The Tender Cut
The striking resemblance between cooking and writing
I woke up yesterday morning plagued by an idea and scrambled for a rogue piece of paper to scribble it down. It was an extract, a train of thought if you will, comparing two professionals and the striking resemblance between them.
Having gotten caught up in a number of discussions on Substack’s notes recently, surrounding writing style and what brings personality to one’s work, it got me thinking.
We do our best to discuss with one another all such things from topics and ideas, to paragraph lengths, word choices, difficulty in phrases, and any number of other variables that actually dictate one’s own style. Sure, SEO writing and other forms of “blogging” or “corporate” copywriting should follow a certain logic for readability and ease of access to information, but personalised writing, well, I think that should boil down to whatever you, the writer, has in mind.
I write in corporate for a living, and am a stickler for rules, logic and flow that both my team and I write according to—it makes sense and should provide the reader with as much know-how as possible, keeping to the margins therein.
My personal writing on the other hand is stark in contrast. It throws a lot of the normality out the window, and in particular, steers clear of the simplistic parts of copy. I loathe keeping it simple. I like extravagant and complicated. I love abstraction and attention to detail. Flesh out the story and heap soil to the plot. Give me the full experience.
It’s taken me about eight years or so to get to where I am, both through professional and personal experience. I’ve written across a vast selection of topics encompassing both the biological and technical, as well as the romantic, fictitious and erotic, yet I find that for my preference I enjoy personal stories rooted in trauma, memoirs and other nonfiction subjectivities. For my mediums, I prefer mid-long copy, around the 10-15min read mark—learnt through years of peddling corporate copy in the usual formats, and discarding as much microcopy as possible.
And, despite all that, the most amount of time that I’ve spent on my writing style is owed to the 2,914 (and counting) days of journaling. My entries vary from as little as 5-10 words, to as many as 3,000-4,000, sometimes more—and with the consistency of doing it daily—I’ve learnt how to play with my style, push my limitations, and broaden my horizons.
My favourite thing to do? Create elaborate metaphors, build narratives around them, and then add in something relatable. I refer to this style of my writing as ‘Creative Non-Fiction’ as I draw in elements of immersion and fiction-styling to decorate my real-life memoirs. In a some rare cases, I take this a step further and layer on narration, sound effects and music to plunge my readers deeper into my life experiences. I want them to see the world as I did, in as much detail as I can muster.
So, take a seat.
On today’s menu: The Tender Cut.
I found myself at an office party some time last year telling a colleague about a story I was writing and seeing her facial expression change with confusion and missing context, I realised that sharing of one’s ideas publicly invites opinion and subjectivity towards it’s conceptualisation, and when not guarded properly, can lead to the piece being destroyed altogether. Apparently, once you reveal something, the built-up suspense dissipates, and motivation to finish it, drops as well.
I left feeling disappointed and, if I’m honest, a little judged. The piece in question is still unfinished and a draft buried in my backlog. Goes to show, I suppose. But with that in mind, I will say, that like many of you, I have a few pieces cooking.
There’s a few potatoes boiling off to the side, white and skinned, light herb seasoning and ready to be served any which way. Everyone loves potatoes, they’re enjoyable, soft and squishy, and fill you up quickly. You can enjoy them as mash or puree, wedges or fries, roasted or boiled, each with their comforting satiation. You can smoothen them with a dash of milk, a sprinkle of spices, or salt, but at the end of the day, it’s still just potato.
You’ll gobble up a few, or stuff your face with more, but give it an hour, maybe two, and you’ll be reaching for the next edible in sight. Nothing wrong with that, but eventually you’ll start to crave something a bit more nutritious; eventually you’ll get bored of just eating potato. I love potato as much as the next person (albeit sweet potato), but it’s never on its own, it’s always in addendum to the main dish.
Over in front of me is a hunk of meat, fillet, raw and awaiting. The harrowing turmoil that I went through during the tender and carving process took more than a chunk of emotional wellbeing to pull it from the inside out. Sitting there on my counter it awaits dissection, marination, and overall preparation.
Turning around I tend to the fire, as it anxiously awaits for something to blaze. Long-lengthy flames reaching just shy of the ceiling, tells it’s still a way away from being ready. Stoking it properly and getting the matter under control, I ensure that the coals are levelled and positioned correctly to receive the meat offering.
With my knives sharpened, I cleave it into appropriately sized chunks for the dish I have in mind and season minimally with the classics. Setting them aside behind me, I scrub the blood before it stains the chopping board, and pack away any of my crockery that’s no longer in use. A clean workspace facilitates a clear mind. The sauce that I prepared a couple hours prior is brought to a low simmering heat, and similarly the accompanying steamed vegetables are kept warm.
Setting the meat now onto the grill, the fire gently tickles the tissue as it sears. A splash of meat-juice evaporates on the red-hot coals and the air fills with a mouth-watering aroma begging the attention of those in close proximity.
Plating up tells just as much of a story as each element is added in a purposeful manner. The vegetables are stacked, building up a small display, and the slices placed on top, taking centre stage; the sauce is added sparingly, dibbling down from the top, with the excess added to a small holding jug.
Before sending the dish out, I’m sure to take a moment to wipe away any smudges, clean the plate’s edges and carefully nudge any wobbling food back into place, encapsulating it’s perfection. Satisfied with the process, and the story behind each of the chosen ingredients, I find myself content and at peace, ready to let another enjoy my creation as a potential highlight of their day.
If you’re familiar with my work, you’ll know it’s well seasoned, cured, and decorated; in some cases, tough to swallow, but ultimately will leave you feeling grateful and fuller for longer. You may return less frequently to my kitchen, but whilst you’re here, you know you’ll be served something that took great time and care to stitch together.
Writing is an art form, something that takes time and years of practice to master. It’s a craft that deserves your time and attention, and in so doing, will allow you to create full immersive scenes that appeal to your specific audience. Do a rush-job and they will consume rapidly and leave; focus on the details, and you may find your restaurant full, with a line out the door.
Looking for seconds?
Sink your teeth into either of these, both of which use the same creative non-fiction writing style:
If you’d like to show your support, I won’t turn down a (virtual) coffee!
See you in the next one.
~M.