I'd Rather Be Writing » creative writing

Why Tech Comm Is a Career Path of Last Resort for Students

Tom Johnson — Tue, 19 Oct 2010 14:32:28 +0000

While on my trip to BYU Idaho last week, I had an epiphany about why tech comm will always be the career path of last resort for students. As you recall, one of my desires was to open students up to the possibility of a career in tech comm, not as a sellout/fallback career, or a career of last resort, but one that they would actively seek and strive for because of the multifaceted appeal of the technical communication career itself.

When I started the presentation, only two of the students in the room (out of about 30) said they wanted to be technical writers. Nearly half or more wanted to be editors. I’m not sure what the rest had in mind. (The creative writers and literature students weren’t even present.) I presented about tech comm, stressing all the various specializations and perspectives of the profession that go beyond click this, select that instructional writing.

Later that evening, the conference organizers took us to a Thai restaurant in town (surprisingly good for small-town Rexburg). My wife and I sat next to the son and daughter-in-law of Terryl Givens, a well-published scholar of Mormon Studies. The other conference invitee, Lynn Stegner, author of several novels, had to leave earlier in the afternoon.

While we were talking with Terryl’s son, a student at BYU, he mentioned that his emphasis was creative writing (one of five emphases in the English major). I explained that I was a technical writer. There was a long pause, and then someone changed the subject. In mentioning technical writing, there was absolutely no sign of interest in the student’s face. It was then that I realized something.

In almost every university, the English curriculum is run by literature professors and writers who teach students from day one to appreciate, study, and ponder good literature. Writers are elevated as gods in the halls of English departments. To publish a novel is the very definition of success, the pinnacle of artistic and creative achievement. Organizing a conference in which published writers and, in this case, scholars, present essays (such as “What it means to be a writer”) and read excerpts of their works only helps us hold writers in high esteem. The entire river is flowing toward the creative direction, because that’s the focus of the English curriculum: literature, creative writing, critical theory.

Somewhere down that path, literature professors feel an ethical responsibility to help students come to grips with reality. They realize that the job market for English professors is extremely tough. Publishing a novel is even more unlikely. Becoming an editor in a major New York publishing house is also a difficult path, and one that will likely start out in poverty and secretarial work for many years.

Given this, English professors add in a few practical courses, so that students can actually use their writing and analytical skills in a financially sustainable career. They add in a few classes on business and technical writing, computers and the humanities, and scientific/technical communication. But the classes are clearly not the professor’s interest or strength. They’re an assignment given to any professor who has an inkling of background in professional writing.

The tech comm classes take a backseat to Chaucer and Postmodernism and the latest novel that the English professor is drooling over. As such, the tech comm classes live up to the student’s perception: they are, in fact, boring. The teacher isn’t engaged by the material. The assignments are corny and unrealistic. It feels nothing like any of other English course. There aren’t any stories driving the plot forward, no characters to fall in love with, no fascinating world views intricately interwoven into subtle narrative details.

In the English discipline, the flow of the river is moving towards the creative. How can we expect students to suddenly develop an interest in technical writing? To do so requires them to swim against the current, against the ideology that literature professors have inculcated so deeply into their students.

When the entire English curriculum worships and elevates authors, how will students ever develop an interest in technical writing?

If our goal is to stoke the student’s interest in tech comm, it’s a battle we will never win if we fight it on the grounds of the English hallways.

In an essay on the Heart of Technical Communication, Bill Albing suggests that the solution is to decouple the tech comm emphasis from its subordinate position in the English major, and to position it on its own, perhaps even within a business setting. Bill writes:

There is this strange and persistent association of technical documentation with writing as taught in university English curricula. We need to break the connection with university English departments because they keep monopolizing the discussion about what is the core of our profession. What makes it a discipline is the business, the business value, the use of communication to allow business to operate, to make money, to accomplish its goals. The profession is too encumbered by its historical relationship to academic institutions that are steeped in the old paradigm, instead of to business, which is quicker at evolving. With their origin in academia and their continued association, many in the profession are afraid to step out and grab the baton and continue the race. The direction of technical communication is toward more complex relationships — relationships that are allowed in business but not well understood or encouraged by academia. The sooner we break those bonds, the sooner we can reestablish much needed newer ones that will help bolster our profession.

