Writers: Aim Like A Sniper
Precision is a gauge of your skill level and your progress.
Snipers and writers share a common purpose. Accuracy, to be precise.
A sniper may have a spotter to confirm range to target, wind speed/direction, and to watch their ‘six’ — their escape route — but even with a partner it is solitary work because conversation, whispered or otherwise, risks detection. He (though some of the most effective snipers are women) wears the fatigues he wore in last week’s mission briefing, also the last time coffee or anything hot passed his lips. He and his spotter have been hiding in the same bushes for days, sharing the dirt with all manner of creepy crawlies and taking turns to nap in the rain.
Despite all this, when he exhales a long breath and tightens his finger on the trigger, accuracy is all that counts. Snipers know immediately if they are successful.
Writers, on the other hand, suffer fewer bug bites and smell better (for the most part), and the availability of hot coffee is generally enough reason to keep their fingers on a keyboard rather than a trigger, yet they are denied the timely success of a well-placed bullet.
In fact, useful feedback, good or bad, is notoriously elusive. Writers endure their own solitude for long hours, perched almost motionless over their keyboards with no tangible gauge to measure their success. Still, there is hot coffee.
How often have you surfed a wave of inspiration, filled screen after screen with your passion made real through prose, and then, the rush over and your creativity composed, there’s no one to applaud your effort?
What if there was a way for you to measure your progress and in so doing, understand where you both struggle and excel? There is, and you’ll see it, but first these messages from our sponsor …
Precision is Your Purpose
If there is one scale with which to weigh any composition, distilling the myriad qualities applicable to a literary work into a single common denominator, it is precision.
How effectively and efficiently does your work convey your purpose?
Think about it. Precision in composition depends on accurate vocabulary assembled to best effect within the constraints of grammar. Yet this piecemeal toolkit of words and organizational adhesives is what a Mandalorian would call ‘The Way.’
The way to where you ask? The way to story. What good is a precise vocabulary and a mastery of grammar if not skillfully applied to render your tale to its greatest advantage? Word choice and grammatical dexterity entwine to shape the tone, rhythm, and pace of your message to carry your reader along, oblivious to your underlying structure.
Vocabulary is King
Building your vocabulary is an important element in mastering your craft as a writer. Every new word you hear should trigger a need to learn everything about it — spelling, meaning, contextual relevance.
And then you should practice using it. Don’t add it to your party conversations, because people will not think better of you if they don’t have a dictionary handy. But there will come a time when that word will be the perfect choice to make your point.
Building your vocabulary refines your thoughts, enabling you to frame ideas quickly and succinctly, to improve your productivity and efficiency — the more words you know, the smarter you are.
The Rules of Grammar (are Made to be Broken)
The rules of grammar exist to ensure your writing is accessible to the widest audience and optimize their comprehension of your work. They’re not there to punish your creativity or limit your ‘voice,’ (not entirely, anyway; that’s the purpose of AI grammar bots), and rarely will you impress a reader with your cavalier disregard for their expectations.
I am conversant with the rules of grammar, though I could not recite (or even name) most of the individual elements— it’s been fifty years since I learned them and now they are an unconscious filter for my thoughts. I no longer even think about my sentence structure, I just get my ideas out. I focus on sifting through my vocabulary for just the right word, and rules be damned.
While grammar is the very embodiment of precision, and accuracy ever my goal, I eventually surrender and obey. Conversely, I am no fan of uniformity, and perfection strikes me as sterile, so whenever it comes to deciding between precision in purpose or precise grammar, I go rogue.
Grammatical rules level the compositional playing field, but there is a cost. Strict obedience to grammar stifles creativity and restrains a good part of what makes your ‘voice’ unique. It all comes down to ‘formality,’ and the necessity for accuracy in meaning. Academic papers, industrial research reports, business plans — a lot can ride on how precisely you state your argument.
But here on Medium, for instance, I embrace my writing ‘voice’ to explain myself as if we were in the same room. As equals. I’m rarely disrespectful (unless pushed) but I care nothing for deference or rank and I will not silence myself because someone doesn’t like what I have to say. I am always honest, even if I tend to be blunt.
Grammar software is not your mum. You don’t have to obey, but you should always listen. I use ProWritingAid (no, I am not an affiliate), but like any other crutch, it is the enemy and must be treated as such. It’s like being in the ring with someone several pounds heavier and two inches more reach, with each of my mistakes punished by a jab or a body shot. Still, it is crucial I climb between those ropes and find out whether I learned the lessons of yesterday’s fight.
It is so easy to be lazy and use software as a ringer, but nothing is more disrespectful to your craft and yourself — other than prompting an AI to write for you (if this is you, don’t read my work).
Measuring Your Own Progress
Is as easy as going back in time. Seriously. And what better test of your development is there than digging up an old article or story and rewriting some — or even all — of it? It doesn’t matter whether it’s fiction or a blog, analysis or poetry, only that a period of time has elapsed.
As you read it, think about the precision of the piece. Does it say — exactly — what you wanted it to? Then ask yourself how it could be better and rewrite it. And just as a sniper sees how precise his shot is, so too will you learn how far you’ve come.
I once walked away from writing because I thought I wasn’t up to it. Years later, I learned my error was neither talent nor desire, but a failure of perspective. Being a writer is not about writing but story crafting. Discover what I learned, here:
