Some recent events have encouraged me to reflect upon the matter of written communications and in particular written communications in connection with disputes and the resolution of disputes.

I take the view that when someone is writing something in the form of a written communication there is some purpose in mind. Further, that the writer of the communication, regardless of any particular prior awareness or intention, would upon reflection realise that the communication may be read more than once and that it may be analysed by the reader; who may not necessarily be the direct addressee. Furthermore, that the originator of the written communication would have lost control of it the moment that it has been sent on its way (ie, sent in any way by any means, eg, maybe just handed over).

It may be useful to add that the written communications about which I am writing may be conveyed by a variety of ways and not just on paper. I shall also add that it goes without saying that a written communication may, for some reason or other, not be read at all by the addressee or anyone else, but that situation is outside the scope of this article.

By the very nature of any written communication it is the case that the writer (by which term, I mean the composer as opposed to someone who may simply be involved in the mechanics of actually writing a communication) can continue to think about the content of the communication right up until the time that the communication is sent on its way. Thus, there is a definitive point in time when no further input can be made to a particular written communication. Whereas, after the written communication has been sent, there is no limit upon the times that it can be read and reflected upon both by the writer and by the recipient and any subsequent readers.

That definitive point in time is obviously important for both the writer and the addressee. As stated above, for the writer, it is the end of an action; and for the addressee it is a beginning. It is a beginning because, even though the addressee may anticipate a written communication, it is not until after that definitive point in time that the addressee can know the communication’s true contents. If, indeed, the addressee can say that he or she knew the true contents before that definitive point in time, then the written communication itself would simply be confirmation of something which was known earlier and, thus, that earlier event would be the issue in question and not the communication itself.

The other significant point about any actual written communication is that it is only evidence of its own existence. For example, it may not even have been written by the apparent author. Further, the statements of fact or opinion included in the communication may not be true. Indeed, even the date of the written communication may be incorrect. Furthermore, the written communication may not even have been communicated in the way that the communication itself implies.

However, assuming that the written communication is made and received by the addressee, then it begins to take on its new existence as a piece of information in the hands of the addressee.

Subject to the communication being read by the addressee, the communication will be read by a person with a unique set of qualities. Further, that unique set of qualities will be different upon each subsequent read of the communication by the addressee. The same will be true for anyone else who reads the communication including also the writer. Indeed, it may be stated with conviction that the only thing or matter in this situation which will not be changed by any dynamic tendencies will be the actual piece of written communication itself. This fact is a self-evident truth which is amply demonstrated by any great work of literary art. Once such a work is published, and if it captures the imagination of its readers, it will spawn a great activity by way of analysis. Scholars and all sorts of other people will begin to write mountains of written commentary and make vast oral contributions, all of which will turn on various opinions about the meaning or elegance of some part of the text or on the totality of the work. Moreover, some great scholar, who admits to having read the literary work a hundred times before, may claim that upon reading it once again he or she discovers something new.

Of course, the written communications which are the topic of this article are unlikely to attract the attention of the world of great literary scholars, but they will attract the attention of the addressee, and potentially they may be read by others including lawyers and perhaps even a judge. All of these readers will be applying their own unique qualities to the task of soliciting something from these communications. All of these readers will be seeking to serve some discrete purpose which is driving their individual desire or need to actually read the communications.

Each one of us instinctively knows about the underlying points raised in this article and, moreover, there is no real obstacle to our full understanding about such matters. Nevertheless, day in and day out the writer of some written communication eagerly throws the text together and dispatches it to the addressee with a degree of complacency which is often hard to comprehend. This complacency is not simply arising out of the actions of the uneducated, inexperienced person. All too often such written communications are the output of very able people. All too often the unsatisfactory output is exposed at the time of some critical examination as part of some dispute resolution procedure. All too often such output is itself the cause of a dispute.

This article is not, of course, a recommendation that written communication should be avoided. Rather, it is about exercising great care prior to dispatching any written communication and recognising that the writer of the communication loses control of it once it is sent on its way.

I have, of course, tried to exercise great care before I lose control of this article, but the Editor has fixed a dead-line so I crave your indulgence for any apparent complacency which may be discerned from the evidence before you.