Writing as Art

Abstract

WE SAY, perhaps too glibly, that good writing is an art. But suppose we take that conviction seriously, suppose we examine its implica,tions. If we teach an art, surely there 'are relationships between what we do and what teachers of other arts do. Wfhat can we learn from observing them, and what concrete changes in the way we teaoh our subject might be suggested by this observation? To view writing as an art should encourage us. It dispels the myth that writing cannot be taught. No one would deny that to become an accomplished pianist, for example, requires instruction. Conceivably you could learn the piano very painstakingly on your own, but in practice a good teacher is almost indispensable for mastering the art quickly and for developing technique. There are limits to his powers, of course. Because of the immense number of variables in practice time, interest, experience, and talent-variables which apply equally to instructor and pupil-improvement may be dramatic or negligible. And even in the best relationship, there may come a time when the student overreaches ,the instructor, when he becomes answerable only to his own ear and his own taste. But no one challenges -the instructor's role, only, occasionally, the competence of a particular person to fulfill that role. Furthermore we observe that the teaching of other arts is almost always based on two simple principles. The first of these is that learning is incremental. The student of piano begins with middle C, then moves on to the rest of the octave, the use of the left hand, sharps and flats. The mastery here is concurrent. He may begin with middle C, but in another sense, he always remains with it, because he continues to practice it and keep it as part of his skill . The second principle is that learning means repetition and revision. The student is conducted again and again through a few familiar pieces of music. The purpose is not only to increase his ease and fluency but also to sharpen his technique, to change (read revise) his playing until it is more graceful, sensitive, nuanced. And of course both processes are supervised by someone who is more experienced in the 'art. T,he same twofold process occurs in the other arts a~ well. Painting, poetry, sculpture, even such bodily arts as gymnastics or the dance-each is acquired step by step, one skill complementing another, the technique constantly refined by practice. Always too there is a teacher, who suggests, criticizes, stimulates and who can serve as a model of relative success in the art. If we apply these principles to the art of writing, it means that we should teach incrementally. We have to deal with the constituent elements, with words and paragraphs, with tone and rhythm, each skill 'building on the other. This process must also be accompanied by constant revision, replaying the piece until it 'becomes haltingly but recognizably true, true to the experience or the idea which the writer feels he must convey. Of course, this seems hardly novel. There are 'books which ibegin with the word, then move on to the sentence, the paragraph, the whole essay; and every