On Writing Well: The Classic Guide to Writing Nonfiction

by William Zinsser

But the secret of good writing is to strip every sentence to its cleanest components.

Writers must therefore constantly ask: what am I trying to say? Surprisingly often they don’t know.

have I said it? Is it clear to someone encountering the subject for the first time? If it’s not, some fuzz has worked its way into the machinery.

Remember this in moments of despair. If you find that writing is hard, it’s because it is hard.

With each rewrite I try to make what I have written tighter, stronger and more precise, eliminating every element that’s not doing useful work. Then I go over it once more, reading it aloud, and am always amazed at how much clutter can still be cut.

Consider all the prepositions that are draped onto verbs that don’t need any help.

Most first drafts can be cut by 50 percent without losing any information or losing the author’s voice.

There is no style store; style is organic to the person doing the writing, as much a part of him as his hair, or, if he is bald, his lack of it.

They must relax, and they must have confidence.

Writing is an intimate transaction between two people, conducted on paper, and it will go well to the extent that it retains its humanity.

Sell yourself, and your subject will exert its own appeal. Believe in your own identity and your own opinions. Writing is an act of ego, and you might as well admit it. Use its energy to keep yourself going.

It’s not that the scuttling sampans and the hepatitis shots shouldn’t be included. What annoys us is that the writer never decided what kind of article he wanted to write or how he wanted to approach us.

Therefore ask yourself some basic questions before you start. For example: “In what capacity am I going to address the reader?” (Reporter? Provider of information? Average man or woman?) “What pronoun and tense am I going to use?” “What style?” (Impersonal reportorial? Personal but formal? Personal and casual?) “What attitude am I going to take toward the material?” (Involved? Detached? Judgmental? Ironic? Amused?) “How much do I want to cover?” “What one point do I want to make?”

Every writing project must be reduced before you start to write.

Therefore think small. Decide what corner of your subject you’re going to bite off, and be content to cover it well and stop.

As for what point you want to make, every successful piece of nonfiction should leave the reader with one provocative thought that he or she didn’t have before.

Don’t become the prisoner of a preconceived plan. Writing is no respecter of blueprints.

One reason for citing this lead is to note that salvation often lies not in the writer’s style but in some odd fact he or she was able to discover.

One moral of this story is that you should always collect more material than you will use.

Another moral is to look for your material everywhere, not just by reading the obvious sources and interviewing the obvious people.

Our daily landscape is thick with absurd messages and portents.

Like the minister’s sermon that builds to a series of perfect conclusions that never conclude, an article that doesn’t stop where it should stop becomes a drag and therefore a failure.

The perfect ending should take your readers slightly by surprise and yet seem exactly right. They didn’t expect the article to end so soon, or so abruptly, or to say what it said.

For the nonfiction writer, the simplest way of putting this into a rule is: when you’re ready to stop, stop.

Surprise is the most refreshing element in nonfiction writing.

one of style, the other of substance.

If a phrase comes to you easily, look at it with deep suspicion;

Make sure every component in your memoir is doing useful work.

Write about yourself, by all means, with confidence and with pleasure. But see that all the details—people, places, events, anecdotes, ideas, emotions—are moving your story steadily along.