Reading aloud is the secret weapon of effective writers. I use it all the time now, both on my fiction and nonfiction pieces, to edit and improve my output.
I have a long history with reading aloud. For several years, for a national charity I recorded audio books for the blind and dyslexic. This work required me to record into a microphone onto a computer file, speaking out loud all kinds of text, from prose and poetry to complicated technical reference books. Subjects ranged from business and social studies to art and literature. Some literature required me to speak dialogue and distinguish among several different characters. (It was quite a challenge to keep the voices different.) And of course there is my public speaking experience of several decades, talking to audiences small and large. I have also used reading aloud exercises to help many others learn English as a second language or simply to improve their speech skills.
It all worked well because there is a fundamental difference between reading silently and aloud. We all know a typical literate person reads huge volumes of information silently over a lifetime, generally every day to some degree. I wonder though, how many read aloud very often, if ever. I suppose reading aloud seems unnatural unless we have a specific audience that requests it. Yet reading aloud is a significantly different, and in certain cases better, way to review, understand, and convey information.
When I read silently, I find my mind plays tricks. I suspect this is true for most people, especially if the reader is pressed for time, under stress, or distracted in other ways. I have noticed I have a tendency to skim text even if I am not consciously trying to do so. It’s almost as if my subconscious makes a decision to “help” get through the task more efficiently. I am not a cognitive scientist by any stretch. Still I have reread text and found I missed words, even whole phrases the first time. (Also, perhaps speed reading courses we took in school had an unintended influence on this data skipping.) Apparently, my mind, in the background so to speak, edited my silent uptake of information. This, I think, is one reason why it’s so hard to spot typographical errors in our own writing. The subconscious editor is fighting against discovery of typos. While writing this essay for instance, I read it aloud at the end and found typos that I never noticed while only looking at the screen.
Lately I have been giving short readings, excerpts from my work, during a monthly “Writers’ Night” at a local library. Some of the text is several years old; some is brand new. I read fiction and nonfiction. Either way, I discovered the meaning of the text is so much more significant when I speak it to others. There is a level of richness and nuance that silent reading just can’t provide.
Why is that? Well, using speech mechanics adds another dimension to the meaning on the page. By varying the volume, speed, pitch, etc. of my voice, I can create an evolving emotional environment that the printed word does not automatically provide. Even the use of dramatic pauses inserts a new structure to the flow of data. Now I can really emphasize important points, signal changes in content, add emotional overtones, and lend a pleasurable aesthetic dimension to my remarks.
This quality is especially true with dialogue. To prevent listener confusion, one must vary speech mechanics to differentiate among the characters talking. Skillfully doing so creates a wonderful interplay of seemingly different people, even though you are playing all the roles!
Consider this little sequence of dialogue:
“Keep your head down. Stay away from the window. You know he’s armed! Damn it, where is he?”
“Okay, okay. I don’t know…hiding in the shed maybe?” For a long moment the dark house was dead silent.
“Hear that? Is that the back door? Duck!”
Now, who spoke that third line, speaker one or speaker two? It’s not totally clear on the page. However, with two different accents, speaking the line aloud makes it obvious.
Furthermore – and this is important – when I speak aloud, I find it is very difficult inadvertently to miss text. My vocalization prevents me from unconsciously editing the text. Unless I intend to drop some text, say to fit an assigned time frame and achieve a logical stopping point, all the text is used. Also I cannot read aloud as fast as I can read silently. Research I have seen indicates the average colleges student reads from 200 to 400 words per minute (although so-called “speed readers” can do 500 or more wpm, but reportedly with less comprehension). A reasonably brisk adult speaker only manages about 140 wpm. Thus I am forced by the physical limitations of vocalization to take more time and say all the words.
I love the human voice. As I stated in my earlier essay, “The Ultimate Instrument”:
The human voice is the ultimate instrument for sharing meaning. It’s range of expression is vast. It’s sensory output is greater than virtually any other sound source. Yet most of us take this marvelous communications tool for granted. The savvy public speaker will greatly enhance his or her performance by exploiting variations in the human voice.
Regardless of what you say, the way you say it can itself be delightful. For example, I enjoy hearing noted historian David McCullough speak, regardless of his topic. His voice, a river of sonic honey, is ear candy for me. His tonality and graceful flow seem so effortless. Thus, when you speak aloud your delivery is just as important as your content. In speaking aloud your writing, you have doubled down on your pitch to the listener. In my experience, the audience response is greater, more positive, more attentive. The listener experience is more enjoyable so audience members naturally focus more closely on the speaker. Comprehension increases.
As I said at the outset, in speaking aloud you review better, understand better, and convey better to others. Your creative process becomes more of a seamless continuum of expression as you conceptualize, draft, proof read, polish, and present. So when you are writing, pause now and then. Speak your new text aloud. Even if it seems strange at first, you’ll find it becomes a valuable, even routine tool. Moreover, you will even start thinking more about how it sounds as you write. The essayist becomes the playwright!
Writing documents thought. Speaking aloud ensures the quality and enjoyment of that documentation. It’s that simple.