How to Write an Article for a Herp Society Newsletter by Jonathan Crowe
Chorus 23, no. 8 (Oct. 2007)

I don’t envy Bob’s job. Getting people to write articles for herpetological society newsletters is a difficult if not impossible task, as I know all too well. During my two years editing The Ontario Herpetological Society News (from 1999 to 2001), I had to beg, plead and cajole people to write articles for me. Of the articles I did get, more than a few were so badly written that I had to edit them heavily. Rewriting the articles sentence by sentence did not always go over well with some of the authors, who objected to every change I made to their prose. Even if it was awful. Especially, it seemed, if it was awful.

But problems with grammar and spelling weren’t the only issues. In many cases the articles were written well enough, but were in a convoluted and overwrought style; others didn’t seem to have much of a point. And some were just too darn long.

Don’t misunderstand me: herpers aren’t necessarily bad writers. But I do think they could use some guidance—some advice that would allow them to make the most of what they’ve got, and say what they’re trying to say, without tripping up. Every kind of writing is different: you don’t write a newspaper article, or an instruction manual, the same way you write a novel. No one, to my knowledge, has sat down to write something that said, “This is how you write an article for a herpetological newsletter.” So I thought I would try.

I think the reason why it’s so hard to get herpers to write an article is that they’re just too intimidated by the prospect. I’ve seen authorities in their field, with all kinds of tips and tricks to share, absolutely freeze when someone tried to hit them up to write something for The OHS News. They couldn’t imagine doing it. Total panic. Even a short article for a club newsletter with a tiny circulation is too much for people who are too self-conscious about their writing. Those of us who are comfortable with our writing don’t always appreciate that.

Most of the problems I encountered in the writers’ articles were, I think, a result of that self-consciousness. Those writers who could work up the nerve to submit something to me ended up trying too hard. Essentially, they overdid it: by trying to be professional, they came across as convoluted; by trying to be comprehensive, they ended up writing articles that were too long, or contained material that wasn’t really needed for the article’s purpose.

Telling people not to be afraid won’t help: easier said than done! And giving a crash course in grammar is beyond the scope of this article (or this newsletter, for that matter). But I can offer some suggestions that might help you write a reptile article, if some of what I’ve described seems all too familiar to you.

First, write informally. You’re writing for a herp newsletter, not Reptiles magazine, and certainly not Copeia. Your audience is small (usually fewer than a hundred people), and it’s made up of your friends and acquaintances, not a bunch of scary professors and experts who might humiliate you for the least mistake. We’re not going to make fun of you for writing something—in fact, we’re going to be proud of you for stepping up and trying. Most of us know what stage fright is like.

One thing you could try is to write your article as though you were explaining something to a friend via e-mail. (Except, of course, you’d be more careful about spelling and punctuation.) I’ve known people who were perfectly articulate in their correspondence and in person, but who clammed up completely when they tried to Write Something. Get over that. Forget any notions of writing for posterity. Don’t worry about how you’re telling your story—just tell it. Relax!

My second suggestion is to limit your focus. As I’ve said, too many articles try to cover too much. Writing the definitive article on a subject or species is not only overwhelming and intimidating, it’s impossible to do well. You can’t know enough—you can’t read enough—to be that authoritative. There have been professors who have spent their entire lives working on definitive works of a single genus: Howard Gloyd spent his entire life working on his monograph on Agkistrodon, and died before he could finish it!

I’ve tried to follow this strategy with my own articles. I’ve never written the definitive article on the captive care of Butler’s Garter Snakes, for example, but I did co-write an article on how to convert them to a mouse-based diet: this was something I knew about directly, and could speak to with a certain amount of authority and confidence. And when it came time to write a couple of articles about raising baby garter snakes, I focused on some of the things I’d learned by doing it myself, rather than worrying about being comprehensive.

Which ties into my third point: have something to say. I’ve seen many articles that were the result of the author consulting their libraries: a little research, a little cribbing, and here’s yet another care sheet that’s indistinguishable from all the other care sheets that have ever been written for that species. I’m sorry, but that’s boring. You don’t need to re-invent the wheel or repeat what everyone else has already said. But if you bring your personal experience to the article, you make it unique. Suddenly, you have something new to say—and something that other people will want to pay attention to.

And that will shine through—no matter how badly you spell.

Note: This article has not been updated since its first publication. As a result, some of the facts referred to in the text may now be out of date.