Which kind of writer are you?
Twelve quick questions, six characters from Dickens’s A Christmas Carol, and one mildly uncomfortable truth about how you write. It takes about 90 seconds.
There are no right answers. If neither option lands perfectly, choose the closer one.
The six writer types
Which one sounds like you? Take the quiz above to find out, then read the rest for fun.
Ebenezer Scrooge
Congratulations! You’ve maximized word economy in your writing. You use words sparingly, and you make every word tell. On rare occasion, you may break this rule, when deep conviction erupts from a dormant volcano of suppressed introspection. But usually you choose each word carefully, hoping to generate a calculated return. Balanced and fair though your formula may be, others interpret you as stingy with praise, overgenerous with criticism. You are mercilessly correct in most arguments; it’s not your fault if people are ungrateful for your withering proofs of their ineptitude. You tell yourself that’s your job, but you’ve begun to wonder if the premium you place on concision is undermining your intended effect on your readers. A monthly writing coach could help promote your concision into clarity.
Marley’s Ghost
Better late than never, old friend! Although the thoughts seldom flow when you want them to, eventually the heavens (or somewhere) open up. Then all at once you unload to the nearest warm body everything you should have said before. When you’re finally ready, you strike within a hairsbreadth of making your meaning crystal clear to your reader. Unfortunately, by then, they may gape, stare, and think, “THAT escalated quickly.” You earn major points for content; your structure and strategy need support. Consequently, the precious jewels of wisdom you offer people pile up in the coal bin. O, the chill you might spare yourself and your reader by heeding the advice of a monthly writing coach!
Mr. Fezziwig
Yo ho, my writer! Clear away the furniture and roll up the rug. Words come to you readily, and you pour them out like punch at a Christmas ball. You are most comfortable illustrating points with personal experience and stories, and your readers adore you for it. They arrive for a memo and stay for a party: three anecdotes, a fiddler, and a round of blind man’s buff. You always finish, and you always finish happy. But somewhere between the cold roast and the mince pies, your main point slipped out the back door. The happiness you give is quite as great as if it cost a fortune; the clarity you give could be greater still. A monthly writing coach could help you dance the jig and stick the landing. Write on, my good sir (or madam)—but make your point!
Bob Cratchit
Well done, faithful clerk! You’re the one who actually gets it written. Assign it at nine, and it’s on the desk by five: tidy, correct, and exactly as long as requested. You rarely stare at a blank page; you simply hunch over the high desk and scratch away. Bosses love you. Deadlines fear you. But whose voice is on the page? After years of writing in someone else’s register for fifteen bob a week, you may have forgotten you have a fire of your own. So you warm your hands at a single candle and call it enough. Your readers get competence; they rarely get you. A monthly writing coach could help you come down off the stool and write something worth signing with your own name.
Tiny Tim
Ah, fledgling writer, of tired mind but a stout heart! Your ideas add color to the grayest day. Your joy lightens the load of others. Only one thing you lack to achieve your writing goals: stamina. You’re an expert at starting; you’re a novice at finishing. Often when you do finish, you wonder if others know you meant to get farther than you did. But never fear! You’re so likable that most people are just happy you brought your idea to the table. You have mastered the art of writing down very little, while impressing people by writing down anything at all. Their praise may be gratifying, but you suspect you have barely begun to reach your potential as a writer. A monthly writing coach could carry you all the way to the finish. That’s writing coach, not crutch!
The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come
Spirit, you needn’t say a word. (You rarely do.) Silent, shrouded, and a little ominous, you’d rather point than put it in writing. You know precisely what needs saying; you’d simply prefer someone else say it. So the email gets delegated, the memo gets postponed, and the book you’ve meant to write since last Christmas waits in the dark. As a rule, you’re resistant to writing—maybe because you’re fearful of what it may expose. But silence speaks too, and not always kindly: people fill your quiet with their own worst guesses. Take heart. These are shadows of the things that may be, only. A monthly writing coach could help you trade the shroud for a signature.
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