Written by Scarlett Brou
A common piece of advice from professors, scholarship applicant reviewers, and potential employers is for college students to utilize “professional language” in career-focused and academic contexts. Whenever I am asked to define what this type of language looks like, I usually come up with three distinct characteristics. Professional language is:
- Formal (as opposed to informal or conversational)
- Direct and clear in communication (acknowledging both the audience and the purpose of writing)
- Elevated in diction (asserting a unique voice that presents a distinct image to the reader)
When asking for help with writing, most students expect to focus on the more surface-level issues of formality. We’ve been taught to “improve” our writing by only using grammatically consistent and objectively “correct” language—which, we are told, is what constitutes “good” writing.
Formal language, for most students, is taught as merely the absence of casual or “slang” vocabulary. But if there is no point of reference for students as to what their readers think is “formal” or “informal,” this recommendation falls flat—therefore, we need to approach this conception of language in a more productive way.
I believe that it is far more important to view the term “formal” as designating a context for the use of language, and what kind of language is effective in achieving one’s literary goals.
If, for example, I applied to an academic conference via an essay prompt, I would try to use language that was structured, deliberate, and concise because I would want to answer the question cohesively while also displaying my familiarity with college essay-writing.
If, instead, I was looking to contact a professional in my field to inquire about an internship, I would include language that was personable, coherent, and socially appropriate, because I want above all to make a lasting impression and impact on the professional.
The context of the academic conference or a potential internship influences what my formal language looks like, and the intended effect of my language is derived from that context. When looking to improve the formality of one’s language, writers should ask themselves these questions:
- Who is the audience for this piece of writing? What are their expectations of me?
- What do I want them to know (or feel) about me as a writer?
- What do I want my language to look like and why?
These questions will help students establish the context in which they are writing—which, in turn, makes it easier to understand how to further develop mature, compelling language.
While practicing implementing the rules of grammar is a necessary step in the writing process, it is absolutely more important for students (and all writers) to internalize that all the formal/grammatically sound language in the world cannot replace the effect of direct and clear communication.
The construction of all language is just a vehicle, a flexible supplemental force, to the intended impartation of the message or content that one wishes to deliver to the reader. It is the job of the writer to find the literary expression that best represents the content of what they are trying to communicate.
To be “direct” is to ultimately judge the content by what must be kept—and what can be removed without changing the reader’s understanding of one’s writing. This is an internal process built up through practice; a writer must find a balance between their innate abilities of articulation and a continuous state of questioning how to better complement the content through construction. Often, grammatical errors are a symptom of obscured content, and by focusing on what the sentence is trying to communicate, writers can more intuitively arrange their phrases and clauses.
Even the word “direct” gives us a good indication of the challenge in professional writing—there are infinite ways of writing or articulating an idea, and while none are necessarily “better” than another, we want our language to have a type of “direction”—a signpost clearly delineating the way to a message.
So, keeping in mind the fluidity of language, how do we create language that is direct?
The best example I can probably give is my own experience writing this article; I wanted to re-write the last two paragraphs before I moved on to this one, because the first attempt to get my thoughts about language on the page were, in my own opinion, too wordy and comma-heavy. This would have perhaps resulted in the reader not understanding my argument. I fully expect to have to go back and revise my language again, because I know my writing style well enough to know that some of my explanations will not be as accessible to readers as I would like them to be.
If I want my language to be direct (especially concerning abstract linguistic concepts), I have to refer back to both the purpose of this article (to educate) and the audience (students like myself). When I am finished with this article, I will have to come to a conclusion about if this writing is successful in what I want it to do—after which point this article leaves my own literary space and becomes collaborative, as my peers will proofread and give me commentary. The initial expressions of one’s thoughts are an integral component of getting a piece of writing started, but the final product will inevitably look very different—and more professional.
To break down my own writing process further, and to highlight the repetitive nature of developing direct language, here’s an example template:
- Outline points of article (basic sections)
- Organization for each section (definitions, examples, explanations)
- Actually write, answering the questions I’ve posed myself, engaging with potential revisions of sentences as I create them
- Revise for content (am I actually getting my meaning across?)
- Revise for construction (is my wording/sentence structure repetitive, bulky, or convoluted?)
- Read collaboratively (what is the perspective of the reader?)
Note how the last 3 steps in this process involve answering a specific question. Questions such as these encourage students to think critically not only about the subject of their composition but about their own intellectual position as a writer. Students looking to foster direct, communication-focused writing should expect to engage in repetitive practice, organization, questioning, and revision.
Additionally, adopting a perspective that expression in the form of written language is never singular, simple, or set in stone will aid students in becoming accomplished and robust writers not only for the contexts we previously discussed, but for other modes of communication as well. When a writer understands the context they are writing in and establishes a heightened awareness of audience and purpose, they become more comfortable with the process of writing itself. The significance of a writer’s comfort with their own style is codified in the concept of “elevated diction”—or, how we develop a completely individualized literary voice.
I have placed heavy emphasis on the importance of cultivating direct, context-appropriate language because without these secure foundations, it is difficult for students to truly stretch their writing muscles. If one does not acknowledge these underlying mechanisms, it becomes easy for our language to become muddled, “fluffy,” vague, generalized, depersonalized, or tedious to both write and read. The steps to elevate one’s diction—to figuratively “raise” their mastery over language—are, on paper, pretty simple:
- Read
- Write
There is, unfortunately, no substitute for the significant impact the act of reading has on one’s writing abilities. I say “unfortunately” because I understand how difficult it is for many people to read on a regular basis. However, even the most cursory acts of reading embolden one’s critical thinking, understanding of linguistic context, and overall vocabulary. As we read others’ writings, we are exposed to the freedom of creation that we would not have otherwise seen. The subconscious processes that go into the active choice to read all help develop one’s diction; the more one reads, the more mastery they have over their own writing. Even the act of reading this blog post has increased your ability to conceptualize and internalize the functions of language.
The last step for synthesizing elevated diction is perhaps the hardest behavioral change for anyone to make—to commit to writing consistently. But again, similarly to the issue of reading, the act of writing, of practicing one’s skills, wherever and whenever you can, will result in language that is as unique to you as your fingerprints, which is by and far the most effective type of language for any situation. I will end this article with a quote from the poet Mary Oliver in order to inspire readers to respect their inherent and incredible literary potential:
“Because the process of writing is not fully understood—we don’t know what part of ourselves we use to write, from what part of ourselves the writing comes—it’s important to nourish whatever part of ourselves that is the writer.”
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