Text A: an original contemporary practice extract.

I wrote a card for the backstage cupboard explaining where borrowed props should be returned and how to report damage. Another pupil shortened it to: ‘Put things back and write down any problems.’ I admired the neatness of her version and thought actors rushing home would be more likely to read it.

Before printing the card, I asked two new cast members to follow it during a clear-out. One put a suitcase on the nearest shelf instead of the shelf for its production. The other recorded a loose paper label as damage to the prop itself. Their decisions were reasonable: the shortened instructions had removed distinctions they needed. I restored the specific shelf names and added brief examples of damage. The card became longer, but the next group returned everything correctly without asking for help.

Text B: an original contemporary practice extract.

I prepared labels for containers in a shared cooking room, with separate spaces marked ‘prepared on’ and ‘use by’. A volunteer replaced both prompts with the single word ‘date’ and removed the examples underneath. He argued that people working quickly needed as little text as possible. I agreed to try his simpler label during a lunchtime session.

By the end, volunteers had used ‘date’ to mean the day the food was made, the day it entered the fridge or the day they expected it to be eaten. I did not blame them, because the label allowed every interpretation. I restored the two separate prompts and placed a sample entry beneath each one. The revised label occupied more space, but the following group completed it consistently and no longer needed to check what the date meant.

Both texts describe what happens after somebody shortens a writer’s instructions.