My writing is a doorway a portal into Love a prayer to the above
My writing is a doorway through which I travel every day sometimes in deed, yet more often only in thought in words.
Few others tread this path. I am not alone; I know I am not alone yet I am the only one here I am the only one writing I am the only one working here in this space only me and I am somehow comforted knowing there are others on the path their path; their writing path they too are alone on theirs.
And my thoughts distract me. My thoughts distract me My thinking distracts me over and over and over again when it does I come back falling down seven times and getting up eight.
And I must remember my writing is a doorway my writing is a portal my voice is my transport into great things of my own daring creation.
no one knows no one cares so it’s easier to just put them forward undated as if I’d just written them.
Yes, no one knows no one but me and it would eat away at me pretending like that.
So when the tiniest bit of hope of inspiration the most infinitesimal jot and tittle of Love — when that hit, there I was, pen already in hand with a fortuitously placed notebook.
And here I write images of a poem-a-day dancing madly in my head, derived from demented ballerinas and here I sit following the Voice of God as it whispers in my head in a thundering sort of way
surrendering, surrendering I’ve found is my highest goal.
Wow, y’all can be really wordy sometimes! (And I love it!)
Still, being wordy can be a bit of a turn-off. We’re all in a crunch for time. It’s like we all have have the attention span of a … ooh, look, a squirrel! … and we’re just itching for an excuse to move on to the Next Big Thing.
With so many businesses, people, friends, customers, and clients clamoring for our attention, we have to be “spot-on” with our messaging.
Mind Your Voice
Good, strong writing always uses the active voice.
Well, ok, almost always.
The active voice is positive. Strong. Concrete. More direct. The subject of the sentence is something or does something. The active voice uses a tone that is strong and clear.
When using the passive voice, the subject of the sentence is acted upon by the verb of the sentence. “Subtle” and “weak” are qualities often attributed to the passive voice.
Pop quiz: Were you paying attention? What “voice” did I use to write the two paragraphs immediately above?
Get a ⭐ Gold Star ⭐ if you said something on the order of “The active voice sentence used the active voice, and the passive one used passive voice.”
But That’s Not All
That’s not the only difference between the two voices.
When using the active voice, it’s easier to keep your word count down. This is because in the passive voice, the sentence’s subject is acted upon by the verb. This necessitates some form of the verb “to be” plus the past participle form of the verb, plus a preposition. Usually. (English is weird, I know.)
Let me share a small example. Active Voice: “David threw the ball” Passive Voice: “The ball was thrown by David”
Both sentences say the same thing. In both sentences, David hauls off and chunks a ball to someone off-screen. But one of those sentences takes 4 words, whereas the other takes 6. When considering just once sentence, 50% more words is no big deal. But in the context of a whole essay, it makes a bigger difference ❤
All that being said, sometimes the passive voice comes in handy. If you’re a politician, say — they seem to avoid the active voice at all costs! Later on I’ll talk about a few other situations where the passive voice would be appropriate.
Or let’s say you’re writing an essay about a llama. (Yes, I know that in the visionary group we tend to write about things other than llamas. But that’s all I got for right now!). In that case, the sentence “The llama was lloved on by the llemur” is appropriate.
Why? Because the subject of that piece is the llama. Thus the active voice sentence “The lemur loved on the llama” might not fit as well. It brings too much attention on our lemur friend.
Those last three words — “by the lemur” — is a short prepositional phrase that identifies who is performing the action. But even though the lemur is the one doing the loving, he’s not the grammatical subject any more. Using the passive voice enables you to drop poor Zoboomafoo (the lemur) from the sentence entirely, as “The llama was lloved on” also makes sense.
Generally speaking, the active voice is more appropriate, more useful. But the passive voice has its uses too. Do write most of your sentences with the active voice, though, unless that sentence won’t make sense any other way.
Other Occasions
The passive voice is not “incorrect.” Nor is it “bad” or “wrong.” At the same time, though, it tends to sound dishonest. Stiff. Evasive. Even less trustworthy than it possibly could sound. That’s why politicians use it a lot.
But who wants to do business with someone who sounds dishonest? Who wants to work with people that avoid taking responsibility in their words? After all, if they avoid responsibility in their words, it’s likely they avoid it in their actions and business practices as well.
