The Importance of Creating Curiosity

A writer's main goal is clear communication. Even if you have the most excellent point in the world, if you can't communicate it clearly, no one will understand it. Writers will intentionally leave some things bare, so that it can be clearly understood the first time, and strikes up a healthy desire to do further research. Belaboring a point doesn't provoke deep interest with the average uninterested target.

Promotional writing is a good example of this. An advertisement is not supposed to be a long explanation of every facet and value of a product. The potential buyer doesn't want to know everything about the product in the 'information collection' phase. One of the most enticing pieces of product advertisement for the consumer is the option to do his or her own research. An advertisement is simply the enticement to learn more, the invitation to be curious.

If you bore your audience with details, their curiosity has nothing to latch onto. Over-explanation is the death of wonder, and the birth of boredom. And a bored audience doesn't buy your project (or support your kickstarter, or subscribe to your magazine), they look for something else that better entertains them (or interests them, or validates them, or just isn't boring).

It isn't always easy to write clearly and provide adequate information while still provoking interest and curiosity, but if writing weren't a challenge, there would be no satisfaction in the victory of success.

Doughnut. Doughnut. Doughnut.

The desires of an audience are always changing. In some cases, they want you to be intentionally vague: "Core speed 5x faster than before."

"Packed with twice as many nutrients as our previous version."

"Tomorrow, fly to work."

They don't want to know right upfront, really, about the processors that make the speed faster, or the chemicals that brought out the nutrients, or what and how you're going to fly to work tomorrow. It's the idea that if you give the general picture, people who want to know more will do the research, and everyone else will be content with what they've been told.

In other instances, though, it's not helpful being vague. Imagine going to the doughnut shop to buy a doughnut (without knowing what flavor you wanted), and when you arrived, every one was labelled:

"Doughnut."

"Doughnut."

"Doughnut."

It would be ludicrous (especially now, in the age of 'if-you-can-invent-a-flavor-we-can-doughnut-it'). People would complain, because even if it was clear what they were from looking at them, there is a certain amount of comfort in the over-explanation when it comes to making choices that directly effect you.

When you're writing, figure out how much information your audience wants, and provide them with exactly that. Not more, not less. Not only does it streamline your writing for clarity and purpose, but it also makes it much more enjoyable to read.

A Month of Sundays

Authors are notoriously dilatory. They seem to live by months of Sundays, rather than the typical gregorian calendar month. Although it is hard to get your writing written, with dogged determination, a will of iron, and a hard deadline, it's a little easier. If you're going to make a commitment, keep it. It will earn you long term respect.

And if you realize you can't keep it (Aunt Bertha passes away, your computer falls into the Adriatic Sea, a piano falls on your head and erases the rest of your plot-line), tell whoever you're writing for as soon as it happens. Not three weeks after it was due.

Don't be a 'month of Sundays writer.' Be an, 'on time, good condition, just like I promised' writer. It'll get you a lot farther in the long run.

Persistance in Writing

When college teaches you how to write an essay, you learn this structure: #) Tell them what you're going to tell them.

#) Tell them.

#) Tell them what you told them.

Or, simply stated, say your point three times to really drive it home. Don't be afraid to be persistent; that's when people remember what you said.

Don't be afraid to say it again. It makes it memorable.

Repeat your main point. It will be annoyingly unforgettable.

Jim Beam—Part 2

See yesterday to understand today. ... People are usually partial to their own. Therefore, in asserting superiority or quality, it's wisest to start from the bottom, and let other people make the discovery that what you have is great. This is an aspect of humility. It's not self-degrading, or sloppy; it quietly recognizes quality, and lets everyone come alongside at his own chosen pace. And while you pay attention to other people, and don't aggrandize ourself, soon they'll be more willing to listen to what you have to say in return.

What does this have to do with writing? In writing, there are choices: You can write with little or no opinion or feeling, keeping your offensive line so far back it's almost invisible. You can write with extreme opinion, guns blazing before you wake up in the morning, and long after you've gone to sleep at night.

There is a middle ground; one that embraces the value of having opinions, without making them paramount or prisoner. Blunt, badgering dogmatism that's not backed up well rarely convinces anyone—then, neither does lackadaisical laissez-faire. Have good reasons for your opinions (awards, global recognition, multiple experiences and certifications), but be kind about them. Don't pin people to the wall until they agree with you, and if you don't agree or care about something, don't malign those who do. People will listen and endure those who are well-educated geniuses, authorities, and wealthy, even if they are belligerent, malicious, and despicable; but people will respect someone who is kind.

Bolstering your image with sarcasm, dogmatism, and pedantry doesn't work in the long run. Not only do you lose respect (if you even had it to begin with), you lose the possibility of mutual care and relationship (not necessary in many occupations, but always nice). Respect, you can live without; lots of people do. It's a lot harder to live without friends.

Write with humility, earn yourself respect. Don't make claims that aren't supported—have reasons for what you say. And next time you read (hear) someone claiming that "My ______ is the best," think about Jim Beam and his award and smile silently, because you know that just saying it doesn't make it true, but you don't have to fight it.

*Note: there is a difference between opinion and belief.

