Free writing makes attorneys sound less professional and be more successful
"Writing is thinking on paper," said William Zinsser. As someone who does a lot of thinking and a lot of writing, I have to agree.
Years ago, I read an ode to writers and would-be writers, "Writing Down the Bones: Freeing the Writer Within," by Natalie Goldberg. If you like writing–or want to–this book can help you overcome doubt and unshackle your veiled talent.
It was in this book I first learned about "free writing," a technique for writing quickly, without editing or a hint of self-consciousness. Free writing is raw and uninhibited, allowing you to find out what you reckon, and what you feel. Goldberg describes it as "writing practice," a warm up before getting down to "serious" writing and a way to make raw material that can be cultivated into finished work.
For some, free writing is a cure for "writers' block"; for others, it is a form of therapeutic journaling, unlocking veiled memories, imagining a better future, or reconciliation a troubled past. For me, it was the key to becoming a better writer and a better attorney.
As a young attorney, I wrote in a way that could only be described as "constipated". My writing was apparent, my points well thought out, my letters and pleadings effective, but I still wrote "like a lawyer"–stiff and constrained. Free writing helped me stop trying to sound "professional" and start sounding like myself. My writing came active and in a way, so did I.
Free writing helped me not only to write better but to get apparent on what I wanted and what I could do. It helped brainstorm thoughts and at once see what I thought about those thoughts. It helped me weigh pros and cons and make better decisions. In small, it helped me to reckon better.
I've just read, "Accidental Genius: By Writing to Breed Your Best Thoughts, Insight, and Content", by Mark Levy, a writer and business consultant who teaches free writing to his business clients to help them, ". . .spot opportunities and options, solve problems, make thoughts, and make decisions."
As Goldberg does in "Bones," Levy uses a run of writing exercises that stimulate thought, but more importantly, action–the action of writing. In free writing, quantity produces quality and writing exercises get the hand moving and keep it moving long sufficient to bypass the critical mind and produce meaningful results.
I like Levy's thoughts and recommend his book; his exercises are suited to writers and professionals alike. And yet, as I read Levy's exercises, I couldn't help feeling, "this is something I should do," while when I read "Bones," I felt, "this is something I want to do."
It may be because I was at a uncommon house in my life when I read "Bones". I haven't read it in years but I still remember how it made me feel. Goldberg's voice was comforting, warm and empowering. And, she got my hand moving. Her exercises were simple and shapeless and I did them all. I wrote and wrote and wrote and I felt excellent about it. I never once looked over my shoulder to make sure I was doing it right and that, of course, is the point of free writing: let it happen rather than making it happen.
Levy references several books about free writing (I've read most of them); curiously, he never mentions, "Writing Down the Bones," the book that introduced me to free writing and helped me learn my "accidental genius". In my view, "Bones" is a seminal work, one I'm sure he's familiar with, and I was surprised by its omission.
Perhaps I'm just being nostalgic and if I read "Bones" today, as the person I am today, I would see it as more suited for writers than professionals and look for something else. Nah, I'd probably be too busy writing to give it any thought.