Different Types of Writing – Mine, His or Ours?

As I’ve sketched out the contents of this blog in my head I’ve begun to think about two types of writing. Writing for myself and writing for another. At the root of this is the question, “if I write a guest editorial for my boss to sign and it is printed in a major American newspaper, can I say I have written something that appeared in the major American newspaper?” On the surface I think the answer is “yes,” I wrote it, they printed it. But there is a deeper question. “Is this writing indicative of my style?” And here I would say, “it is more indicative of my ability and a little less of my style.” Let’s examine.

In my last job writing for the American Forest & Paper Association I rarely if ever submitted anything to newspapers or magazines as myself. I submitted them as either one of our senior muckety-mucks like the Vice President of Forestry, or usually as our President and CEO, himself a major political muckety-muck.

There was, as is usually the case, several games of back and forth in all these writing exercises. First was the back and forth with the truth. That was were I would sit down with the policy experts and discuss what ever the issue du jour was. What did the new regulation really mean for our industry? What did the study really find about our processes? Etc, etc.

Out of this learning experience emerged a First Draft.

Then began the usually lengthier back and forth with the lawyers. We would have stimulating debates, for example—when I wrote something like, “on average, our industry plants more than 1.9 million new trees everyday,” (which is true, by the way), the lawyers would engage me in seemingly endless debate about what exactly I meant by “plants.” I wish I was kidding. I’m not. It was enough to make you spend time coming up with a new lawyer joke. (Why do loggers cut down so many trees when they’re on a job? Statistically, the more they cut down, the better the chance one will land on a lawyer. Okay, it’s not good but I was actually being paid to write about policy, not jokes about lawyers.)

Out of this frustrating process emerged a Second Draft, a headache, and bite marks in my fist from where I gnawed on it as opposed to ramming it down counsel’s litigious throat.

Finally this version would then be submitted to “The Body.” That was the person or persons who would eventually sign the column as his or her own. At this point the piece still was largely mine. While the tone was not as flippant or sarcastic as I would privately write, it still began with my thesis statement, was fueled by my reasoning and logic, and utilized my understanding of our message research, strategic positioning, and the persuasion points for the particular audience for which I was aiming—it was still mine.

And then it got interesting.

I’ve written for many different types of people and I’ve always been able to find his or her voice. Whether I was writing on behalf of a conservative southern Member of Congress, a New England libertarian regulator, the CEO of a major athletic apparel company, a former White House Deputy Chief of Staff, a small town tree farmer, or a high school educated logger, one of my gifts—if I may be so bold—is that I am able to identify with all kinds of people and mimic their style.

So even though I say the draft I’ve written that is going in to The Body is mine, it is really “ours”—mine and the body’s. I’ve put his phraseology into it. For example, my last boss was from Louisiana, a lawyer, a former Member of Congress, a very high ranking official in the Bush (I) Administration. One of his favorite turns of a phrase is one I would never say or write: “ought not.” As in, “We ought not make the same mistake with natural gas we did with crude oil thirty years ago.” I would probably write something far more sarcastic, cutting, and even denigrating to the boobs in Congress about to make the same mistake, (because of course they are going to. They are going to make the same mistake with extreme prejudice. Dolts.)

So now we are at that root question. If I write a column with the phrase “ought not” in it, because I know in my boss’ head the argument calls for one exactly right…there…is the column still mine?

I know when I started writing for my CEO the things I sent in to his office would often come back significantly marked up. He would sometimes strike entire paragraphs or substitute his own reasoning. Obviously I took 95% of his changes—his name was going on the column, and more importantly, it was going on that important bottom line of my paycheck. The only times I would not take his changes was if what he wanted to write was inaccurate, or a full frontal assault on the English language—which as an attorney, he did plenty of times. (The court records in the case of English Language v. Moore are permanently sealed, however I did testify for plaintiff.)

But after more than seven years writing for him, we have our rhythm and he was editing me less and less. In fact, the last two or three years saw most columns, statements, and releases come out of his office without a mark on them, just an “Approved.”

How did I do it? Well, often I would first write one for me. It would be filled with humor, vitriol, sarcasm, and thoroughly disrespectful towards somebody. I’d write that one, show it to a friend or one of the hard core policy “believers,” we’d have a snicker over it, wistfully dream of a day when I could actually submit such a piece, and then I would begin editing the hell out of it to come up with that First Draft to go off to the lawyers. (I admit sometimes, just for kicks, I would send one of my Real First Drafts in to the lawyers. Within minutes this nervous looking lawyer would be standing in my door, holding my column, and looking like a product tester at a Taser factory. I’d play a little game—how long could I keep a straight face and argue that I should be allowed to use the phrase, “self-righteous, ignorant bastards” when referring to members of the radical environmental group D——. Four minutes ten seconds is the record. I think I could have worn him down eventually.)

And now of course I can “publish” all my Real First Drafts here. And yet something in me, some training I’ve received is keeping me from doing it. Obviously I wouldn’t want to post anything truly slanderous or defamatory—well it’s more accurate to say I don’t want to be sued for posting anything slanderous or defamatory, but I guess the lawyers finally wore me down. They would be so happy or proud…if they were capable of feeling human emotion, which obviously they are not.

So what is the answer? The writing samples I post here—the ones I did while gainfully employed—are samples of my ability, but not necessarily of me. And that is why I need to post all new pieces such as this one. Maybe I’ll e-mail this to one of my old lawyer chums for his comments. (Besides the obvious, “what exactly are you trying to say when you write ‘human emotion’?”)

1276 words.