The Boy Who Couldn't Speak Became a Writer

I've wanted to be a writer for as long as I can remember.

The irony is that my relationship with language did not begin well.

I didn't speak a recognizable word until I was three years old. Doctors were concerned. My family tells me my first word was "Pop," spoken on the day my older sister started school. Until then, the only sound I uttered was a single syllable: "ish." She did the talking for me, interpreting "ish" and telling everyone what I meant. 

School wasn't much easier.  I was placed in special classes, though I never really questioned why.  I simply assumed that words came more naturally to everyone else.

Years later, as a mature student applying for college, I sat an English placement test. I was confident. I liked what I had written and expected to do reasonably well.  Instead, I was placed in the beginner English class.  The result shook me. I thought I had written a thoughtful and imaginative story. Only later did I understand that the assignment wasn't asking for a story at all. It required an academic essay, complete with a thesis statement, supporting arguments, and a conclusion.

I hadn't failed because I couldn't think. I had failed because I didn't yet understand the language of academia.

For years, I admired people who seemed able to write with effortless fluency. I wasn't one of them. Then something happened. One day, commissioning editor Chris Catherwood, who had heard me speak, approached me with an idea. "You have a unique perspective," he said. "I'd like you to write a book." But he didn't simply hand me a contract. He paired me with a co-writer, Catherine Butcher.

I talked. She listened, asked questions, organized my thoughts, and turned conversations into chapters. Looking back, she wasn't simply helping me create a book. She was teaching me how books are written.

The next couple of books were co-written with my good friend Gerard Kelly, a gifted poet and natural writer. Gerard has an instinct for language and a flair for wordcraft that I admired. Once again, I was serving an apprenticeship.

Eventually, however, I had to find my own voice.

My MA dissertation became the first substantial piece of writing I completed entirely on my own. To my surprise and considerable relief, it received high praise from my professor, who recommended it for publication. That encouragement gave me the confidence to continue.

Since then, I have written several books, some of which have been translated into multiple languages. One was shortlisted for Business Book of the Year in the United Kingdom. Along the way, I have written countless articles, conference papers, newsletters, blogs, e-books, and, according to Grammarly, around a million words every year. 

Editors do far more than improve a manuscript. They also help coach the writer. My editors have made my writing stronger while teaching me something about the craft itself. 

That is why I believe that just as every great tennis player has a coach, every serious writer needs an editor. There is no shame in that. In fact, I would argue the opposite. The willingness to be edited is one of the marks of a writer who wants to keep improving.

The names and types of my editors have changed over the years, but each has helped me become a better writer. For most of my books since going solo, my mother, who loves words and was an author herself, has served as my personal editor. She loved words.

Before a manuscript was ever sent to the publisher, she diligently worked through it line by line. She corrected grammar, spotted awkward sentences, questioned my logic, and, perhaps most importantly, challenged me to say more clearly what I was trying to communicate.  We would talk on the phone, and later on Skype, when it became a thing, and sometimes face to face.  She was in the writing room with me.

She didn't simply improve my manuscripts. She taught me how to rewrite.

Then Microsoft Word arrived, and suddenly my computer had opinions.

It repeatedly informed me that I relied too heavily on the passive voice. The embarrassing part was that I didn't even know what the passive voice was.  I learned!

Then came Grammarly.  It still catches mistakes that I overlook. More importantly, it has taught me to notice patterns in my own writing and become a better self-editor. You would think after writing a million words a year, I would have mastered punctuation. Grammarly still tells me my biggest weakness is forgetting commas and full stops.

A few books ago, I added beta readers to my process before submitting a manuscript to the publisher. People from different fields who are readers to read from start to finish.  Not as editors, but as commentators and potential reviewers, I send them a near-final draft.

They aren't there to correct grammar. They read as ordinary readers. They tell me where I have lost them, where something is confusing, or where a story really connects. They remind me that writing is not about what I intended to say. It is about what the reader actually hears. 

Usually, after the beta readers, I write one or two more drafts, then send it to the publisher with whom I have a contract, and their team of editors begins working on the manuscript. They can be ruthless.  Entire paragraphs I thought were brilliant have disappeared beneath a sea of red ink. Facts are checked. Legal issues are raised. Repetition is removed. Sentences are rewritten. At the time, it can feel brutal. At times, I push back and defend, and an ensuing conversation takes place.

That process of working with professional editors and digital support has made me a better writer and resulted in a better manuscript. 

One habit I have developed over the years, having learned from the editorial process, is to let the first draft breathe, and I write for my eyes only. No one, and I mean no one, looks at my first draft. It is only my 2nd, or maybe 3rd, draft that others read and edit. 

My first draft is not my best writing. It is simply me thinking on paper with no fear of what others think.

Then comes the heavy lifting, as I rewrite, and rewrite, and rewrite.

