less is...more?

Writing a novel or a memoir is publicly spilling your guts. You've put it all out there, and now you're ready to ask someone to read it. Maybe even pay for it. But what can you say about your editing?

 When I was in college, back in the stone ages, one of the most useful exercises I did to perform was to write a two page essay. Big deal, right? But it came back with comments and a grade, and a mandate to cut it to one page, while retaining the essence of the essay. Okay. Did that with a lot of blood, sweat, and tears. And then it came back again. This time with the tall order to cutting it by half again, without letting the content suffer. It was difficult. I did it. And I really learned something. I couldn't tell you what I wrote about, but I can tell you that I learned that a lot that we spill onto paper can be cleaned up. Cleaned up again, and then dusted off and polished. Writing without editing is the equivalent to crying without tissues. It's messy, less than discreet, and the people looking on are made vaguely uncomfortable.

So how do you go about editing your work? It's your perfect baby. Your baby's perfect. As an editor, of course I'm going to say that the first line of defense is to have an editor. It's always better to give birth with a doctor in the room, right? And asking friends to read and comment is roughly equivalent to asking your grandmother what she thinks of your baby. Even if she notices the a pointy head and odd ears, she's going to love it. It's yours, and s She loves you.

So, if you can't afford an editor, do what I'm doing here. Make the task slightly less daunting. Choose two pages, copy them into a new document, and start the surgery.

You are looking for extraneous crap. Things you don't give your reader credit for knowing from context. You wrote, "she had long, lovely hair streaming down her back that shone auburn in the evening light." Do you really need "streaming down her back"? I think not. Your readers know, or fervently hope, that her long hair is not streaming down her face. Try taking it out. Even if you decide to leave it after the exercise, you have made a decision. You have edited. And what about "lovely"? I'd opt for something more descriptive. Try a rewrite. "Her hair fell in a cascade of waves, shining auburn in the evening light." I think it's better. Oh. And now that I look at it, my original sentence has a weird construct, implying that her back was shining auburn in the evening light. Good to recognize. Better to take some time to edit. Best to excise the errors before some persnickety reader gives you a huffy review on Amazon.

Verbal Quirks

When editing works by others, I am struck by the quirks that show up over and over. I have one author who can't resist, "and thus". And thus, her work is propelled to the next idea or thought. Another seems stuck in hell. As in, "Hell, it was more than he could have expected." And, "Hell, he was there anyway."

Verbal quirks can be quite useful in framing a character's personality. The trick is to be sure that the quirk remains theirs alone. If it starts showing up in other characters, or in descriptive paragraphs, the reader is going to know that it is your verbal quirk, and the author has suddenly inserted himself into the story, which is usually jarring, and a detriment to the willing suspension of disbelief.

The exception, of course, is when the story is framed around a first-person narrator. In that case, verbal quirks can help the reader see into the narrator's mind. But be careful--you want that to be the narrator's mind--not the author's. Unless they are one in the same.

Most writers tend to have a strong voice and language skills formed by both place and time. So how do you avoid the pratfalls of your own linguistic quirks? That's where the 21st century comes to your aid. If you are writing in Word, and let's face it, most of us are, then part of the editing process involves using the "find" function. When reading your manuscript, make sure you note repeated uses of words or phrases. If "hell" shows up more than four times in a couple of chapters, do a search on "hell" through the whole book. "Find" is on the Home tab, to the far right, if you are on any version of Word from about 2003 on. Click on it, type in "hell", and see what it finds. If you have more than a dozen or so occurrences in a 250 page book, they merit a look-see, and some careful consideration. Do they need to be where they are? Do they advance the story, or say something about the character?

Part of the writing process is learning a bit about yourself, and in the process, learning about your verbal quirks, where they work, and where they don't. Think of it like taking your baby to the pediatrician. As much as you adore your baby, you'd probably prefer that the pediatrician mentioned that your baby has six toes on both feet--an anomaly you were blinded to because they are such cute, soft little feet . You'd want to know the consequences of that, and whether or not it was prudent to do something about it. A good editor can help you do the same thing with your precious tome. First, to make you aware of any anomalies, and then to advise you on the merits of some judicious surgery.

If economics dictate that you must be your own editor, then it's time to make sure you are your harshest critic. And cultivate a well-read friend or two. Ones who are willing to be frank about what they've read. And ones that you are willing to listen to. All defenses down. Ready to go back and excise those quirky appendages that may be getting in the way of a very good read.

one thing leads to another

To the fairly well-educated and logical mind, with its cache of about 20,000 or so words (an estimate that fluctuates by study),  there are more than a few words that seem to mean something other than what they actually mean. They can be a trap for writers the same way that obscure, complex usage rules are. With usage rules, it is generally accepted among authors that if one knows the rule it is sometimes acceptable to bend or break the rule for reasons of style. Not so much with words and their meanings.

