The Editing Process:  An Example

 

Editing is often vital to the writing process, as the following example shows.  Immediately below you’ll see a small piece I’ve just (Sept. 12, 2003) finished writing for the newsletter of our graduate program.  What readers of  that piece will never know is that it took me three hours to write, that it is the 8^th draft, and that six additional alterations (not shown) are courtesy of  MISP Newsletter's co-editor, Carole Keller!  

 So read the seemingly effortless piece of writing below first: click here.  Then move on to a comparison of the 8^th draft you’ve just read to the 7^th (click here).   Can  you imagine how bad the first draft was?  Can you imagine how much better the 12^th would have been, if I just had the time? 

 MORAL:  If you want to become a pretty decent writer, you too will need to labor through successive drafts of your papers!

 

One Year of Living, Learning, and Traveling in China (this issue), Burma and Greece (next issue?)

   

I have always been curious about China.  It’s a land of many nationalities and languages, inventions and innovations,  cultural revolutions and one-child families (by the way, we only met one exception to this one-child rule—a couple in a remote farm secretly raising their daughter's second child).  Moreover, China’s economy is surging forward (how many “made-in-China” consumer goods do you own?) and it is home to some 1.3 billion people.  Combine these facts with the historical record and extrapolate them to, say, 2033, and you get, as one distinct possibility, a scary Sino-American clash.  For all these reasons, I wanted to take the pulse of China; not from books, not from tour guides, but directly, from its heart.    

It so happened that Chinese high schools and universities—with the central government’s blessing—are eager to hire English-speaking foreign teachers.   So, following a wonderful ten-day international conference on monkeys and apes in Beijing (August 2002), and while waiting for permission to enter our main destination (the neighboring country of Burma), my wife Donna and I taught English in the small town of Hong Hu, in central China. 

Here I can only try to share with you a few disconnected fragments of our 13 weeks in China, starting with the semi-rural educational scene.  We conducted English-teaching workshops for high school teachers, and immediately realized that their English was poor.  For instance, they were unable to retell from memory a 6^th- grade story they had just read.  They all learned both English and Chinese from masterfully dull textbooks and not one of these teachers, to my knowledge, had ever read a single novel in English.  In general, the entire educational system, as we saw it, was not based on grasping concepts, interactive learning, or innovation, but, as in imperial China, on memorization and centralized, uninspiring, examinations.  In good high schools, class size was about 70!  Lucky kids studied 6 days a week, unlucky ones 7, and they spent some 70 hours a week sitting on uncomfortable wooden stools, listening to their teachers.  And yet, despite these handicaps, some of our students were curious, bright, and fun to be with. 

Before you decide to sign up for a tour of duty in China (which I would wholeheartedly recommend and which Donna wouldn’t), you should know that such adventures are purchased at a price.  For some reason that is not yet clear to us, in China—unlike any other country we have ever been to—we were kept at arm’s length from everyone, and not only because their English was poor (and our Chinese non-existent).  So, once we left the Beijing conference, we only had each other.  The local food was spicy, so we had to figure out alternatives.  We conducted English-teaching workshops, but achieved little; as in Cuba, change, when it comes, will come from the top.  To us, the school and the classrooms appeared unimaginably filthy, and, at least in the part of China I am talking about here, both students and teachers were not above noisily spitting anytime, anywhere (classroom floors not exempted).   Donna and I both prefer 40 degrees to 90, yet we found ourselves in one of the three furnaces of China.  I tried to make up for this bad weather by dipping into the nearby lake.  Any chance I got, I would take extended field trips on my bicycle ($12) along different walking paths in the countryside, among picturesque rice fields, lotus ponds, canals, and huts, eventually ending up at Hong Hu Lake.  In two weeks I saw only two people in the water, and felt sorry for the ignorant locals who had not yet discovered the joys of swimming in 100-degree weather!  I kept going to the only public beach there, feeling adventurous, cool, clean, and smarter than everybody.  Then one day I visited one of the lakeside toilets.  Quite a few people lived in shacks by the lakeshore, harvesting fish and lotus flowers and--that one sobering visit showed--using the lake for other purposes as well. Things were the same anywhere else--every toilet on every boat or ship that we had been on, for example, emptied directly into the river.  No wonder the dolphins are dying in China!  Anyway, there was no “once more to the lake” for me!  Likewise, I left China with a severe case of bronchitis, caused by air pollution.  Or try shopping in an outdoor market and, every time, everywhere you go, have some 30 people forming a circle and good-naturedly gawking at you!