Face that responsibility head on. Own it. Take charge of it.
Passive Voice: “An error was made on your account.” Active Voice: “We made an error on your account.”
Put another way: When using the passive voice, it’s easy to muddy the waters. It’s easier to obfuscate the subject, as it’s typically not specified.
When using the active voice, you have to identify the subject. In the passive example just above, an error was made. Great. Who made the error? Who is responsible? We just don’t know.
In the active voice example, it’s clear that “WE” made the error. And sure, that pronoun can refer to just about anything, but that’s the subject of a different essay.
In Conclusion
This is English we’re talking about here. So there are no “hard and fast” rules.
At the same time, though, you’re better off using the active voice when you’re writing about a definite subject that’s performing a definite action.
In other situations, the passive voice works well. Like in scientific contexts Or in reports of incidents in which the agents are unknown. Or if you want to emphasize the action itself, and the agent of that action is distracting or irrelevant.
Now get out there and write! I love reading your essays 🙂
No, “showing and telling” isn’t a reference to what you might have done in elementary school. Then again, there are some parallels. Read on to find out what they are.
“Don’t tell me the moon is shining. Show me the glint of light on broken glass.”
— Anton Chekhov, Russian playwright, 1860-1904
The quotation above is a maxim of writing you’ll hear again and again: “Show, don’t tell.” It doesn’t matter if you’re writing an essay for the Visionaries, working on a novel, or even a narrative podcast. “Show, don’t tell” is still one of the primary guidelines for writers both new and experienced.
But what do I mean by this?
I’m glad you asked.
Let’s Break It Down
Put succinctly, when a writer ‘tells’ us something, they’re summarizing or using exposition to tell the reader what’s happening. Telling is sometimes required, yet it often feels flat and lifeless.
On the other hand, when a writer shows the reader something, they describe what’s going on. They use action to help the reader paint a picture in their minds. Use your words well, and you’ll enable your reader to craft a movie in their heads.
Confused yet? Here are some examples.
Telling: Fred was sad when his girlfriend left.
Showing: Fred tried to hide his tears as he watched his girlfriend board the train back to college.
Here’s a longer example, especially crafted for the season we’re in right now:
Telling: The house felt spooky.
Showing: Lit by a single candle, the room flickered with uncertain shadows. The house smelled like rotting wood and decaying meat, with a bright metallic overtone which made Fred think of blood. The walls were arrayed with strange taxidermy: a buck with crazy eyes, a grizzly rampant in frozen fury, and an owl in mid-flight, its talons molded into a cruel shape.
Granted, these examples lean more towards the fictional. But in the essays we write for this program, as we use examples from our own lives, and as we use concrete examples (both subjects I’ve written about before), we want to create similar experiences in the minds of our readers.
Indeed, creating experiences in the minds of our readers is one of the best ways we have of teaching. And in so doing, we don’t have to make our readers live through the same experiences that we did!
How to Show and Not Tell
In the examples above, showing is more descriptive. It makes the writing vivid and clear. Showing enables the reader to experience what’s going on for the writer, by letting them interpret the descriptions the writer provides.
Consider the “telling” examples. They’re boring, aren’t they? Flat, too. Telling limits the reader’s experience. It gives them but a single way of understanding the story.
So how do you show us things, if you’ve been telling about them for so long? There are at least four ways to do so.
Use dialogue. Even if you don’t remember a scene from your own life that well, use dialogue to recreate a sense of it. ” ‘Don’t you dare walk out that door!’ Fred yelled’ is more effective than “Fred was angry.”
Use clear adjectives and specific nouns. Use them to paint a descriptive picture for your reader. Don’t just tell us that Grandma baked a pie. Describe the golden crimped crust of Grandma’s famous apple-cinnamon pie cooling on the windowsill.
Include sensory details. Yes, it’s entirely possible to give us too many details — just ask Stephen King. Still, it’s usually better to err on the side of ‘too much’ than ‘not enough.’ Show us the sounds, the tastes, the smells and sights of your subject.
Use strong verbs. Don’t say “I walked to the store.” Show us how you skipped, sauntered, strolled, ambled, or even galloped to the store.
