Someone Else’s Words

For eleven years Lorna had written words that other people said. She had begun in local politics, writing speeches for a politician who liked short sentences and long silences, and had ended up, by a route she could no longer quite reconstruct, writing for the chair of a large insurance company: a precise, reserved woman called Margaret who did not trust big words or loud praise.

The work was less glamorous than people imagined and more personal than they would have believed. To write well for someone, Lorna had learned, one had to listen not only to what they said but to what they usually avoided saying. Margaret never used the word “unique”. She would sooner cancel a speech than describe a bad year as “a year of learning”. Over time Lorna had come to hear the sentences in Margaret’s voice before she wrote them, and sometimes, to her mild alarm, in her own head when she was not working at all.

The speech that changed things was a routine one: the annual address to staff, in a year when the company had closed two offices and several hundred people had lost their jobs. The first draft, which Lorna had written in the measured tone the event seemed to require, came back with a single line in the margin: “This sounds like someone who was not there.”

Lorna’s first reaction was to feel annoyed; her second, considerably less comfortable, was recognition. She had not been there. She had read the figures and the reports, but she had not sat in the rooms where the decisions were taken, and the text showed it. What Margaret wanted, it turned out, was not a better-written speech but a less protected one: an admission that the decision had been hers, that she was not certain it had been right, and that she would understand if some of those listening were angry with her.

They spent two evenings on it, which had never happened before. Margaret talked; Lorna asked questions and, for once, wrote down almost exactly what she heard rather than improving it. The final version was shorter than any speech Lorna had ever delivered and contained, by her count, three sentences that she would have cut on grammatical grounds alone.

Afterwards, several people wrote to Margaret to say that it was the first time a speech from the top had sounded like a person. Lorna read the messages with a feeling she found hard to name. The praise belonged, as it should, to someone else. Yet she believed that the speech was the best thing she had ever written, precisely because so little of it was hers.

For eleven years Lorna had written words that other people said. She started in local politics, writing speeches for a politician who liked short sentences and long silences. Now she wrote for the chair of a large insurance company, a precise, quiet woman called Margaret who did not trust big words or loud praise.

The work was less glamorous than people thought, but it was very personal. To write well for someone, Lorna had learned, you have to listen to what they say, and also to what they usually avoided saying. Margaret never used the word “unique”. She would never call a bad year “a year of learning”. After some time, Lorna heard the sentences in Margaret’s voice before she wrote them, and sometimes even when she was not working.

The important speech was a usual one: the annual speech to the staff, in a year when the company had closed two offices and several hundred people had lost their jobs. Lorna wrote the first version in a calm, careful tone. It came back with one line in the margin: “This sounds like someone who was not there.”

At first Lorna was annoyed. Then she understood that Margaret was right. She had read the numbers and the reports, but she had not been in the rooms where the decisions were made, and the text showed it. Margaret wanted not a better-written speech but a less protected one. She wanted to say that the decision had been hers, that she was not sure it was right, and that she understood if some people were angry with her.

They worked on it for two evenings, which had never happened before. Margaret talked, and Lorna asked questions and wrote down almost exactly what she heard. The final speech was very short, and it had three sentences that Lorna would usually have changed because of the grammar.

Later, several people wrote to Margaret. They said that for the first time a speech from the top sounded like a real person. Lorna felt something she could not name. The praise belonged to someone else. But she thought that it was the best thing she had ever written, because so little of it was hers.