Last August we moved to a cute little ranch with a pretty yard. We had to cram twenty years of house into one with much less storage space. Although I have been interested in the concept of minimalism for a few years, I seriously scaled down my junk footprint last summer. (I said I reduced it; I did not eliminate it. I’m not an animal.)
But as proud as I was to chunk, fling, and heave, I wrestled with my attachment to things even though I know they break, take up space, and lose their shine over time. And what about when you realize you discarded something you can actually use? I call this collateral damage, and it’s part of the process. In those cases, you repurchase the thing if you can, or you manage without it.
The worst, though, is when you accidentally shed something you very much need.
Several months ago I reached for my dictionary that wasn’t there. After checking the garage, attic, bookshelves, and under the beds, we decided it must have left the last house in a donation box. I was disappointed but not defeated since I usually use an online dictionary anyway.
Then something went missing again last week when I was chatting with a coworker.
The teammate is relatively new to technical writing and mentioned a few writing books she’s on fire about. During the conversation she said something about concise language and the habit of using several words when one will do. (Again, this is tech writing where flowery language is frowned upon.) One of my favorite reference books immediately popped into mind, a no-nonsense guide to technical grammar. It’s full of illustrations, funny usage examples, and general tips for writing in the technical realm. I guess it does have its share of nonsense, but only in the best possible way.
The book was written by Dr. Robert A. Day, a favorite professor at University of Delaware. He was a science journal editor who brought his practical knowledge to the classroom. His technical editing class was so hard I considered changing majors, but he appreciated my hick yet sincere attempt to grasp the mechanics of English. After a few weeks of being wrung out like a dishrag, I started to get it—thanks to his encouragement and humor.
Pacing the classroom, he once announced, “not only is it acceptable to end a sentence with a preposition, but I also encourage it.” That was all I needed to hear. Grammatical acrobatics are exhausting and can cloud up the point you’re trying to make, and he knew that. Twenty-plus years later I don’t refer to the guide regularly, but it rests on my desk as kind of a security blanket.
I googled Dr. Day, hoping to find the book online. Nope. And, to make the matter more hopeless, I couldn't even tell you the name of it--only what it looked like. I found other texts by Dr. Day, but not the one I was looking for. (See what I did with that preposition? Isn’t it so much clearer at the end of the sentence?)
Dr. Day seemed fully grown way back when he was my professor, so I wasn’t sure if he was still in this earthly realm. And how do you even ask that? But I did in an email to UD’s English department. The school kindly replied that the department chair is “not familiar” with Dr. Day and that they haven’t been advised of his passing. This made me sad. He had made an impact and, surely, not only on me.
I went to bed bummed and woke up bummed, still searching for the book in my mind. I was running out of leads.
One of the books I found online had an additional author’s name on the cover. This could have been a collaborator or, as is often the case, someone the publisher brought in to update a text if the author has passed away.
I found an email address for this author. (Thanks, Google!) I hoped she might still be in contact with Dr. Day or, at least, know how to find a copy of my lost book. I summoned all my writing skills to draft a note to this stranger that I had tracked down on the internet—without sounding like a stalker. Hearing how a cute, little paperback gives me comfort and guidance might be a red flag for some. My ultimate goal was to replace my copy and, if possible, to let Dr. Day know he made an impact. So, God help me, I pressed SEND.
Within the hour I received a response: “You’ve hit the jackpot. I am actually his daughter.” I was thrilled to read on to learn that Dr. Day is alive and well at 97 and, as I type this, a signed copy (with the updated cover) is on its way to my desk.
You might be like my husband right now wondering what's the big deal; it's only a book. Well, yes, and no. It is just a book. But it also serves as a guidepost for the kind of work I want to do. I need those little reminders scattered among the clutter of my life.
Years ago two people set me on track for my professional life: my (soon to be) sister-in-law who made me aware that technical writing was even a thing and that I should consider it as a career and Dr. Day who helped me realize I could do it as a career.
That’s not to say I haven’t gone off the rails a few times. Sometimes I couldn’t even find the depot. To put it simply, tech writing is something I feel good doing, and I'm decent at it. I'm happy to have made my way back to it when I strayed.
Are you on the right track professionally? How do you know? What would help you get there? What's your next step?
Whether you make a change or not, please promise me you'll double-check your next donation box before it goes out the door.
Thanks for reading.
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