Finding a voice

Some questions you may have at this point: Does plainness really work well in college? Don't teachers expect a mature, scholarly voice? How do you write plainly when you're doing a paper on gender reversals in Jacobean drama, or European parliamentary electoral systems, or genetic engineering? Doesn't such academic writing by its nature demand complexity and formality?

　　Over the years I've found that these doubts, not stupidity or lack of skill, are the real stumbling blocks to clear writing. It's not that students can't learn clarity and plainness—it's that they're not sure they want to. You can almost see the struggle going on as they write. Here's an example from a student who wanted to try to write plainly, but who also didn't want to give up the official style. Should she sound learned or friendly? She couldn't decide, and so her essay begins with a melange of contrasting voices:

　　Tastes great! Less filling! The glass is half empty. The glass is half full. To~may~to. To~ma~to. Conflict is at the very core of human nature. "Man is perfect only when bestowal and denial, humiliation and honor have become alike in his heart." （Abu Uthman al-Hayri, Sufi leader.） Nobody's perfect. In the Federalist Papers, Publius plays off of two aspects of human nature, conflict and imperfection.

　　One is struck by the mixture of clichés, jingles, learned assertions, quotations, plain statements, and schoolspeak. In answer to the question, "Which voice should I write in?," this student tried all of them. She'd lost confidence in her "academic" voice, but she hadn't gained confidence in her plain voice. The result is a cacophony of voices.

　　Allow me a word of argument, then, if you're doubting whether you should even try to write plainly. The kinds of college writing that this guide troubles itself with—essays and research papers and lab reports and theses and arguments of all stripes—are all varieties of expository writing, writing that explains or informs. That implies certain things. You are trying to teach your reader something, and you want to be understood.

　　Many students get off on the wrong foot by thinking that the point of their writing is to demonstrate to a teacher, "I have learned what you taught me." Some teachers do want such demonstrations—the more they do, the worse teachers they are. As a teacher, I can tell you that what I really want from my students is not some sort of testimony that they've learned lesson x, but an interesting argument or thought that shows they've thought about lesson x. Teachers are people—interest them, amuse them, surprise them, and you will be surprised yourself at how positive a reaction you get.

　　Even in academic fields that require you to wrestle your writing into the "mandatory straitjacket of scientific writing," the Nuts and Bolts commitment to plainness will help you. Plainness tends to work better than complexity, both for students and scholars. It turns out you can write plainly and at the same time show expertise—indeed, one of the best ways to deal with difficult ideas is to present them clearly. You might choose to avoid things like the first person, jokes, or playfulness, but you will communicate with your reader better if you can match actions and verbs and present your argument in a straightforward fashion.