by Judy Bridges
Examples
Put yourself in the place of this author as she imagines this scene of Mother Regina’s office “from the inside”and shares it with you.
Mother Regina stood at the window of her office, her head cocked just so to catch the last light of the setting sun on her chin. Using a tweezers and a hand mirror she had confiscated during a locker search in the novitiate, she plucked the whiskers poking out along the edge of her wimple. She hated herself for doing this, and would have made a novice scrub the steps to the chapel if she had caught her in such a vain activity.
“Mother?”
Regina buried her tools in the depths of her habit.
“Yes?”
—From “A, B or C” by Carol Wobig
This next example is the beginning of one of my favorite novels. The Tiger Claw is the World War II story of a Sufi Muslim secret agent searching for her beloved through occupied France. As you read, ask yourself: Who are the characters? What is the setting? What is the action? What is the point of view? What things will stay in your memory long after reading this scene?
Pforzheim, Germany
December 1943
December moved in, taking up residence with Noor in her cell, and freezing the radiator.
Cold coiled in the bowl of her pelvis, turning shiver to quake as she lay beneath her blanket on the cot. Above, snow drifted against glass and bars. Shreds of thoughts, speculations, obsessions . . . some glue still held her fragments together.
The door clanged down.
“Herr Vogel . . .”
The rest, in rapid German, was senseless.
Silly hope reared inside; she reined it in.
The guard placed something on the thick jutting tray, something invisible in the dingy half-light. Soup, probably. She didn’t care.
She heard a clunk and a small swish.
Yes, she did.
Noor rolled onto her stomach, chained wrists before her, supported her weight on her elbows and knelt. Then shifted to extend the chain running between her wrists and ankles far enough for her to be seated. The clanking weight of the leg irons pulled her bare feet to the floor.
She slipped into prison clogs, shuffled across the cement floor.
—From The Tiger Claw by Shauna Singh Baldwin
The following is the lead of an award-winning magazine article about a clown who, beneath the make-up, was anything but funny. The writer opens with a scene written in third person limited and deftly switches the point of view when it’s time to broaden the story.
Late morning, Aug. 24, 1991, a Saturday. Ron Schroeder sits before a mirror in the back room of the Ground Round Grill and Bar on Brown Deer Road. A light coating of baby oil glistens on his face as he scoops white greasepaint from a jar.
Carefully, expertly, Schroeder paints a wide, exaggerated smile around his mouth, stretching from chin to cheekbones. High on his forehead he paints two arching eyebrows. With a greasepaint crayon, he outlines the smile and eyebrows in red, and with eyelash glue affixes a red rubber nose to his real one. Then the final touch—a wig of dangling red curls and a cone-shaped hat on top.
Schroeder flashes a big, showy grin at the mirror, then steps into the Ground Round’s dining room to greet an audience of jittery grade-schoolers, moms and dads. Silly the Clown comes to life.
Meanwhile, across town at the Briarwick Pool Apartments in Greenfield, Schroeder’s wife Christine is in a panic. Something is not right with the couple’s 7-week-old daughter, Catie. She won’t eat or sleep and doesn’t respond to her mom’s voice. The child stares blankly, her eyes not tracing as her mother’s hand passes before her.
Christine Schroeder wants to take her daughter to the hospital: she has full medical coverage. But Ron had told her no. The baby just had a cold or flu and would be fine.
Christine abides by Ron’s order. She’s used to his iron-fisted control. And his anger. Soon after they began living together, he began to call her fat and ugly, she later told police. She dropped to 95 pounds. He would punch her on the side of the head and kick her in the legs, places where bruises wouldn’t be noticed. And one day, when she was seven months pregnant with Catie, he flew into a rage, attacking her, dragging her into the living room and throwing her onto a couch.
Now she was just too afraid to cross him.
—From “The Joker” by Kurt Chandler, Milwaukee Magazine
In the following example, a guidebook description of a hike at Horseshoe Harbor in Upper Michigan, the author takes us to the shoreline. He makes us feel the wind before he moves on to the trail.
A certain aura, a whiff of raw fury, hangs on the shoreline here. Even on a benign summer day, the stark reefs of eroded conglomerate rock seem to speak of the epic storms of November; wind and waves sending spray sky high, and a timeless clash between the lake and the ancient bedrock.
—From Hiking Michigan’s Upper Peninsula by Eric Hansen
CHAPTER EIGHT
NONFICTION AND THE
ORGANIZED MIND
What separates the professional article writer from the novice—the selling writer from the unpublished—is what goes on that blank page. The pro attacks the paper with a plan that leads, step by steady step, from raw idea to a finished article.
—Editor’s note in November 1993 issue of Writer’s Digest magazine
First have something to say, second, say it, third, stop when you have said it, and finally, give it an accurate title.
