Be Clear.

In Lewis Carroll’s poem “The Walrus and the Carpenter,” there is nothing but ambiguity. We don’t know, for example, whether it’s day or night:

The sun was shining on the sea
Shining with all his might:
He did his very best to make
The billows smooth and bright –
And this was odd, because it was
The middle of the night.

The moon was shining sulkily,
Because she thought the sun
Had got no business to be there
After the day was done –
“It’s very rude of him,” she said,
“To come and spoil the fun.”

Though this confusion works well for Carroll’s famous bit of “nonsense verse,” a reader looking for a straightforward answer as to whether it’s night or day is going to leave confused.

Some might leave insisting it’s the middle of the night. “It says so, right at the end of the first verse!”

Others will rightly point out, though, that the sun is up in the first verse as well, and in the second verse, the moon is complaining about the sun’s presence. And since both moon and sun can appear together in the daytime, it’s logical to assume that since both are in the sky, it’s daytime, no matter what the first stanza declares.

Nobody’s all that satisfied with what these first verses mean – and Carroll likes it that way.

When you’re writing an essay, though, you need to be as clear as you can possibly be.

How to achieve that clarity?

You have to look at your writing through the eyes of the reader. Don’t assume what’s in your head is in the reader’s head as well.

Here’s an example:

My Grandpa Spiers smoked a pipe, worked on the railroad, and knew how to play the harmonica, mouth harp, and the musical saw. Because of that, he developed cancer of the jaw and died before he turned fifty.

Before you move on, pause for a moment. Re-read that example. And see if you can spot the ambiguity.

I have two purposes in this sentence, but one of them is muddled. I want, first of all, for you to get to know my Grandpa Spiers. He did indeed work on the railroad, and knew how to play a variety of unusual musical instruments. But the second purpose in that sentence – that his pipe smoking led to his death from cancer of the jaw – is muddled. I know what I mean. And it’s possible a few of you picked up on what I meant as well. But I’ll wager a fair number of you were wondering what the connection is between the railroad and the musical instruments he payed and his premature death from cancer.

Part of me wants to say, “give your readers the benefit of the doubt. They’re smart enough to make the connection between the pipe-smoking and the cancer.” But part of me knows there are some who are going to be confused by those two sentences and miss the connection. Or they’ll see the connection after they think about it for a bit. Even if they see the connection after a little while, I’ve not done my job as a writer. My job is to help readers see those connections right away.

So here goes.

My Grandpa Spiers worked on the railroad and knew how to paly the harmonica, mouth harp, and the musical saw. He also smoked a pipe – and that led to him developing cancer of the jaw and dying before he turned fifty.

You don’t have to re-read those sentences to understand the meaning or the connection, because I helped make the connection for you.

This is not you talking down to your readers. This is you helping your readers understand you more quickly.

Another example:

When my brother finished laying the last bricks on the chimney, I used the rake to finish the joints.

I know exactly what I mean, because I worked as a hod carrier – or bricklayer’s assistant – for many years. I’m sure some of you are wondering what I’m doing with a garden or leaf rake. Some of you are probably wondering what “joints” are in this context.

This is an example of ambiguity stemming from jargon and specialized experience. To make this useful to my readers, I have to slow down and explain a few things.

So here goes.

When my brother finished laying the last bricks on the chimney, I used the rake to finish the joints. A rake is a hand-held tool that has two small wheels on it. In the center is an adjustable nail that removes, or rakes out, mortar from between the bricks to give those mortar joints a more finished look.

I did have to add another sentence for clarity, but I hope that addition helped some of you get a better picture of what I’m writing about. I might even, if raking mortar joints is essential to the story I’m telling, provide photos or video, like this:



It’s important as you write – and as you offer feedback – to note where you or another writer needs to be more clear. If you don’t understand what someone has written, it’s a fair bet you’re not the only one who won’t understand. Help each other by pointing out ambiguity.

And if you’re an oyster and the walrus and the carpenter ask you to follow them for a beachside stroll, be like the old and wise oyster and stay put.