Gnurple dot Net

I was just reading David Tejada’s blog. Tejada is a professional photographer. He makes his living making pictures and he does it very well. He earns respect and admiration.

In his blog he describes his images and photo shoots in a way that is not only technically useful to photographers but is also a pleasure to read. This, too, deserves applause.

On the other hand, his technical writing skills could use improvement. For example: “This photo will give you a good idea of the type of fog issues we where dealing with…”(’where’ vs. ‘were’ is not just a typo, the two are consistently confused throughout); “Yesterday it was 80 degrees out, what gives.” (run-on sentence; period vs. question mark)

I don’t want to suggest any disrespect for Tejada, nor to suggest that he should focus on improving his skills. He’s a photographer, not a writer. We’re too busy being blown away by his images to be blown away by his writing.

Despite the technical flaws, his writings are, as I said before, a pleasure to read. I can think of material that is technically better but much less interesting to read. Gnurple dot Net, for example.

THE POINT (at last!)
So where am I going with this? While I read through his latest posts, noticing these little imperfections, I wonder why it matters. After all, despite these mistakes, what he means to say is obvious.

As long as the meaning is clear, it’s not important to write correctly, is it? Visits to LiveJournal and Facebook suggest that a lot of casual writers entertain this theory.

The short answer is that mistakes distract the reader from following along.

A writer’s goal, be they casual or professional, is to share their ideas and experiences. Recall the last book you read that really drew you into its story. For me, that’s Stephen King’s The Dark Tower.

Do you notice that as you get into a story, you don’t realize there’s a real world around you anymore? Your significant other is standing before you, in the nude, offering a glass of your favourite drink, and you don’t even notice?

You lose track of time. The fact that you’re reading words and flipping pages become as unconscious and involuntary as breathing. Your consciousness is deep into following the thoughts and experiences the writer has presented. Your eyes see the words, but your mind is there inside the story.

At some point, you notice that you can’t actually read the words anymore: it’s gotten too dark outside. The real world suddenly snaps back into place. Cats are meowing for food. The ice in your drink has melted. You smell smoke coming from the oven.

Reading across a mistake is one of the things that snaps you out of the story and back into the real world. Reading is like taking a nice, calm drive through the country, and a mistake is a nasty pothole. Or perhaps it’s like watching a breathtaking scene in a movie theatre when suddenly somebody walks past you, muttering “excuse me” as they move down the aisle, their shoes squeaking on the disgusting, sticky floor.

Once you get yoinked out of it and back into the real world, it takes a bit of time and effort to get back in. Where were we? What just happened? Ah, yes, Spidey just beat the bad guys off and disappeared up the wall and hey, did I just miss a scene of M. J. in a soaking wet shirt? Daaamn!

One or two mistakes in an otherwise pleasant journey, as with Tejada’s writing, are fine. Too many, though, and readers get frustrated and give up. It’s a psychological balance. Add one too many weights, and the scale tips over.

It’s like driving down that country road.

One pothole? Fine, that’s OK, the sun is still shining and look at the wind rippling through the grass and BUMP! Another one. Meh. Ah well, the road’s OK now and look at the cows out standing in the field, little puffs of white cloud above them in a dark blue sky and BUMP! OK, that’s it! This road is terrible! How far is the end? Is there another route?

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