An Exception to Every Rule
I get you. Here in the Visionary Program we’re writing about ourselves and our internal narratives. In times like these, it’s usually better to tell and NOT show.
Internal narratives are crucial, since they help us comprehend what made the writer react the way they did in a particular situation. One of the best parts about reading is getting to walk around in another character’s head for a while. To only show everything is to deprive the reader of that pleasure.
So yes, I’ll admit it: Sometimes telling is a better technique than showing, at least when it comes to writing internal narrative.
Why is that? Because showing relies on actions.
“I remember a time when I was angry,” you might say. “I shoved my chair back, leaped up, and pounded my fist on the table.”
This shows us that you were angry, but we don’t know about the nuance of the feeling. Maybe you were hiding a core of fear. Maybe you were internally happy about how things were going, and only pretending to be outraged.
We won’t know unless you tell us.
Most of the time it’s preferable to show us how angry you were by describing what happened to the table when you hit it, or how the room shook when you slammed the door on the way out.
But sometimes, you just gotta tell it like it is.
Conclusion
So there’s no hard-and-fast rule to this stuff. It’s all subjective, and it’s all relative to what you’re trying to do.
But one thing is universal: We all love stories. When you’re writing these essays, whether you realize it or not, and however small it is, you’re telling us a story. And when telling stories, it’s usually better to show us what’s going on, rather than just telling us.
Visionary Writing Techniques Essay #13 by John Onorato
We humans love a good story.
Consider the success of a few movies: Star Wars. The Hunger Games. The Color Purple. Titanic. Gone With the Wind. Jaws.
Now consider a few books: Don Quixote. Alice in Wonderland. The Wizard of Oz. Harry Potter.
What do these books and movies all have in common? I’ll give you that the commonality might not be easy to pick out, but if you think about it …
If you think about it, it’s really pretty simple.
They have great stories.
The Other Commonality
Granted, these stories have gone through endless amounts of refinement and re-jiggering. Every stray word, every misplaced image, every character that doesn’t serve the plot ends up on the cutting room floor.
I wouldn’t presume to think we have that kind of time or person-power as we craft our essays.
Now, I’ll be writing another essay on using Story at a later date. But in this moment, I’d like to draw your attention to another thing these stories have in common:
They engage our emotions.
Yes, we humans love a good story. And we engage with those stories through our emotions. Our essays are stories, and a story without emotions seems flat. And even lifeless.
“But John,” I can already hear you asking. “How do we create emotions in our readers?”
Easy-peasy! You evoke those emotions with emotion words.
It’s All In the Words
It’s easy to classify emotions as “good” or “bad,” positive or negative. Yet those words are not specific enough to elicit an emotional response from our readers.
An aside: There are many different “emotion wheels” and methods for refining basic emotions. They’re all valid and all useful. This is just one of them.
According to the Junto model, there are six “basic emotions.” There’s love, joy, and surprise. And there are the less positive ones, or fear, anger, and sadness.
Let’s look at Love. The basic emotion of “Love” can be further refined into “enchanted,” “romantic,” “affectionate,” and “sentimental.” The emotion named “euphoric” inhabits a space between Love and its neighbor “Joy.”
These emotions can be further refined into different words with slightly different connotations. (Remember, a “connotation” is the undercurrent of a word, the feeling that it invokes in addition to its literal meaning. This literal meaning is also known as the denotation.) The word “enchanted” refines into “enthralled” and “rapturous.” And from the word “sentimental,” we get “tender” and “nostalgic.”
Here’s the Trick
So that’s the groundwork. Here’s the trick to generating greater engagement with your words, no matter if you’re writing a Visionary essay, copy for your website, or a letter to your Dad:
Use the words.
That’s it. Just use them.
The verb forms are best to use. If you say “Fred came into the room,” that’s flat and lifeless. The reader is confused because there are a zillion different ways someone can come into a room. There’s no telling what the writer had in mind, so the reader will create an image in their head that makes sense to them. But it might not be in line with the original intent.
The writer then has to do more work to provide relevant information as to how.
On the other hand, if you say “Fred exploded into the room,” you already know that Fred is enthusiastic and energetic (at least in this instance). It’s a safe bet that Fred is a positive, happy person.
