Writing As Conversation
file under: PROCESS NOTES
this one is from: AMBIKA
To think about writing as a conversation between a writer and a reader is crucial to effective written communication. But also, the mechanics of this imaginary conversation can be rather strange, and the framework of “writing as conversation” can take some getting used to.
When I write, I certainly want my writing to engage readers. I want readers to feel something in response to my words—puzzled perhaps, or surprised, or validated, or clear-eyed…the list of possibilities is vast, but ultimately, I want my writing to come alive and move the reader somehow. And it turns out that this is much more likely to happen when I regard my readers as active participants in an ongoing conversation than as passive recipients of a final product. Equally, a reader isn’t actually present most of the time when I’m writing—I have to imagine this reader and my conversation with them. I have to stand in for them myself, pretending that I am them as I read and refine my words. As a writer, I thus start developing relationships with my future readers long before I actually know precisely who they are. What I end up writing depends in huge part upon how I relate to the people I imagine myself in conversation with.
When you conceive of writing as a conversation with actual people you care about and want to treat well, you are offered a tangible way in which to bring more attention and intention to shaping the reader’s experience. This framework allows one to approach many elements of the writing process with concreteness. For example, in his wonderful book on the craft of fiction writing (via the art of close reading), A Swim in a Pond in the Rain, George Saunders describes “structure” thus:
We might think of structure as simply: an organizational scheme that allows the story to answer a question it has caused its reader to ask…We might imagine structure as a form of call-and-response. A question arises organically from the story and the story, very considerately, answers it. If we want to make good structure, we just have to be aware of what question we are causing the reader to ask, then answer that question.
I love this advice. But recently, I found myself wondering if, in this realm, it might be possible to have too much of a good thing? I was reading a piece of writing in which the author repeated the following maneuver over and over again:
On the face of it, this approach seems to be exactly what Saunders says writers should do! The author certainly isn’t taking their audience for granted, or talking at their audience unidirectionally. Instead, they’re expecting their readers to make sharp critiques and are responding accordingly by preempting some of these sharp critiques, a move that ought to build a reader’s trust. But as I read it, I found myself responding to the text pretty counterintuitively: I became more suspicious of the writer and their argument, not less.
I’m still a bit puzzled by my response, but I have an inkling that it comes down to the specifics of it all. I really do appreciate that the writer is making an effort to put themselves in what they think are my shoes! But it turns out that the shoes they’re imagining don’t really fit me too well. I would certainly be asking questions about the claims the author makes, but I think I’d be asking different questions than they do. And because I perceive the author to be encouraging questions in general, I find myself thinking of questions to ask! But my questions remain unanswered by the text, and there’s no way for me to get the author’s attention and demand, “but what about this?” Which is to say, maybe this piece of writing just isn’t written for a person like me, who asks the questions I do—if this was a conversation amongst a few people at a party or conference, I’d be hanging out at the edge of the group, and would eventually walk away. Which is, all said and done, totally okay. Not everything is written for everyone, and I’m grateful for the “writing as conversation” framework for helping me understand that more clearly.