Your crummy writing isn’t all your fault

Are you plagued by doubts about your writing prowess? Don’t shoulder the blame. The educational system is the true villain here.

From day one, school sets you up for failure as a wordsmith. K-12 practically encourages it. By the time you stumble into college, most grads are woefully unprepared in the art of writing. And if by some miracle they encounter halfway decent professors, oh boy, the awakening is brutal.

Don’t blame the teachers, though; the culprit is standardized tests. Standardized tests teach students how to ace essays by insisting they create poorly constructed content. For example, do you remember it being a requirement to introduce your topic in the first paragraph like this: “Today, I’m going to tell you about the significance of the Battle of the Alamo on Texas history. We’ll start by introducing the complexities of the battle, I’ll take you through some written accounts and then we’ll walk through the aftermath of the battle together.”

Phew. Even typing that to prove a point punctured my soul.

A tale as old as time

This mindless ritual is still glorified, for reasons lost to time. Fill those pages with verbosity, adhere rigidly to the five-paragraph sermon and for heaven’s sake, no deviations allowed. Neatness counts, too. Messy handwriting? Forget about it. Writing’s not about expression; it’s about fitting neatly into someone else’s box.

And God forbid you use a sentence fragment, employ some dialogue or inject a bit of personality. Absolutely not. Standardized tests have no use for these nuances. They’re designed to churn out conformity, not creativity.

Scatter SAT words such as “scrupulous,” “importunate” and “epochal” here and there. It doesn’t matter if you use them correctly! Just load it up!

Our impressionable youth is forced to bend to the will of test manufacturers and the gatekeepers of academia.

Unlike the certainty of numbers or the laws of science, good writing defies measurement by multiple-choice. It’s an art, not a science, yet we reduce it to a robotic algorithm. Does a computer program truly discern great writing? Not a chance. Real writing is about choices, about ideas that stir the soul. Standardized tests reduce it to a soulless exercise in conformity.

Have you ever read a masterpiece that began with a robotic response to a prompt? Neither have I. The best literature embraces the quirks of voice, the play of sentence structure. Yet we train our children to produce formulaic drivel for the sake of a test score.

These tests confine writing to a sterile, artificial space that bears little resemblance to the real world of writers and readers. Writing is deeply personal, nuanced, yet we chain it to the sterile confines of a testing booklet.

The writing of renowned authors wouldn’t pass these assessments

Test writing sections are total BS. Are they easily gamed? Sure. But young minds are paying the piper. And really, how are teachers supposed to preach that the reason students must follow these ridiculous standards is to make test manufacturers, and therefore, school leadership, happy? 

The kind of writing that can be scored by a computer program (or by a human forced to comply with a useless algorithm)? It’s NOT good writing. The suitability of writers’ choices and the quality of their ideas is not accounted for. And isn’t that the point? 

Literary giants wouldn’t stand a chance against these assessments. The same authors we teach in the classroom would not pass the criteria outlined in the scoring system.

Standardized writing tests exist in a minimal, artificial space that practically never comes into play for writers or readers in the outside world. Writing is such a complex, personal skill to assess that we’re more comfortable caging it up and rewarding points for meaningless concepts than we are truly embracing the creative process. 

The creative process gets sacrificed on the altar of standardization. Students learn to play it safe, to regurgitate bland content that checks all the right boxes but lacks any spark of originality. They’re taught to fear deviation, to color inside the lines rather than explore the vibrant chaos outside. This stifles innovation and breeds a generation of writers more concerned with passing tests than finding their voice.

The absurdity reaches a fever pitch when you consider that those who craft compelling narratives—think authors, journalists or anyone with something to say—would likely fail these assessments. They write from the gut, breaking rules, bending structures and embracing the full spectrum of language’s potential. Yet, students are shackled to a model that rewards mediocrity and punishes authenticity.

Individuality is either the mark of genius or the reverse. Mediocrity finds safety in standardization.

Frederick E. Crane

Flailing in the workplace

We look around and realize that many of our colleagues, despite their titles and degrees, can’t string together a coherent sentence. It’s like stepping into a dystopian novel where everyone has mastered the art of buzzwords but forgotten the essence of communication. You can see the gears turning in people’s heads as they struggle to express basic thoughts, fumbling over words like they’re foreign objects.

We’ve raised a generation of professionals who are terrified of stepping outside the rigid boundaries of what they were taught. You watch as emails circulate, littered with jargon and awkward phrasing, where simple messages morph into convoluted messes. Proposals read like they were generated by a robotic algorithm, devoid of personality or clarity. It’s painful. You’re left wondering how someone can have a degree but can’t articulate their ideas without resorting to rambling nonsense.

And then there are the presentations. People stand up, shuffling through slides that are crammed with bullet points, reading word-for-word like it’s an incantation meant to ward off the writing demons. The audience stares blankly, lost in the fog of poorly crafted sentences and uninspired visuals, wondering how we got here. But I know…

We all know someone who can’t even draft a basic report without turning it into an unintelligible mess. Those moments hit hard, illuminating the cracks in our collective educational foundation. It’s a stark reminder of how writing—once seen as a sacred skill—has devolved into a burden too heavy for many to bear. And in those moments, you can’t help but feel a mix of frustration and sadness for what’s been lost.

We’re all left grappling with the fallout of an education system that prioritized rote memorization over the messy, vibrant process of real writing. It’s a broken system, one that has left us with a workforce full of individuals capable of checking boxes but incapable of genuine expression.

Rise above it

I studied journalism in college. Professors would never tolerate the type of writing that looked like anything like the kind students in my high school used when they passed their standardized tests. They scared that nonsense out of anyone who dreamed of having a shot of graduating from the esteemed Missouri School of Journalism. They’d sooner cheerfully beat you over the head with an AP Style Book than tell you something was decent when it wasn’t. Undergrads with thin skin didn’t make it far there. There’s nothing like getting word-smacked in the face by professors who told you your writing had serious room for improvement and that your high school teachers utterly failed you. 

I saw through the charade early on. Perhaps because I devoured books that celebrated individuality and despised conformity. I learned to play the game, but not without recognizing its absurdity.

Writing isn’t about filling blanks or satisfying algorithms. It’s about challenging conventions, sparking minds and leaving a mark. The true test of a writer isn’t a bubble sheet; it’s the impact of their words on the world.

The only way out of this quagmire is to reclaim writing as a craft, to dismantle the barriers built by outdated systems and to foster a culture where authentic voices rise above the noise. Only then can we begin to mend the fractures and restore writing to its rightful place as a powerful tool for connection and change.

So, if you’re haunted by the specter of standardized writing tests, remember: the fault lies not in your pen but in a system that values conformity over creativity, precision over passion. Rise above it. Embrace your voice. Because in the end, it’s the rebels, not the conformists, who reshape the world with their words.

If you need help, you know where to find me. And remember, it’s not your fault.