Now let’s look at Claude, who is terminally depressed. We can say “Claude is depressed,” but again, that’s lifeless. Flat. (As per the nature of depression itself!) But if we say “Claude skulked into the room,” we can tell there’s something up. He might have some nefarious motive. He might be sad. We don’t know yet, but we WANT to know.
In other words, we’re engaged.
We can also use adverbs to display emotion. Adverbs are words that typically end in -ly, and they modify verbs. As in: “June ran happily.” Or “The movie ended abruptly.” Or “Her mod outfit displayed Brigit’s delightfully quirky personality.”
Conclusion
To recap, we humans love stories. And we love it when our emotions are engaged. One way to engage our readers’ emotions is through the use of emotion words. Words like love, joy, and fear are good, but too general to make much of an impact. Instead, use more specific words. Using emotional adverbs is a good idea, yet an even better one is to use precise verbs.
So I challenge you: In your next Visionary essay, use emotional words. And see what kind of engagement you get 🙂
We all want our readers to feel excited when they start reading our essays. And if not actually excited, we at least want them feeling interested.
But how do we ‘make’ our reader be interested in what we’ve poured our efforts into?
We do that by grabbing their attention with a good “hook.”
A hook is a bit of writing at the top of your essay. Also known as the introduction, a hook is meant to engage a reader’s curiosity.
As writers, we want our readers to read our pieces all the way through. We want them to wonder what happens next. And the best way to do that is with a good hook.
There are several different types of hooks. They are:
Quotation Hook
Description Hook
Story Hook (a favorite of mine)
Metaphor or Simile Hook
Facts and Statistics Hook
Declaration Hook
Interesting Question Hook (another favorite of mine)
Quotation Hooks
Some of you are using quotations already. This is awesome!
With this kind of hook, you draw your reader in with a quotation. It can be from someone famous or well-known, but it doesn’t have to be. Just be sure to attribute the quote — tell us who said it, even if it was you.
You can quote anyone, so long as it connects with the rest of your piece.
Do this: “It will be done with you when you are done with it.” — Jonathan England
Not this: “When you’re done with something, it’ll be done with you.” — Some guy I know
Descriptive Hooks
Use a vivid description to pull readers into your writing. Good descriptive hooks make readers want to know what comes next.
Writing an essay about Ego? Hook us with your description of how you’ve fought your own Ego. Writing about Integrity? Hook us with a description of how Integrity shows up in your own life.
Story Hook
Stories draw readers in. Humans are natural storytellers — all of us are! — and we love reading and hearing the stories of others. How did they surmount that Ego challenge? How did they offer Acknowledgement to other people? How did this writer display Integrity?
Readers love memorable, well-written stories. Just be sure the story you tell is related to the topic at hand.
This type of hook is typically a bit longer than other kinds of hooks, but can be even more effective when used well.
Metaphor and Simile Hooks
I love metaphors and similes. They get readers to think about the topic in a different way, not the “usual way.” Your readers will wonder what you mean, and how you can compare this thing to this topic, even when it seems unconnected.
A quick review: Metaphors compare two seemingly unrelated things to one another. One example is “Jonathan is a shining light.”
Of course, he’s not really a light. He doesn’t have a filament growing out of his head. But he acts like one.
Two things about similes:
they use the words ‘like’ or ‘as’ to connect the parts
they are typically not as strong as metaphors
The above statement can be rephrased as a simile: “Jonathan is like a shining light.”
Facts and Statistics Hooks
Here in the Visionary Program, most of what we deal with is highly subjective. Thus, Facts and Statistics type of hooks might well be wildly inappropriate. Still, they do offer objective information about a topic, and readers love that. So you can still conceivably use this type of hook.
All you have to do is provide facts that are interesting, reliable, and accurate. Make sure your source is credible, too — not just something you read one time here on Facebook or saw on YouTube.
Strong Statement Hook
Also known as the Declaration Hook, this kind asserts a claim about your topic. It shows the overall importance of what you’re about to say.
It doesn’t matter how your reader might feel about your statement. What they’re interested in is reading how you support that statement.
One example of this kind of hook is “Ego has been the bane of my existence for 48 years of my life.”
Ego might have played a similar role in your life, or you might have it well under control. Either way, the bold statement piques your curiosity about what the writer might say next.
