A writer is as good as the best sentence they write, and as great as the best sentence they leave out.
The best sentence you write signals your aptitude, which is the ability to write valuable things. All good writers have some aptitude for writing.
But aptitude doesn’t make writing great. Clarity does.
Writing has clarity if it knows exactly what it wants to say.
And the best sentence you leave out is the measure of your clarity.
If you’re able to leave out great sentences, you’re able to determine which of your most beautiful and interesting ideas is redundant to your piece. At that point, your message has momentum.
If reading is a journey, aptitude guarantees a scenic ride. But Clarity gives the work direction.
Thus, it is clarity that transports your reader and causes them to act.
What Great Writing Says that Good Writing Doesn’t
Good writers write several great sentences.
But they can’t decide which of these sentences is important in getting their point across. So, they put out the whole thing.
Effectively, they’re saying:
“Here are a bunch of ideas. I think there’s something useful in here somewhere. But I’m not sure what it is. Maybe if you try reading it, you’ll find out what I was trying to say.”
I’m constantly guilty of this.
Great writers might also start with great sentences.
But then they remove every sentence that doesn’t belong. Some greats might have a gift for this. Most, I suspect, achieve it through a long process of re-writing.
In any case, great writers end up with a piece that says: “This is what you need to hear. Forget everything else.”
The Excruciating Part About Great Writing
A writer exercising aptitude is like a weightlifter flexing. Its enjoyable to do and impressive to look on, but not the real deal.
Exercising clarity on the other hand is like lifting weights. It’s a painful, private practice that’s invisible in the finished product.
Great writing excruciating because it demands that you exile your best ideas. It’s the writer’s cliché of killing your darlings.
In practice, great writing is re-structuring, re-drafting and re-writing. It’s the work of constantly returning to your point and axing out the excesses.
That’s why great work requires clarity on what you’re trying to achieve, and confidence in the value of your goal.
As you can tell, I’ve a long way to go. But I think making great work probably feels like you’ve left the most important things unsaid.
And I’ll try that now, by ending with this:
The sentence you leave out speaks the loudest.
Make it great.
If you enjoyed this micro-essay, consider joining my email list.
Once a fortnight, I share the most interesting things I’ve read, and trade insights on creativity, mastery and fulfilment with my closest community of internet friends.