easy to say, but with practice, some good self-editing and a few applied guidelines, anyone can improve (sharpen, enhance, upgrade, refine, polish, clarify, hone, elevate et cetera) their writing skills. Living in the bush has made us independent-minded, and we learned long ago that developing ones’ own skills proves more successful than trying to mimic others.

Thanks to our visiting first-cousins-once-removed Devin and Cole for reviewing this original manuscript and their suggestions for improvement!