My commanding officer, Bumpspark, has asked for a debrief. He is equal parts drill sergeant and field medic–tough love with a compassion for process. During the debrief, he won’t shine the light directly in my eyes, but he always asks the hard questions.
Writing is my weapon on the communication and technology battlefield. With each successive battle, the scars build, but my voice grows stronger. Writing is not easy. It has been a trudge through the barbwire of bad habits. I cringe when I write an email at work. The “business” speak and lathering of political correctness has watered down my voice. I stopped saying something long ago. But from the wounds, I have been reborn. I am ComTechSoldier. I march on.
As part of the debrief, I have completed the three rewrites that I planned at midterm. Is Technology Helping Us Be More Social?, Private vs. Public, and Why?–written when I was only a private–have been massaged into a stronger thesis. Never leaving a man behind, the original posts remain for comparison.
I learned a lot over these last seven weeks. Seven weeks are a lifetime in war. My faithful companion on the battlefield has been Zinsser. He has encouraged my writing to have brevity, a more developed thesis, and personality. Clutter is the enemy to clarity.
Bumpspark’s early comments on my voice were a stronger wakeup call then “taps.” Many pushups later, I finally started to say something. These comments still resonate in my ear:
“Your audience doesn’t want your feelings on any matter. They don’t want an opinion. They want your experience and facts.”
“You can’t have your cake and eat it too. You must argue. You need to say something definite quickly.”
“…small talk is terrible content.”
“…the audience is asking you for some kind of structure in everything you give them. It is your responsibility to craft and deliver.”
“…you need perspective. You need to stand out from the crowd.”
People want to see “you” in your writing. They need personal because so much information they are showered with is impersonal. The internet offers accessibility but very little filters. People need a soldier to lead the way.
I salute Otto and Bumpnoggin. They build up when they see promise and tear down when they see potential. They never pull punches. I hope they knew I had their back as much as they had mine.
I have barely entered the minefield, but I’m not afraid. The second you think you have arrived–that you become comfortable–is the moment you stop being “all that you can be.” Finding your voice is a race with no finish line.
War has a way of changing a soldier.