On the other hand, people were often exceptionally kind.  On one occasion we got lost in a big city, and would probably still be there had not a couple of university students taken us under their wings, seeing to it that we safely made it back to our distant home.  I did fall in love with old-style Chinese opera, and was a regular in the mahjong gambling café where this art constituted a side-show.  We saw the Great Wall, the Peking Man, and other justifiably famous tourist attractions.  In the Three Gorges area, we witnessed the destruction of cities and their replacement by newer ones, higher up.  We talked to 2-3 people (out of one million) who were about to lose their homes to the gigantic dam (by itself an impressive sight), and they told us that they could only afford to level their homes with hand tools, that they only received partial compensation for their material losses, and that no government official ever seemed to grasp their emotional and spiritual losses.

To me, the most beautiful and saddest part of China is Tibet, which we visited in 1996.  That is the one part of China I would definitely go back to, if I could, in the hope of getting to know its people and wildlife, understanding their sufferings, and hiking their spectacular and sparsely-populated land.  But that is another tale. 

From China we went to Burma (aka Myanmar), to study elephants in the jungle (3 months), and conduct workshops at the country’s most prestigious graduate program in zoology, at the University of Rangoon (or Yangon).  Rangoon was beautiful and its people were warm and hospitable.  On the other hand, their educational system made our Hong Hu friends, one and all, look like Nobel laureates.  But it was the jungle and our daily interactions with elephants and their keepers (about six hours a day, seven days a week), that profoundly touched us.  Yes, Donna contracted incurable lifelong malaria, we had no electricity, often slept in make-shift bamboo huts, and witnessed extreme corruption, oppression, environmental degradation,  illiteracy, hunger, and poverty.  Nor was I able to answer the scientific question that served as my primary motivation for going to the forest in the first place.  But in spite of it all, we shall someday return to see our human and elephant friends in this friendly land of Buddhist shrines, rubies, teak forests, and elephants.    

 

 

One Year of Living, Learning, and Traveling in China (this issue), Burma and Greece (next issue?)

NOTE:  Strikeouts are parts of the deleted parts of the 7^th draft.  Underscores are the new additions.

I have always been curious about China.  It’s a land of many nationalities and languages, inventions and innovations,  cultural revolutions and one-child families (by the way, we only met one exception to this one-child rule—a couple in a remote farm, who  secretly raisedraising their daughter's second child).  Moreover, China’s economy is surging forward (how many “made-in-China” consumer goods do you own?) and it is home to some 1.3 billion people.  Combine these facts with the historical record and extrapolate them to, say,  2033, and you get, as one distinct possibility, a scary Sino-American confrontation.clash.  For all these reasons, I wanted to take the pulse of China; not from books, not from tour guides, but directly, from its heart.   

It so happened that Chinese high schools and universities—with the central government’s blessing—are eager to hire English-speaking foreign teachers.   So, following a wonderful ten-day international conference on monkeys and apes in Beijing (August 2003), and while waiting for permission to enter our main destination (the neighboring country of Burma), my wife Donna and I taught English in the small town of Hong Hu, in central China. 

Here I can only try to share with you a few disconnected fragments of our 13 weeks in China, starting with the semi-rural educational scene.  Most high school teachers of English we taught We conducted English-teaching workshops for high school teachers, and immediately realized that their English was poor.  For instance, they were unable to retell from memory, say, a 6^th- grade story they had just read.  They all learned both English and Chinese from masterfully dull textbooks and nonenot one of these teachers, to my knowledge, was guilty of having had ever read a single booknovel in English (and not many books in Chinese either—most of them read required texts, not books)..  In general, the entire educational system, as we saw it, was not based on grasping concepts, interactive learning, or innovation, but, as in imperial China, on memorization. and centralized, uninspiring, examinations.  In good high schools, class size was about 70!  Lucky kids studied 6 days a week, unlucky ones 7, and they spent something like some 70 hours a week sitting on uncomfortable wooden chairsstools, listening to their teacher.s.  And yet, despite these handicaps, some of our students were curious, bright, and fun to be with. 