One of the pitfalls lurks in the concept of "word families." An easy example of a word family is the word family for tone. If you know what tone is, and you know the general concepts of word forms, then you likely know the meanings of toned, toning, tonal, tones, and probably even intoned without much thinking about it. You could probably infer the meaning of tonicity if you ran across it, from your understanding of the root word tone and your understanding of word forms. The trapdoor opens when you decide to use tonicity in your own writing, without verifying your understanding of the meaning. Writing, "the tonicity of the painting's colors was inspirational" will make most people think you are making up your own words. It will make people dealing in medicine and biology laugh, because tonicity is a term specific to the state of firmness or functional readiness of body tissues or organs. It's fine to trust your instincts when reading a new word form, better to verify when you are using one.

Peril looms as well within the concept of "receptive knowledge" or your ability to infer the meaning of a word in the context of it's use. For instance, if you ran across a passage that said "the accident victim was dizzy and discombobulated", even though you might not be familiar with discombobulated, you might be able to deduce, through your receptive knowledge of the way people usually respond to accidents, that the victim had been thrown into a state of confusion. You could merrily read on, certain of what was going on, without ever adding discombobulated to your active vocabulary.

The risk starts when you add a word to your active vocabulary without ever really understanding what it means. That can happen when you read a word misused by the author using it. Through general reading, it would be simple for any reader to misconstrue the meaning of infer. Infer is so commonly misused when imply is what is intended that the error has perpetuated alarmingly. The meanings are opposite. If you write, "she inferred that I was a total jackass," those readers who know the difference between inferences and implications will assume that you did something to make others conclude that you were acting stupidly and offensively. If you were just minding your own business in the "10 items or fewer" lane at the supermarket with two lemons that you counted as one item of ten, and she was glaring at your basket then shooting you the stink eye, then she was implying you were a total jackass. You may have inferred from her over-reaction that the woman was a total nut-case. Who gets that incensed about a lemon?

Here are a few common word traps that snare many writers, both through assumptions about word families and receptive knowledge of the way language is commonly used:

• Penultimate—one of my favorites, because I was a willing victim. I always assumed that it was a stupid inflation of a perfectly good word. Something along the lines of saying something is "more unique" or "beyond infinite". Things ultimate, unique, or infinite are by definition insuperable. Through receptive knowledge I came to the incorrect conclusion that penultimate was just another example of language inflation for the sake of puffing up the image of the writer or speaker. Then one afternoon, I heard it used so often during the coverage of a race in the Tour de France that I decided to look it up. It means "second to last". That's it. We were watching the second-to-last race. A perfectly serviceable word. Just be aware that when you describe something as the penultimate example of, say, shrimp fra diavlo, that you are saying that there is something coming next that will be the last word on what a shrimp fra diavlo should be.

• Conflate—is not the same thing as inflate, aggrandize, or amplify. To conflate is to bring together; combine disparate parts into a composite. If someone conflated his resume, it doesn't mean he exaggerated his qualifications. Or it shouldn't anyway. It more properly means that he decided to combine his resumes for mime and quantum physics in the hopes that his combined skills would attract employers in need of  someone who could explain string theory entirely through dance.

• Insure—means to call Afflack for a policy. Ensure means to promise certainty. Insuring yourself against sky-diving accidents ensures a depletion of your bank account.

I know that's just three examples of oft misused  words, but this is running long. So just consider, in a free moment, looking up a few of these: nauseous, comprise, decimate, apprise, bemuse, whence, continual/continuous, dissemble, disinterested/uninterested, peremptory, sensual/sensuous, venial/venal.

The list could go on ad nauseum, but those are some interesting examples. I hope it encourages you to be curious both about the language you read and the language you use.

the other side of the coin

I've done my riff on bad clichés and how to avoid them, but every argument has two (or more) sides, and so I am going to visit how to use clichés effectively in writing.  And there are several ways they can enhance clear composition by making succinct what could be a labored and convoluted written detour in order to avoid them.

Choosing when to use a cliché is not a simple task.  Context matters, audience matters, subject matters, and forum matters. The audience comprises those who will read your writing, listen to your speech, or listen to you recite your latest poem.  The forum is the gathering of both audience and authors—those who participate in general on the topic you are addressing.  What is acceptable language at a coffee house poetry slam is certainly not likely what you would include in your thesis, unless of course, you are doing a thesis on coffee house poetry slams.  Even then, you would be wise to frame those references differently than you would if you were actually on the little stage, reciting your latest iambic-pentameter creation, “My Thesis Advisor is an AHole”.

