How to write a good paragraph
This week’s question comes to us from Rafael Camargo:
How long does it take to write a very good paragraph?
I have no idea.
Which isn’t to say that I haven’t written one. I very well may have. I just don’t care.
When I write, my goal is to tell a good story. It’s a conversation between me and my audience, but specifically you. You’re in the room with me and I picture myself telling you a story, and then I write it down like I told it. I might go over it a few times to see if I can tell it better, and if it’s for a book then an editor will help to make sure it’s told well. But even as I write this I’m thinking of you, and the look on your face, as you read it. I’m wondering if what you’re reading is making sense to you. I’m wondering if it’s answering your question. Because if it hasn’t then maybe I haven’t told it well.
A good paragraph is a paragraph that delivers that message clearly, succinctly, and without bullshit.
My friend Leslie used to have a bit about the difference between East Coast and West Coast driving directions. (This was before Google Maps.) She said a West Coast person would give you options. There’s the scenic route and there’s the direct route. They’d point out places of interest along the way. They’d suggest a place to eat, and possibly go over a couple of things on the menu. Maybe even weave in a little of their personal history with both the route and the destination. An East Coast person would bark out “Go two blocks, make a right, then a left at the second light. If you pass the 7-11 turn back. You went too far.”
Writing is like giving directions. And despite now living in California for over 20 years, I still give directions like I’m from the East Coast. We’re not gonna see a lot of flowers, but I’ma get you there.
Back when we had employees, every once in a while someone would come up to me and say “I’m not sure how to write this email” and I’d say “what are you trying to tell them?” and they’d tell it. Then I’d say “write it like you just told it.” In the telling they’d figure out what they were trying to communicate.
Writing is about communication. I’ve got a thing I want to tell you. It’s important enough that I’ve decided to write it down, which takes a little bit of time. So I want to make sure that I’m doing it in a way that gets the message across.
Not to shit on people who actually sit and craft eloquent sentences. That shit is amazingly hard. One of my absolute favorite writers, Hanif Abdurraqib, writes some of the densest prose I’ve ever read. I have to go over it three or four times to understand it. I know that going in. And the time it takes for his message to sink in is part of what makes it great.
But that’s not me. I failed 9th grade English and went to art school. My vocabulary isn’t great. I’m a peddler of nickel words. I say this with no shame, but with a clear understanding of how I best communicate. Absolutely nothing makes me happier than a reader telling me “it sounded like you were just talking to me.”
Write it like you tell it.
Got a question you want answered? Ask it!
Speaking of Hanif, his new book There’s Always This Year is very much worth the time it will take you to read it. Slowly.
Look, this week has been a lot. The week before that was already a lot, and then it got doubled. And it’s only Tuesday. So I’ma tell you what Erika told me: “Chop wood. Carry water.” It’s a Zen Buddhist phrase, and I am by no means an expert in such things. But if I have it correctly, it basically means “do the work.” Keep your head down and do the stuff your community needs to survive.
We will miss you, Klay.
🍉