The Question Hook
People are curious. Inquisitive. We love reading questions, and finding out the answers even more. If you ask a question, that spurs the reader on. They’ll try to find the answer to the question you ask later on in your text.
Just be sure to ask questions which relate to your topic. Asking unrelated questions only serves to confuse the reader. Was this essay about Acknowledgement? Then why did the writer ask a question about Ego?
Conclusion
These are not the only types of hooks. These are not the only ways to draw readers in. Yet they are some of the more effective ways. I know that if I was reading essays, I would like being “hooked” by one of these methods.
Let’s get out there and hook our readers! Let’s get folks to read our words like the professionals we are!
There’s a lot of writing advice out there. Some of it works, and some doesn’t. Like with the other articles in this series, though, I’m going to address some fundamentals — address these issues, and watch your effectiveness with the written word soar.
As you know, I’m a professional freelance writer. What follows are several short tips that improved my writing immensely — and they can work for you as well.
Let’s dive in.
1 — “Shorten Your Opening Sentence.”
Is your opening sentence compelling? Check. Is your opening sentence short? Check. Is your opening sentence conversational? Check.
Does your opening sentence go on and on and on, seemingly without end, finally collapsing, exhausted, right next to the dustbin of failed sentences that might be run-ons but maybe not?
I reckon you can do the math on that one.
Example: “This is a post that’s going to help you become a better coach.”
This becomes: “I can help you.”
See? Shorter. Punchier. Better all-around.
2 — “I think”
Almost universally, this phrase adds exactly Zero Value to your writing. Delete to make your point stronger.
Saying “I think” is the literary equivalent of adding a question mark to your sentences.
In our daily speech, we say “I think” when we don’t know a thing for sure. But if you’re writing about it, it’s better to give the impression you know what you’re talking about. Hence, drop the “I think.”
Example: “I think I slept poorly last night.”
This becomes: “I slept poorly last night.”
The latter form sounds more assertive, doesn’t it?
3 — “Running, Jumping, Climbing”
You can also drop words that end in “-ing.” Also known as gerunds (or verbs that function like nouns), the suffix makes the word softer. At the same time, it adds little value. Although proper use of gerunds can lend writing a lyrical quality, generally speaking your writing will read better if you avoid them.
Example: “The forms we’re seeking are often disappointing and underwhelming.”
This becomes: “The forms we seek often disappoint and underwhelm.”
Notice how the punchier sentence has fewer words? It often works out this way 🙂
4 — “That”
This is a word which makes sense, but around 90% of the time you can omit it. Doing so will instantly make your sentences stronger.
Example: “You thought that I was sleeping, but I wasn’t.”
This becomes: “You thought I was sleeping. I wasn’t.”
Sure, you can use this word to “pad” your word count, but do you really want to?
5 — “Short paragraphs. Shorter sentences.”
Most sentences you can cut right in half, immediately making them punchier and stronger. Having a two or three word sentence is not a crime.
At the same time, vary the length of your sentences in order to keep interest.
A good rule of thumb is to keep each paragraph to three sentences (or less.)
Remember: Readers LOVE white space.
So. Five tips, five opportunities to make your writing better. Let’s get out there and make the most of our words!
When we use strong language skills — whether in writing or in speaking — we have a much better chance of getting what we want and need from people around us. Not only that, we have a much better chance of understanding … and being understood.
One way of examining the language you use is by its “concrete-ness.” Another way of putting this is Generality vs Specificity.
One of these kinds of language is likely to be understood. And the other is more likely to be MIS-understood.
In other words, the more specific and concrete your words are, the more vivid and clear the understanding of your reader.
Concrete and Abstract Terms
Abstract terms refer to concepts and ideas. They have no physical referents.
Please re-read that definition. It is vague and boring — and this is by design. Even if you do find it interesting, it will be hard to pin down why. We need examples — concrete examples to make this abstract language clearer.
“Love” is an abstract term. So is “freedom.” The words “something” and “someone” are similarly abstract. Yes, we generally agree on what they all mean, but the specific meaning for individual people is difficult to pin down, because it changes over time. A teenager will not have the same definition of love as a senior citizen who has been divorced twice already.
