Protecting Ego v. Looking Good
An interesting story in today’s paper about Raymond Carver, “one of the most celebrated American short-story writers of the 20th century.”
In a nutshell, Carver became a sensation after a collection of his stories was published in 1981. Authorities said he helped revitalize the short story; they said he helped spearhead a style known as minimalist.
But Carver wasn’t a minimalist at all. No, he was the sort (attorneys, are you listening?) who would rather use 25 words to say what could be better said in five.
So, why was he known for his minimalist style if he was so expansive? Because of his editor — Gordon Lish — who applied “editorial magic” to Carver’s work (as when he whittled it down to its essence).
Read the interesting story in the paper if you like. Compare Carver’s long-winded and unfocused ending to a story to the succinct snippet that Lish made of it.
And read about Carver’s anxiety, about why he pleaded that his collection of short stories not be published because — “oh my gosh!” — a skilled editor had altered what he had written.
Which brings us to this: what the heck does any of this have to do with attorneys as authors, or law firms as publishers?
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I’m an editor, and my specialty is attorney-authored articles, like client alerts and law review articles and op-eds and such.
I look for clients. I read attorney-authored articles. I find one that looks like its author was being paid by the word — the more the better — or the author doesn’t get the distinction between which and that or has no idea what audience analysis might be or why you’d use it when writing rather than speaking. Then, I offer the assistance of a skilled and experienced editor.
I contact the verbose or grammar-deficient attorney, or the one who thinks every reader is a judge on the job (and needs abbreviations like IRS and SEC clearly explained). Then, I offer him or her the assistance of a skilled and experienced editor. Given how attorneys are judged by what they write, this should be an easy sell, right?
Not at all. At least nine times out of ten, I’m told some equivalent of “buzz off. I’m a hot-shot attorney at a great big law firm. You’re a nobody, and I don’t need any assistance from nobody.”
It’s as if I shined shoes. Here comes some attorney getting ready to get on stage in front of lots of important people, but I see his shoes are sorely in need of some glow. I break out my kit, and get ready to do my magic, when the attorney recoils in horror.
And I know what’s going on: the attorney would rather protect his ego than look good.
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You must know that old saying about the attorney who represents himself in court. He has got a fool for a client. Ditto for the attorney who thinks he can serve as his own editor.
17 October 2007 at 22:59
Aauugghh! I HATE the misuse of “that” and “which.” Courts consistently screw them up (mostly by using “which” when they should use “that”).
If this short story writer was as bad as you say, I have to wonder: at what point does the writing cease to be his?
18 October 2007 at 12:16
Please don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying that Carver wasn’t a good writer. What I’m saying is that he wouldn’t have achieved the sort of fame he did had it not been for Lish throwing away so many useless words.
Ditto for attorneys. An attorney can write an OK article, but then an editor can polish it into a Fine article.
It’s like the shoe-shine boy. He can take your shoes from looking kind of cruddy to having a fine gloss (in just a few minutes).
What attorneys have to ask themselves is if the fine gloss is worthwhile or if they want to say, “Hey! I can polish my own shoes. I don’t need nobody to do that for me.”
It’s a matter of choice. Carver didn’t like what Lish did to his work. Had Lish not done what he did, we probably wouldn’t have ever heard of Carver (and he certainly would not have been known for his exceptional style.