In other words, technical communication should not be taught in the context of an English department, because tech comm is about adding business value to customers, about developing relationships with users. This is not understood or encouraged in traditional English curricula.

I agree with Bill. I used to think the problem rested with me. If I could just present technical writing in an interesting enough light, if I could just show students that there’s so much more than click-this, select-that, if I were just interesting enough myself in the way I showed my thinking processes and spontaneous analyses, I could convert students away from their futile literary dreams into a more practical, interesting, and sustainable career.

But as long as tech comm remains an emphasis within an English department — a department full of literature professors who worship fiction authors and poets, and teach students to do the same — that change of mindset will never happen. Tech comm will always be the career of last resort.

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Comparing Creative Writing with Technical Writing (2 min Videocast)

Tom Johnson — Fri, 02 Apr 2010 04:53:25 +0000

I decided to record a short two-minute videocast to try out my new Kodak zi8 pocket camcorder. In this videocast, I share a brief thought about the similarity between creative writing and technical writing.

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If You’re a Writer, Write

Tom Johnson — Mon, 13 Jul 2009 13:03:34 +0000

Many of you—at least a third, I’m guessing—are writers by nature. You majored in English, dabbled in creative writing, probably immerse yourself in literary novels at lunch. You love the written word. You revel in your expertise in grammar, your fine tastes in sentence structure and semantics. You proudly display your Chicago Manual of Style on your bookshelf. Maybe you even secretly want to be a novelist. Perhaps you have an unfinished manuscript tucked away in your desk drawer that you think about finishing. Writing—the more creative, literary kind—is in your blood.

Fortunately, now is one of the best times for writers to be alive, because you can write and publish without hassle. According to Phillup Greenspun, the web provides a flexible format that removes traditional restrictions of length. You’re no limited to magazine length (5 pages) or book length (200 pages) of content. You can publish 20 pages essays, or 2 paragraph thoughts. You can write fiction or nonfiction, on any topic you want. You could publish your novel serially, or write your book chapter by chapter in a wiki-like way, or do any creative thing you want.

So why is it that, given the opportunity and tools to write, so few embrace it? I have several thoughts as to why.

1. You enjoy the idea more than the work

Most people enjoy the idea of being a writer more than the act of writing. The same could be said of a lot of activities. I once fantasized about doing triathlons, but it was really the idea of being a triathlete that appealed to me more than running, biking, and swimming. I also once fantasized about medicine, but it was the idea of “being a doctor” that appealed to me more than putting my hands inside bloody skin and tissue to fix people.

The truth about writing—the reason why people may daydream about “being a writer” but never seem to find the time to write—is that it’s a lot of work. Coming up with original ideas, organizing and structuring those ideas, editing and polishing your sentences, refining your thoughts, and finding time to do it all rather than sit back and watch TV or work in the yard—is something akin to completing that triathlon. It’s a lot of running/thinking, swimming/writing, and biking/editing. And it’s taxing. Winston Churchill compared writing to fighting a monster:

Writing a book is an adventure. To begin with, it is a toy and an amusement; then it becomes a mistress, and then it becomes a master, and then a tyrant. The last phase is that just as you are about to be reconciled to your servitude, you kill the monster, and fling him out to the public.

Instead of slaying the monster, it’s easier to sit back and think about “being a writer.”

2. Your elevated awareness sets higher standards

Another reason you may not find time to write is that your literary awareness is on a higher level, which makes writing more challenging. You’re aware of what good prose looks like, and so the standards you set for yourself are more rigorous. You’ve got William Faulkner and Jane Austen or some other famous writer on your mind, and you know that to write something worth reading, it will take a lot of time, more time than you’re willing to commit. For the limited time you do have, all you can produce is mediocrity, which you won’t sink to.

This high-brow position isn’t very excusable, because knowledge of higher standards often gives you more talent and capability. And if you have limited time, you can just stretch your efforts out over a period of time. Still, being able to recognize that your first drafts are junk can be a motivational deterrent.

3. You’ve fallen out of the habit

Although the previous two reasons are possible, most likely you stopped writing because you’ve fallen out of the habit. Desiderius Eramus, a fifteenth-century Dutch humanist, said, “The desire to write grows with writing.” The reverse is also true. The desire to write shrinks the less you write.