We need abstract terms, however, because we frequently talk about these concepts and ideas. Thus we need terms to represent them.
At the same time, long chains of abstract terms can be tiring. Boring. They’re useful in introductions and paragraph topic sentences. But they’re not going to make points clear or interesting by themselves.
Abstract terms name things unavailable to the senses, while concrete terms refer to events and objects which can be sensed. Examples of concrete terms include:
Fork
Countertop
Eyebrow Ring
Superhero Mask
Cold
Running
The meanings of these words are pretty stable, as they refer to objects we can hold and events we can see. I can pick up a fork and hand it to you, but I can’t show you a Freedom. I can’t point to a small Love crawling on the wall. I can measure air by weight or volume, but I can’t collect a liter of love or a pound of moral outrage.
Nailing it Down
Take the assertion “We all want success.” You may understand, and you may even agree with me. But success means different things to different people, so you can’t be sure about my precise meaning from the abstract term. On the other hand, if I say “I want a yacht and a mansion with two staircases,” you know exactly what I mean. At that point, you know if you agree with me (or not).
Can you see how concrete terms are both clearer and more interesting than abstract ones?
As effective writers and communicators, we need to use fewer abstract terms, and more concrete ones.
Specific Terms (and General Ones)
“Abstract” and “concrete” are opposites, more or less. But there is a significant range between “general” and “specific” terms.
Take the word “vehicle.” This is a very general term. Many different possibilities are contained within. Can you form an image of “vehicle”? You might see an ocean liner or an 18-wheeler. You might see your personal car, or the bike you rode this morning.
Even if you can create a distinct image in your mind, how likely is it your reader will come up with the same one?
“Vehicle” is a concrete term, as it points to an object we can see and feel. But its meaning is difficult to pin down, because the group is so large.
We can shrink the group with a more specific word: Boat. It’s still pretty general, as it still refers to a class of objects, rather than an individual object. Still, it’s easier to picture a boat than it is to visualize a vehicle.
The next step is “rowboat.” Our picture is getting clearer now. The images we form are likely to be fairly similar, and we’re likely to have similar associations (safety, smallness, has oars, used for fishing, etc). So this more specific term communicates more clearly than the less specific terms “vehicle” or “boat.”
We can get even more specific. Your boat can be a sailboat. It can be a blue and white sailboat. It can be a blue and white sailboat named “St. Marne.” It can be a blue and white sailboat named “St. Marne” that berths four people and has a Barbie doll lashed to the prow, like the figureheads of old.
Do you see how, by the time we get to the last description, we’re talking about an individual vehicle? A single, specific boat? Note how easy it is to see THAT boat in your mind.
In Other Words
In short, when you rely on general terms, your writing will be vague, lifeless, and dull. As your words become more specific, however, your meaning becomes clearer. Your writing becomes more interesting. When your writing is interesting, it’s more likely to be read.
And isn’t that what we all want?
You might wonder if you now have to stuff your writing full of detailed descriptors. Short answer: No. You don’t need modifiers to identify individuals: Mention Eckhart Tolle or Oprah Winfrey, and everyone knows who you mean. So too with Steve’s Suburban or the scar on Harry’s forehead.
Also, not everything needs to get the individual treatment all the time. We might need to know that Fred crossed the ocean in a boat, but we don’t always have to know what that boat looked like.
It’s all a matter of discernment at this point.
To Sum Up
I invite you to think back on what you’ve just read. What do you remember about it? Odds are you’ll recall the yacht and mansion, and the sailboat named “St. Marne.” Why is that? Because their meanings are clear. They create clear images in the mind.
Human brains are like that: It’s easier for them to recall images when they are linked with a distinct sense impression. This is why it’s easier to recall how you learned to swim than it is to remember when you learned about World War One.
Through our senses, we experience the world vividly. As infants, and before we learn words, we sense soft and rough, hot and cold, loud and silent. Our earliest words also also concrete: ball, nose, cup, Mommy. And we teach using concrete terms: “Where’s baby’s hand?” “Where’s the doggy?”
So why do we turn to generalizations and abstractions while we write?
