NOTE: This is a little something I whipped up for my BYU-Idaho students this week.
A few of you have asked me privately to comment on your
individual attempt to declutter that now-famous Three Cluttered Pigs
assignment. Rather than do that, I’m going to provide a classwide example of
two ways I’d do it, then discuss each way (both the good points and the bad
points).
First, the original paragraph:
Upon hearing that the local indigenous predator was in the
neighborhood in the act of prowling and in search of food, the oldest in age of
three pigs made the decision to make some modifications to his domicile. While
his male siblings perpetuated their inactive lifestyles by experiencing all
sorts of fun activities like dancing and ice hockey, he maximized his efforts
and worked hard to rebuild his house with bricks. His efforts were the cause of
much laughter for the other two pigs. His house was mocked by them over and
over, repeatedly, but he refused to give heed to them. When the time came and
the wolf appeared, the other two pigs, who tried to hide in houses of hay and
sticks, received an unexpected surprise and quickly became fast food for the
hungry wolf, who hadn’t eaten in days. But the wolf, continuing to experience
hunger, was not satisfied, so he made the decision to visit the third pig as
well and give him an invitation to join him for dinner. The wolf was not aware
that the pig had been diligently and faithfully working to fortify his home.
When the wolf tried to gain entrance by using his nose to blow the house down with
a huffing and puffing action, he quickly became the victim of a depleted supply
of oxygen to his cerebrum and lost all sense of consciousness. The pig was
triumphant in the end and beat the wolf with the use of a hard work ethic and a
big, large stick.
The eyes bleed reading this. It’s hard to decide who is
doing what. There are a lot of extra words that get in the way of the story.
And it’s 258 words long.
So, you could just edit the thing, like this:
Better, right? A lot of the redundancies are gone. Some of
the big words are now smaller words. And it’s now only 201 words long.
Improved, right?
But it’s still a little awkward.
Take that first sentence – who is doing all this action? The
pig, right? But we have to swim through a lot about the wolf prowling to get to
him. That’s making us work too hard. And I don’t know about you, but I’m a lazy
reader. If I can’t figure out who is doing what in the first read through, I
might read a second time. But I’m also as likely to skip over what didn’t make
sense and keep on reading – hoping further light will come.
So I continue reading. I see at first (if I read that first
sentence right) that the pig is modifying his home. Later on, he’s rebuilding
his home. Then he’s fortifying his home. Modify. Rebuild. Fortify. Can he do
all at once? I’m having a hard time figuring out what he’s doing to this shack.
And there’s still a lot of weird vocabulary here. Maybe I
ought to try again:
“The wolf is coming,” the third little pig said, “and my
house won’t stand against him.” Wolves are always hungry, he thought. This one
won’t stop at the doormat if he knows there’s pork behind it. He kicked his
wooden door and it fell to pieces. “No,” he said. “This won’t do.”
He found a book on house-building, left in a pile he
inherited from his father. He found in town a man willing to trade him bricks
for wild strawberries. Bricks and strawberries. Strawberries and bricks.
His two younger brothers laughed at him in his mania.
“You’re missing all the fun,” the first little pig said. “Besides, who wants to
live in a rock pile when you could live in a house of hay or of wood? The hay
smells sweet, and the wood is smooth! Not like those awful, rough bricks!” They
danced as he gathered his strawberries. They played hockey as he laid his
bricks. And every night they went to bed in their little houses built of hay
and built of wood, laughing as their foolish brother attempted to lay brick by
moonlight.
He didn’t listen to their scorn. He kept his ears cocked for
other noises, far off in the night.
Then, the night after the final brick on the chimney was put
in place and the final bit of slate was in place on the roof, the first little
pig heard the noise he feared: A howl, quite near, followed by clacking jaws
and the drip, drip of drool on the cobblestones.
The wolf.
“So hungry,” the wolf whispered to herself. “So –“ she
sniffed the air. She sniffed again, puffing her chest out until the ruff of fur
tickled her chin. “Mmmmm,” she thought, licking her lips. “Pork.”
She put her nose to the cobbles and swiftly darted through
the night, tail whisking through the air. She found the house of the first
little pig and without a word blew, knocking the house of hay to bits. With a
leap and a clack she had her meal.
“Still hungry,” the wolf said through a burp. Nose back to
the cobbles. Nose to the house of wood. Nose through the rubble and nose to the
air, howling after another morsel.
“So hungry,” the wolf said. And because it had worked
before, she put her nose to the ground and followed the scent of pork and sweat
and wild strawberries. She ran faster, anticipating the feast, and bruised her
nose as she ran it into the brick steps of the house of the third little pig.
“The line, the line,” she thought to herself. Then howled:
“Little pig, little pig, let me come in!”
“Not on your life, sister,” the little pig shouted.
The wolf stood aghast. “There’s protocol here, pig. Lines to
say, you know!”
“I know,” the little pig said. “But I shaved my
chinny-chin-chin. You’re NOT coming in.”
The wolf drew a deep breath and blew. Windowpanes rattled,
but the bricks stood.
The wolf drew a deeper breath and blew. Cottonwood fluff
flew through the air, but the bricks stood.
The wolf drew a deeper breath still. Coughed. “Oh, oh my,”
she said. “I’m a little – “she staggered on the doorstep “dizzy.”
Under the moonlight, the wolf collapsed.
The little pig peeped out his front door. From a stand in
the corner, he pulled out a shotgun.
Crows darted from their nests in the trees when the shot
rang out.
So, in one way I screwed up. This is 578 words long. Much,
much longer than the original text. And, yes, I cheated. I added details to the
story that aren’t there before. But did I change the meaning of the text? I
hope not. And, I hope, I made this more enjoyable to read. Sometimes clearing
clutter isn’t enough to make a text worth reading.
Here’s the rub: Sometimes you’ve got to rebuild a text, much
like the little pig rebuilt his house. The pig could have used additional wood
to reinforce his house, but fundamentally it would have still been the same
house underneath.
I know this is a different kind of writing than what we’re
used to in an academic setting. This is creative writing, not essay writing.
Well, I don’t believe the two have to be mutually exclusive. There are plenty
of essays out there where writers use details and dialogue – the foundation of
creative writing -- to help make their point and to help the reader through the
story to that point.
ALSO IT SHOULD BE NOTED: This is not the one correct way to
do things. This is one way to do things, and whether it is correct is in the
eye of the beholder. In writing, we are all (or should be) like AlexanderCalandra’s student: Searching for many answers, not just one answer. This is
how I would revise the text. This is not the only way it should be done. Each
of us can come up with our own revisions, and our own justifications. If you
want a subject with a right answer and a wrong answer, you don’t find it in
English class.
Here’s an essay on grief in which the author uses copious
details to connect to his dead father through memorabilia and old Sherlock
Holmes films.
Here’s an essay on public education in which the author,
C.S. Lewis, uses allegory to criticize trends in public education.
Here’s an essay on what it’s like to attend San DiegoComic-Con.
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