My Commonplace Book – Words and Phrases

When I come across a new word in a print book I'm reading, and I want to remember it, I write it down in my commonplace book. (Here's the history of commonplace books.) I do the same with cool phrases or sentence constructions.

Here's the link to my commonplace wiki. You can't edit it, but you can view recent words and phrases. In the phrases section, I will sometimes note how it can be used in writing. E.g.:

"fashion a narrative" (fashion = to create)

Splendid, but I part company at the last sentence. (to set up disagreement)

My challenge is I have bits and pieces in various places. For example, my favorite Updike or Wallace lines are not on this wiki.

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Colin Marshall: "I've come to find myself asking only two qualities of a writer: honesty and clarity. The rest is window dressing."

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Justine Musk's latest gem on writing. She echoes other advice I've heard: go out and experience the world, then write about it. Or as Thoreau put it: one ought to "stand up and live before you sit down and write." She hits on other themes and arrives here:

Writing fiction is serious business. It demands nothing less than everything you’ve got to give: your blood, sweat, heart and soul; your time; your ego. You expose yourself in your work and again when you show your work. It deserves to be taken seriously, and yet somehow we have to find a way to treat it lightly, hold it lightly, so it doesn’t slip away from us.

“Minor” Word Choices That Are Revealing

Seemingly minor word choices can reveal a great deal about a person’s state of mind. Here are three examples:

1. Say you hire a woman to come in and run your company. At first, she will refer to the company and team in the second or third person. “You guys should think about this.” When she starts saying “we” and “us” — her use of personal pronouns — you know she feels committed. Also check use of personal pronouns when listening to consultants talk about a client to assess how close to the client they consider themselves.

2. I recently met a serial entrepreneur friend who is starting a new company. I asked him, “What’s the business?” He replied, “Well, the day one idea is….” The phrase day one idea is telling: he knows how often the idea for a business changes over time, and he’s ready for it.

3. In this radio dialogue with Eliot Spitzer and Tyler Cowen on the financial crisis, Spitzer at one point jumps in after Cowen and says, “You’re right, Tyler.” He then moves on to make his point. The implication here is that Spitzer is the arbiter of right and wrong on a complex topic; a more modest response would have been “I agree” or “I think you’re right.” What’s being revealed is arrogance.

These examples are not “slips of tongue” — or Freudian slips — but rather subtle, intentional choices of language.

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There was a meme circulating around the blogosphere a few months back around “superpowers.” The idea is that everyone has a superpower — or some unique skill. Brad Feld’s is being able to sleep on any seat in an airplane, the whole flight.

Mine? Here’s one: after a couple hours of talking to someone I can tell you their favorite phrases and words. Favorite = most commonly used. For maybe my closest 20 friends I can tell you off the top of my head their favorite words. After reading a long book, I can tell you the author’s two or three favorite words. Memory related to language doesn’t, alas, afford superpower reading comprehension or writing abilities. But it does make it easier to connect with someone, inasmuch as I can subtly mirror their vernacular.

Is Writing Advice Around “Voice” Like Career Advice Around “Passion”?

Career advisors obsess about passion: Pursue your passion, do what you're passionate about, follow your bliss, love your work, etc.

I don't disagree that it's glorious to engage in work you are passionate about.

I do question the usefulness of making passion the center of work-related advice. That's because passion doesn't seem to take very well to a direct approach. That is, directly asking yourself, "What am I passionate about?" seems as often to lead to a self-delusion as a truth, and most of the time leads to, "I don't know" or "Many different things, equally" which, if the reflective cycle stops there, has produced nothing but a bit more anxiety in an anxious world. Better, for example, to first recognize that passion alone does not a happy career make, and then second, approach the idea of passion indirectly. As Gretchen Rubin says, avoid the ambiguity and overwhelmingness of "passion," and instead ask yourself what you like doing on a Saturday afternoon with nothing to do.

I wonder if there's a parallel in the writing world with all the advice around voice: Find your voice, write in your own voice, the best writing has a distinctive voice, etc.

In Louis Menand's piece on teaching the craft of creative writing, he notes:

"Show, don’t tell," which was the mantra in the nineteen-forties and fifties, to the effectively opposite mantra “Find your voice,” which took over in the nineteen-sixties and seventies.

