Over fifteen years ago all us kids had to first copy out the sentence from the grammar book and only then label the parts of speech. Even though my handwriting was growing into the flowing river of molten gold it is today, I disliked that busywork of writing. Later, in high school, when there was a minimum amount of words we had to have in an essay mine were about a lot of nothing loosely threaded together. This was only magnified in college once things had to be typed. But all along and in between poorly composed longer assignments were pithy paragraphs and witty Facebook statuses and nicely done test answers. This crutch is my stilts since not liking to write anything lengthy spurs me to take fewer but longer steps. The more meaning in one word, the less my hand has to move.
This does not mean that I have a short attention span. Even though I dare not demand others waste more than a moment on my own words, I have always enjoyed a long book. We owe great books our attention. But most of what we think has been said before, and the only thing left might be to summarize and organize and humorize all the knowledge for our own heads.