—John Shaw Billings, nonfiction writer
Contrary to general belief, writing isn’t something that only “writers” do: writing is a basic skill for getting through life. Writing isn’t a special language that belongs to English teachers and a few other sensitive souls who have a “gift for words.” Writing is thinking on paper. Anyone who thinks clearly should be able to write clearly—about any subject at all.
—William Zinsser, journalist, nonfiction writer
Regardless of our daydreams about spending hours in an attic studio writing prize-winning novels, many of us spend hours every week writing nonfiction—articles, reports, letters, how-to manuals, and fact-based books about people and places.
People who write nonfiction often apologize, as if they are involved in writing of a lesser form. And yet we all know that a well-written essay can change a life as deeply as a novel. A best-selling book on business leadership changes corporate cultures for years. Each form, from leather-bound book to folded note, has its power. When a national magazine asked teens about their favorite writing, one girl responded that she loves the notes her mom puts in her lunchbox: “I’m so proud of you!” and “You’re a great kid!” That’s writing of a shorter form, but it’s certainly not lesser.
One well-chosen line is enough for a lunchbox note. To write a two thousand-word magazine article, you might interview four or five people, collect facts and figures from several sources, and fill a couple of small notebooks. Then you have to go through it all and decide what to include, where to begin, where to end. All this happens before you start the actual writing. No one except a writer realizes how hard it is.
An article I wrote included some comments by a local business owner and was published with a nice, full-page photo of her. After the article’s publication, a double-sided picture frame appeared on her desk. On the left side: the magazine page with her photo. On the right side: a letter of congratulations from the mayor.
I did not get a letter congratulating me for having written the article.
When you write stories, plays, humor, or poetry, you get recognition. When you write articles, nonfiction books, and business communications, you get paid. When you write both—which is what most of us do—you have an interesting life.
The “O” Word
Intelligent, curious, resourceful writers rarely suffer a lack of information. Give us a topic and within a day we have more facts at hand than we know what to do with. Give us a week for an article or a year for a book, and we’ll come up with five times the detail n
eeded to fill the thing. If we don’t know the right people to interview, we email our writer friends and ask: “Who do you know . . . ?” We get the facts, we double-check, we pile up bits of information and ideas about how to proceed. Then, when it’s time to write, we go a little nuts. We know too much. We need to get organized.
While there is disagreement over whether or not story writers need to organize their thoughts before they begin writing, there is no argument about the need for organization when you work with information. In How to Write Fast (While Writing Well), David Fryxell calls it “The ‘O’ Word.”
The O Word—Organization—is the other face of the coin of discipline. Like discipline, it affects every aspect of a successful writer’s work: How you organize your time. How you organize your workspace and your notes. How you organize your work itself, both in the simple sense of putting point B after point A, and in the deeper sense of the thematic structure of your work.
No way around it, you need to find a way to keep your thoughts and material under control, to get the big picture as you brainstorm and plan, to focus on one section at a time as you research and write. Organization speeds the process and makes the writing easier. It also helps your reader understand the material you present.
The Big “O” for Creative Types
I’m not keen on dividing people into categories of left or right brain, creative or analytical, writer or engineer. I’m creative as all get out, yet every aptitude test I took as a kid said, “You’d make a good engineer.” Engineers are creative. Writers are analytical. The trick is to use both sides of the brain.
The Alligator Outline is an organizational tool that blends both sides of the brain. It is similar to a mind map, cluster, or Ishikawa diagram, but with a sense of direction and lots of room for creative thought.
I invented the “Alligator” when I worked on a project for Winnebago Motor Homes and got myself stuck in a swamp of too-much-information. The business plan called for me to tour the manufacturing plant in Forest City, Iowa, then fly to several dealerships for interviews, then write the script for a twelve-minute video to be shown to potential customers. As we walked through the plant and came upon a nearly finished motor home, I said, “I really ought to make the trip in one of those!” and three hours later I was driving down the highway in a thirty-seven-foot, top-of-the-line Winnebago that had a queen-sized bed, full bath, and more kitchen appliances than I had at home at the time. The first stop was Louisville, Kentucky, where I attended the mother of all RV shows (imagine, a motor home with a hot tub and bar!) and learned that making a left turn with a thirty-seven-foot vehicle can be hazardous to the little car on your right.
After Louisville, I drove north to Canada (ice!), then zigzagged south through the Appalachians, down the East Coast, and on to the Gulf of Mexico. Along the way, I visited dealers, interviewed sales people, parked in campgrounds, and asked RVers, “Would you buy one of these? Why? If not, why not?” I read every manual and used every do-dad in the unit.
