Writing to Be Read

As writers, we all aspire to have people read the words we have so carefully crafted, don’t we?

Well, I suppose there are some who write and hide their work in desktop folders or in repurposed shoeboxes buried deep within their closets, never meant for the public eye. But, hey, if you’re perusing this site—which means you have at least a marginal interest in improving your craft—you likely don’t fall into that second category.

We might choose to write for a myriad of reasons but the endgame usually involves sharing our work in some way. The question is: how do others receive that work? Is what I’m writing about resonating with an audience? Am I communicating my thoughts and ideas clearly? As my husband would say when he’s trying to get a point across, “Are you picking up what I’m putting down?”

In many ways, the road to finding an audience has to do with readability. You want your reader to be able to comprehend the words you have painstakingly pieced together to find meaning and connection. You want your reader’s experience to be positive, so they continue reading and hopefully come back for more!

The average American adult reads at a 7th- to 8th-grade level. But more than half of all U.S. adults read at a 6th-grade level or below. So it makes sense that the lower a text’s readability is, the more people it could potentially reach. Case in point: many fiction bestsellers (think James Patterson and John Grisham) are written between a 4th- and 6th-grade reading level.

Editor's note: Shocking as these statistic are, they are true and trending down. Check out some additional reading at the National Literacy Institute.

After discovering that fact, though, the arrogant creative in me wondered why I had to “dumb down” my writing just so that the minimally-educated masses could consume it.

Little did I know that I would be eating a healthy serving of humble pie very shortly thereafter.

Unconventional Structure Affects Readability

Neurodivergent (ND) writers understand that our brains are not always organized in a linear way. We often stray into tangents, veering into a flashback or a new subplot and then back again. But no one said novels must progress chronologically. Many novels have unconventional structures and sell millions of copies, so this linear arrangement isn’t required.

Recently, I submitted my novel’s opening chapters to a contest. Among the feedback I received was a comment that there was “a good deal of time jumps.” My manuscript includes evenly-dispersed flashback chapters that provide much-needed backstory and emotional context for my protagonist. To my neurodivergent mind, it makes perfect sense. But if this structure confuses my readers–which in turn affects readability—I have a problem.

Objectivity Can Be Elusive

Adjusting a piece of writing for readability calls for editing. Create shorter sentences. Find words with fewer syllables. Use simpler vocabulary. And, I suppose, have the story follow a logical sequence.

Sounds easy, right?

Except that it’s not... especially for neurodivergents.

In my case, my OCD requires me to read and reread the same sentence/paragraph/chapter to make sure it’s perfect. And by perfect, I mean that I question each word choice, analyze the structure of each sentence, and debate the use of em dashes versus ellipses, all while checking if what I’ve written actually communicates what I want it to, not just what I THINK it does. 

And for extra fun, OCD compels me to keep editing until it “feels right,” so God only knows how long that will take. 

But then my ADHD kicks in, and I can’t seem to focus on one thing for more than a few minutes at a time. While I’m in the middle of editing one section, my brain is ping-ponging around. I’m second-guessing what I’ve already done and stressing about what is still left to do, so that I can’t focus on the words that are right in front of me.

I think many neurodivergent writers would agree that evaluating our own work requires an objectivity that eludes us. 

We’ve all heard the conventional advice that suggests putting our newly-minted draft aside for a week, a month, or even a year to give it some “distance” before we begin the editing process.

Except that NDs can never put distance between our brains and our work because we are ALWAYS THINKING ABOUT IT. It’s nearly impossible to be objective.

Editor (with ADHD) is feeling called out. We can go through those motions but have no real understanding what it's like to actually HAVE distance. It's the time-blindness thing all over again: everything is either now or not now.

Who Am I Writing For?

I guess it comes down to this: are we writing for others or for ourselves? In other words, are we trying to reach as many readers as possible? There’s something to be said for having our work be accessible to a wide swath of humans out there. Or are we trying to stay true to how we want to tell our story, despite it possibly not having mass appeal?

As with so many other existential questions, there is no right or wrong answer.

And remember when I got all high-and-mighty about the prospect of “dumbing down” my novel? I ran it through an online readability checker. It came back on a 4th-grade level.

Who’s the dummy now?!

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About the author: Karen is a writer, teacher, audiobook lover, and Wordle enthusiast from New Jersey. She has ADHD and OCD, yet she still thinks she can pull off writing the “Great American Novel” for the masses to read. Her favorite activities are spoiling her granddaughters (yes, she has TWO now!), traveling to warm climates, snort-laughing with friends, and sipping a good Cosmopolitan. Visit her online at www.karenkinley.com.