My aim is for each revision to be shorter than the last. Out comes unnecessary adjectives. Adverbs disappear. Whole paragraphs vanish. I keep asking myself one question: Can I say this more precisely with fewer and better chosen words? Sometimes I ended up with more because I realized a separate chapter is needed.

The goal is not to write more. It is to say more with fewer words.

And now we have artificial intelligence. My first reaction was resentment. Caused initially by seeing a proliferation of articles being posted by folks I know, who used to post short, pithy comments that I always read with interest, and now were generating long-form essays with bullet points, emoticons, and all the tell-tale signs that it is not their voice but AI's.  Like many others, I stop reading once I know, which doesn't take long. 

But what really got my attention, was a few months ago,  I opened the blog editor on the Never Too Late Academy website, to paste an article I had written. Suddenly, a window appeared, a new feature.  It asked for the title and topic, saying it would write it for me.

I bristled.  Not because I fear technology. Quite the opposite. I've embraced every major writing tool of the past fifty years! (The first was the typewriter, the best class I took in high school.) What unsettled me was the thought of AI putting words in my mouth, assuming that I would be grateful and welcoming of the opportunity to reduce the investment of thought and creative energy.

I am not anti-AI at all. It helps with drafting emails, research, fact-checking, organizing information, and occasionally helps me tighten a sentence or explore another way of expressing an idea. AI is useful as an editor and an assistant for sure.

But when it comes to writing opinion or creative pieces, AI has a voice of its own.

Despite its pledge to write in your voice, its fingerprints are undeniable. The sentences are longer than they need to be. Certain words appear with surprising frequency. It explains what needs no explanation. It often says more but communicates less.

Useful as an editor, researcher, and fact checker? Absolutely.

A replacement for a human voice?  No.

Good writing is the bridge between the idea in the writer's mind and the understanding in the reader's.

The tools have changed dramatically during my lifetime. We have moved from typewriters to word processors, from spellcheck to Grammarly, and now to artificial intelligence. Each new tool has helped me become a better writer. 

But none of them has lived my life. No one has spent years traveling through Japan's remote villages researching longevity. None has buried a son. None has spent nights at sea in storms.  None have lived in war zones. None has watched a mother gradually lose the ability to read, write, and eventually edit another manuscript.

Those experiences remain mine.  They are the source of whatever voice I have.

Looking back, I smile at the irony. The little boy who didn't speak until he was three has now spent a lifetime trying to find the right words.

I'm thankful for every editor who has ever picked up a red pen, circled a sentence, challenged an idea, corrected my punctuation, or simply asked,

"Is this really what you mean?"

They didn't just improve my writing. They helped me find my voice. For that, I shall always be grateful.

A Few Thoughts for Aspiring Writers

• Start writing. Don't wait until you think you're a good writer.

• Keep your first draft for your eyes only. Don't aim for perfection. Simply get your thoughts onto the page. The first draft is where you discover what you think.

• Rewrite more than you write. Good writing is rarely written well the first time. It is refined through rewriting.

• Find trusted editors. Welcome people who challenge your thinking and make your writing stronger.

• Identify beta readers who will tell you the truth. They aren't there to flatter you. They are reading on behalf of your future audience.

• Expand your vocabulary. A richer vocabulary is not about sounding intelligent. It is about thinking intelligently. Every word carries its own shade of meaning. The more precisely you understand words, the more precisely you can think, communicate, and persuade. Precision in language leads to precision in thought. 

• Keep a notebook. Ideas are fleeting. Capture them before they disappear. I use voice memos if I am walking or waking in the middle of the night.

• Use AI wisely. Let it improve your writing, but don't surrender your voice to it. It does not have your lived experience.  YOU DO.

• Remember that good writing is more than correct grammar. Good writing captures attention, communicates clearly, stirs the imagination, and invites people to think, feel, and discover.

• Give credit where it is due. If you borrow a phrase or build on someone else's idea, acknowledge it. There is no shame in standing on the shoulders of others. But as much as possible, ensure that what finally appears on the page is yours—filtered through your own experiences, convictions, observations, and voice.

And finally... One day you may discover, as I did, that the child who couldn't speak has found a voice.

This article is dedicated to my mother, who patiently edited my words until she could no longer.

About the Author

Lowell Sheppard is the founder of the Never Too Late Academy, a Fellow of the Royal Geographical Society, and Senior Advisor to the International Academic Forum (IAFOR). He has lived in Japan for nearly thirty years and is currently traveling the country researching longevity, healthy aging, and the art of community. The author of ten books translated into multiple languages, one of which was shortlisted for Business Book of the Year in the United Kingdom, Lowell writes and speaks internationally on leadership, purpose, healthy aging, and lifelong learning.

Although he didn't speak until he was three years old, he has since spent a lifetime trying to find the right words. He still believes the best writers are lifelong apprentices, and he remains deeply grateful for the editors, mentors, and readers who have helped him find his voice. 

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