By the time I got to Florida, I was too well informed. I sat on the floor—notes, user manuals, and interviews piled around me—and thought, a twelve-minute video? How about a book?
I tried every organizational tool I knew—lists, mind maps, outlines—and finally came up with a sloppy mess that looked like a many-legged alligator. It was ugly, but it worked! I got the important stuff in the script, in the right order, and the client thought I walked on water.
Since then, I’ve taught this system to hundreds of people who use it to organize articles, books, proposals, reports, speeches, white papers, brochures, web content, and business plans. A few people use it for fiction, but I think Bubble Outlines work better for that.
Alligator Outline
Think of the skeleton of an alligator, with a pointy head and a long, skinny line for the back and tail. Draw that on a piece of paper or a good-sized whiteboard. Draw the head as the point of an arrow, aimed to the right. That’s where you put notes about your readers. The long spine of the alligator is where you put your message. At the far left—the tip of the tail—you make note of the voice you want to use. Making clear decisions about these basics—reader, message, and voice—gets you started in the right direction (see Figure 14).
Figure 14. An Alligator Outline
Step 1. Define Your Readers
At the head of the alligator, write short notes defining your audience. You can’t write to “everyone.” You almost never write to an infant or a person with severe dementia. You write to people who need or want this information, or who are likely to read the print or online publication in which your work appears. You write to persons of a certain age, lifestyle, education level, need, interest. What you want is to get a picture of these readers in your mind. Imagine what interests them and how best to approach them. Make your notes in one- or two-word phrases, rather than full sentences. Long notes just get you tangled in the language.
If you are writing for a magazine, look at the ads and articles—are they targeting adults? Kids? People who love dogs? Those are your readers. You need to see the world from their point of view.
At the head of the alligator for this book, I list my readers as: Smart. Creative. Practical. Adults. Interested in writing.
At the head of the alligator for the Winnebago script, I wrote: Seniors. Sociable. Financially able (see Figure 15).
Figure 15. Alligator Outline: Audience
Step 2. Focus Your Message
What, exactly, do you want your readers to understand? If you could get just one message across to them, what would it be? Coming up with the main point is one of the hardest parts of informational writing, but when you distill your thoughts this way, you are a long way toward accomplishing your goal.
Sample Messages
Project Message
Magazine feature story When you volunteer, you get more than you give
Personal profile Louise O’Brien was the best ballroom dance teacher in town
Investigative piece You could get hurt if you mess with these people
Round-up article or book Twenty-four terrific places to take your kids
Thesis or report Students at Downer High excel in sciences because . . .
Advertisement This chipper-shredder does the job for you
Fundraiser Hungry children need your help
Social change Has sustainable agriculture come of age?
Personal essay Why I wrote my own obituary
Notice that several of the sample messages are addressed to “you,” the reader. Phrasing your message that way makes it easier to get and stay focused on the reader.
Write the message along the spine of the alligator.
The message on the alligator for this chapter would be, “Here’s a good way to get your thoughts organized.”
The message on the alligator for the Winnebago script was, “You will enjoy owning this RV” (see Figure 16).
If you hang your Alligator Outline on the wall near your work space, every look at it will remind you of what you want to say, to whom.
Figure 16. Alligator Outline: Message
Step 3. Decide on a Voice
This always reminds me of the caterpillar in Alice in Wonderland. “Whooo ahrrrr youuu?” Sure, you’re Alice, the writer, but that doesn’t mean you always use your own voice when writing. Depending on the publication and the audience and the point you’re trying to make, you might choose one of several voices—the reporter for a newspaper article, the expert for a how-to book, the concerned citizen for a letter to the editor, the CEO for a book for business leaders.
Make a conscious decision about the voice you want to use and write that to the left, on the tail of the alligator (see Figure 17).
Figure 17. Alligator Outline: Voice
Sample Voices
Publication and Topic The Voice You Might Choose
Book for business leaders CEO of a successful company
Newspaper article about local politics Reporter, either fr
eelance or staff
Magazine article about women in prison Reporter/attorney/prisoner
Profile of author in a writing magazine Reporter/friend/another writer
Essay about city in a city magazine Reporter/city resident
Fundraising letter Friend of the cause/fellow citizen
Marketing piece Satisfied customer
How-to book Expert in field
For the Winnebago script, I used the “voice” of satisfied owners, a married couple similar to those we thought would be interested in buying the product. The director hired actors who looked and sounded exactly as I hoped, except that they smiled too much.
Step 4. Brainstorm Main Points
Now that you have the body of your alligator—your audience, message, and voice—you can start brainstorming the main points for your message (see Figure 18).
Figure 18. Alligator Outline: Main Points
Draw several lines (legs) extending out from the spine of the alligator. Each leg is a main point. Don’t worry about the number of legs; you can add and subtract later.