AT and its elocutionary

Alexander Technique and its elocutionary inheritance: A view of how we got to here

By Malcolm Williamson. Part 2 of a two-part, serialised article

John Thelwall, continued Thelwall opened his school of elocution first in Liverpool (c.1805) and then, soon having moved to London, summoned his wife and son Algernon to assist with its running (Rockey 1979, p. 171, footnote 120): ‘College for the Cure of all Impediments of Speech, not connected with absolute privation of hearing; whether originating in mal-conformation, in accidental injuries, in mental agitation, or imitative habit’ (Thelwall 1810, p. 185). By the nineteenth century there were four divisions to the art and science of elocution: (1) voice management, (2) vocal production, (3) gesture and (4) professions centred on whether the range of ‘stuttering’ impediments were a disease – for which doctors claimed to be uniquely qualified to treat – or whether the aetiology lay in mental (emotional) or ‘moral’ causes that were amenable to instruction by non-medical elocutionists. There had been a long tradition for relatively minor operations; tonsils removal and shortening the uvula were common – the latter was recommended to Alexander (Alexander 1985, p. 24 note). And, for those who were ‘tongue tied’, snipping the fraenum or ‘bridle of the tongue’ was at times

orthoepy – i.e. study of the correct or accepted pronunciation of words. Thelwall, like other elocutionists, benefitted from being closely associated with the medical profession (doctors could supply a steady stream of clients) but he also distanced himself from their seeming arbitrary and often brutal treatments. Thelwall formulated his principle of ‘rhythmus’ – speaking in a rhythmic flow that synchronised with the stressed and unstressed syllabic pattern (meter) of spoken language. Thus, his method was at once a technique for curing speech defects such as stammering, and a technique for teaching a just and pleasing manner of speaking. Thelwall did not write about his methods but he is credited with shaping a new profession, along with practitioners like James Hunt (1833-1869), Alexander Melville Bell (18191905) and Emil Behnke (1836-1892). He set new trends and standards for elocution with his open sharing of knowledge, sowing the seeds of modern speech subjects such as oral interpretation, voice training, phonetic science, and speech therapy (Haberman, p. 297). Rockey (1979, p. 169) traces the association between the dramatic and pathological aspects of speech from Thelwall through to the training programme at the Central School for Speech and Drama, established by Elsie Fogerty around 1920.

Thomas Hunt (1802-1851) and James Hunt (1833-1869) Finally, we take a brief look at the family partnership of Thomas Hunt and his son, James. Thomas was a tenant farmer living near Corf Castle in Dorset. He was destined for the church. He spent two years at Trinity College, Cambridge where he helped a fellow student and decided instead to become a speech correctionist practising in London’s fashionable Regent Street. Thomas had an ill-tempered exchange with an editorial writer in the medical journal, The Lancet who referred to him as “a mere vocal posture-master” (Rockey 1980, p. 236) . (The writer is identified by Rockey as William Tyler Smith, James Yearsley’s brother-in-law (Rockey 1980, p. 103, note 89).) Arguments between the medical and elocution regarded as routine by nursery nurses! (Thelwall 1810, pp. 12, 49, 51, 205-7; Hunt, pp. 209-215)6 For a short period around 1841, the Prussian surgeon Frederick Dieffenbach was more ambitious, severing nerves and slicing the tongue (Rockey 1980, 199-217). In England, Yearsley led the field. Thomas Hunt (and son) were fierce critics of the surgeon’s knife as a cure for speech impediment calling surgeons “slashers” (Rockey 1980, p. 214). They insisted stuttering was ‘more or less a functional disorder’ lacking ‘some proper regulation or use’ and ‘that discipline of the vocal and articulating organs, under an experienced instructor, is the only means of overcoming impediments of speech’ (Hunt, pp. 93, 151, 154).7 Despite his confrontational stance, Smith had some prescient ideas. Rockey identifies him as the ‘Physician Incognito’, author of Nature and Causes of Stammering (Rockey 1980, p. 139). In it he theorised that inappropriate muscles were stimulated by the volition to speak which,

‘. . . is, as it were, dispersed at the point where it excites the motor fibres, so that it excites a large number of them, or a different series than would be proper for the effect desired. As a consequence of this dispersion, other muscles contract besides those which are necessary, and by their contrary action put a stop to articulation, or prevent it for a time. An increase of the effort to speak usually adds to the severity of the impediment, and puts

“An increase of the effort to speak usually adds to the severity of the impediment, and puts a still larger number of muscles in action...