Part of this answer has to do with our desire to pass on ideas and conclusions. We want to efficiently share the knowledge we’ve gained through hard work and pain. We don’t want to see others suffering, learning the same lessons we’ve learned the hard way. So we make generalizations: Instead of detailing all the trauma we’ve endured, we tell our children “You can’t always trust everyone.”
You went through a lot of pain to learn that lesson. You endured a lot of experiences both specific and concrete, yet you pass that lesson on with a few general words. Sure, we think we’re doing it right by passing on the lesson without all the hurt we endured to learn that lesson.
But I would posit that pain is a great teacher. The hurts teach the lesson, not the general terms.
Thus, “You can’t always trust everyone” might be a great phrase to use. It may be all you want your child (or reader) to grasp. But if you want to make that lesson clear, if you want to see your reader actually learn from your words, you have to relay the concrete, specific experiences.
I know a way to make your writing even better than it already is.
You just have to do one simple thing. ✅
And I’m about to tell you what that thing is.
After I tell you how to make your writing better than it already is, I’ll share a very personal reason I use this exact tip myself.
Now, I’m sure you’ve read thousands of examples where they “tease” some juicy tidbit (like I just did), then they make you endlessly doomscroll before they let you know what that tidbit is …
… and then what they have to say is so basic, it feels like a complete letdown when they do share the tidbit.
I’m not going to do that, though.
I’m going to share my juicy tidbit here in the first page.
You ready to make your writing even better than it already is?
Read on, then. It’s at the head of the next section, I promise.
About That Secret
If you want to 10X your writing, all you have to do is step away from your computer.
That’s right. All you have to do is step away from the computer.
I did this a year or two ago, and it’s one of the best things I could have ever done for my writing.
All you have to do is step away from your computer, and get some paper.
Get a pen, too. Or a notebook and a pencil. It doesn’t matter. What we’re going to do here is write by hand.
“But John,” I can already hear you wail, “we never learned cursive!”
Really? You didn’t? That’s a serious shortcoming of most modern schooling, in my opinion.
But Why?
Why should you ditch the keyboard for your pre-first drafts?
First off, because writing by hand engages a completely different part of the brain. Writing via typing is great, and at least for me, it’s much faster than writing by hand.
Note that “writing via typing” means “writing on a keyboard.” Given that typewriters are no longer really a thing (unless you’re part of Austin’s own “Typewriter Rodeo“), writing via typing usually means you’re on a computer.
Besides that “different part of the brain” thing, notebooks offer no distractions. Facebook doesn’t bother you when you’re working with a piece of paper.
In the interests of full disclosure, I should say that as a freelance writer, speed is often of the essence for me. So many of my articles — like this one — are written direct-to-keyboard. But I have developed a pretty good method for keeping my focus where it needs to be.
Still, it’s not a perfect system. Besides, the majority of my Really Good Articles saw their origins in one of my notebooks.
Another benefit is that writing with your own hands helps you retain and use information — even if you never pick it up again later.
See, when you’re writing on a keyboard, you’re basically just transcribing your own thoughts. You’re not really working with them. When we write by hand, we do it much more slowly. Therefore, we end up being more selective, choosing only the most important points to write down and use.
This causes you to craft your content more efficiently.
Writing by hand also causes you to recall information easier. I’m willing to bet you don’t remember many of your friends’ phone numbers, even if you call them frequently. That’s because you’ve typed them into your phone, and the phone remembers them for you. I’d also be willing to bet you can remember phone numbers from your distant past — when you wrote them down by hand.
When writing by hand, you are having, by default, a richer experience than you would at a keyboard. When we are performing a sequenced physical activity that uses muscles and nerves in a complex pattern, our brains love it. Doing that, our brains are awash in rich sensory and motor feedback. And the more feedback we get from an activity, the easier it is for our brains to form and later retain those memories.
Thus, the mere finger-tapping of keyboards offer our brains a much more sparse experience than the complex patterns involved in handwriting. In other words, keyboards are much less stimulating than moving our hands in the intricate patterns required when writing by hand.
In Conclusion
I’ll close with another reason to write by hand. This is my reason, and it waxes far more personal.
My father writes me letters. (He’s single-handedly saving the Post Office, don’t ya know.) Many of those letters he used to write by hand. So there’s a certain sense of nostalgia for me in there.
