In the company of writers

This section allows readers to "meet" authors and to learn about the personal inspirations and influences that compel people to write for publication. We invite all readers to share their own literary experiences. In this issue, we hear from author Martha Heineman Pieper.

- Howard Goldstein, Editor

MANY CLINICIANS HAVE VALUABLE INSIGHTS to communicate but are hesitant to communicate their insights in formal writing. In this essay, I want to share with you one writer's thoughts on how to make the process of writing both pleasurable and rewarding.

If you are like me, years of student papers taught you that writing is difficult, painful, and done mainly to meet other people's specifications. As students, we are often required to write on topics in which we have only moderate interest. Worse still, students are writing for a reader who already knows the subject matter and who is by definition a judge rather than an interested learner. In many courses, the function of writing even degenerates to the point of policing whether students are reading their assignments. This is hardly a situation that fosters a love of the writing process.

But when we choose to write, the writing process is transformed. Only when I was able to sit down at my computer of my own free will and say things that felt important to me did I realize that writing can be one of life's great pleasures.

Perhaps the best part of elective writing is that we get to choose the reader. Despite the popular image of an author as an artist following her muse in solitude, the process of sharing clinical insights in writing is best thought of as a relationship experience. There is always another person in the room with me when I write, and all of my writing is a conversation with that person.

I try to speak directly to the person I want to reach and with whom I want to share meaningful ideas. For example, when I wrote "The Privilege of Being a Therapist," which appeared in the September-October issue of Families in Society (Pieper, 1999).

1 conjured up a clinician who knew nothing about my point of view but who was tired of the same old practice cliches, worn down by the frustrations she encountered in her daily practice, and eager to learn a new approach.

Once I get a draft completed and enter the editing stage, I invite a new person into my workspace, an individual who is both knowledgeable and critical. Because she is judgmental and spoiling for a fight, it is important to bar the Critic from the room during the creative process. If she were the first person in the room with me when I put fingers to keys, little would ever get written. I feel certain that many cases of writer's block result from allowing the Critic into the writing process prematurely. When I do ask for her help, the Critic asks troubling questions such as, "That's just an assertion! - where's your evidence)", "How is that different from what every other psychodynamic clinician would do?"; and "Why did you say that to the client?" While the Critic is hard to please, once I satisfy her, I can relax in relative confidence that my writing does not contain gaps or other major flaws.

When the person with whom we choose to converse in writing truly represents the audience we want to reach, success is assured once we manage to speak fully and clearly to that individual. Sometimes, though, it takes a lot of effort, considerable feedback, and many attempts to get the right person in the room with us.

For example, when I first sat down to write a parenting book based on the principles of intrapsychic humanism (Pieper, 1990), 1 imagined I was speaking to a parent who was interested in hearing a comparison of the different schools of parenting advice and a reasoned argument showing why ours should be chosen. When I showed my first draft to real parents, however, I discovered that they didn't have the luxury to think abstractly about parenting and needed concrete help now. So the parent in my office changed to a harried mother of two. As more and more parents read and commented on drafts of the book, the mother of two became more real. She wanted to be nice to her children but worried about spoiling them. She expected too much of her children but didn't know what expectations were developmentally appropriate.

Once I got to know my reader, all the trouble I had had achieving the right tone melted away along with the clauses and technical words that are staples of my academic writing. This mother needed action sentences she could understand and put into play. I am happy to say that since the publication of "Smart Love: The Compassionate Alternative to Discipline that Will Make You a Better Parent and Your Child a Better Person" (Pieper, 1999) in May, not one parent has reported that the book is difficult to read. I credit the harried mother who became my constant companion. Another pleasurable byproduct of sharing your clinical knowledge with others in writing is that the process inevitably sharpens and clarifies your own thinking. I never write anything until I have done a thorough outline (even though every writing teacher told you to do this, it is still a good idea). No matter how intensively or incisively I believe I have delved into a topic, once I actually sit down to outline my thoughts I inevitably discover that there is a lot of mental work left undone: the points I want to make are not always related to each other in the way I have assumed (some are more general, some more specific), or there are gaps in the chain of reasoning that need to be filled. By the time I have a satisfactory working outline, I have learned an enormous amount about my subject matter. Teachers remark that they never forget a topic they have taught to a class. Similarly, once you have struggled successfully to put your thoughts about a problem into logical form, you own that knowledge deeply and forever.

Summing up, I am suggesting that the writing process becomes infinitely more appealing and gratifying when we pursue it within a relationship. Spend some time thinking of your intended reader, and then give her a name, a face, and a reason to want to hear what you are going to say. As you converse with her, make sure that you solicit her input and try to maintain her interest and attention. Don't forget to invite the Critic in to comment on later drafts. These guests will keep you from feeling lonely while you write, and once they give their approval, you will have a well-founded confidence in your finished product.

References

Pieper, M. H. (1999). The privilege of being a therapist: A fresh perspective from intrapsychic humanism on caregiving intimacy and the development of the professional self. Families in Society, 80(5), 479-88.

Pieper, M. H., & Pieper, W J. (1990). Intrapsychic humanism: An introduction to a comprehensive psychology and philosophy of mind. Chicago: Falcon 11 Press.

Pieper, M. H., & Pieper, W J. (1999). Smart love: The compassionate alternative to discipline that will make you a better parent and your child a better person. Boston: Harvard Common Press.

Martha Heineman Pieper is a clinical social worker, 400 East Randolph Street Suite 1905, Chicago, IL 60601.

Copyright Manticore Publishers Jan/Feb 2000
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