Every couple of weeks or so, someone – often a subscriber to this e-letter – says something like, “Oh, Jan, you’re such a good writer!”

If these speakers stopped there, I’d get a warm fuzzy feeling and say a sincere “thank you,” and we’d both be happy.

But these people usually press on with some comparison like “I wish I could write like that,” “I have such trouble with my writing,” “I hate to write, but I keep trying,” or one of a dozen variations.

No matter how they word it, their basic message is, “You, Jan, are a good writer, and I am not.”

I try to remember to say “thank you” first. Then I say something like this:

“I am a professional on a closed course. Do not attempt this at home.”

Writing (along with rewriting and editing other people’s material) is my job. I have to be good at it. I have a lot of training and experience, just as you have a lot of training and experience at your job.

The odd thing about writing is that everybody thinks he or she ought to be able to do it. 

And pretty much everyone does do it, sort of. I imagine you craft hundreds of perfectly serviceable e-mails every week. They’re not deathless prose, but they don’t need to be. They may contain occasional grammar mistakes or be twice as long as necessary, but they provide the information people need to act.

(If they don’t, you hear about it. The nice thing about messages that stay within your group is that, unlike messages you send to a broader audience, you get a chance to correct any misunderstandings.)

The fact that you can write a work e-mail does not mean that you should be able to write an e-letter that, like this one, simultaneously entertains (I hope), informs, and solicits business.

More specifically, you shouldn’t expect to be able to write such an e-letter – or a compelling webpage or an inspiring annual report – just because you had writing classes in school.

I had math classes, too, but that doesn’t make me an accountant. You and I both had biology classes, but that doesn’t make us physicians.

I can balance my checkbook. We both know enough to take a painkiller when we have a headache. But let’s not take it any further than our training and experience allow. 

You don’t have to be a good writer, dear heart. It’s not your job. I bet you’re really good at what your job actually is, just as I’m good at mine.

So please don’t feel inadequate about not being a good writer. I don’t feel inadequate about not being a good program manager, artist, or teacher.

Go about your daily internal communications as necessary without worrying about them too much. You’re probably a good enough writer to get the job done. (If you’re not, you’ll hear about it.)

When you need a more-than-good-enough writer, though – that is, when the stakes are higher than for the daily mound of e-mail – don’t try to be something you’re not. Hire me.

Do we have a deal? I won’t try to do your job, and you don’t have to try to do mine.