What is meant by good writing? That is the question.
And it is not an easy one because it means different things to different people in different roles.
On one hand, when I am putting together an entertainment center, I don’t want a lot of verbiage. I want pictures with labels and arrows which are accompanied by sentences of the general form “Put tab A into slot B, and take a sip of wine because you’ve earned it.” I don’t want something that runs parallel with the Song of Solomon. If I get an e-mail about a student who is mad at a teacher and is coming to complain, I don’t expect much polish, but I do appreciate facts and the order of the germane events.
On the other hand, if someone is trying to explain a difficult concept to me, I profit more if the author has taken a bit of time with it. If the writer can come up with a good, concrete metaphor which parallels the situation, that is so much the better.
On the third hand — I draw my metaphors from science fiction — if I am reading literature, I appreciate little parallels that have been salted and peppered throughout the prose, if it has been done well, that is.
The gripping hand here (read the Mote in God’s Eye to understand that one) is that writing serves many audiences.
This semester I’ve been thinking about writing within my discipline of mathematics. While many have the impression that mathematical writing consists of pages of one equation upon another, at the upper levels, this isn’t necessarily true. There, we deal with proving mathematical theorems, and I’ve come to think of that sort of writing as just another form of story-telling. The mathematician goes on a mathematical adventure and at the end tells the story about it.
As with any story, the teller must take into account the experience of his audience. There will be things he needs to tell them before they can understand what he is getting at. There are also certain conventions that should be followed in order to speed the exposition. In addition to this, some details that should be lingered over while certain others that should be left out so as not distract the audience from what is important. Just as you shouldn’t tell about the killer’s grandmother’s gall bladder problems if he didn’t use the stones as a weapon, there are details of mathematical arguments that are best slurred over. There must also be a certain amount of repetition and redundancy. Some things must be said over and over — and over. Then, of course, one must talk about any formulas that might pop up.
All of this to say, writers in any discipline have special needs in their writing.
But lurking within the original question, there is a deeper one which perhaps takes more than a single sentence to reformulate. Let me have a go at it.
We at Pittsburg State are a university. Our students pay their money when they come in the door, and they have the right to expect to be changed in some way before they go back out. What should their writing be like when they leave?
In my opinion, when I read a letter to the editor about all the nice work being done at the Colonial Fox Theater, I want to be able say, “Gosh that was put really well. I bet they are one of our graduates.” When I read a letter and can’t tell whether its author is mad about the skunk under his house or thinks Broadway should be renamed in honor of Francisco Franco, I want to be comfortable in believing he graduated from some other institution.
This is just my opinion though.
The nature of a true university is that these sorts of decisions are reached through a consensus as the product of a lengthy conversation. The decision, when it is reached, must be a part of our soul. After many, many hours of talk which has been informed by many, many more hours of study and soul-searching, someone will make a statement and it will be recognized to be true.
At the end of the process, we will have discovered a bit more about who we are.
Bobby Winters is Assistant Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences, Professor of Mathematics, and Acting Chair of the Department of Chemistry.
PITTSBURG —