«continued from previous page a still larger number of muscles in action, until, at length, the right chords happening to be struck, the stream of language flows on, till overtaken by a fresh clog of similar description. (Rockey 1980, p. 148; ‘Physician’ [Smith], pp. 24-5).

Before the Weber brothers described inhibitory action of the vagus nerve two years later (1845), physiologists had no inkling of inhibitory regulation. Without this knowledge, the only logical way to overcome a bad habit was to do something different by the sheer force of will power. Old Man Hunt was adamant ‘stammering was no organic disease, but simply the loss of a habit (always unconscious) of articulation’ (Hunt, p. 181) for, as his son pointed out, the ‘whole speech-apparatus may be in a healthy state, and yet the enunciation of the vowels may be faulty, from misemployment, or from defective association of the various organs upon which the proper articulation of the vowels depends’ (Hunt, p. 11). So was the cause too little (or too much) breath, spasmodic closure of the glottis, lack of control over the tongue and lips or some combination of them all? It was well known that many pupils did not stutter when they whispered. Whispering does not involve phonation. The glottis is passive and so only two neural combinations (breathing and the articulating organs) have to be mastered:

‘The stutterer can produce all consonants in a whispering mode’ as this does not require ‘the synchronous action between the muscles of the larynx and the oral canal, the breath being articulated without the participation of the vocal ligaments’ (Hunt, pp. 19, 40). However, stutter happened ‘immediately when he uses the voice and connects the consonants with a vowel’ (Hunt, p. 22).

Despite their mutual animosity, this was another point on which the Hunts and Smith agreed (Rockey 1980, p. 151; ‘Physician’ [Smith], p. 26-7). James Hunt continued his father’s practice gathering the latest theories and opinions from Great Britain, Europe and America in his book, Stammering and Stuttering, first published in 1861. It demonstrates that, at its best, elocution was much more than ‘a method of varnishing the voice, and of teaching the imitation of some particular style or rhythmical mode of speaking and reading’ (Hunt, p. 220), and Hunt identifies many principles later adopted by Alexander. Briefly:

Nature

‘All that I ever pretended to, was to have rigidly followed in the footsteps of my late father, who, by unshackling himself from preconceived theories and by taking nature as his guide, has established the basis of a method which has now stood the test of time . . .’ (Hunt, p. 172). ‘For nature, plastic and kind, slips willingly into the new and yet original groove, and becomes what she was meant all along to be; and though to be conscious of the cause of every articulate sound which is made, even in a short sentence, is a physical impossibility, yet a general watchfulness and attention to certain broad rules enable her, as she always is inclined to do , to do right on the whole. For after all, right is pleasanter than wrong, and health more natural than disease; and the proper use of any organ, when once the habit is established, being in harmony with that of all other organs, and with the whole universe itself, slips on noiselessly, it knows not how . . .’ (Hunt, p. 250)

Correct attitude

‘The great object, however, in all cases, is to impart to the patient mental tranquillity and self-control’ (Hunt, p. 187).

‘To effect a perfect cure, it is absolutely necessary to appeal to reason, and arouse the will to a vigilant control over all the voluntary nerves and muscles’ (Hunt, p. 224).

Wholeness

‘It has ever formed part of my system to combine oral instruction with the practical training of all the organs, directly or indirectly concerned in the production of sound and speech, by means of appropriate gymnastic exercise calculated to strengthen the respective organs, so as to bring them under the control of the pupil; and

I have the satisfaction of knowing that few have left my establishment without great improvement in their general health’ (Hunt, p. 162).

Psychophysical

‘. . . as the production of voice is intimately connected with the act of respiration, it is not surprising that the vocal and articulating apparatus is instantly affected by the state of our feelings and thoughts’ (Hunt, p. 28).