With that said, here are my four rules for using clichés:

1.       A one word cliché doesn’t really count as a cliché, so don’t be dogging yourself over every little word you use that started out as one thing and morphed into another.  Think of it as a trope. A trope is a word, phrase, or expression that is used figuratively, usually for rhetorical effect.  The word “detour” I used in the first paragraph is a trope. It began its life as a word representing the physical diversion of traffic from some sort of obstacle or construction site.  It is an apt short-hand word to represent a verbal diversion from the main topic at hand. I am certainly not going to twist my writing into knots just to detour “detour”.  You’ll recognize a trope when you see one.  If you read in the paper that the DA dogged the defense attorney for emails sent by the CFO, you aren’t likely to think that he literally followed the defense attorney around slobbering and wagging his tail, begging for attention. A trope is the opposite of the useful cliché.  It no longer elicits an image specific to its origin. It has a new meaning that has entered the general lexicon. Which leads directly to my next rule.

2.       If a cliché elicits a clear image, I vote that it can be useful. “He twisted himself into knots trying to hide his earlier lies,” evokes an image of someone literally squirming with discomfort in the face of confrontation.  Go for it.  Saying, “they took the settlement because a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush,” is lazy use of a proverb.  Much better to write, “they took the settlement because it seemed unlikely that the jury would award them anything.”  A good rule is to think about what image comes to mind when you use a cliché. If it is an evocative image that enriches what you are trying to say, fine.  If it just muddies up the discourse or obfuscates the message or emotion, Rewrite.  Rewrite.  Rewrite.

3.    If you can put your own spin on a cliché, then it can be a useful tool.  During an email exchange with a friend, who will no doubt read this, talking about partisan rhetoric, at one point I wrote, “it just seems like so many black pots and kettles.” “The pot calling the kettle black” is such a tired old saw, I was pretty sure she would get my meaning, even though I didn’t invoke the cliché directly. Of course there is the danger of writing something like that to an audience of people who haven’t heard your cliché before, and have no idea that iron pots and kettles suspended over a wood fire all turned black before we all started cooking on clean gas with stainless clad cookware. Know your audience before you go getting all clever on the cliché. A safer route with cliché-bending might be merely inserting a word or two of your own center-stage. “She found herself between the rock of lying and the hard place of time in jail,” might do well to succinctly describe someone’s state of mind during a trial. Especially in a piece that might already be long and complicated, and not necessarily focused on that person. Choose you cliché to work within context.

4.     Count.  Go back and count.  Just how many clichés are you relying on in your piece? I found more than a few here. I excised a few, and left the rest, because I thought they adhered to my own rules.  I would love for someone to call me out if you disagree. Cliches are like fine wine. Sip, don't guzzle.

flying on instinct

This weekend while Jim and I were working in the yard, I realized that there were a couple of Carolina Wrens flying busily in and out of the garage.  I then remembered that a pair had tried a couple of years ago to build a nest in the lower corner of a piece of sculptural artwork we have hanging in the garage.  Yes, we have artwork hanging in the garage.  Jim keeps a very tidy garage and it looks good in there.

a piece titled "hey pops" by my friend Evan Everhart;

the birds wanted to nest in the lower left corner...

twice

So what does this have to do with editing?  It has to do with instinct.  Carolina Wrens have an instinct that tells them to find safe nesting places inside of structures.  I think many writers have an instinct to find safe hiding places inside structures.  Familiar structures, comfortable words, easy phrases that repeat time and again in their writing.  That is where a little fearless editing comes in handy.  It's fine to begin writing inside your safe and comfortable places to get a piece started, but when it's time to start editing your work, it's time to shine a little light on those habits.  I suggest starting a list of words and phrases, and even sentence structures, that may show up too often.

So, two of my writing foibles are starting too many sentences with "So", and perhaps using "perhaps" too often. Oh. And I simply must excise "simply" about 75 percent of the time I use it.  And what's up with my annoying habit of starting so many sentences with conjunctions?  Making a written list, even if you toss it in a drawer afterwords, should have the effect of making a little bell go off in your head every time you head into too familiar compositional territory.  That gives you more control over your writing habits.  Even if your decision is to keep the trope, it's still a conscious choice.

I know that repetition is one of many tools available to a writer. The effect of repetition can make for mesmerizing prose or poetry when it is used with precision. Take a look at Poe's poem The Raven.  He ends each stanza with "more" but manipulates each line by using it sometimes as "nothing more", "evermore", "Nevermore", and "Never-nevermore". His manipulation of each line makes the ending "more" all the...well...more powerful than if he had artlessly ended each stanza with "Quoth the Raven 'Nevermore'".  A valuable lesson to fledgling songwriters.