Habits aren’t particularly tricky to establish. It’s mostly a matter of doing it. Once you start doing something, it becomes easier to do it. When asked for advice from a young would-be writer, E.B. White, author of dozens of essays, said:

You asked me about writing—how I did it. There is no trick to it. If you like to write and want to write, you write, no matter where you are or what else you are doing or whether anyone pays any heed. I must have written half a million words (mostly in my journal) before I had anything published, save for a couple of short items in St. Nicholas. If you want to write about feelings, about the end of summer, about growing, write about it. A great deal of writing is not “plotted”—most of my essays have no plot structure, they are a ramble in the woods, or a ramble in the basement of my mind. You ask, “Who cares?” Everybody cares. You say, “It’s been written before.” Everything has been written before.

In other words, if you want to write, just open up a blank Word document and start typing. It’s that simple. The rest—the form, the purpose, the ideas, the publications—will follow. The more you write, the more desire you’ll have to write. And the easier writing will become.

Final Thoughts

I decided to write this post because I’m frequently asked—by fellow writers—why I blog [write] so much. For me, I consider myself foremost a writer. I majored in English, studied creative nonfiction writing, and find value in the act of writing, especially when I have nothing particular on my mind. I enjoy creating something from nothing.

I prefer personal essays and nonfiction over fiction, so the blog is a natural form for me. But whatever preferences for form you have, don’t give up on your more creative or literary writing. You don’t have to submit your writing to journals and magazines for publication. A blog can be a worthy publishing format. I get more reward from the comments, trackbacks, emails, and other feedback on my blog than from any other writing endeavor. Whatever style and format you choose, if you’re a writer, write. The opportunity is there.

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Transitioning from Literary Studies to Technical Communication

Tom Johnson — Thu, 20 Nov 2008 21:03:37 +0000

Last night, unable to sleep at about 4 a.m., either because I went to bed early or because I simply couldn’t sleep, I grabbed my BlackBerry, on its usual place on my nightstand, and began to read through my email and feeds, as I am accustomed to do, lying half-conscious on my pillow, when I saw this intriguing question from Harold Motley about whether the transition from literary studies to technical communication was fairly common, or rather difficult.

Harold writes,

I’ve just recently came across your website and I find your posts and podcasts very informative and interesting. I’m currently a third year undergraduate student studying English, philosophy and professional writing. In exploring possible post-undergraduate paths and careers, I have been extensively researching the careers of law and technical communication.

My strongest skill is writing; and most of the writing I do is through the form of papers, essays etc. in which I analyze text and form arguments. In addition to applying to law school I am also looking for other careers in which I can apply my strength and interest in writing.

I have looked at M.A. programs in Technical Communication and found a few in Chicago (where I live) and I was just wondering how beneficial this degree would be if I were to pursue a career in technical communication.

I do not have much technical knowledge aside from the standard programs like those in Microsoft Office. Would this hinder a successful transition into technical communication, or is the technical knowledge something I would acquire through grad school?

I’m planning on taking a technical writing class and another on writing & the Web, which I think would act as a good intro into technical communication. Is the transition from literary studies to technical communication fairly common, or is it rather difficult? Also, what’s your opinion on a M.A. in Technical Communication and Information Design vs. a M.A. in Information Architecture?

I greatly appreciate any feedback you can give.

Harold

To summarize, you’re debating between a career as a technical communicator or a lawyer, and you feel an inclination to pursue a masters program in technical communication because your strength is writing. If you pursue this route, you want to know whether you should get an advanced degree in some technical communication/information design/information architecture field.

First, let me say that I have no idea how to advise you. And according to Joel Spolsky and Dave Winer, the blogosphere has too many examples of people expounding on things — often from anecdotal evidence — without having any expertise in the subject.

In that spirit, I direct you to the excellent post Scott Nesbitt wrote yesterday, which is amazingly and coincidentally relevant to your question. Responding to the question of whether would-be technical writers should take courses, Scott writes,

If you want to [take courses in technical writing], fine. I’ve never taken a formal technical writing course and I’ve done OK. That’s not quite true; in the late 90s, I did start to do a certificate program in information design and finished about half of the required courses.

