The Courage To Write Less
In 1657 Blaise Pascal wrote a long letter to a friend and added:
“Je n’ai fait celle-ci plus longue que parce que je n’ai pas eu le loisir de la faire plus courte.”
Which translates to:
“I only made this (the letter) longer because I don’t have the leisure/time to make it shorter.”
This is painfully true in my experience. The word limit really became a limit when I write academic essays and filling up the page is no longer possible when I write a post. I started complaining to my partner: “Writing a single sentence feels like pulling teeth.” That’s when I learned a hard lesson in writing: as you get better at it, instead of worrying about how many words you can write, you worry about how many words you can live without.
I kept returning to the last chapter of The Elements of Style. The book instructs: Do not affect a breezy manner.
“The volume of writing is enormous, these days, and much of it has a sort of windiness about it, almost as though the author were in a state of euphoria.”
Breezy writing and dull people have one thing in common: they run on. Good writing and witty people also have one thing in common: they pause. The former is caught up in their euphoria, but the latter gives us space, extending an invitation to think.
The book went on:
“The breezy style is often the work of an egocentric, the person who imagines that everything that comes to mind is of general interest and that uninhibited prose creates high spirits and carries the day.”
Writers usually start from an isolated place, convinced that their talent for observation will yield fresh insights. This makes their writing awkward as they wait to be plucked from obscurity. This also gives their prose that “windiness”, because without experience, every sentence counts toward a work of genius. Re-writing is a foreign concept because they want to cling to their signature style while having nothing to say.
True style, according to The Elements of Style, is a result of placing yourself in the background:
“To achieve style, begin by affecting none… A careful and honest writer does not need to worry about style. As you become proficient in the use of language, your style will emerge.”
Instead of asking: how much can I write? A careful writer asks: how do I make my point clear? Writing becomes hard for the first time. Once we find something to say, the work lies in overcoming the limits of language. We’ll find it impossible to articulate an insight after spending hours typing something and then deleting it. We’ll obsess over finding the right words and filling up the page is no longer the goal. Paradoxically, by drawing attention away from ourselves to the subject, our discipline will reward us with our signature style that looks effortless to readers. This is the courage to write less but better.
I want to end this post with what Estragon said in Waiting for Godot:
“Perhaps he could dance first and think afterwards, if it isn’t too much to ask him.”
As writers, we can add to this quote. Perhaps we could dance first and think afterwards. If it isn’t too much to ask ourselves, perhaps we could think hard first and write concisely afterwards.
