Charged with: Committing an Act of Literature a.k.a Journal #2

On this charge I am guilty! Once again I feel as if Zinnser has crept into my brain and revealed my shameful writing habits. Each time I sit down to write something, whether it be an essay or short story or blog, I find myself trying to write something brilliant the first time. Even now, with the “delete” key only inches away from my fingers, I have contemplated my words before typing what I want to say.

What is an act of literature? It sounds so formal. Literature holds several connotations in my mind and each of them suggest that I am not capable of producing “literature.” Literature is for the person who thinks profoundly and has great things to say. I do not think of myself as profound and I definitely cannot find anything “great” to say. What Zinnser writes in chapters one and two challenge me to think better of myself as an author. Even though I have yet to be published, I do write and therefore can write profoundly if I am aware of myself and my surroundings.

I liked how chapter one discussed the variety of writing styles. I often find myself subscribing to that cliché idea of a writer. Actually, what comes to mind is the character portrayed by Diane Lane in Under the Tuscan Sun. She seems to effortlessly absorb the colorfulness of life and then spill it out onto paper in a witty yet thoughtful way. However, Zinnser discusses how writing is actually a job and must be worked at for some writers. I might just be one such writer. Too bad too, I kind of liked the idea that whatever I wrote would be sheer genius, loved by all.

I also connected with what chapter two had to say. Actually I feel as though I have read this piece in another class. Perhaps it was my Compositional Theory class last semester—that professor was very keen on keeping things simple. I digress. My favorite quote from that chapter is: “Every word that serves no function, every long word that could be a short word, every adverb that carries the same meaning that’s already in the verb, every passive construction that leaves the reader unsure of who is doing what—these are the thousand and one adulterants that weaken the strength of the sentence. And they usually occur in proportion to education and rank” (7). It is hard to miss how Zinnser feels about wordiness with word choices such as “adulterant.” I am guilty on this count too I suppose. As an English major I think it must be impossible to avoid wordiness. It is our job to explain a passage to death or at least until the professor is satisfied that we, the students, have exhausted every possible interpretation of the text.

For journalism and nonfiction, however, the story is different. I am enjoying this difference even though it means I must learn a new way to persuade, describe, and explain. Who knows, maybe I will get off for good behavior if I can go back through my work and slash away those adulterant words that might try and suffocate what I am really trying to say. Put away those handcuffs sheriff.