‘The intimate relations of body and mind, and their mutual dependence upon each other, are constantly manifested in the phenomena of utterance. Thus in many cases the infirmity is increased or diminished, according to the impaired or healthy state of the digestive and other functions’ (Hunt, p. 163).

Habit and unreliable sensory appreciation

‘Indeed, as a rule, it may be asserted that the stutterer is the worst possible judge of the peculiarity of his own case. Why is this? The explanation which I believe to be satisfactory is, that continued misuse induces the nerves of that part to cease performing their functions. . . . [S] ensations become gradually weaker and weaker, and at

«continued from previous page last cease altogether [the habit of sensation], although the impression on the nerves still takes place’ (Hunt 4345 citing J. A. Unzer, Principles of Physiology 1851).

‘Although for some years I stood alone in my declaration, that it was impossible to give written instructions for the cure of defective articulation, I am happy to find that this position is admitted by some of the best authorities not only in this country but also on the Continent’ (Hunt, p. 171).

Manner of use

‘All mechanical aids – be they what they may – are bad. . . . A mechanical contrivance may alter the form of stammering, but right use can only remove misuse’ (Hunt, p. 101).

Avoidance of end-gaining Hunt advises against following Beesel’s advice (Danzig, 1843)8 ‘especially that part in which he recommends practising difficult words and sentences’ (Hunt, p. 102) that, without first improving manner of use, would do nothing to bring about positive change to the underlying habit.

Conclusions This has been a brief and necessarily selective overview. The phenomenon of stuttering has fascinated and bewildered specialists through history. The arena is inhabited by charlatans, quacks and genuine experts on both sides of the medico-elocutionary dichotomy. Focus has been on England as the centre of the English-speaking world but advances were also being made elsewhere. Paris, for instance, led the way in teaching the deaf to speak (Rée). The common problem was not knowing what caused some people to stutter? Was it some physical disfigurement, a derangement of the nerves, a bashful or timid disposition, or a result of fear or shock? Could it be a side-effect of civilization itself; was stuttering less common in countries where the language or accent was more musical? Viewed from the perspective of an Alexander teacher, certain themes stand out and others are notable by their absence. The work of the Hunts is identified as some of the most thoughtful and perceptive. Yet, despite measures to improve their pupils’ health and fitness, their method does not seem to have included a self-administered technique for preventing harmful habits and improving conditions of general use and functioning as basic to vocal use. It is obvious with the advantage of hindsight and also clear how remarkable was Alexander’s contribution. He read what was available, mainly Hill’s Oratorical Trainer by the father of his teacher and friend, Frederick Wyndam Hill. Alexander lived with Fred for fifteen months having access to his books9 though they would have provided little practical help. For instance, the Philadelphia-based Dr. Andrew Comstock’s treatment was described by one pupil as, ‘the exercising of the voice by reading aloud in unison with others, for several hours daily’ (Potter, p. 56). Rachel Zahn identified Alexander’s originality as being unique in the West for his discovery of non-doing (Zahn, p. 377).10 The mistake of encouraging pupils to try harder before they have applied that ‘wonderful force’ of conscious inhibition and stopped their harmful habits seems obvious to us (Alexander 1910b, p. 37; 1918, p. 23). Yet, despite all the attention given to speech impediment over the centuries, it seems to have eluded everyone’s notice before Alexander. Today ironically, the AT profession often struggles to articulate its work in a way that is truly meaningful to a wider world. Alexander teachers are in a situation rather like that of speech therapists in the 1950s, ‘poised between education and medicine, claiming affinity with both, defending their independence against both, and enjoying the patronage of neither’ (H.M.S.O. 1972, pp. 12-13. Cf. ibid., pp. 100-101 in Rockey 1979, p. 157). But, slowly but surely, we are getting there.

