Writing Boots

On communication, professional and otherwise.

Archives for March 2012

The goal is self-actualization, not self-censorship

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Andrew Kaye writes speeches for Vince Cable, the Business Minister of Britain. Kaye also likes to tweet about Brits, too. For instance, according to a report in The Sun, he called U.K. "grey" and a "shit heap," full of people "yakking on their fucking phones."

Naturally, I like Kaye's style, and a Department of Business spokesman defended him, saying, "These are private tweets, made in a private capacity."

But U.K. Speechwriters Guild founder Brian Jenner gently suggests to his speechwriting colleagues that Kaye is in the wrong: "Shouldn't our attitude be: I only express the opinions that I'm paid to."

Should a professional race car driver confine herself to public transportation?

Should a farmer not grow a garden?

Should a prostitute never have sex with his wife?

Not that speechwriters are prostitutes. Most aren't, actually. Most marry their ethics and their intellects—though not always passionately—with the institution and the speaker they serve. That's good.

But retaining one's own voice requires using it now and then—straight and loud and true.

At your own risk, of course. And with the hope that your honest opinions don't directly contradict the positions you professionally promote. In which case you would, in fact, be a prostitute.

Anyway: A.K., I've got your back. And B.J., upon reflection, I'm sure you do too.

Get me out of the ballgame

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From my Facebook friend, Mitt Romney:

Mitt has traveled thousands of miles on the road the last six months, visiting with Americans across the country. And now you have the chance to join him for Patriots’ Day in Boston.

Two lucky supporters will get to join Mitt in Boston to attend an opening homestand baseball game.

Now, far too much is made of the presidential test, "Is he someone you want to have a beer with?"

First of all, I always wonder if they really mean a beer, or do they mean—as I usually mean when I say a beer—six beers? It matters, because the guy with whom I want to have a beer with is not the same guy with whom I want to have six. And the guy who would pound six beers with me probably isn't presidential material, whereas the one-beer guy … anyway, the whole thing is very confusing for me.

But here you have Mitt Romney, who doesn't drink beer at all, and yet expects us to vie for a chance to go to a baseball game with him. Can you imagine? You'd be doing real good through the fourth or fifth inning—maybe you're only on your third Budweiser tall boy. But then the conversation hits another lull and, nervously, you reach between your legs for your sack of peanuts and you pour half your beer into the Mormon's lap, soaking his magic underpants on national TV.

At least, that's what would happen to me. Exactly what would happen to me.

Thanks, Governor, but I'll take a raincheck.