In this informative Q&A with Farrar, Straus, and Giroux president Jonathan Galassi, he says:

All of these [great] books are different in terms of their angles of attack, but they're all very strong voices. And they don't sound like anyone else. I think the voice is the most important thing—and then the shape. … Voice is one way of looking at it but aliveness is another way. And I think voice is kind of being killed in a lot of writing today.

As with careers and passion, I don't disagree with the fundamental point here, but I do worry about the intensity with which this advice is dispensed to aspiring writers. How, exactly, are you supposed to improve the "voice" of your writing? How do you know whether the sound of the words on the page are most true to you? What is "aliveness" and can not writing have bounce in its step but still lack a singular voice that would be familiar if you heard it again? How does "find your voice" square with advice to "imitate the best"? How, exactly, are you supposed to synthesize the best of other writers you are imitating — and how do you know whether your synthesis is your own voice finally or just a pale collection of imitative gimmicks, smashed together?

Perhaps all this self-consciousness about "voice" is a good thing, but perhaps, as the questions above illustrate, it's needlessly inducing stress, and distracting from other, better focus points of writers (namely doing the thing — actually writing and putting faith in the process of constant revision).

Jesse Berrett, with whom I email about writing issues, once told me that there's hope for all of us to better approximate that voice we hear in our heads. I like the attitude built-in to this statement. "A hope for all of us" rightly highlights that approximating the voice in our heads into words is an on-going project for everyone at every stage. It is a process of continual arrival.

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One suggestion oft-offered to writers in search of their "voice," especially those who produce prose that tries too hard or unintentionally comes off as pretentious, is to "write like you talk." Write like you were talking to a smart person across the table from you at dinner. I was intrigued, then, to see this snippet in Benjamin Kunkel's appreciation of David Foster Wallace:

Speaking for myself, I realized, while writing my first novel, that relaxed diction could be a tremendous strain and artifice. Afterwards I understood that I wrote more naturally and honestly when more formally.

That writing formally could be more natural is somewhat counter to conventional wisdom. Regardless of what's natural, it's definitely the case that writing like you talk — writing informally, writing conversationally — is much harder than writing formally. (That's why hacks like me tend to veer formal.) As Jesse put it to me, real life conversation contains banalities and tics that are annoying when in print, so the informal writer must eliminate those without eliminating the charm and accessibility he sought in the first place.

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From the Galassi interview, there's this wisdom:

Most words put down on paper are not interesting, or don't make sense, or are stilted. You can tell within two pages that something is not going to work….Only a few people in the world are meant to be writers.

The idea is that the people who should write are the people who can't not write. I think there are a lot of people who want to write, and who want to say something, but a lot of them don't have anything to say.

The "can't not do X" is a good formulation for most people who excel at their work. Orhan Pamuk sounded a similar note on why he writes.

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Here are five writing exercises, via Menand:

  • Take a simple event: A man gets off a bus, trips, looks around in embarrassment, and sees a woman smiling. . . . Describe this event, using the same characters and elements of setting, in five completely different ways.
  • Describe a lake as seen by a young man who has just committed murder. Do not mention the murder.
  • Describe a landscape as seen by a bird. Do not mention the bird.
  • Using all you know, write a short story about an animal—for instance, a cow.

Book Notes: Telling True Stories: A Nonfiction Writer’s Guide

Sometimes it’s helpful to look to other fields and disciplines for insights you can apply to your own. Frans Johansson wrote a whole book called The Medici Effect on how to combine ideas from different fields.

I think businesspeople, for example, should study journalism to gain insights on how to conduct interviews (market research) and how to tell stories and create narratives (all marketing is storytelling).

I recently read the book Telling True Stories: A Nonfiction Writer’s Guide. It is the assorted wisdom from many long form non-fiction writers. Below are my notes.

In my notes you’ll find out the best question to ask when interviewing someone (it’s the same question you should ask after a long lunch with a mentor), why Malcolm Gladwell writes 10,000 word profiles after spending only a few hours with the person, why to embrace your writerly quirkiness at the outset, and Robert Frost’s golden rule of writing.

All are direct quotes from various writers.

Profile Writing

After I have edited a profile, it must pass a test before I consider it finished. I ask the writer to give the piece to a reader who knows nothing about the subject. That new reader must be able to answer two questions, each in one sentence. First: How would you characterize this person? Second: At the end of the piece, do you know whether or not you like the person?

