Fall 2022 Post 10: The Local Maximum Paradox in Writing

Mountains Beyond Mountains

I've just learned another lesson from my favorite blogger Josh Bernoff. In a recent post entitled "The local maximum paradox: why you often must go backwards to find fulfillment," Bernoff claims that the popular advice to always be pushing forward is not always so productive. In this post, he's giving a life lesson rather than a writing lesson, and he uses the mathematical concept of the local maximum, which is a maximum point of measurement (could be height, weight, or anything else) "within some neighborhood that need not be (but may be) a global maximum" (Wolfram MathWorld). Early in life, Bernoff was a mathematical prodigy, so he likes mathematical examples, even in writing. So what's his point, and how does it apply to writing?

Bernoff says that in our life pursuits we often aim for some high goal such as becoming a nurse, a computer programmer, or a business owner. We often make this choice when we are at some low point professionally: such as a recent high school graduate. We push and push to become a nurse, for instance, and when we attain that high status, we have a new viewpoint from which to view life, and we see that there are other, higher ambitions that we couldn't see before, but that we now want to achieve. The problem is that to get to those higher peaks, we often have to travel downward from the peak we've worked so hard to achieve. This can feel like going backwards, but it's the only way to start climbing the other peaks.

Some of you in this class are facing this same paradox. You have climbed a peak in your current profession attaining some status and position through hard work and effort, but now you see a higher peak, or at least a more attractive peak, that you want to achieve. To get there, you have to return to college, starting at the bottom in a freshman English class, and start climbing again. This can be a most daunting task, but it is about the only way to climb the other peak: walk down from your current peak.

Writers often face this local maximum paradox, as I did about six months ago with a children's novel that I wanted to write for my five-year-old grandaughter. I'm writing a 40 thousand word fantasy novel for pre-teens (she'll be about that old before I can finish it and find a publisher, if at all). It's about a girl, of course, who is on an adventure with two companions: a boy sasquatch and an older male rabbit. They start in Georgia, bound for northern Ontario, Canada, and I got them as far as a mountain in North Carolina. I have written the beginning and the ending of the novel, but I'm stuck midway in North Carolina. I can't figure out how to get from that mountaintop to the Blue Mountains near the Georgian Bay. So I've stopped writing for six months, and now I'm beginning to think that there ain't no good path from here to there. I may have to go backwards and start over again.

As you can imagine, I don't want to do that. I've written some pretty good stuff to get to North Carolina, and I don't want to delete thousands of words, but I'm beginning to accept that I can't go forward from here. I'll have to turn around, backtrack, and forge a new path, losing all those fine words I wrote. Of course, it breaks my heart and discourages me, but if I want to continue writing this story, then I'll have to do it.

My students often find themselves in the same paradox with their academic writing. As they near completion of a writing assignment, they realize that they've made a mistake. Perhaps they misunderstood the assignment, and now they see that they are about to turn in the wrong essay. Or perhaps they read an authoritative essay that changes how they interpret their topic, and what they thought was one way is now another way. For whatever reason, they realize they are about to crest the wrong peak with the wrong essay, and they can see a better peak in the distance, but the only way to get there is to climb down the peak they are currently on.

The problem is: they are almost finished. They have 900 words of a 1000 word essay. They really don't want to abandon all that writing. They know that what they have is not their best writing, but at least it's almost done. So what do they do?

You may be surprised that I say this, but in some cases students should settle for poorer writing and probably a poorer grade. If students are facing this dilemma the night before the paper is due, then they have little option but to turn in something, even if it isn't their best. Turning in something is almost always better than turning in nothing.

However, if they are writing a few days prior, then they can notify their professor, explain their situation, and ask for an extra day or two so that they can submit a better essay. I will certainly give them more time, as will many professors. Remember, all professors prefer to read better essays than poorer essays. Promise us better, and we'll probably give you the time. However, don't promise us the day after the essay was due. We are already suspicious of you by then and in little mood to be gracious. Communicate up front.