The eyes of a traveler We’ve all heard that travel broadens the mind. But beneath this cliché lies a deep truth. Things stand out because they’re different, so we notice every detail, from street signs to mailboxes to two you pay at a restaurant. We learn a lot when we travel, not because we are any smarter on the road but because we pay such close attention. On a trip, we become our own version of Sherlock Holmes, intensely observing the environment around us. We are continuously trying to figure out a world that is foreign and new. Too often, we go through our day-to-day life on cruise control, oblivious to huge swaths of our surroundings. To notice friction points – and therefore opportunities to do things better – it helps to see the world with fresh eyes. When you meet creative people with lots of ideas constantly bubbling to the surface, you often come away feeling that they are operating on a different frequency. And they are, most of the time. They have all their receptors on — and frequently turned up to eleven. But the fact is, we are all capable of this mode. Try to engage a beginner’s mind. For kids, everything is novel, so they ask lots of questions, and look at the world wide-eyed, soaking it all in. Everywhere they turn, they tend to think, Isn’t that interesting? rather than, I already know that. By adopting the eyes of a traveler and a beginner’s mindset, you will notice a lot of details that you might normally have overlook. You put aside assumptions and are fully immersed in the world around you. In this receptive mode, you’re ready to start actively searching out inspiration. Richard Saul Wurman, Understanding Understanding Like designing things for the first time travelcliché
The language itself has been weaponized It’s quite difficult, to fight back against the seeming wisdom of axiomatic “truths,” when the language itself has been weaponized through the power of pattern. Through rhythm, rhyme, alliteration, and consonance. The last time I was in England was at the invitation of Nomensa, to give a talk at a conference wherein I encouraged the audience to discard an axiom that I feel has done users of the English language more harm than good through endless and glib repetitions. Like “Curiosity Killed The Cat,” “You Are Not Your User” sounds so good that we keep on saying it, without appreciating what we’re reifying through repetition. The pleasure of repetition, the pleasure of pattern matching, the pleasingness of Kuh Kuh Kuh consonants on the one hand, and of the round vowelly Yuh Yuh Yuh on the other make these things we say seem true because they sound and feel so good to say. Dan Klyn, Sermon for WIAD Bristol 2021 understandinggroup.com repetitiontruthlanguagecliché
The debris of someone else's thinking A cliché isn't just a familiar, overused saying. It's the debris of someone else's thinking. Verlyn Klinkenborg, Several Short Sentences About Writing cliché
The way an oyster does A Fragment by Kay Ryan www.csmonitor.com Her poems, [Kay Ryan] says, don't begin with a simple image or sound, but instead start "the way an oyster does, with an aggravation." An old saw may nudge her repeatedly, such as "It's always darkest before the dawn" or "Why did the chicken cross the road?" "I think, 'What about those chickens?' " she says, "and I start an investigation of what that means. Poets rehabilitate clichés." poetrymeaningcliché
Several Short Sentences About Writing A Book by Verlyn Klinkenborg www.goodreads.com Here, in short, is what I want to tell you. Know what each sentence says, What it doesn't say, And what it implies. Of these, the hardest is knowing what each sentence actually says. Sonorisms VBoth models are completely uselessThe shape of the sentenceThe Anxiety of SequenceYou can get anywhere from anywhere+18 More Wittgenstein's MistressWrite SimplyThe most important thing you do writing
Sonorisms V Leave space between them for the things that words can't really say. To suggest more than the words seem to allow. Perhaps it renames the world. The Anxiety of Sequence. It was all change until the very last second. The debris of someone else's thinking. You'll never run out of noticings. Names that announce the whatness of the world. What were you trying to protect? You were protecting the memory. The tyranny of what exists. Do any of them sound first? It sets an echo in motion. Try writing for the reader in yourself. So call it "perfection enough". Toward the name of the world—yours to discover. euphony
Both models are completely useless In your head, you'll probably find two models for writing. One is the familiar model taught in high school and college—a matter of outlines and drafts and transitions and topic sentences and argument. The other model is its antithesis—the way poets and novelists are often thought to write. Words used to describe this second model include "genius", "inspiration", "flow", and "natural", sometimes even "organic". Both models are useless. I should qualify that sentence. Both models are completely useless. genius
