Clip and save this post. Any time you write something, use this as a checklist. If you meet these criteria, your piece will read well.
(1) Attack prepositional phrases
Too often, writers get lost in the stream of consciousness. One thing reminds them of another, then another, then … Make sure that of, with, by, under, over, etc., don’t just give you and excuse to go on and on. If you have a number of thoughts, use two or more sentences. Too many prepositional phrases can get you–and your reader–lost.
The profusion of prepositions was the major problem for Judith Butler, the last winner of the Bad Writing Award. It was also a problem in an analysis of the civil rights movement, which we explored in a previous post (see Passage 2).
(2) Avoid making nouns into verbs and verbs into nouns
One of the delights of language is its flexibility. I once heard Don Imus’s radio sidekick tell his boss that he would “effort” a task. He meant: try to do it. I kind of like it. It’s sprightly and, in context, makes fun of officious bureaucratese.
But too often nouning and verbing separates the words from their original meanings. Sometimes, it requires more words. One example: Government “spokespeople” and other officials often talk about “making an announcement,” as in: “The president made an announcement about new unemployment numbers.” Why not just say “The president announced new unemployment numbers”?
Whenever possible, use a single verb instead of a cluster of words.
(3) Root out the repetitions
We repeat ourselves for two primary reasons. First, as is the case with strings of prepositional phrases, we often repeat ourselves because our minds wander down a long stream of consciousness.
Second, because we cannot see our audience, we often repeat ourselves to satisfy ourselves we have made the point. When we speak directly to someone, we can see whether they follow us by their responses and body language. If I explain a math concept to a child doing homework, I know right away if she gets the concept. Not so with writing. Our audience is invisible. So, to clinch a point, we repeat it.
No need. If you explain something adequately, the reader usually will understand. If it’s a difficult concept, the reader can double-back to make sure she gets the concept. Repetitive writing can make things worse by altering the meaning enough to confuse the reader.
(4) Make sure you “start strong, finish strong”
Possibly my favorite rule. It’s simple, open with a strong statement, something that captures the reader’s imagination. Usually, that means a clear and vivid noun and verb. Stuff all the details, including attributions, in the middle. And then close with a memorable idea or image.
To reinforce this approach, I require my students to use a landscape format for their documents. Then I require them to write only one sentence per line. Two happy consequences occur. First, they can run their finger down both sides of the page to see if they start and finish strong. Second, they see sentences as the primary unit of writing. Often, the writing becomes both simpler and more poetic. (More on that in a later post.)
If you start and finish strong with everything you write–sentences, paragraphs, sections, essays, and books–you will almost never lose the reader.
(5) Flip the subjects of confusing sentences
Ultimately, writing works best when it gets the subject right. But often, we are thinking of several actors in the same sentence. And so we can fall into the trap of losing the real focus of the action.
Consider this sentence: “Administration sources said joint congressional committees would need to reconcile competing versions of the bill before President Obama decides whether to sign it.” What’s the subject? Administration sources? Joint congressional committees? President Obama? I think it’s President Obama. He’s challenging the committees to come up with the best bill.
(6) Cut adjectives and adverbs
You cannot write without adjectives and adverbs, of course. Well, you can write without adverbs, as Gabriel Garcia Marquez has shown in his recent work. Too often, adjectives and adverbs only wave at meaning. Better to state exactly what you mean, with specific actions and ideas.
Let’s get specific. If I say that Richard Nixon was a corrupt politician, what does that mean? Was he accepting cash bribes? Using his office to support political allies and punish opponents? Engaging in unlawful policies–like, for example, bombing countries without congressional approval? Withholding evidence from legal authorities? Using government agencies to attack political enemies?
Each of these kinds of offenses carries different ideas about corruption. Some people would argue that using office to reward friends is not necessarily corrupt (see, for example, Charles Peters’s argument for bringing back the spoils system). Others would argue that bombing countries without congressional approval is necessary under the president’s duties as commander in chief.
Here’s a simple rule of thumb: Use adjectives only when their meaning is unmistakable and when you follow up with clear examples of what you mean, so the reader can make her own judgments.
(7) Go after emphatics and hedges
Often we use emphatics like “very” and “really” and hedges like “sort of” and “probably” because we want to push the reader toward a conclusion but we don’t have enough evidence. Avoid that tendency. If you cannot provide specifics, maybe the emphatic or hedge says something false.
Quick quiz: What’s the emphatic I used in the previous paragraph? Often! What do I mean by that? Can I prove it? Or should I find a different way to say that emphatics and hedges pose a danger to clear writing?
(8) Simplify words
Simple rule: Always use the simplest word . . . except when a technical term makes your point more precisely.
Consider the words “facilitation” and “prioritization.” As far as I can tell, facilitation means “help” or “coach” or “assist.” Why would you want to use a gross word like facilitation when help can do all the work in one-fifth the time, with no confusion to the reader? Honestly, I don’t know.
I made this point in a seminar for small business people that included people who do training. One complained that facilitation holds a specific, technical meaning for people in his business. Facilitators, he said, get training in specific skills and processes. As an example, he mentioned facilitators for mediation professes. OK, if you want, use facilitator for such people. But really, don’t teachers and doctors and lawyers and accountants get specific training too? Would you can a lawyer a legal process facilitator? Any why not call that mediation facilitator a mediator?
(9) Make a stronger lead
Barry Gordy, the head of Motown Records, once said that he would not buy a record unless it captured the listener in three seconds. Writers have a little more time to capture the reader, but not much. In this distracted world, you need to show the reader right away why she should bother going beyond the first paragraph.
Amazingly, many opening passages do not clearly state the Five W’s–who, what, when, where, and why. You owe your reader a thorough preview of coming attractions. Teasing is fine in some forms of writing, like fiction. But even teases should offer enough information to orient the reader.
(10) Put the paragraphs in single-idea buckets
Make sure that every paragraph states and develops just one idea. If you try to develop two or three or more ideas, you will stray far off the subject. You will confuse yourself–and your readers–about what’s happening.
Just as you would not put football helmets and pads in your living room, make sure each paragraph keeps only what’s appropriate to do its job. Avoid going off on tangents that confuse both reader and writer.
One caveat: In narrative pieces, you sometimes use dialogue. The words of each speaker, typically, end with paragraph breaks. So, for example, you’d use six paragraph breaks for the following dialogue:
“Roy,” Bayard Rustin told Roy Wilkins, “someone has to announce that W.E.B. DuBois has died.”
“Not me,” Wilkins said.
“You should do it. He was the head of the NAACP, and that’s your organization.”
“I’m going to say anything about that damned Communist.”
“Then we’ll get Mr. Randolph to do it.”
“I’ll do it. Nobody’s speaking for my organization.”
I call the sum of these dialogues “paraclusters.” And so my one-idea-per-paragraph rule applies here to paraclusters.
That’s it. Ten rules that can transform any piece of writing. Learn ’em, use ’em, make ’em automatic. You’ll be glad you did.
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