Oh would some power the giftie gie us, to see ourselves as others see us.

Robert Burns

Spring is officially here in the northern hemisphere. Sooner or later, the weather's got to get better. Maybe people will stop being crabby in the foreseeable future. It's a good time of the year to reflect: how does our writing, and our communication generally, present us as individuals to the people we talk to? Do we come across the way we want to be seen, or would we be surprised if we knew what others thought of us?

Did you ever do one of those exercises where you were asked to pick adjectives out of a list? Try these. Which of these words would you say described you, as you see yourself?

Cheerful, optimistic, pessimistic, humorous, outgoing, introverted, polite, abrupt, arrogant, nitpicky, generous, helpful, self-centred, narcissistic, bullying, encouraging, discouraging, creative, collaborative, competitive, friendly, paranoid, hostile, inattentive…

Now stop and think: which of those adjectives that you don't feel apply to you might be applied to you by another person if they read your writing on a regular basis? Do you come across as the kind of person you'd like to be? Or are you your own worst enemy, PR-wise?

Time and again, people say, 'I didn't mean what I said to come out that way.' And they probably mean it. That's why writing is an art that we practice: we try to use feedback to hone our ability to share what we want to share in a way that puts our best foot forward. As my piano teacher told me years ago, real communication is the art of getting the thought from our heads into someone else's head with as little loss of meaning as possible. That also includes conveying our best thoughts and wishes for each other.

I'm going to suggest a brief checklist for our own personal proofreading – the 'one more time' read-through that we give a text before we send it on its way. That text, by the way, can be an essay, a short story, an Entry for Peer Review, a business proposal, or even an email to Aunt Dora. I suggest asking yourself the following questions before hitting 'Save' or 'Send':

• How many times did I say 'I'? Were all of those times strictly necessary? Do I come across as self-absorbed?
• When I describe an activity, is my emphasis on how much fun I had – hey, look at me! Watch me be cool! – or on the experience I want to share? Did I think, 'Oh, hey, you might enjoy this anecdote,' rather than 'I'm such a fascinating person'?
• Apropos of this, do I ever skimp on the interesting details in favour of riding my hobbyhorse or airing my pet peeve? I will not name names, but years ago, the Post ran a series of articles by someone on a long ocean voyage. These articles were of surpassing dullness, unless you were really, really interested in how bad the food was, or how shoddy the service, or how disappointing the shopping was in some exotic port. You waited in vain to find out what was in view off the port bow. Seriously. Readers stayed away in droves.
• Am I ever, ever, an illeist? The only person who gets away with that is Donal Logue, the Irish American actor. Donal Logue's characters are almost always illeists: they refer to themselves in the third person all the time, and it makes the audience laugh. It's a horrible habit in anyone else. If you aren't a lovable, pudgy Dublin-born slob, don't try this at home. (Unless, of course, you're an Editor trying for cheap laughs...)
• When I get started on a subject, do I try the reader's patience? Do I go on and on and bleepin' on about my favourite subject? Do I take the attitude that my audience is a captive audience, and that since I have their attention, I can abuse it as long as it feels good to me? Guess what? They're not that captive. Chairs in front of computers can be abandoned at whim. The fridge beckons. Have you never seen the abbreviation TL;DR? Never let that apply to you, my friend. Always leave them wanting more.
• On a related theme, bicycle sprockets. I once got stuck at an office party with two bicycle enthusiasts. You wouldn't believe how much they knew about sprockets. I cannot even ride a bicycle, and I seriously felt like calling in a bomb scare if it would only get me out of there. If you insist on talking about your favourite topic to the exclusion of all others, be prepared to have others describe you as a bore – a well-intentioned bore, if they're feeling charitable. Also, try not to go into too much exquisite detail, unless you're writing for a specialty magazine. Otherwise, keep your doorknob collection to yourself.
• Did I try too hard to impress? Am I mentioning that detail just to show I know it? Then I'm trying to impress someone. (This might be okay in a job application.) Does that obscure bird name need to be in my poem? Or will it alienate the reader? Was the detail about the 'out-of-the-way little shop in a back street of San Marco' thrown into my anecdote to make me seem cool and classy? Er, it won't, if it sticks out. Remember Hyacinth Bucket, the lady with the Royal Doulton china with the hand-painted periwinkles. Patricia Rutledge makes us laugh and laugh because we all know somebody just like her. Except for the coworker who said that series infuriated him: he wanted to slap Hyacinth. Guess what kind of behaviour he was guilty of on a regular basis? If you guess 'brand-name dropping', you would be right.
• Am I nitpicky and hypercritical? It's easier to do than you think it is. You may have a pet peeve. You may vent. Be aware of your audience. Your pet peeve may come across as criticism of them. You may come off sounding like a snob. Or a member of an in-group disdainful of outsiders. Of course, sometimes, the nitpicking is just to mask the fact that you couldn't think of anything else to say. In that case, try not saying anything. Or go away, rethink, and come back with something more useful to talk about. Elektra made a good point today. She reminded me that her mother always said, 'If you can't think of anything good to say about something, just don't say anything.' While that might be bad advice if we're talking about politicians or a medical emergency, it's good advice when talking to friends.

Okay? Gone through your list? Send your text.

What do you mean, it's too much work? Well, if it is, don't write anything. Go do something that takes less effort. Maybe sort out your doorknob collection. Good writers are self-critical. They do it before others get a chance to.

Writing Right with Dmitri Archive

Dmitri Gheorgheni

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