What Does Genre Mean In Writing

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Very few people have the ability to write effortlessly and perfectly; most of us must sweat over the process of revision, drafting, and redrafting until we get it right. Equally, very few people think accurately enough so that mere transcriptions of "what they have in mind" can serve as intelligent communications. Here the author points out that we tend to revise our words and refine our thoughts simultaneously; the improvements we make in our thinking and the improvements we make in our style reinforce each other, and they cannot be divorced. His analysis of the way in which a manager reworks and rethinks a memo of minor importance points up a constant management challenge of major importance—the clear and accurate expression of a well-focused message.

If you are a manager, you constantly face the problem of putting words on paper. If you are like most managers, this is not the sort of problem you enjoy. It is hard to do, and time consuming; and the task is doubly difficult when, as is usually the case, your words must be designed to change the behavior of others in the organization.

But the chore is there and must be done. How? Let's take a specific case.

Let's suppose that everyone at X Corporation, from the janitor on up to the chairman of the board, is using the office copiers for personal matters; income tax forms, church programs, children's term papers, and God knows what else are being duplicated by the gross. This minor piracy costs the company a pretty penny, both directly and in employee time, and the general manager—let's call him Sam Edwards—decides the time has come to lower the boom.

Sam lets fly by dictating the following memo to his secretary:

Now the memo is on his desk for his signature. He looks it over; and the more he looks, the worse it reads. In fact, it's lousy. So he revises it three times, until it finally is in the form that follows:

This time Sam thinks the memo looks good, and it is good. Not only is the writing much improved, but the problem should now be solved. He therefore signs the memo, turns it over to his secretary for distribution, and goes back to other things.

From Verbiage to Intent

I can only speculate on what occurs in a writer's mind as he moves from a poor draft to a good revision, but it is clear that Sam went through several specific steps, mentally as well as physically, before he had created his end product:

He eliminated wordiness.

He modulated the tone of the memo.

He revised the policy it stated.

Let's retrace his thinking through each of these processes.

Eliminating Wordiness

Sam's basic message is that employees are not to use the copiers for their own affairs at company expense. As he looks over his first draft, however, it seems so long that this simple message has become diffused. With the idea of trimming the memo down, he takes another look at his first paragraph:

It has recently been brought to my attention that many of the people who are employed by this company have taken advantage of their positions by availing themselves of the copiers. More specifically, these machines are being used for other than company business.

He edits it like this:

Item: "recently"

Comment to himself: Of course; else why write about the problem? So delete the word.

Item: "It has been brought to my attention"

Comment: Naturally. Delete it.

Item: "the people who are employed by this company"

Comment: Assumed. Why not just "employees"?

Item: "by availing themselves" and "for other than company business"

Comment: Since the second sentence repeats the first, why not coalesce?

And he comes up with this:

Employees have been using the copiers for personal matters.

He proceeds to the second paragraph. More confident of himself, he moves in broader swoops, so that the deletion process looks like this:

Obviously, such practice is contrary to company policy and will result in dismissal.

The final paragraph, apart from "company policy" and "feel free," looks all right, so the total memo now reads as follows:

Sam now examines his efforts by putting these questions to himself:

Question: Is the memo free of deadwood?

Answer: Very much so. In fact, it's good, tight prose.

Question: Is the policy stated?

Answer: Yes—sharp and clear.

Question: Will the memo achieve its intended purpose?

Answer: Yes. But it sounds foolish.

Question: Why?

Answer: The wording is too harsh; I'm not going to fire anybody over this.

Question: How should I tone the thing down?

To answer this last question, Sam takes another look at the memo.

Correcting the Tone

What strikes his eye as he looks it over? Perhaps these three words:

Abuse…

Obviously…

…dismissal…

The first one is easy enough to correct: he substitutes "use" for "abuse." But "obviously" poses a problem and calls for reflection. If the policy is obvious, why are the copiers being used? Is it that people are out-rightly dishonest? Probably not. But that implies the policy isn't obvious; and whose fault is this? Who neglected to clarify policy? And why "dismissal" for something never publicized?

These questions impel him to revise the memo once again:

Revising the Policy Itself

The memo now seems courteous enough—at least it is not discourteous—but it is just a blank, perhaps overly simple, statement of policy. Has he really thought through the policy itself?

