clarity in writing | Bertram's Blog

What Makes a Good Writer?

March 8, 2026 — Pat Bertram

What makes a good writer? Is good writing subjective, or is there a standard? Is a good writer necessarily a good storyteller?

I thought I was finished with such questions when I stopped writing books, but I don’t remember if I ever thought of these questions from a reader’s point of view. As a reader, either I found a book readable, or I didn’t. Either the story engaged me, or it didn’t. If I was okay with the book, I read it. If not, I read the ending, and if the ending seemed to be fitting (or a fitting reward for slogging through the book), I’d go back and finish the book. If not, that was the end of it.

For the past couple of years, I found myself not finishing most newer books, so I reread a lot of older books, many of which weren’t really worth reading again. Now, I figure if I’m going to reread books, I might as well continue my studies of The Wheel of Time saga, which brings me back to the questions I put forth above.

I’ve come across a lot of reviews and discussions where people say Robert Jordan is a terrible writer, which amuses me to think I’m immersed in the words of someone who is becoming so excoriated. (The substitute writer who finished the series is held up to be the epitome of a good writer, but no. Just no. I struggled through the books he wrote to finish The Wheel of Time, and I’ve not been able to read a single one of his own books. His writing is plebian at best and his stories boring.)

Years ago, I read in a book called The Practical Stylist by Sheridan Baker: “Clarity is the first aim; economy the second; grace the third; dignity the fourth. Our writing should be a little strange, a little out of the ordinary, a little beautiful with words and phrases not met every day, but seeming as right and natural as grass.”

That quote seemed to me to be the definition of a good writer, and I tried to write like that. Robert Jordan does. Some of his writing is truly classic and beautiful. The substitute author does not fulfill any of those requirements, but he does write in the preferred style of today, which is lots of dialogue, short sentences, short paragraphs, quick changes of point of view, with little that is elegant or dignified or graceful, and nothing out of the ordinary.

Like all authors, Jordan has tics (overworked words and phrases), and he does at times let his world building get in the way of the story, but that doesn’t make him a bad writer, just an unedited one. (That’s what an editor is for — to scrub unwanted words and meanderings from the text. Or at least point them out. But he married his editor, and though she continued to be his editor, he wouldn’t let her change a single word. Apparently, she and his publisher let him run with his books the way he wanted because he made them a fortune. Also, come to think of it, any rewrites would put him way past deadline.)

It is interesting to me that he wrote books that appealed to preteen boys as well as old women (well, one old woman). It also amuses me how often those boys say they outgrew the books when they tried to read the books years later. And yet, here I am, still growing into the books.

I do admit, though, that my interest in the books has less to do with entertainment and more to do with deconstructing his world, finding the puzzles and clues and references to our world, seeing how he wrote what he did, and to better understand his subtleties.

My latest find changes the books for me, or changes at least one character.

In the saga, the power of the universe can only be used by women because the men’s half is tainted, which makes them go insane if they use it. Despite this, the hero uses the men’s power out of necessity. Over time he begins to hear a voice in his head — the voice of the man he’d been thousands of years before. The way Jordan wrote this voice, it seemed to be an entirely different person. The voice knew things that the hero didn’t, and the voice seemed insane and totally at odds with the hero.

I don’t know how many rereads it took for me to realize that the voice was the hero. Because of the taint, memories were slipping beyond the barrier of forgetfulness that kept people from remembering previous lives. The voice created out of madness seemed to the hero to be the source of the memories. And the reason the voice was totally at odds with the hero is that the voice carried all the emotions that the hero couldn’t allow himself to feel. For example, he had to be hard to do all that he had to do. (The poor guy was barely twenty years old, prophesied to save the entire world from the Dark One, guaranteed to go insane, fated to die during the last battle, and everyone in the world wanted to use him or torture him or imprison him.) So while he’s being hard, trying to be what he thinks he needs to be to prepare for the last battle, the voice in his head is gibbering in fear, weeping, trying to run away, and sometimes laughing madly — feeling all the emotions he can’t afford to feel. And the conflicts he so often has with the voice are a reflection of his own internal struggles, having to be what he so does not want to be.

My knowing that the voice is in fact the hero, not a separate entity, makes him even more of a tragic figure, a human dealing with almost insurmountable pressures from both within and without.

Does this sort of duality and layering make Jordan a good writer? And a good story teller? I tend to think that it does. I’d really like to think that good writing is not subjective, that there are standards to meet. Storytelling, however, is subjective. Even constant readers have genres and authors they stay away from, regardless of how good or bad the writing is.

Still, I guess, it doesn’t matter. I’ll continue to read what I read, and to eschew what does not interest me.

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Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One.

Posted in books, fiction, writing. Tags: clarity in writing, good writing, Robert Jordan, Sheridan Baker, storytelling, The Practical Stylist. Leave a Comment »

Ah, the Difference a Comma Makes!

