Every so often, I revisit On Writing Well by William Zinsser[1]. Zinsser taught writing at Yale, wrote the book in the early 2000s, and has since passed away. In the book, he writes to readers about his thoughts on applying practical diction to the abundance of newer literary forms available today. I remember first reading his arguments and the prose of other writers he compiled to make his point when I was supposed to write my own college applications, and I tried to imitate the form of one particular essay - I’m pretty sure it was describing some philosophical coming-to-age revelation set in either a swamp or marsh - either way, something that was maybe that was less conducive to my success in my own applications. And because a chapter of the book also touched upon advice to not write into journalist brainrot slop, I recommended it at the time to my fellow journalists back in high school, and still find myself remembering those useful ideas today. Thus, it’s become a bit of a tradition to come back to this book each time I try to embark on a new and scary piece, perhaps for my blog or something like that...
Most recently, my rereading of the book focused most on Zinsser’s discussion of the voice of the "self" in prose, and the role of the audience in the writer’s aspiration to be read. Zinsser is a strong advocate of writing for an “audience of one" he deems, that is the writer themself. I think in my first pass over this book, this point did not make its way into my head. I have been and continue to be an abundant worrier of the art of the craft. I think that my family, friends, perhaps my future employer or an old acquaintance from long ago will happen on this page, and so I must present writing that is impressive to the reader, dazzles them, packages every detail nicely, is faithful to the story.
Zinsser’s point is that the best, most influential writers would not have a worry in the world in terms of their audience, and thus they free themselves from the shackles of observation. By shackles, maybe a voice in the head that is scanning each word and giving unwanted critique from the perspective of an obsessed stranger. He notes that figures like Hemingway, E. B. White, H. L. Mencken, and James Herndon are renowned because of their confidence that a worthy reader will pick up their work, and in an almost circuitous manner, their reputation additionally precedes their writing. Generations marvel at the unabashedness they work with, and thus are born writers vying to earn this new level of craft.
I think I believe Zinsser’s ideology, although I would like to add that I’m not so sure if the same advice can be useful for other mediums that are typically seen as orthogonal to non-fiction writing (which conveniently is the focus of the book). For example, I like writing poetry, and though I think stripping away useless adjectives and clichés is totally a good idea, I think I like the type of poetry that wraps around itself in a way, but then leaves the reader plenty to think about. Zinsser likes plain, direct sentences, but I think this is boring and not a lot of fun. Also, I think the sound of writing matters much more to the poet than to the non-fiction writer – which to say the best of both types of writers know how to write sound well. I wonder if Zinsser would like reading Ocean Vuong or Yaa Gyasi. Okay also, I’m interested in what Zinsser thinks about human-llm co-writing, and I think an extension of his book would be taking about how to best work with this new and extremely forthcoming medium.
Anyways, I’m trying to say I’m still trying to construct the confidence to write for myself recently, but I haven’t yet lost faith. But check on me in a couple days.