When
you see someone smile, it’s often easy to tell whether that person is genuinely
happy, or whether she simply wishes to look the part. Her countenance allows
you to peer into her heart, and often, you find that her feelings are
contagious. A joyous person ignites that same joy in those around her, while
one who is sorrowful can spread that sorrow just as easily. Oddly enough, the
same is true of writing. A person’s writing allows you access to her soul. From
it, you find whether she is truly passionate about her topic, or whether she
simply wishes to get by. The irony is that the person who wishes to get by can
use the most flowery language and turn the most beautiful phrases; and yet the
simple writer will be still more influential, more impressive, more moving, all
because her conviction says more than her words alone.
Like
other art forms, in fact, writing is a kind of self-expression. It gives the reader a
glimpse into the mind—and perhaps more importantly—the heart of a writer. From
it, you begin to understand a writer’s character, those things she finds good
and bad, true and false, right and wrong. It is in these moments that writing
ceases to be about technique or organization, but takes on instead the personality
of its writer. In language, we call this an author’s voice, his or her
signature style of writing; and it is this aspect of writing that acts as a foundation-- whether in narrative or essay-- for all that moves and inspires. Strip away technique and grammar, and there is hope; but once you remove from writing its conviction, you strip it of purpose itself.
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