Essentially, I’m a street-trained technical writer and technologist. I learned the basics of tech writing from a textbook that I bought at my alma mater’s bookstore in the early 1990s. I put what I learned from that volume into practice by writing manuals for myself and for a community environmental group with which I volunteered. I critiqued those manuals, and others that I read. I wrote articles for technology publications. I taught myself HTML, graphics conversion, various computer skills, UNIX, and even tried to get a handle on SGML.

But a big part of my development as a technical communicator was the two years that I spent working at a financial software firm. Long hours, a mix of applications running on Windows and OpenVMS, and a lot of developers with a low tolerance for ignorance honed various skills.

That’s not to say a technical writing course won’t be useful. I just never saw the need for one. (“Becoming a Technical Communicator”)

Rather than putting all your effort into a technical writing course, Scott recommends you acquire technical knowledge related to whatever it is you’re documenting:

Aside from basic computer skills, you should have (or plan to acquire) a good level of technical knowledge. At the very least, you should have a cursory knowledge of the key technologies you will or may be working with, of programming and scripting languages, and more.

I echo what Scott says — if you need to know Java, or HTML, or some other technology, learn it. It may be more valuable to you than an academic degree.

Scott also brings up the importance of acquiring technical knowledge to gain respect from other team members. (Note: If respect is important to you, be sure to read this guest post: Technical Writing Careers – The Raw, Unvarnished Truth.)

About applying to law school — when I was in college, I had a similar dilemma as you. I didn’t know whether I should pursue law or writing. My father supported me in either direction, but he thought fondly of the idea of my “sallying forth to battle the evils of the world through law,” or something to that effect.

I decided, for reasons I can’t remember, to go in the direction of writing instead. A few years later, while I was getting an MFA in creative writing, I became friends with a Columbia law student. Often at his house there would be dozens of law books lying around — half read, with bookmarks in various places. I realized, looking at his reading, that I never had an interest in law and could care less about this or that legal decision. I looked back to my deliberation between law and writing as foolishness.

So my advice to you on careers is this: What kinds of books do you have lying around your house? What are your real interests? Are you looking into law because you find law interesting, or because it’s one of those classic careers that everyone considers?

Now granted, it’s unlikely that you have a bunch of technical writing manuals lying around your house. (If so, you are weird.) Most likely you have literary texts here and there. You should know that technical writing is not the same as literary analysis, but it is still writing. As a technical writer, the kind of content people pay you to write is not creatively fulfilling. But that doesn’t mean it’s not challenging — it can bend your mind in exhausting ways.

A 250 page manual for a complicated product may be more difficult to write than a master’s thesis. It may require a massive amount of deductive and inductive logic, as you try to figure out how the product works. You may spend months interviewing subject matter experts, asking them hundreds of questions about how the product functions, and then hundreds more to clarify their cryptic answers.

Once you accumulate a massive jumble of information, you’ll rack your brain trying to organize and arrange the content in a way that fits the vocabulary and behavior of your audience. You’ll shape and craft the manual, analyzing how each topic fits into the whole. You’ll shave words and phrases to increase the conciseness, rearrange one paragraph with another, deliberate over word choice and semantics, and consult various style manuals to ensure proper word choice, formatting, and punctuation.

As you near the end, you’ll go through the tedious editorial process, reviewing the printed manual with a red pen, circling, crossing out, writing notes, and then inputting your edits. Once you finish, you’ll feel a tremendous sense of accomplishment and breathe a heavy sigh of relief. Does this sound like a familiar process to you? It should.

Much like a scholarly essay on literature, almost no one will read it, except a select handful of people whom you will never meet. But you’ll still feel a lasting reward knowing that you conquered a monster and helped people come closer to the application truth, similar to how a literary scholar unfolds a book to show how the text really functions.

In brief, yes, your preparation in literary studies will prepare you well for the analytical and exhausting challenges of technical writing.

As to the question of which masters program I recommend, again, follow your interests. However, I see a lot more jobs for technical writers than I do for information architects or information designers. Given the state of the economy, you might not want to confine your specialty to a small niche that sounds cool, but in the end isn’t marketable.

Here are some other posts on the subject:

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photo from Flickr