Selfless act of writing: the sweeter the honey

Writing is one of the most selfless acts of expression, whether you’re a reporter or an author. Our instinct is to tell stories. That often takes what psychologists call the “Inside View”.

We write from the place in our minds where concepts are complete, and words have meaning. We’re inside ourselves and the world is known. Take the film, Charlie and the Chocolate factory. In the film the Oompa Loompas express themselves as follows. Oompa Loompa doo-pa-dee do…

Left by itself what does this mean because to the Oompa’s it is full of meaning. Oh good they translate, “ I’ve got another puzzle for you”.

That’s what writers who approach the craft with their own internal voice at work sound like to readers. You think you make sense, but you don’t. How do you address this?

Writing your own diary is one thing, but if you’re selling to an audience, this envelops a duality. And the emphasis shifts to and “External view” of your world. Whatever you think, you must have empathy and consideration for others reading. Is my concept too obscure? Are my sentences too long at sixty seven words, because meaning can wane? How should I break down terms and meaning for those reading.

One of the simplest ways is passing your work around to what might be your audience and asking the question. What do you think?

How can I create a dynamic, a tension, which the audience will find interesting, because I do. One of the lessons I learned from writing a PhD was unpacking and how the mind scaffolds ideas so the close proximity of terms and their meaning create a flow, or if separated can be elliptical and create intrigue. That device called the drop lead, or in media res, in which a writing scene starts in the middle, that’s the latter.

Over the years lecturing students, I have come to realise how the power of instinct can often inhibit either understanding this maths equation of writing. I say maths because when you’re breaking down a problem in calculus, it’s a good idea to engage with first principles. That scene in Hidden Figures (2015) where the human calculator deploys an obscure approach, Euler theory, typifies this. First principles: each step must make sense. In writing, each step must make sense, externally.

But that may not be the case if the urge for instinct overcomes this selfless discipline. Writing can be the gift, you’re waiting unknowingly to receive. Writing for me can be torturous. I’m not alone. But I try and impart one of nature’s natural music to my students in a way that is empathetic to others.

My thanks to Dr Deveril who truly opened my eyes to this in ways that allowed me to elide between the discursive (often deployed in journalism) and the structured (sequitur) which PhDs drum into you.