Often, I can get what I need in the first few hours I spend with the subject. Anything more than that is unnecessary and could even be harmful. I write ten-thousand-word profiles of people with whom I’ve spent only a few hours. – Malcolm Gladwell

Psychologists talk a lot about the difference between samples and signatures. For example, you would need only about five seconds of a Beatles’ song to identify it. Their music has a signature. With a very small slice you can know something profound about it.

I write profiles about ideas because I’m deeply skeptical of the legitimacy of writing only about the person. Profiles need to be more sociological and much less psychological. Many profiles that are written about individuals ought to be about subcultures. The individual is a means to examine another world—the world in which that person lives. When we limit ourselves to the individual’s personality, we miss the opportunity to consider larger questions about society and subcultures. – Malcolm Gladwell

Reporting

The best question a reporter can ask a source: “At the end of the interview always ask, ‘Who else should I see?'”

While reporting, you must lose control so you can accumulate the facts. While writing, you must exert maniacal control over those facts. You begin by being laid-back and hanging out. Take the great inhale so that when you exhale, you will have among your notebooks that detail that conveys so much, so economically. Weave that detail into the warp and weft of your hard facts.

“Curiosity is a muscle. The more you use it, the more it can do.”

Observation, the art of watching, is one of the most underrated elements of reporting, especially in newspaper journalism. The natural impulse is to ask questions. Sometimes that is wrong. It makes the reporter the focus of attention. Be humble. It honors the person you’re trying to observe.

Non-Fiction Writing in General

Start with your quirks—the idiosyncrasies, stubborn tics, and antisocial mannerisms that set you apart from others. To establish credibility, resist coming across as absolutely average. Who wants to read about the regular Joe? Many beginning essayists try so hard to be likable and nice, to fit in, that the reader—craving stronger stuff, a tone of authority—gets bored.

“A hen would fall asleep in her hand as she drew the hatchet back to chop its neck.” – Great description

The book’s language had to suit the occasion. You don’t “hype up” in the wake of tragedy. You underwrite, letting the events speak for themselves. You treat everyone with respect.

Read good detective fiction. I don’t think anybody does narrative structure better than good detective writers.

I wanted to spend more time with people who were not necessarily newsworthy. I believed then—and I believe now even more—that the role of the nonfiction writer should be with private people whose lives represent a larger significance.

This is the type of nonfiction that I indulge in, hanging around people. You don’t necessarily interview them, but you become part of the atmosphere.

Using Quotes

That’s my first rule about including a subject’s exact words: Do it sparingly. Using fewer quotes makes me a more disciplined and thoughtful writer. It forces me to think harder about my job and take better control of the story.

The best quotes, of course, aren’t stand-alone quotes at all, but dialogue. I try to include dialogue even in stories about the city council. Dialogue is easier for people to read than straight narrative, because that’s how we listen to the world and how we communicate. Dialogue opens up a bit of space on the page, gives the story some breathing room.

Voice

The way you tell a story over dinner is true to who you are, whether that is deeply analytical or extremely witty. At such moments you aren’t self-conscious, and you aren’t thinking about your editor. You can’t invent a voice. And you can’t imitate someone else’s voice, though trying to can be a good exercise.

Voice is—as the word itself tells us—the way a writer talks. You are speaking to your readers.

Inspiration

Joseph Conrad, a prolific writer, said there are only two difficult things about writing: starting and not stopping.

Robert Frost said it best: “The art of writing is the art of applying the seat of the pants to the seat of the chair.”

Good writers are most often plain ol’ writers who go the extra mile and then a few more.

An Egg vs. Hard, High Wall

The noteworthy author Haruki Murakami recently gave a short speech when he received the Jerusalem Prize for the Freedom of the Individual in Society. Here's my favorite part:

If there is a hard, high wall and an egg that breaks against it, no matter how right the wall or how wrong the egg, I will stand on the side of the egg.

Why? Because each of us is an egg, a unique soul enclosed in a fragile egg. Each of us is confronting a high wall. The high wall is the system which forces us to do the things we would not ordinarily see fit to do as individuals.

I have only one purpose in writing novels, that is to draw out the unique divinity of the individual. To gratify uniqueness. To keep the system from tangling us. So – I write stories of life, love. Make people laugh and cry.

(hat tip to the very smart John Lilly, CEO of Mozilla)