Notes 6 In 1893, Alexander was recommended by his medical advisers to have his uvula shortened by a minor operation, but he did not follow their advice. He had little doubt that he was suffering from ‘clergyman’s sore throat’ (Alexander 1985, p. 24, note). 7 Alexander makes a similar argument (Alexander 1910a, p. 115): ‘I cannot think it possible that Dr Spicer could even claim to be a teacher of voice-production. He has had no practical knowledge, no professional experience as an actor, a public singer, reciter or elocutionist . . .’ 8 Belehrung über die Entstehung, Verhütung und Heilung des Stotterns [Instruction on the origin, prevention and healing of stuttering]. 9 ‘Fred. Wyndham Hill, Professor of Elocution. (Son and Pupil of late T.P. HILL, Author “ORATORICAL TRAINER” . . . Mr F. M. Alexander, who gave Mr Hill a warm written testimonial, and made him two handsome presents (in no way solicited) as marks of appreciation of his teacher’s efforts during Mr Alexander’s fifteen months’ residence at Mr Hill’s house.’ Reporter 1897, op. cit. 10 Stuttering in Alexander’s books: MSI 1910, 60; MSI 1918/1996, 34, 136, 180-1 (imitation); CCCI 1923/2004, 923; UOS 1932/1985, (Ch. IV) 70-85; UCL 1942/2000, 29-30, 67-9, 87 (running ahead).

Illustrations John Broster, mezzotint by Thos. Hodgetts. Hurst, Robinson & Co. after John Syme 1825. National Portrait Gallery of Scotland. No. D827. ‘PORTRAIT OF JOHN BROSTER, Esq. F.A.S. of Edinburgh, Discoverer of the System for the Effectual Removal of Impediments of Speech. Published at the request of his Pupils, from an Original Picture by Syme. Sold by Archibald Constable & Co. and William Blackwood,

«continued from previous page Edinburgh; and Hurst, Robinson, & Co. 29 Cheapside, and 8 Pall Mall, London.’ (The Literary Gazette, Journal of Belles Lettres, Arts, Science, &c. January 22, 1825, no. 418, p. 63.) John Thelwall, National Portrait Gallery, London. No. D38540. John Gough, by permission of the Kendal Museum. Thelwall’s residence, 57 Lincoln’s Inn Fields, London in Rockey 1979, plate between pp. 62-3.