That last sentence is another habit of mine.  Writing thoughts or statements in incomplete sentences.  I'm aware of it, have been doing it for years, and it is part of my style that I am not going to change.  The key difference I see between developing a style and hiding under the familiar is first developing the ability to recognize that there is a difference.  Then the bird said nothing more.

yeah, whatever

There is a difference between being ironic and being sarcastic. So, what's the difference?  According to quite a few Google searches on the matter, not much.  But I beg to differ, which is both a cliche and a nice little piece of irony. In the era of shouting-match disagreements, ridiculous discourse at maximum volume, and TV hosts who cultivate guest lists for the most obvious level of mutual disdain, begging to differ with someone is charmingly quaint, and an irony, considering the current state of affairs.

As a writer, it will serve you well to know the difference.  Calling your brother a real math genius when he fails to calculate the tip for the dinner tab correctly is sarcastic.  Suggesting that he was perhaps absent on the day they taught tip calculation 101 in eighth grade is also sarcastic. As is calling him a skinflint.  Suggesting that his smart phone tip-calculator app might like to weigh in on the  matter is ironic.  How so?  Because the first three responses insult him outright, and the last one simply reminds him that he has a smart phone tip calculator app. A slight difference, but a difference nonetheless.

Irony is Mark Twain writing in all seriousness about the decaying art of lying while expounding on the ubiquitous need for the everyday lie, considering the general high-horse view on lying.  Shouting out "YOU LIE!" during a presidential speech to a joint session of congress is sarcastic and a bit coarse, though certainly in keeping with the history of that honorable body of governance.  Suggesting that a dubious plan for national health care may "need a few of the details worked out" is ironic.  And a bit sardonic as well, which is a related topic, though it might confuse things here a bit, so I'll leave it for another day.

Think of using irony as opposed to using sarcasm as the difference between using a rapier or a baseball bat to commit a murder.  The outcome may be the same, but the ensuing scene is entirely different.  They both may have their appropriate moment, but what one makes up for in convenience the other highlights forethought and style.  They both produce some blood and grievous wounds for the recipient.

what's that buzzing noise?

Perhaps the most laughable of all language foibles is the buzz word. For the sake of efficiency, "buzz word" defines both words and strings of words in common use in the business, conventional media, and social media worlds.

So, how does the buzz word differ from the cliche?  They sometimes intersect, but the cliche is generally a phrase we use as a comfortable cloak to keep us protected from the bold and sometimes frightening act of speaking plainly.  The buzz word is...well, bad slang for adults.  A college kid can be forgiven for calling some dude a swagger jacker for stealing his witty way with a baseball cap.  That's slang, which can be highly creative with interesting re-combinations of words and sounds. And it has the decency to be out of fashion by the time I post it.  The buzz word, not so much.  The buzz word is the work of people who own casual Friday business attire,ask whether things are "age-appropriate", and never let their pet phrases die a well-deserved and quiet death.

Nothing makes a grown-up look more silly than peppering speech (or writing) with stupid buzz words. (All right, wearing a Moose Lodge antler hat and doing secret handshakes might look marginally more silly, but this is a grammar blog.)  If you find yourself sitting around a conference table with a group of sales people, saying something like, "there is a lot of low-hanging fruit out there, and we need to get our ducks in a row and light a fire under our sales efforts.  I want you to parking-lot other priorities and really get your arms around these new initiatives.  If we are going to dollarize these opportunities by the end of this fiscal quarter, we are going to need to up-tier and drink from the fire hose.  Ping me as soon as you have something," you are in serious need of an intervention.

In fact it is perfectly acceptable for an employee driven to the brink of madness by buzz-jawing to jump you right at the conference table, going for a head slam with a triple lutz. Other employees will clap and cheer, and when the police fill out the report, they will nod sympathetically when she says, "I slipped." Saying "no" to buzz words is in the best interest of your physical well-being, and the mental health and happiness of your employees.  If you are not the boss, but merely an over-reaching employee, take heed.  Getting your arms around the management lingo in order to create a paradigm shift and move the needle on your mission-critical promotion can cause your fellow worker bees to take you out into the real parking lot and beat you with a stick.

I'm just sayin'.  On-boarding with the idea of going cold turkey on buzz words may well raise the bar for office dialoguing, giving you a halo effect, and up-tiering your career.  I know this has been a come to Jesus post, but I am going to be out of pocket for awhile.  Ping me if you have any thoughts.