Jim Beam and Writing—Part 1

There's a billboard in Chicago that  millions of people see daily. It's on the entire side of a several story tall building, located at the on ramp for the interstate in and out of Chicago.  It's for Jim Beam's bourbon. It's simple: on the right side side is a bottle of Jim Beam's. On the left, in large cream-colored letters against the dark background, it claims, "The best in the world." And near the phrase is a seal from the contest or convention (the light turned green before I could read it) that chose it as the best. Without the seal, the words would be mere conjecture. Someone, somewhere, picked up the glass, took a sip (or a swish, or a taste, or a swig), slammed the glass on the counter, splashing little droplets everywhere (classy whiskey drinkers everywhere shudder), and said,

"This is the best d*** whiskey in the world!"

But that wouldn't actually mean anything to anyone besides him. To make a statement that bold that means something, it must be backed up by more than solitary opinion. If you call your horse the fastest—it needs to have won gold in every race since it started running. If Grandma June 'makes the best chocolate cake in Missouri,' everyone in Missouri must agree. And when your clothing label is more durable than all the other leading brands, go ahead and tell people. But only if it's been tested to be absolutely true.

It's a quick way to lose your credibility—because everyone has "the best" cake recipe, the "most durable" clothing, the "fastest horse" (or car, or train, or internet speed). If you are quick to make claims about your product (animal, clothing, recipe) being better than everyone else's, no one automatically believes you. They are instead instantly on guard, thinking of their own amazing thing. It's not to say that yours isn't wonderful—but people are usually partial to their own.

Come back tomorrow to see why it matters in writing.

Advertising

As a self-published author, ideas for marketing and advertising are always welcome. Self-marketing is a struggle; networking is hard in a small circle. Continuing the effort to publicize, I stumbled across this page. The ideas are fresh, creative, and intriguing—exactly what I want my advertising work to look like. As the contest to promote continues, I am reminded continually of how key consistency is. It's about doing, doing, and re-doing something. We're creatures of habit; finally, after multiple repetitions (seeing the same add four dozen times), we may remember it.

Don't lose heart in your marketing and advertising. The struggle is real, but it is worth it. At least, that's what they tell me.

Worth Saying Well

"It’s a unique way to process transactions between riders and drivers." This is an eleven word sentence that has absolutely no clear meaning. It could be referring to a "fee of a handshake" that might be imposed on the city buses. Or a new payment system in taxis that enables you to pay with something besides commonly accepted currency—like a five gallon can of gasoline, or a gift card. Maybe it's referring to a dated method of transportation (like horse-drawn carriages) coming back into vogue.

Because there is no defining language, it's almost impossible to judge what the sentence means. If you're going to write stand alone sentences, try to make them crystal clear—not clear as mud. It only takes a word or two more, and sometimes it even cuts the word count:

"Shaking hands to pay for city busses makes riders trust drivers more." (12 words)

"Taxi drivers love the new 'pay with a gallon' method of payment; full gas cans and gift cards accepted." (19 words)

"Horse and buggy travel is more relational than public transportation." (10 words)

It's not a burden to make your language clear and easy to understand; it just takes a little more thought and intentionality. If you're reading something that makes no sense, and has minimal explanation, two tricks to figure it out:

#) Look at the context. Even if a sentence seems to be derailed from any contextual meaning, at least it will give you some clue about what the author is talking about in general.

#) Ask for explanation. Perhaps you're lucky enough to have a communicating relationship with the author; if not, ask other people. Sometimes a second or third pair of eyes can see what the first might have missed.

It's not hard to avoid this by writing clearly. If it's worth saying, it's worth saying well.

What if it Rains

Setting up the full sound equipment for a choir and band to perform outside, for instance in a park, takes an extensive amount of effort. Between speakers, wires, and every small technical detail, by completion it's been several hours of labor, lots of sweating, and a good amount of tactician's effort—how things need to be positioned to sound the best, where they'll be out of the line of vision (but still effective), and the wires that need to be set and draped to avoid a rats nest of tangle. All of this, and what if it rains? You have to pack up and clear out quickly, to save the equipment. Even if the band only played for five minutes, rain doesn't make the process worthless—but it certainly feels that way.

Sometimes you spend a long time on a piece, working very hard and putting your best into it.  Then something goes wrong; someone doesn't like it and 'they' only have negative things to say about it.

That doesn't invalidate it. It is always worth it to write.

Sunday Writer

Everyone knows a Sunday driver—they drive slow in the slow lane, even slower in the fast lane, and count to 7 before accelerating through a red-light-turned-green. Sunday drivers are stressful for everyone, except, it would seem, the drivers themselves. They seem perfectly relaxed, unconcerned about timing and traffic. There's something to learn from them, if there's time to pause in the rush and learn it. The journey is half of the destination package; it is meant to be enjoyed, not rushed through.

It's hard not to write in a hurry. When there's a point to make—a message to get across—it's easy to fly through the introduction and the meat of the work, just to reach the conclusion; the final drive. This discredits the reader. Part of the thrill of the punchline in a long joke is the tedious description and buildup. A well written piece is effective because of the congruity and flow throughout, even if it takes time to write and read. If it's rushed or incomplete, it loses attention in some cases and respect in most.

Writing like a Sunday driver is hard. It takes careful planning, intentionality, and practice; and self-control. It's especially easy to rush ahead without regard to structure and timing, but if you can take the time to cultivate something, to write it clean and smooth, it is effective long past initial publication. It will stand the test of time and changing styles, because it stood the test of 'hurry.'

Sunday driving does make the journey better, too; if not in the process, maybe in retrospect.