Bibliography Alexander, F.M. (1894). ‘Elocution as an Accomplishment’ in Articles & Lectures: 3-5. Alexander, F.M., Hill, F.W. Reporter (Box Hill, Vic) Fri 4 Jun 1897, p.3. Alexander, F.M. (c.1900). The Human Voice, John Andrew & Co., Printers, Bridge Street, Sydney Alexander, F.M. (1908). ‘Re-Education of the Kinæsthetic Systems’ in Articles & Lectures: 79-85. Alexander, F.M. (1910a). ‘A Protest against certain Assumptions . . .’ in Articles & Lectures, p. 107-118. Alexander, F.M. (1910b). Man’s Supreme Inheritance. London: Methuen & Co. Ltd. Alexander, F.M. (1996/1918). Man’s Supreme Inheritance. London: Mouritz. Alexander, F.M. (1985/1932). The Use of the Self. London: Victor Gollancz. Alexander, F.M., Fischer, J.M.O. (ed.) (1995). F. Matthias Alexander, Articles and Lectures. London: Mouritz. British Medical Journal, ‘Letters, notes etc.’, Vol. 1, No. 1410, Jan. 7, 1888. Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine, July – December 1825. Chesterfield, Earl of (1748). Letters to His Son by the Earl Of Chesterfield on the Fine Art of becoming a Man of the World and a Gentleman. Letters 1746-1771. LETTER XLII, LONDON, June 21, 1748. (Gutenberg Project) Critical Review [The]: or, Annals of Literature by A Society of Gentlemen, vol. 2, 1756. Davies, J. (2016). ‘A Hundred Tongues: George Darley’s Stammer’ in Bradshaw, M, (ed.) Disabling Romanticism. Literary Disability Studies. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan: pp. 191-210. White Rose eprints, University of Leeds. Dunlap, W. (1813). Memoirs of the Life of George Frederick Cooke (2 Vols.). New York: D. Longworth. Fischer, J.M.O. [2019] ‘Some thoughts on Alexander’s story of the evolution of the Technique’. Foyster, E. (2016). The Trials of the King of Hampshire. London: Oneworld Publications. Foyster, E. (2018). ‘Study Unearths Speech Defects’, University of Cambridge. Post Man, 23 October 1703. H.M.S.O. (1972), Department of Education and Science, Speech therapy services, London. Haberman, F.W. (1947). ‘John Thelwall: His life, his school, and his theory of elocution’. The Quarterly Journal of Speech, vol. 33; issue 3: 292-298. Hartley, C.S. (c.1890). Natural Elocution: Comprising Voice Culture, Management of the Breath, Modulation, Pauses, Emphasis, Articulation, Pronunciation, Natural Tones, Expression of Feeling and Passion, Action, Delivery of Verse, &c. London: F. Pitman, Melbourne & Sydney: E.A. Petherick and Co. Hunt, J. (1865). Stammering and Stuttering, Their Nature and Treatment (sixth edition). London: Longman, Green, Longman, and Roberts. Natural Philosophy, Chemistry, and the Arts [Journal of], Vol. II. London: G.G. and J. Robinson 1799 listed under “July 1798, Account of New Books, Memoirs of the Literary and Philosophical Society of Manchester”. Also, The Critical Review or Annals of Literature, Vol. 25, London: S. Hamilton 1799 listed under “Memoirs of the Manchester Society”, “On the Variety of Voices” by John Gough, communicated by Dr. Holme, p. 262. Plumptre, C.J. (1881). King’s College Lectures on Elocution. London: Trübner & Co. Potter, S.O.L. (1882). Speech and its Defects Considered Physiologically, Pathologically, Historically, and Remedially. Philadelphia: P. Blakiston, Son & Co. Priestley, J. (1904/1809). Memoirs of Dr. Joseph Priestley written by himself (To the Year 1795) with a continuation to the time of his decease by His Son, Joseph Priestley. London: H. R. Allenson. ‘A Physician Incognito’ [Smith, W.T.] (1843) A Treatise on the Nature and Causes of Stammering. London: Samuel Highley. Rawcliffe, C. & Wilson, R. (eds) (2004). Norwich since 1550. London: Hambledon and London. Rée, J. (1999). I See A Voice. London: Harper Collins Publishers. Rockey, D. (1979). ‘John Thelwall and the Origins of British Speech Therapy’. J. Medical History, 1979, 23: 156-175. Rockey, D. (1980). Speech Disorder in the Nineteenth Century Britain. London: Croom Helm. Sheridan, T. (1762), A Course of Lectures on Elocution. Thelwall, J. (1803). Letter, 15 November 1803. The Monthly Magazine and British Register, vol. XVII, Part I for [Feb] 1804. London: Richard Phillips: pp. 9-11. John Thelwall, Letter to Henry Cline, p.32. (Gough’s letter (3 Nov 1803) is quoted in Monthly Magazine, p. 10; also, Letter to Henry Cline, pp. 35-40.) Thelwall, J. (1810). Letter to Henry Cline, Esq. London: Richard Taylor and Co. Walker, J. (1791), A Critical Pronouncing Dictionary. Walsh, N. (2018). Unsmudged: An Encounter with Peggy Williams. Amherst: MA: Off the Common Books 2018. Wielopolska, C., Pazzaglini, M., Attwood, C.A. (ed.) (1975? Undated) The Discovery and Use of the Eye Order in Teaching the Alexander Work. Distributed by the author. Zahn, R. (2005). ‘Francisco Varela and The Gesture of Awareness’ in Oppenheimer, A. (ed.) 2005. The Congress Papers (Oxford 16-22 August, 2004). London: STAT Books, pp. 371-428.

Writing and the Alexander Technique

By Nicola Hanefeld

As I type this, I have been working on my dissertation for over three years. A thesis is a big book; 80,000 – 100,000 words. The project also has regular deadlines to submit pieces of writing. In the following, I take a look at how the Alexander Technique has played a role in supporting me psycho-physically. It was not new to me that sitting at the computer can compromise what I feel the basics of good use are: an open, pain-free back, an alert mind, free eyes and a wide-awake visual system. Computers are not good for our head-neckback relationships: we all know that Homo sapiens did not evolve to sit in front of a screen typing at a keyboard. So, although I have been teaching and using the Alexander Technique for years, this major writing project did lead me to discover many new things about how best to look after myself while spending much time at the PC typing and writing. My major lesson was that not writing was fundamental.

