In 2020, real writing doesn’t mean an essayist at Walden Pond, or a poet in an attic, or a novelist in a retreat in the Berkshires.
Real writing is necessary writing. It’s everyday, nonfiction writing. It’s not “lovely,” or “powerful,” or “gut-wrenching.” It’s ordinary, routine, mostly dull, and mostly unmemorable.
Real writing answers real people’s questions:
- Why did your daughter miss school Wednesday?
- Where can I buy 3 dozen rolls of toilet paper?
- How many days will we need a dump truck when we gut the Jericho Inn?
Real writing is writing before it’s been scribbled out, worked over, and revised for a fourth time.
Real writing is what the customer service representative types in the chat window. Real writing is fast writing. It’s adequate, competent, good enough.
The aim of real writing is first drafts that say clearly everything that needs to be said in no more words than are absolutely necessary. And real writing aims at clean first drafts, free from mistakes that either force people to reread sentences twice to figure out their meaning or that make people laugh out loud.
Real writing is what is expected from writing teachers.
Real writing is what teachers are expected to teach their students to do.
Real writing is what every high school graduate should be able to do.
© 2020 Linda G. Aragoni