The Language of Language

The Language of Language

Last night a respected friend told me I should give more consideration to
the written medium as a way to communicate my thoughts, lessons, and ideas. I've tried journaling before and haven't been very good at writing with regularity. But he communicated an idea that I hadn't considered before. To paraphrase, he said, "When you speak, people hear you in your language; when you write, people hear you in their own language."

I've though a lot about that since last night. I see his point. If I am
communicating verbally before a group, I have to be able to speak in such a
way that relates to them. I have to be relevant and appropriate. I wouldn't
discuss justification and entire sanctification with a group of elementary
students. Nor would I want to spend a great deal time teaching like a
pre-school cartoon to a group of theologians. Therefore I must make my
language one that to which they can relate. The same is true of the written
word, up to a point. The written word allows me to bypass that which
doesn't apply or slow down and repeat the things I want to soak and absorb
some more.

My intonations, dialect, diction, speed and a host of other nonverbal
communication aspects influence the spoken word. The way I dress, the way my hair looks, the idiosyncrasies all play into my effectiveness as a verbal communicator. But not so with the written word. People can change the font or size or color. They can read my words at a desk, on the couch, no the bed or wherever. They take me on their own terms, not one mine.

But here's the struggle for an insecure communicator: the gift of feedback.
As a speaker, I know immediately how my audience is responding. I know if I have their attention or if they have switched to another mental channel.
When I was on the stage, the part of the night I loved the most was the
chatter of the audience before the performance. No matter the group or
theater or performance, there is something very distinctive about that din
of peoples' conversation before the show. As I stood backstage, that sound
was electricity through my veins. It enabled me to give my all to the
performance.

My computer makes no such encouragements. It doesn't tell me to go on, do more, say more. It doesn't tell me when I'm funny or thoughtful or deep.
So as an amateur blogger, I need to find a way to receive that feedback that
is vital to keep me going. Does a blog have its place Absolutely. Does
it allow communication in a relevant and appropriate way Absolutely. Is
there an audience who'll read, respond, and be changed by what I have to
say Who knows. But as I stand at the backstage of my computer, ready to
go on, I listen for the clamor of people who'll take the time to hear in
their own language a little from these feeble fingers.