The psycho-physical: When working at my laptop, I need to maintain a good bodily feeling: my back lengthening, my neck free, and my head tending away from my torso. I notice very soon when my fingers are going too fast over the keys (which is often) and that quality is lost in the physical realm; my breathing becomes slightly compromised and less free, I feel a little collapsed. When I lose that pleasurable feeling, it is usually also connected to concentrating and narrowing my field of awareness and my gentle background directing has waned because I have become less aware. So my state of mind during the activity of typing has bled into my physical use. From here, it gets registered by my mind and comes into awareness and prompts me to change my behaviour. That cycle happens when I start to edge towards an end-gaining mode. My eyes can also quickly tell me if I’m losing the quality of my use: when I forget to let the sentences on the screen to ‘come to me‘ and my eyes start straining towards the monitor like a snail with eyestalks. I also quickly realise when I start trying hard. If any of these things happen, it‘s time to stop. This might be after only 20 minutes of writing. Furthermore, I don‘t waste a second sitting in front of a blank screen if I don‘t know what the next step is. If somebody were watching me work as described above they would probably judge me ‘unconcentrated‘ because within a 9am - 6pm writing working day, I leave my computer dozens of times. But my train of thought is not lost when I interrupt my work in this way. On the contrary, I find frequent pauses to be beneficial. This not writing and doing something else seems to be my psycho-physical interface enhancing my productivity. As a child, my natural urge to move was compromised as I was taught to sit still and concentrate. Leaving that behind, letting myself get up as often as I wished, was liberating.

The physical environment must be beneficial: the desk and chair must be the right height for me. I use an ergonomic stool encouraging dynamic not static, sitting. The screen must be at the right level for my eyes. This avoids my head tipping back and down (if the screen is too high) or tilting and holding it too far forward (if the screen is too low). In both cases, I would have to tense my neck to see the screen and I’d loose contact to the delicate neck-skull joint right at the top of my spine. I have learnt to use the mouse with my left hand, and I regularly change hands to avoid one-sided strain in my right hand, wrist and arm. It took about two weeks to learn but I’m now as dextrous on the left as on the right. My arms float in the air when I type, I don’t rest them on the desk. I use a piano player as an inspiration for how free arms can be when interacting with the keyboard. Feet clearly on the ground and conscious contact to them helps not becoming solely wrapped up in my mind and thoughts. Another aspect of my physical environment which is beneficial is having clear inner space and a clear desk. That means not having too many things I have to do nagging for my attention. Sometimes I spend a whole day tidying up my internal and external environment while not writing. That helps the inner process of writing on the following day: the psychological side of the psycho-physical activity of writing becomes clear.

Stopping: When I stop, I might then lie down on my back and direct or engage in an activity, preferably something practical. It’s best then to put my mind in a different mode - reading in my breaks is not a real break as it is too close to writing. Short, frequent walks out in the wood near my home are one of the best ways of promoting my writing. Out of the blue, while out walking, my mind will come up with a better way to express something. Or something important I have omitted might pop up unexpectedly. We are all familiar with this kind of thing but I have started using it as a conscious strategy. It is as if I have not been thinking about something; I have, but not consciously. We often think thought is conscious (with words) but it is not. This kind of AT-self-management may be one of the reasons that I have not for a moment experienced a writer‘s block during this challenging project. Writing has to have a joyful creative element for me and I usually wait for a spark of motivation to come before I start. When I notice that I‘m not motivated it is usually because I don‘t know what to do, I’m not sure what the next step is. Then I do something

«continued from previous page else where I am sure of the next step to create a sense of moving forwards. Again, that seems to be a psycho-physical interface. That is in itself motivating. I think a writer’s block arises when someone puts themselves under pressure to be productive and they start end-gaining and wrestling with themselves and their target. I try to break down my writing tasks into managable chunks: often find myself tussling with a sentence or paragraph but never with a whole chapter.

