Wordsmithing
It is one of my small pleasures to be given a piece of writing and asked, what do you think? I let the words fall over me and search for their message as they pass. I tuck, prune, and tighten with my pen. I think of new ways to say old things. I scribble marginalia. It is a vast relief to read something other than what I’ve written, a treat to enter the mind of another writer. It almost doesn’t matter what I am reading; I relish the opportunity to wordsmith.
Most of the time these pieces are medical, for work. When I was new to the medical writing world, I wrote a piece for Pilgrimage called Words through a Stethoscope. I wrote about the precision that medical writing and medicine shared, and also about the limits of my new endeavor: Sometimes I would plead for the life of a medical nuance or colloquialism, while a senior editor squeezed the rules around it until it was sterile and bland like a big fat post-amputation dressing. But I looked for creative opportunities everywhere: I made sure my words were smoothed over until they flowed instead of splattered on the page. I got to put words together for a living, perhaps not the kinds of words I’d dreamed about but words nonetheless.
Writers and editors that I know sometimes use wordsmithing in a derogatory way, to mean oh, that writer’s just rearranging words aimlessly. There’s no real substance to her suggestions. And I guess there is wordsmithing for the sake of wordsmithing, like the woman who pipes up at every meeting just to hear her own voice out loud. But a real lover of words would never be driven by that kind of agenda. A real wordophile treats even technical words with reverence and enthusiasm. When words must be cut away, as they usually must, they are disposed of with an efficient, quiet respect.
I woke up thinking about my first career transition, from nursing to medical writing. And now I am thinking about the next ever-so-gradual leap, from medical writing to creative writing and editing. I keep making mostly small submissions while I try to cook up big ideas. Since I like to wordsmith so much, particularly when I need to pare a piece down to fit, I’m starting a Word Count Guru business on the side. What a joy it will be to turn this passion into some income!
Last week, I wrote a blog called Something’s Coming. I later realized I had a blog by the same name in April. Reading it back, I see it embraced the same delicious hope, perhaps at a higher intensity driven by the advent of spring. I agree with what I wrote in April: There is a story somewhere beneath all of this sweet, ordinary life.
Today is another chapter in the sweet and ordinary: a final swim lesson for Gavin and then some shopping. If Gavin naps I will resurrect my latest book chapter. Starting my day with writing feels like a taste of chocolate before breakfast.
Most of the time these pieces are medical, for work. When I was new to the medical writing world, I wrote a piece for Pilgrimage called Words through a Stethoscope. I wrote about the precision that medical writing and medicine shared, and also about the limits of my new endeavor: Sometimes I would plead for the life of a medical nuance or colloquialism, while a senior editor squeezed the rules around it until it was sterile and bland like a big fat post-amputation dressing. But I looked for creative opportunities everywhere: I made sure my words were smoothed over until they flowed instead of splattered on the page. I got to put words together for a living, perhaps not the kinds of words I’d dreamed about but words nonetheless.
Writers and editors that I know sometimes use wordsmithing in a derogatory way, to mean oh, that writer’s just rearranging words aimlessly. There’s no real substance to her suggestions. And I guess there is wordsmithing for the sake of wordsmithing, like the woman who pipes up at every meeting just to hear her own voice out loud. But a real lover of words would never be driven by that kind of agenda. A real wordophile treats even technical words with reverence and enthusiasm. When words must be cut away, as they usually must, they are disposed of with an efficient, quiet respect.
I woke up thinking about my first career transition, from nursing to medical writing. And now I am thinking about the next ever-so-gradual leap, from medical writing to creative writing and editing. I keep making mostly small submissions while I try to cook up big ideas. Since I like to wordsmith so much, particularly when I need to pare a piece down to fit, I’m starting a Word Count Guru business on the side. What a joy it will be to turn this passion into some income!
Last week, I wrote a blog called Something’s Coming. I later realized I had a blog by the same name in April. Reading it back, I see it embraced the same delicious hope, perhaps at a higher intensity driven by the advent of spring. I agree with what I wrote in April: There is a story somewhere beneath all of this sweet, ordinary life.
Today is another chapter in the sweet and ordinary: a final swim lesson for Gavin and then some shopping. If Gavin naps I will resurrect my latest book chapter. Starting my day with writing feels like a taste of chocolate before breakfast.
posted by Katherine H | 3:50 AM
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