"It's a beautiful thing, the destruction of words."

Hopefully I won't be responsible for any of that destruction this semester.

I opened up the Lamott attachment first.  I've read parts of Bird by Bird and have enjoyed reading her work.  

Last semester, I had a screenwriting class, in which we had to turn in a script every week or so.  It took me so long to get any momentum going on a draft that I ended up pulling customary all-nighters every monday night so I could print them out and walk right to class.  Those were the only mornings I was awake for breakfast.

Shitty First Drafts isn't new to me; it's easier to read Lamotts trials in front of the keyboard instead of attending several hours of expensive therapy to rebuild my crumbled self-esteem.  Seriously, it's comforting to know that sometimes that the best that even Ann Lamott can come up with is "Well, so what, Mr. Poopy Pants?"  It's comforting to know everyone is having as terrible/wonderful/harrowing a time when they're trying to write as I am.

Lamott's writing reads naturally, as if I'm sitting down with a friend.  It's relatable, informative, intriguing.  It begs you to read on, to know the rest of the story.  Plus, she knows what she's talking about.  Bird by Bird has become one of those great texts on creative writing.

Moving on to George.

First of all, and it's not the author's fault, but I had to print this one out.  I typed "Orwell Politics of the English Language" into Google and clicked I'm Feeling Lucky! at 7:36pm and at 8:10pm I hadn't made it farther than the example passages.

But once I had the piece printed out on nine crisp sheets of 8.5"x11" (Sorry, trees!), it was a breeze (Hey! A tree pun!). It was even enjoyable.

It took me two pages or so, but by then, Orwell had me on his hook.  I was agreeing with everything he said.  "Yeah! Screw political nonsense and their extra words."  I like small words.  Their nice, easy to say, and I don't feel like a pretentious ass.

Several hours after I read Orwell's piece, and even Lamott's, I have concrete images in my head, phrases they used that clearly communicated an idea.  Orwell's poorly constructed "prefabricated hen-house," Lamott's band of critics like the "vinegar-lipped Reader Lady."  I didn't even have to go back to the text for those quotes.  They're still fresh in my brain.  I completely agree with Orwell: instead of putting weight behind words, we're just putting weight in the words.  As the English language grows more and more "decadent," we're not getting any closer to effective communication.  We're bordering on newspeak.

Even though Orwell wrote his piece over 60 years ago, once I got into the flow, I found it as comfortable to read as Lamott's, mostly because he was practicing exactly what he was describing.  He was concise, he was simple.  He spared his readership from the superfluosity that plagues so many textual publishings, a pitfall that many a not unexperienced auteur happen upon in attempts to translate their synapse firings to parchment.

Sorry.

The truth is, we all do exactly that.  I'll be completely honest, I do not consider myself a strong writer, and as soon as I realized the motto of this class would be along the lines of "Write Less" or "KISS (Keep It Simple, Stupid)," I grew excited.  Simple words?  Short paragraphs?  This will be easy.

No, it won't.  Case in point: look at how long this post is.