TITLE: If You Want to Become a Better Writer...
AUTHOR: Eugene Wallingford
DATE: February 05, 2015  3:57 PM
DESC: 
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BODY:
... write for undergraduates.  Why?

Last fall, Steven Pinker took a stab at explaining
<A HREF="http://chronicle.com/article/Why-Academics-Writing-Stinks/148989/">
   why academics stink at writing</A>.
He hypothesizes that cognitive science and human psychology
explain much of the problem.  Experts often find it difficult
to imagine that others do not know what experts know, which
Pinker calls the <EM>curse of knowledge</EM>.  They work around
the limitations of short-term memory by packaging ideas into
bigger and more abstract units, often called <EM>chunking</EM>.
Finally, they tend to think about the things they understand
well in terms of how they use them, not in terms of what they
look like, a transition called <EM>functional fixity</EM>.

Toward the end of the article, Pinker summarizes:

<BLOCKQUOTE><EM>
 The curse of knowledge, in combination with chunking and
 functional fixity, helps make sense of the paradox that
 classic style is difficult to master.  What could be so
 hard about pretending to open your eyes and hold up your
 end of a conversation?  The reason it's harder than it
 sounds is that if you are enough of an expert in a topic
 to have something to say about it, you have probably come
 to think about it in abstract chunks and functional labels
 that are now second nature to you but are still unfamiliar
 to your readers--and you are the last one to realize it.
</EM></BLOCKQUOTE>

Most academics aren't trying to write bad prose.  They simply
don't have enough practice writing good prose.

<BLOCKQUOTE><EM>
 When Calvin explained to Hobbes, "With a little practice,
 writing can be an intimidating and impenetrable fog," he
 got it backward.  Fog comes easily to writers; it's the
 clarity that requires practice.  The na&iuml;ve realism
 and breezy conversation in classic style are deceptive, an
 artifice constructed through effort and skill.
</EM></BLOCKQUOTE>

Wanting to write better is not sufficient.  Exorcising the
curse requires writers to learn new skills and to practice.
One of the best ways to see if the effort is paying off is
to get feedback: show the work to real readers and see if
they can follow it.

That's where undergraduates come in.  If you want to become
a better writer or a better speaker, teach undergraduates
regularly.  They are about as far removed as you can get from
an expert while still having an interest in the topic and
some inclination to learn more about it.

When I write lecture notes for my undergrads, I have to
eliminate as much jargon as possible.  I have to work hard
to put topics into the best order for learners, not for
colleagues who are also expert in the area.  I have to find
stories to illuminate ideas, and examples to illustrate them.
When I miss the intended mark on any of these attempts, my
students will let me know, either through their questions or
through their inability to perform as I expected.  And then
I try again.

My lecture notes are far from perfect, but they are always
much better after a few iterations teaching a course than
they are the first time I do.  The weakest parts tend to be
for material I'm adding to the course for the first time; the
best parts tend to be revisions of existing material.  These
facts are no surprise to any writer or presenter, of course.
Repetition and effort are how we make things better. 

Even if you do not consider yourself a teacher by trade, if you
want to improve your ability to communicate science, teach
undergrads.  Write lecture notes and explanations.  Present to
live students and monitor lab sessions.  The students will
reward you with vigorous feedback.  Besides, they are good
people to get to know.
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