... from someone who learned the hard way.
"This makes no sense." "This is garbled." "No normal person can understand this."
Time and again during my two and a bit years as a climate change journalist, a little yellow box would pop up alerting me to my editor's consternation. And they were spot on.
I started with some knowledge, lots of enthusiasm, and no writing skills whatsoever. But as time went on, I like to think things improved.
Here are five things I wish I'd known before I started. If you want to write about climate change, maybe they'll help you, too.
There are lots of good reasons to write more words. There's normally a better reason to write fewer: people are more likely to read the words you've written if there's not so many of them.
This is where charts are great. A good chart makes a point without using any words:
What sounds better?
I was never taught this in nine years of higher education. In fact, academia often encourages the opposite.
It took me an age, and no small amount of haranguing from a particularly persistent editor, to make me understand the importance of this. If someone is doing, finding, or saying something, let them drive the action of the sentence. It brings it to life.
This is particularly important if you're trying to explain complex concepts to a wide audience. Ultimately, all they really want to know is who did what. So tell them, in that order.
It’s not a hard and fast rule, but it's a relatively painless thing to do and makes writing so much easier to read.
This sentence became something of a recurring nightmare for me:
Why? Because it's long. Because it has words like "pre-industrial levels". Because there's a really awkward "decent" in there.
But it also has the significant advantage of being accurate. When writing about climate change, that has to be the overriding factor, every time.
If I wrote “to avoid catastrophic climate change”, it would be wrong (what does that even mean?). If I wrote “to curb global warming”, it would be wrong (less than two degrees of warming is still some warming, after all).
That’s not to say that writing about climate change means sacrificing style. It just means working hard to find a balance. That often means taking the time and effort to consult with people who know the science, while reserving the right to craft the best possible sentence.
I'm not a scientist. If i'm told again and again that this is what the science says, by credible sources, I have to write that, however much it may keep me awake at night.
I don't mean in a shouty, columnist sense. I mean in a technical sense. It just reads better and looks a lot tidier if 100% of the text is one hundred per cent uniform.
All serious publishers and websites will have one. My former employer used an adapted version of the Guardian style guide. The Telegraph's and BBC's are also both available for free.
What ends up on the page is normally only a fraction of what I've researched about a subject. That means, perhaps unsurprisingly, that I often dive too deep for non-experts to follow. I find it hard to judge when that's the case, so I always try and get someone else to judge for me.
However good I think my writing is, it's always improved by someone else looking at it. I can think of no example in more than two years of writing about climate change when that wasn't the case.
It's not always nice. In fact, it's often horrible.
Not because the editor is unfair or wrong. But precisely because they're almost always the opposite of those things. Turns out my work isn't perfect, first time, every time. This was shocking news to me.
The only consolation is knowing my work, with my name in the byline, is all the better for accepting the wisdom of those hidden characters looking at it with fresh eyes and advanced grammar skills. Those apostrophe-adding, cliche-hacking, sense-making, word-weary Ninjas of the writing world; I am nothing without them.
Find one - be they mother, brother, or significant other - at all costs.
I started with some knowledge, lots of enthusiasm, and no writing skills whatsoever. But as time went on, I like to think things improved.
Here are five things I wish I'd known before I started. If you want to write about climate change, maybe they'll help you, too.
1. Be concise
There are lots of good reasons to write more words. There's normally a better reason to write fewer: people are more likely to read the words you've written if there's not so many of them.
This is where charts are great. A good chart makes a point without using any words:
 |
| Average seconds spent on a webpage, by minutes it takes to read, courtesy of FastCompany. |
2. Write in the active voice
What sounds better?
(a) "Government adviser the Committee on Climate Change announced today that the UK is set to overshoot its fifth carbon budget."
Or,
(b) "The fifth carbon budget is set to be overshot by the UK, according to an announcement from adviser to the government, the Committee on Climate Change."
To my ear, (a) comes out better. Conventional wisdom certainly suggests most readers will be able to understand (a) better than (b). Why? Because (a) is written in the active voice.
I was never taught this in nine years of higher education. In fact, academia often encourages the opposite.
It took me an age, and no small amount of haranguing from a particularly persistent editor, to make me understand the importance of this. If someone is doing, finding, or saying something, let them drive the action of the sentence. It brings it to life.
This is particularly important if you're trying to explain complex concepts to a wide audience. Ultimately, all they really want to know is who did what. So tell them, in that order.
It’s not a hard and fast rule, but it's a relatively painless thing to do and makes writing so much easier to read.
3. Check the science with someone who knows
This sentence became something of a recurring nightmare for me:
"Policymakers must [insert policy here] to have a decent chance of preventing temperatures rising by more than two degrees above pre-industrial levels."
Why? Because it's long. Because it has words like "pre-industrial levels". Because there's a really awkward "decent" in there.
But it also has the significant advantage of being accurate. When writing about climate change, that has to be the overriding factor, every time.
If I wrote “to avoid catastrophic climate change”, it would be wrong (what does that even mean?). If I wrote “to curb global warming”, it would be wrong (less than two degrees of warming is still some warming, after all).
That’s not to say that writing about climate change means sacrificing style. It just means working hard to find a balance. That often means taking the time and effort to consult with people who know the science, while reserving the right to craft the best possible sentence.
I'm not a scientist. If i'm told again and again that this is what the science says, by credible sources, I have to write that, however much it may keep me awake at night.
4. Have a style
I don't mean in a shouty, columnist sense. I mean in a technical sense. It just reads better and looks a lot tidier if 100% of the text is one hundred per cent uniform.
All serious publishers and websites will have one. My former employer used an adapted version of the Guardian style guide. The Telegraph's and BBC's are also both available for free.
5. Get an editor
What ends up on the page is normally only a fraction of what I've researched about a subject. That means, perhaps unsurprisingly, that I often dive too deep for non-experts to follow. I find it hard to judge when that's the case, so I always try and get someone else to judge for me.
However good I think my writing is, it's always improved by someone else looking at it. I can think of no example in more than two years of writing about climate change when that wasn't the case.
It's not always nice. In fact, it's often horrible.
Not because the editor is unfair or wrong. But precisely because they're almost always the opposite of those things. Turns out my work isn't perfect, first time, every time. This was shocking news to me.
The only consolation is knowing my work, with my name in the byline, is all the better for accepting the wisdom of those hidden characters looking at it with fresh eyes and advanced grammar skills. Those apostrophe-adding, cliche-hacking, sense-making, word-weary Ninjas of the writing world; I am nothing without them.
Find one - be they mother, brother, or significant other - at all costs.
With thanks to Ninja Ros for editing this piece.
Comments
Post a Comment