Before you decide to sign up for a tour of duty in China (which I would wholeheartedly recommend and which Donna won’twouldn’t), you should know that such adventures are purchased at a price.  For some reason that it is not yet clear to us, in China—unlike any other country we have ever been to—we were kept at arm’s length from everyone, and not only because their English was poor. (and our Chinese non-existent).  So, once we left the internationalBeijing conference in Beijing, we only had each other.  The local food was too spicy, so we had to figure out alternatives.  We gaveconducted English-teaching workshops, but achieved little; as in Cuba, change in China, when it comes, will come from the top.  To us, the school and the classrooms appeared unimaginably filthy, and, at least in the part of China I am talking about here, both students and teachers were not above noisily spitting anytime, anywhere (classroom floors not exempted).   We both prefer 40 degrees to 90, yet we found ourselves in one of the three furnaces of China.  I tried to make up for this bad weather by dipping into the nearby river or lake.  Any chance I got, I would go riding take extended field trips on my Chinese bikebicycle ($12) along different walking paths in the countryside, among picturesque rice fields and, lotus ponds, to the lake, some three miles from our school. canals, and huts, eventually ending up at Hong Hu Lake.  In two weeks I saw only two people in the water, and felt sorry for the ignorant locals, who, I smugly thought,  had not yet discovered the joys of swimming in 100-degree weather!  I kept going to the only public beach there, feeling adventurous and , cool and, clean despite the heat, and smarter than everybody.  Then one day I visited one of the lakeside toilets.  Quite a few people lived in shacks by the lake in wooden huts, lakeshore, harvesting its fish and lotus flowers and, --that one sobering visit showed, --using itthe lake for other purposes as well. Things were the same anywhere else--every toilet on every boat or ship that we had sailed withbeen on, for example, emptied directly into the river.  No wonder the dolphins are dying in China!  Anyway, there were no “once more to the lake” for me!  Likewise, I left China with a severe case of bronchitis, caused by air pollution.  Or try going shopping in an outdoor market and, every time, everywhere you go, have some 30 people forming a circle and good-naturedly gawking at you!

On the other hand, people were often exceptionally kind and helpful..  On one occasion we got lost in a big city, and would probably be still there had not a couple of university students took us under their wings and saw to it that we safely made it back to our distant home.  I did fall in love with old-style Chinese opera, and was a regular in the mahjong gambling café where it was being played.this art formed constituted a side-show.  We saw the Great Wall, the Peking Man, and other justifiably famous tourist attractions.  In the Three Gorges area, we witnessed the destruction of one city after anothercities and their replacement by new cities, above the new water line.newer ones, higher up.  We talked to 2-3 people (out of one million) who were about to lose their homes to the gigantic dam (by itself an impressive sight)), and they told us that they could only afford to level their homes with their own handshand tools, that they receive only received partial monetary compensation, and that they were given no compensation whatsoever for their broken hearts!material losses, and that no government official ever seemed to grasp their emotional and spiritual losses.

To me, the most beautiful and saddest part of China, and the most touching, was Tibet, which we visited a few years earlier.in 1996.  That is the one part of China I would definitely go back to, if I could, in the hope of getting to know its people and wildlife, understanding their yearning for freedomsufferings, and hiking their spectacular and sparsely-populated land.  But that is another tale. 

From China we went to Burma (aka Myanmar), to study elephants in the jungle (3 months), and conduct workshops at the country’s most prestigious graduate program in zoology, at the University of Rangoon (or Yangon).  Rangoon was beautiful,  and its people wonderful, and were warm and hospitable.  On the other hand, their educational system made our Hong Hu friends, one and all, look like Nobel laureates, but .  But it was the jungle and our daily interactions with elephants and their keepers (about six hours a day, seven days a week), that we shall never forget.profoundly touched us.  Yes, Donna contracted incurable lifelong malaria, we had no electricity, often slept in make-shift bamboo huts, and we witnessed extreme corruption, oppression, environmental degradation,  illiteracy, hunger, and poverty.  Nor was I able to answer the scientific question that served as themy primary motivation for going to the forest in the first place.  But despite of it all, we shall someday return to see our human and elephant friends.   in this friendly land of Buddhist shrines, rubies, teak forests, and elephants.   

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