Reflecting on this, Sam realizes that some people will continue to use the copiers for personal business anyhow. If he seriously intends to enforce the basic policy (first sentence), he will have to police the equipment, and that raises the question of costs all over again.

Also, the memo states that he will maintain an open-door policy (second sentence)—and surely there will be some, probably a good many, who will stroll in and offer to pay for what they use. His secretary has enough to do without keeping track of affairs of that kind.

Finally, the first and second sentences are at odds with each other. The first says that personal copying is out, and the second implies that it can be arranged.

The facts of organizational life thus force Sam to clarify in his own mind exactly what his position on the use of copiers is going to be. As he sees the problem now, what he really wants to do is put the copiers on a pay-as-you-go basis. After making that decision, he begins anew:

This is the draft that goes into distribution and now allows him to turn his attention to other problems.

The Chicken or the Egg?

What are we to make of all this? It seems a rather lengthy and tedious report of what, after all, is a routine writing task created by a problem of minor importance. In making this kind of analysis, have I simply labored the obvious?

To answer this question, let's drop back to the original draft. If you read it over, you will see that Sam began with this kind of thinking:

"The employees are taking advantage of the company."

"I'm a nice guy, but now I'm going to play Dutch uncle."

"I'll write them a memo that tells them to shape up or ship out."

In his final version, however, his thinking is quite different:

"Actually, the employees are pretty mature, responsible people. They're capable of understanding a problem."

"Company policy itself has never been crystallized. In fact, this is the first memo on the subject."

"I don't want to overdo this thing—any employee can make an error in judgment."

"I'll set a reasonable policy and write a memo that explains how it ought to operate."

Good communications writing pays its author in both satisfactions and success. Its rewards far outweigh its achievement costs.

But rewards accrue only after effort has become a habit. Good communications writing is five-tenths mental discipline, four-tenths willingness to rework first drafts, and one-tenth aptitude.

Secondary are the direct returns from readers. Most important are the rewards manifested in improved ability to use your mind effectively. These result from practice of the mental disciplines required for good communications writing.

Establishing both objective and purpose before writing, for example, gives practice in using procedures needed to solve any problem. Considering your reader's needs and desires is a habit readily convertible to any human relations. Exorcising self-centeredness is a good routine to establish.

Bringing to focus the main idea of each communication makes one adept in taking decision making's first and most vital step. Habitually reworking first drafts routinizes a…practice often useful in the business of living.

No way to creative mental habits is so open to so many people as good communications writing. Its intangible rewards are inevitable by-products of acquiring the ability to communicate well in writing.

To gain these waiting rewards, however, one has to discipline, but not limit, his thinking. He has to make a habit of thinking before he acts—not only before he writes. Regularly, he must do plain hard work (editing and rewriting) to lift his every communication to the standard his sound thinking has set.

There is no other way. Good communications writing is work. But it is rewarding work—if you persevere in doing it well.

Sam obviously gained a lot of ground between the first draft and the final version, and this implies two things. First, if a manager is to write effectively, he needs to isolate and define, as fully as possible, all the critical variables in the writing process and scrutinize what he writes for its clarity, simplicity, tone, and the rest. Second, after he has clarified his thoughts on paper, he may find that what he has written is not what has to be said. In this sense, writing is feedback and a way for the manager to discover himself. What are his real attitudes toward that amorphous, undifferentiated gray mass of employees "out there"? Writing is a way of finding out. By objectifying his thoughts in the medium of language, he gets a chance to see what is going on in his mind.

In other words, if the manager writes well, he will think well. Equally, the more clearly he has thought out his message before he starts to dictate, the more likely he is to get it right on paper the first time round. In other words, if he thinks well, he will write well.

Hence we have a chicken-and-the-egg situation: writing and thinking go hand in hand; and when one is good, the other is likely to be good.

Revision Sharpens Thinking

More particularly, rewriting is the key to improved thinking. It demands a real openmindedness and objectivity. It demands a willingness to cull verbiage so that ideas stand out clearly. And it demands a willingness to meet logical contradictions head on and trace them to the premises that have created them. In short, it forces a writer to get up his courage and expose his thinking process to his own intelligence.

Obviously, revising is hard work. It demands that you put yourself through the wringer, intellectually and emotionally, to squeeze out the best you can offer. Is it worth the effort? Yes, it is—if you believe you have a responsibility to think and communicate effectively.

A version of this article appeared in the January 1973 issue of Harvard Business Review.