September 1, 2013 — Pat Bertram

One of my recycled blog posts was published in an ezine today, and apparently people are more interested in insulting me than in reading what I wrote.

The article was about striving for clarity in writing. I wrote;

There seem to be two vociferous groups of writers nowadays:

1. Self-published writers who insist that they can do everything their way without regard to grammar rules, publishing conventions, and even readers.

2. Writers who want to be published by the major publishing houses, and who scrupulously follow every dictate in the hopes it will bring them the acclaim they strive for.

I described each of the groups and ended by saying that the truth of good writing lies somewhere in the middle of those two groups.

Very simple, right? Wrong.

One self-published author commented: Bracketing all self-publishers as people who ‘do everything their way without regard to grammar rules, publishing conventions, and even readers’, is not true Pat, and you know it! If your point was merely to be controversial, you have certainly achieved it. Your obvious prejudice against self-publishers in general has done you no favours, believe me. Yes, some do ignore the rules, but then there are people like myself – best selling self-published authors who do obey the rules…

Another wrote: Your categorising writers into two groups is just plain silly. It smacks of snobbery and a failure to comprehend reality.

Huh? Doesn’t anyone read?

First, even if I believed self-publishers are all bad writers, which I don’t, I would never publicly come out and say it. Too many self-publishers are militant, fighting a battle that has already been won, and it’s simply not worth getting into the fray.

Second, I listed two “vociferous” groups. Those who strive for good writing are not vociferous. They simply write without insisting that their way is the right way.

Third, if you will notice, I did not say all self-published writers. I said “self-published writers who insist they can do everything their way.” If I meant all self-published writers, I would have written “self-published writers, who insist they can do everything their way”.

Ah, the difference a comma makes!

Maybe next I need to write an article about striving for clarity in reading.

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For those of you who don’t understand the comma rule:

In the sentence “Self-published writers who insist that they can do everything their way”, the clause “who insist that they can do everything their way” does not have a comma before it, which means it’s a restrictive clause. It restricts the subject “Self-published writers” to those who insist they can do everything their way. Leaving off the comma means that the clause is an integral part of the subject, that the subject does not stand alone.

If I had meant all self-published writers, I would have used a comma. The comma would have alerted readers that the phrase “who insist that they can do everything their way” was a non-restrictive clause — merely a parenthetical remark describing all self-published writers, and it could have been removed without changing the meaning of the sentence. But, I did not use the comma. Hence, I did not make a sweeping generality that took in all self-published writers. The comment referred to a select few vociferous writers.

In my experience, those who insist they can write however they wish without regard to rules are self-published or plan to be, so my sentence as I wrote it was not pejorative. Writers who wish to pursue a different avenue of publishing know they have to follow the rules of whatever publishing company or agent they are trying to impress, and they will not vociferously proclaim they can write however they wish without regard to rules.

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Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

Posted in writing. Tags: clarity in writing, non-retrictive clause, readability, restrictive clause, self-published writers, traditionally published writers, truth of good writing. 7 Comments »

Striving For Clarity in Writing

February 28, 2013 — Pat Bertram

stage There seem to be two vociferous groups of writers nowadays:

1. Self-published writers who insist that they can do everything their way without regard to grammar rules, publishing conventions, and even readers.

2. Writers who want to be published by the major publishing houses, and who scrupulously follow every dictate in the hopes it will bring them the acclaim they strive for.

The first group of writers often strive for originality at the expense of readability. They take the easy way out by choosing limp words that demand to be propped up with adverbs and adjectives. Or they throw out grammar rules, which comes across not so much as being creative but as being too lazy to learn the right way. Grammar is not a straightjacket but a garment that flows softly around readers, keeping their attention on the story rather than the structure. If readers have to read and reread a paragraph to try to make sense of it, then the author has not done her job.

Some of these authors believe that readers should have to work to make sense of their story, that it’s okay if readers are pulled out of the story to look up an unfamiliar word, or to admire a particularly well-turned phrase, but readers for the most part want to be immersed in a story. If you’re watching a play, you want to see the characters, the action, the set. You do not want to be shown the backstage bickering or the ugly scaffolding. You simply want to be immersed in the play. (Unless, of course, the play is Noises Off, in which case all the bickering and scaffolding are part of the story.) And the same goes for books.

The second group of writers strives for perfection at the cost of originality, especially originality of style or voice. These writers are often too assiduous in their dislike of “was”, “it”, “ly” adverbs, adjectives, or any number of words that make our writing seem amateurish. Yes, an abundance of such words does make our writing seem amateurish and even hard to read, but removing every single was or it or modifier makes for a stilted style.

The truth of good writing lies somewhere in the middle of those two groups.

As I read in an old book called The Practical Stylist by Sheridan Baker: “Clarity is the first aim; economy the second; grace the third; dignity the fourth. Our writing should be a little strange, a little out of the ordinary, a little beautiful with words and phrases not met everyday, but seeming as right and natural as grass.”

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