So knowledge of end-gaining (and avoiding it) was the Alexander principle which has been the most helpful during this long writing project. Leaving something I have written to ripen and trusting that ripening became a strategy. I may leave a piece for weeks or months before re-writing it, that seems similar to non-doing during a lesson. Sometimes, when teaching, I sense something going on in the client which is hindering the work, but have no idea what. Through the years I have learnt to trust the process, relying that the issue will show itself without me having to do something. Towards the end of a lesson the client might revealingly say something like ‘I’ve only just stopped thinking about a problem at work‘. Then I hear that they were trying hard to not think about the problem and this trying might have been the issue that I had sensed.

While all this sounds positive, (and it was) there were, of course, challenging times and negative experiences during the days, weeks, months turning into years while working on my PhD. This had to do with stylistic conventions. I was familiar with autobiographical writing and had experience of writing a few informal articles on the Alexander Technique where I could write as I want, as I do here. An academic writing style was unfamiliar to me, and I repeatedly received the feedback that my style was inadequate. This meant that the part of my brain that had up to now been responsible for formulating sentences, thoughts and ideas, choosing vocabulary, that is, the inner source of my writing, was not serving me as it should. It‘s not easy to be told to write more academically when you have no idea what academic writing actually means. It was not a subject that was taught to me, I had to figure it out alone. Again, my experience with the Technique helped me stay with my means and not start to end-gain, trying to do it right. I trusted by reading enough papers and literature belonging to the academic realm that I would somehow ‘get it‘.

Learning to be critical and synthesising where gaps in the literature existed was the least of my challenges. It was formulating short, crisp sentences that were my biggest challenge. Being descriptive was part of academic writing that meant that I had to repeatedly summarise what others had discovered and weave that into my narrative. That is a very distanced type of writing style, seemingly devoid of adjectives. I do like apt adjectives, writing without them felt like being in a literary desert. The most challenging type of writing was analytical writing: organising findings and results from the literature into new relationships that I needed for my context. I was delighted when I started receiving feedback (after two years) that my writing now had the right style. The fact that I‘m no longer able to write my journal in my own style is beside the point. I trust that it will return when I have completed this project.1 Writing, whether it is autobiographical, fictional or academic, is a creative process. It also seems to be a deeply clarifying process by making ‘things‘ (in the broadest sense) explicit. No-one can write without being aware. Alone, choosing the right words for your expressive needs is an aware activity. The process of actually using inhibition and direction while deciding what to write seems ephemeral to me. Of course there were countless minutes where I stopped, directed, again and again. Each full stop was an opportunity to inhibit, release and re-organise myself consciously. Having written this piece, I have become even more aware of the psycho-physical writing process and taking breaks to look after myself while sitting at my desk. I have also become more aware of the quiet inner voice telling me which parts read well and what needs working over. Writing includes the editing process. I have become more aware of the tone in which something is written. Is it gentle and inviting or convoluted and strenuous? Why are FM’s books not easier to read? How much editing did he do? A while ago, I started using the voice recognition software called Dragon. I can now write by speaking to my computer and not typing or using a pen and paper. I bought it to benefit my well-being and reduce the number of typing hours. It is wonderful to release my neck, lengthen my back, widen my shoulders and look out of the window as the trees sway and murmur in the wind while I speak and let the computer do the work. Dragon manages to correctly transcribe about 95% of what I say.2 I have to correct and edit a piece anyway, and I return to paper and pen by printing a document out to do that. Handwritten notes and crossing outs are the only way for me to feel safe with a final edit. The ease and efficiency with which the physical side of writing can now be done with voice recognition software is remarkable. So writing these days can also mean just having thoughts and speaking them out loud to a computer - and not putting pen to paper or fingers to keyboard and eyes to a screen.

“… everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.”3 Sylvia Plath

Endnotes 1 At present my journal is full of rather dry sounding observations of how the world is dealing with the COVID-19 crisis. 2 My most fun misunderstanding with Dragon was with the word weepiness. The words we penis kept appearing on my screen. In the end, I had to type weepiness in. 3 The Journals of Sylvia Plath, p. 86. Anchor publications, 1998