The shape of the sentence You've been taught to overlook the character of the prose in front of you in order to get at its meaning. You overlook the shape of the sentence itself for the meaning it contains, Which means that while you were reading, All those millions of words passed by Without teaching you how to make sentences. meaningstructure
The Anxiety of Sequence Much of what's taught under the name of expository writing could be called "The Anxiety of Sequence." Its premise is this: To get where you're going, you have to begin in just the right place And take the proper path, Which depends on knowing where you plan to conclude. The Age of the Essay essays
You can get anywhere from anywhere And if you can get anywhere from anywhere, You can start anywhere And end anywhere. There is no single necessary order. progressending
Significant everywhere Writing isn't a conveyor belt bearing the reader to "the point" at the end of the piece, where the meaning will be revealed. Good writing is significant everywhere, Delightful everywhere. goodness
It was all change until the very last second Every work of literature is the result of thousands and thousands of decisions. Intricate, minute decisions—this word or that, here or where, now or later, again and again. It's the living tissue of a writer's choices, Not the fossil record of an ancient, inspired race. A concept of style decisionscraft
A renaming of the already named A true metaphor is a swift and violent twisting of language, A renaming of the already named. It's meant to expire in a sudden flash of light And to reveal—in that burst of illumination— A correspondence that must be literally accurate. metaphornames
The debris of someone else's thinking A cliché isn't just a familiar, overused saying. It's the debris of someone else's thinking. cliché
How each sentence got that way When the work is really complete, the writer knows how each sentence got that way. intent
This small internal quaver Pay attention now: No matter how much you know or learn about syntax, grammar, or rhetoric, This small internal quaver, this inner disturbance, Is the most useful evidence you'll ever get. Someday, you'll be able to articulate what causes it. But for now, what's important is to notice it. Noticing is always the goal. ...the faint vertigo caused by an ambiguity you can't quite detect. What matter is what it points to. Find out what's causing it and fix it Even if you're not sure how. Notes on the Synthesis of Form attention
The urge to be done "Flow" is often a synonym for ignorance and laziness. It's also a sign of haste, the urge to be done. productivity
Talking and writing Talking is natural. Writing is not. It may seem strange that the manual dexterity needed to hold a pencil—or use a keyboard—comes later than the lingual and mental dexterity needed to speak. But it does. speech
What were you trying to protect? As the piece evolves, you try to protect those original, effusive sentences. Only to realize, at last, that what you're writing won't come together until they've been removed or revised. What were you trying to protect? The memory of the excitement you felt when those words "came to you." (Where did they "come" from?) You were protecting the memory of the excitement of really concentrating, of paying close attention to your thoughts and, perhaps, your sentences, the excitement of feeling the galvanic link between language and thought. memory
The discoveries you make in the making Style is an expression of the interest you take in the making of every sentence. It emerges, almost without intent, from your engagement with each sentence. It's the discoveries you make in the making of the prose itself. Where ambiguity rules, there is no "style"—or anything else worth having. Pursue clarity instead. In the pursuit of clarity, style reveals itself. The idea grows as they workFour principlesExpressing ideas helps to form them styleclaritymaking
The virtue of already existing It can be overwhelming—the inertia of the paragraphs and pages you've already composed, the sentences you've already written, No matter how rough they are. Whether you love what you've written or not, Those sentences have the virtue of already existing, Which makes them better than sentences that don't exist. Or so it seems.
Composition and revision Revise at the point of composition. Compose at the point of revision. Think of composition and revision as the same thing. 104. Site Repair design
Squander your material Squander your material. Don't ration it, saving the best for last. You don't know what the best is. Or the last.
Do any of them sound first? Just try out some sentences. Lots of them. See how they sound. Do any of them sound first? You're holding an audition. Many sentences will try out. One gets the part.
When you're interested in what you're working on It's never hard to work when you're interested in what you're working on. But what if you hate what you're working on? It helps to examine the content of your loathing. What is it you hate? hatework
The work selects its audience Imagine a cellist playing one of Bach's solo suites. Does he consider his audience? (Did Bach, for that matter?) Does he play the suit differently to audiences Of different incomes and educations and social backgrounds? No. The work selects its audience.