Question:
What is the strongest urge known to mankind – even stronger than sex?
Answer: the need to correct someone else’s writing.
That was my experience during my forty-plus years as a public servant.
Over the course of my career, I had to write in several capacities.
For much of the time I was employed to look at organisation structures in
Defence facilities and factories. Inevitably, because they could affect
people’s jobs and pay, my reports were scrutinised word-by-word, both by my
superiors and those who were the subject of the reviews.
At another time I was responsible for the preparation of letters for the
signature of the relevant minister. Other parliamentarians would write to the
minister on behalf of their constituents or members of the public would write
directly. You had to be sensitive to the underlying message the minister might
wish to convey. I do not recall a time when I sent a draft up the line that my
superior did not reach for his pen (in my career, it was always a man) the
moment the document hit his desk. I had the comfort of knowing that his
superior would do the same thing to his amendments. My overwhelming
recollection was that, with each amendment, the words became longer as did the
sentences. Passive voice was king. It was always ‘it is considered, recommended
or advised’. We never said who did these things. However, there were times when
the big cheese returned the draft having ignored all the corrections.
Submissions to the minister on matters for his decision were to be prepared to
a distinct formula: dot-dash style. This made for succinct expression, but
there were no brownie points for elegance. Any attempt would end up ‘on the
cutting room floor’. In much the same way, cabinet submissions had to comply
with strict rules. There are, no doubt, good reasons for this regimentation.
Over the long term, though, the only call for creativity was in the way the
truth was massaged.
In my case, the desire for creative writing withered. I wrote the occasional
poem for myself or my family, but less frequently as time went on. I continued
to try to write simple or plain English. But it was in a world where it is
often safer to obscure the meaning than to make it clear. In my mind, I would
relinquish all ownership of the work once it left my desk.
Perhaps that is the reason I have written my first novel only now that I am 80
years of age. It has taken me twenty-five years to recover.
Samuel Pepys or Winston Churchill found ways to maintain their writing
standards despite the pressures of their offices. But they were at the top of
the tree. We lesser mortals lived in the understory and saw little light.
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