Your ears are tuned to language. They pick up errors every time you open your mouth, which is why deafness (which reduces self-correction) often leads to difficulty articulating. They are sensitive to the nuances of dialogue, which is why, high school students who may not be great at copying how teachers sound can still imitate their phrasing and idioms well enough to draw laughs. They are affected by rhythms, rhymes and beats, which is why a forced line in a lyric or poem can be so irksome. They are experienced in following stories and raising questions about stories, which is why bedtime stories can last a lot longer than it takes to read what’s on the page.
For me, hearing typos makes them stand out. This is embarrassingly true when (as has happened to me) a friend chooses to read your work out loud at a get-together. But you don’t need a friend to test your work. Your computer (whether Apple or PC) has a text-to-speech function that does a good enough job. I’ve found better than 80 percent of the typos that have escaped my eye (and automated editors) are found by having my computer read the work to me.
Text-to-speech can also reveal awkward phrasing and make important omissions more apparent, but reading aloud is more effective to me. Whenever I read a finished scene, chapter, or short story, the excess bits and missing bits stand out. I think this has to do with listening to stories as a child and in audio. The unnecessary sequences make me restless. The omissions raise questions.
It may be more than just ears that are involved. There’s a recontextualization happening that helps what’s actually there (instead of what’s intended) stand out. I have friends who always put their manuscripts into a different font as a way to see them with fresh eyes. But for me, fresh ears carry the day.
Reading dialogue out loud picks up tongue-twisters (the work of the tongue, not the ears), but, if you read through each character’s dialogue independently, it’s usually evident that some lines sound more like the author than the character. (A speech is essentially a monologue. It needs to have one, consistent voice, and that’s why it’s easy to pick out the speechwriter’s own words in a defective speech.)
The poetry of language is a delight, and, if you let it, they opportunities will declare themselves with a reading. Repetition, alliteration, changes in sentence length, paragraph breaks, and more will fight to replace stodgy prose. Flow, varied cadence, and even just the right words are waiting to be revealed like Michelangelo’s form looking to escape from the marble block.
Humor, other than revealing needed punctation, may be hurt by repeated reading. Even a good joke can sound lame over time. So protect what drew a laugh by tolerating its diminishing power.
Reading aloud is also a great way to discover and develop your own unique voice as a writer. When you talk, it comes out naturally. When you write, a dozen English teachers reshape it. But when you make the effort to return to speech, the English teachers, over time, are driven away to leave what’s special.
The biggest test of text that puts ears to work is listening to an actor read the work. Every wonderful thing will stand out. Every bit that needs improvement becomes nails scratching at a blackboard.
One more thing. The ear can be trained. I think listening to poems being read (and learning about how techniques of poetry work their magic) makes the ears better writing partners. Hearing different actors read the same classic lines can help, too. Whatever your ears reveal in someone else’s work is halfway in your possession. To own it fully, use what you’ve learned. And enjoy the results when the full work is finished, and it’s time for you to read it aloud.
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