User Submitted Blog Post: Student writing proficiency mixed; adult writing needs work too

The New York Times reports that about a quarter of United States high school students and a third of eighth graders write proficiently. The word "proficient" is not very clearly defined in the article, unfortunately. The news item says that educators came to these percentages following a nationwide test that asked students to write short essays in a "short period of time," as the story put it. So there is quite a bit of vaguitude in the result. But one supposes that these proficient kids can crank out words and sentences relatively quickly.

You can celebrate or lament this news, of course, depending on how you read the percentages. A quarter of high school kids isn't bad, from where I sit. Apparently girls ruled and boys drooled on the test: 41 percent of eighth grade girls reached the proficiency threshold, as opposed to 20 percent of boys.

But the question remains what these allegedly proficient writers will do as adults. Will they continue to write? Interesting things happen to people after they leave school. Some discover skills unnoticed (or suppressed) during their K-12 and college years. Others sadly drop promising abilities that needed the discipline of the classroom to survive. The fate of writing figures prominently in this transitional period.

I know lots of adult people who want to write. The problem is that they can't seem to get past the writing part of the task. They like being recognized as writers, making money as writers, enjoying the identity associated with being a writer. It's just that they don't/won't write, mostly because various negative messages in their head block them. Most of these paralyzing impulses can be refuted rather easily. If you have trouble writing, I offer my refutations here.

1. Wrongness is inevitable

First there are the folks who don't write because they're afraid they will say something exposed as wrong. That, of course, doesn't stop Christopher Hitchens from writing. Here's a guy who managed to convince a huge portion of liberal/left America to support (or at least not oppose) what is probably the worst foreign policy/military disaster in United States history: Bush II's horrendous invasion of Iraq.

But does that slow him down? Hell no. Hitch just keeps cranking them out: a book about Orwell. a tome about Jefferson - then yet another book about why religion sucks. God only knows (heh heh) what he'll come up with next.

What "I might be wrong" writers' block sufferers don't get is that of course you'll be wrong . A lot of being a writer is about being wrong. Everybody is wrong at least half the time. The only difference is that writers put their wrongness on the public record.

Speaking personally, I appreciate it when people point out that I'm wrong, because it means

• They're paying attention. I admit it. I like attention. Don't you? That's at least part of why you want to be a writer, right?
• I'm entertaining them. People love it when you're wrong, or at least when they're sure you're wrong. Think about it: what's more fun than reading about somebody else being wrong? Well, perhaps somebody you don't like losing all their money in an investment scam, but somebody just being wrong comes close.
• I might learn something, like, why I was wrong.

So take the "I might be wrong" excuse off your list. As a writer, you have an obligation to be wrong. Your wrongness will entertain people, help them clarify their thinking, improve your thinking, and draw attention to your writing.

Come to think about it, you're wrong for not writing because you might be wrong. So even if you don't write, you're wrong anyway. You can't win. You may as well write.

2. Indecision does not equal silence

Then there are the writers who fear to write because they aren't sure about something. What makes you so sure that you have to be sure about what you think to write? In fact, your lack of surety on some subject is probably one of the most interesting things you can write about.

The chances are that your reasons for not being certain about some political or social question are very sound. You can see contradictions in various positions on the problem. You can perceive a need for further investigation of the issue. The plain fact is that an exposition on your lack of clarity will improve the clarity of others, as well as yours.

The world is stuffed to the gizzards with people who are absolutely sure about everything. I think it was Voltaire who said that they're the most dangerous people (although I'm not sure it was him). So whatever your motives for writing, in the interest of world peace and harmony, you have a solemn duty to write down and publish your lack of sureness on some matter.

3. I don't write because I don't write well

Join the crowd. Most people don't write well. They don't write well because they don't practice their writing. Having left their writing skills unpracticed, they don't write well.

So you have to break the loop. First, I recommend that you join the International Association of Bad Writers. It's a very large organization. Its most prominent members include Shirley MacLain, Michel Foucault, the Dalai Lama, most tech writers, half of all journalists, and about ninety percent of all college professors, especially the lit professors.

These people have had absolutely no compunction about inflicting their lousy writing on the world. Safely embedded within their ranks, hardly anyone will notice your comparatively modest literary shortcomings. You thus have found excellent cover to practice your writing until it improves.

4. The time management excuse

Then there are the folks who say they don't have to the time to write. To this I say baloney.

If you've got the time to watch lousy movies and TV shows, write long emails to friends, endlessly argue the same issues with your spouse for years, have screaming matches about politics over the telephone, go to dumb political events where famous people say stuff that you'll forget in ten minutes, read other people's blogs, faithfully read every David Brooks and Thomas Friedman column in The New York Times and then gripe about them, constantly threaten to go to graduate school next year or the year after that, listen daily to All Things Considered cozy up to whoever is in charge at the moment, or constantly threaten to learn Farsi or Arabic, then you've jolly well got the time to write a five to nine paragraph essay about something once a week.

At the least the other reasons have some semblance of complexity. This one is pretty unconvincing.

5. Last reason: writing doesn't matter

In the end, many people don't write because it feels like it doesn't matter what they say.

I think that this is an authentic feeling, but chances are most people feel this way because they are surrounded by people who say and write lots of things, but do not tell the truth. When I say "truth," I mean their truth, that is, what they really think, inside. They write a lot, but they do not say what they really think, creating a vast, vacuous discourse that depresses everyone and fosters an atmosphere of pointlessness.

Here is the good news: People who tell their honest truth are in extremely short supply. Their honest truths are rarely earth shattering and profound. They often amount to little more than modest expressions of doubt, curiosity, uncertainty, or changes of heart. But when writers articulate these truths, people pay attention, sometimes with anger, but often with gratitude, because we are all starved for honesty.

Your job as a writer is to strive for that clear expression of honesty. You won't hit the mark often. But you'll get there now and then. And yes, your doing that will matter. Try it and you will see.

6. Reasons number six to infinity (fill in the blank):

My experience is that most reasons for not writing are rooted in a fear that some cherished part of the individuals' self-image will be shattered; that s/he will be exposed as a fraud.

Well, guess what? If you're lucky, you will. And what's so bad about that? We're all frauds to some degree or other. Life's profoundest moments often involve being exposed to one's inner fraudulence. And what better way to invite such revelations on oneself than by public writing?

There is, of course, That Other Matter. You only go around once, probably. Writing represents the easiest and most affordable means of documenting not only your brief stay on this plane of existence, but chronicling the evolution of that amazing gift that you accidentally or purposefully received, your consciousness.

So fool yourself. Think and feel about writing as not writing. Think of it as just another thing that you just do that you happen to have always wanted to do even though it is something you already do. Think and feel about writing like flossing, crossword puzzling, lawn mowing, nail clipping, pencil sharpening, car washing, dish washing, dog walking, tea drinking, snack sneaking, or bike riding.

But please don't think of writing as something that has to be eternally true, absolutely certain, picture eloquent, exquisitely framed, and book length to boot. Writing never has to be any of these things. It can be chaotic, unbalanced, uncertain, plainly false, and amazingly short and still be writing, gifted writing at that.

So feel free to be a writer . . . while you still have time.