Perhaps more importantly, though, as I started to write by hand more often, I observed many similarities between my father’s handwriting and my own. It was all in the loop here and the swash there; as I watched my letters forming on the page, I could see echoes of my father’s writing.
Thankfully, my father is still with us. But the days of him writing much by hand are long behind him. I will always treasure the letters he wrote to me in his own hand.
Maybe that’s a gift you can give your own kin. I invite you to do exactly that. Physical letters, especially those written by hand, will forever occupy a special place in my heart — one that can never be taken over by another activity.
So — to make your writing 10X better, all you have to do is start away from your computer.
When writing pieces for an audience — any audience — introductions and conclusions are important.
Why? Because your message is important. As a coach, you want people to hear your message. As ambassadors of Earthwaking University, whose mission it is to wake up the world, it’s important for people to hear your messages of Love, Light, and Connection.
And repetition gets the point across. Therefore, when preparing a message for an audience, it is vital to:
Tell people what you’re going to tell them (introduction and provide context)
Tell them (get your message across)
Tell them what you just told them (conclusion, takeaway, and Call To Action)
In this Visionary Writing Techniques piece, I’m going to talk about introductions and conclusions.
Why Intros and Conclusions?
Intros and conclusions are different parts of the same puzzle.
Another way to think of introductions and conclusions is as “framing” for your essay.
Just as a beautiful frame enhances the beauty of a picture contained within it, proper framing enriches the content inside.
Good framing helps your reader better understand your essay.
An introduction prepares your reader to ingest the ideas within your article. It gives them some idea of what to expect.
A conclusion reminds your reader about important key points from your essay. It also gives you a chance to leave a lasting impression on your reader. When you tell them what you’d like them to get from your efforts, that’s your takeaway.
Grabbing Attention
Nearly each moment of every day, there are at least a thousand things competing for our attention.
Therefore, the first few lines of your introduction are critical.
Why should anyone read your piece, when there is a plethora of other articles on the same subject?
Think of your first few lines as a “hook.” Your hook grabs the attention of your readers. It also serves to introduce the general topic.
Just as there are many different ways to catch fish, there are many ways to write good hooks. Here are a few suggestions:
Tell your reader about a common misconception regarding your topic
Give your reader a humorous short story (or anecdote) which captures your topic
Share an interesting statistic or fact
Set the scene for the rest of the story: Who, what, where, when, why, how?
Ask a rhetorical question (a question intended to make a point or to create dramatic effect)
Your Final Thoughts
As with introductions, conclusions can be presented in many ways.
Use the last few lines of your essay for your concluding remarks.
Use your conclusion to remind your reader of how the evidence you’ve provided contributes to your topic. What’s the scoop — what’s yourtake on the larger implications of your topic?
Another approach is to broaden your focus. Your last sentence can provide your reader with material to think about, or remind them of a concept illuminated by your preceding words.
Rather than merely summarizing the key points of your piece, recommend a specific course of action. Warn your readers of the possible consequences of not addressing the issue you talk about.
You can also use the last few lines to drive your point home. Give your reader a quotation to lend authority to the conclusion you’ve reached. Or provide a startling fact or statistic which illustrates your point.
Relevant narrative drawn from your own life experience is also a good thing to include here.
You can also “come full circle”: If you used a quotation, anecdote, or other example in your introduction, return to it in your conclusion. Add some additional inside which comes from the body of your piece.
In Conclusion
Clearly, introductions and conclusions are linked closely. The techniques I’ve outlined for introductions also work in conclusions, and vice versa.
Remember the musical analogy I used in VWT #004, “Read Your Own Writing”? Your essay is a symphony made of words all working together to create a whole more magnificent than any one piece taken by itself. An introduction can be thought of as an “intro” to that song, and the conclusion the “outro.”
With a beautiful frame, you’ll have a beautiful message. Think of an introduction as part of the puzzle which includes the body and your conclusion, and you’ll have an easier time writing.
About Me
I'm a freelance writer, editor, ghostwriter, and all around mensch. My specialty is helping conscious business leaders, owners and coaches who are so busy changing the world, they don't have time for writing.
I've written B2B, B2C, press releases, blog posts, articles, essays, long form, short form, you name it. I can write eloquently on any topic you might need.