When I tell aspiring writers that they should think of themselves as part entertainer, they don’t like to hear it — the word smacks of carnivals and … - William Zinsser

You must find some way to elevate your act of writing into entertainment.

Most nonfiction writers have a definitiveness complex. They feel that they are under some obligation — to the subject, to their honor, to the gods of writing — to make their article the last word. It’s a commendable impulse, but there is no last word. What you think is definitive today will turn undefinitive by tonight, and writers who doggedly pursue every last fact will find themselves pursuing the rainbow and never settling down to write. Nobody can write a book or an article “about” something. Tolstoy couldn’t write a book about war and peace, or Melville a book about whaling. They made certain reductive decisions about time and place and about individual characters in that time and place — one man pursuing one whale. Every writing project must be reduced before you start to write. Therefore think small. Decide what corner of your subject you’re going to bite off, and be content to cover it well and stop.

Writing, however, isn’t a special language that belongs to English teachers and a few other sensitive souls who have a “gift for words.” Writing is thinking on paper. Anyone who thinks clearly should be able to write clearly — about any subject at all.

In his monthly column in Natural History magazine and in books like The Panda’s Thumb I’ve found myself caught up in the riddles of evolution and the miracles of the natural world. Gould never forgets one of nature’s oldest laws: that everybody loves a story. Every month he tells me a remarkable story and then tells me why he thinks it came out the way it did.