By Ethan Childress
My junior year of college was the first time in my life I had ever questioned my ability as a writer. Up to that point, everything had been a breeze. Throughout middle and high school, my English teachers were quick to tell me how talented a writer I was and what a pleasure it was to have me in class. In my first two years of college, the assignments became more challenging, but I never doubted my ability as a wordsmith.
Upper-level journalism courses taught me a long overdue lesson – one I believe every aspiring writer needs to learn before they can be truly great: Never fall in love with your words.
I can recall the exact assignment that forced me to grapple with this realization. I interviewed a member of the Temple men’s tennis team for a sports-writing course to write a standard student-athlete profile piece. After the interview, I put together a story I was happy with and submitted my very first draft. Like every other assignment I had worked on, I believed the words I had put together on my first and only attempt created the best possible version of this story – so why would a second look be necessary at all?
A couple of days later, the article had been graded. “Hey Ethan, pretty good work on this! Please see my feedback and let me know if you have any questions,” read my professor’s email.
Nearly half of the document was redlined. Sentences I thought were clever and catchy were restructured for brevity, word choices I considered flavorful and exciting were replaced for clarity, and some passages were cut entirely for cohesion. As someone who had been told his entire life that he was a gifted writer, seeing my work altered in such a way was jarring.
The worst part of all, the article was vastly improved by my professor’s edits. By cutting the fluff and restructuring the more “self-indulgent” passages, an article emerged that was clearer, punchier and simply more interesting.
This was far from a one-time-only experience. Nearly every assignment I turned in during my junior year, regardless of the course, came back with edits. Some were minor: a style adjustment here, word choice there; others were major: adding and removing entire paragraphs or altering the tone of a whole article. Through every redlined sentence and comment within the margins, I slowly became more comfortable with another person altering my words.
Learning this lesson before venturing into the PR industry was invaluable for me. In journalism, I was writing mostly for myself. Sure, I had to match the tone to whatever publication I was writing for, but the style of writing largely remained my own. In PR writing, you have to leave your personal writing style at the door. Some clients like all materials to be in AP style, others use a more casual and upbeat tone. In any case, you have to be ready to sacrifice your own words for ones the client prefers.
It was far from easy to let go of the idea that being a good writer means producing flawless first drafts. It can still be difficult to see the dreaded strikethrough on work that I consider some of my best. But, through experience and good editing, I’ve come to appreciate edits for what they are. Every edit, every suggestion, and every rewrite brings a piece of writing closer to the best possible version of itself. Even the most prolific and celebrated writers rely on edits to improve their work because “good writing” is not defined by getting it right on your first draft, but rather by a willingness to revise, refine, and improve.
Rising Stars is a series of thoughts, reflections and perspectives by the interns at Devine + Partners. Ethan Childress is a rising senior at Temple University studying Journalism and Public Relations.
Devine + Partners is a Philadelphia public relations agency. We offer a full range of communications services – from message and content development and media relations to issues management and employee and community engagement.
