Tuesday, March 11, 2014

The Strength of Common Words

“Poor Faulkner. Does he really think big emotions come from big words?”—Ernest Hemingway.

The thesaurus is bad for your writing. The only acceptable use for the thesaurus for a writer is to recall that word that you know is exactly what you want, but can't quite remember. Even in these cases, you should only draw on the thesaurus in matters of extreme importance, otherwise if you can't quite remember the word that means the same thing as “energetic,” for instance, just put down “energetic” and move on. When you read back over your work you'll find it didn't really matter anyway; “energetic” plays just fine.

I'm disappointed every time I see a vocabulary post on all the different and better ways to say “happy” or “angry or “sad.” I understand being excited by language—I feel it myself and encourage it in others—but nothing says happy quite like the word itself, or perhaps better yet, a smile or a laugh or an arm thrown around someone's shoulders.

Context communicates a great deal. One of the remarkable aspects of writing is that the total effect of a story, a scene, or even a thought, is greater than the collection of words that make it up. Big, ten-dollar words tend to keep me at arm's length from a story. Sure, I may enjoy the language for its own sake, but I won't feel close to any of the characters because the language draws too much attention to itself and distracts from the story.  Maybe you've felt that some.

I had a poetry workshop with a girl who adored words—obscure, archaic, flowery words. She wrote gems like “coquettish clouds” and “cast a pall.” I can't remember much of it because none of the poems made me feel a damn thing. They didn't even paint vivid images. If they were about much beyond the language (and I think she wanted them to be), I couldn't tell. She hid too much behind her fancy words. Her poems were uninteresting series of interesting words.

I am not arguing for anyone to dumb down their language. Write the way you want to write, that's style. I'm only advising you not to try so damn hard to punch above your weight. If you really feel your vocabulary is weak, read some more good books. Your writing is never going to sound natural if you always have to stop to look up shinier words. As long as your writing is sensible, that's what is important. It's enough work to maintain a consistent tone and focus and pacing through a story without also worrying about sowing linguistic pearls into your sentences every twenty to thirty words.

Be clear and write what you mean. That doesn't mean be stupid and flat footed. You can still turn word somersaults if you like, but it's important to know where and when in a story you can get away with such showy arrangements. If you want a moment to matter to a reader, trust in a light touch. The common, compact words that we all know so well are always the ones that knock us out. We all have so much invested in such words—they're familiar, so we never see the punch coming. 

I have never in my life been jubilant. Not once. But now and again, for a little while at least, I have been happy.

9 comments:

  1. Never been jubilant? Then maybe you have a real thrill coming. It's much more than happy. More intense and celebratory. Like when you finally accomplish some great thing that has cost you enormous effort. Wow! Faulkner captures it, and also cataclysmic depression, not because the words are big, but because they are the right ones.

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    1. You have it exactly, Geoff. It's about the right words. I just want developing writers to trust that simple words can be the right ones, and can pack a lot of punch even though we used them casually all the time. They should resist the urge to needlessly dress up their language for lack of confidence.

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  2. What you said is so true. There are some famous authors from the near past that I tried to read, but every few words I nearly had to look up. You can't enjoy a story you have to struggle through. I consider myself a meat and potatoes writer. Nothing fancy, but I hope I know how to tell a good story.

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  3. I agree with you on a lot of levels. The quickest thing that will make me close a book or stop reading someone's poetry is when I have to stop and look up words or I have to write the poet if I can; asking what are they talking about; please explain what you are saying?

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    1. Good things can come from struggle, though. Don't mind too much being confused by poetry. I'd say feel your way through a confusing poem and never mind what it means, then work forward from the sense of the poem. I find that's usually the most rewarding way. That is unless you feel they're being pedantic and needlessly obtuse.

      I still don't know or can't understand half the words of some of my favorite songs. Or, understanding them, I still have no idea what the song is "about." Somehow that doesn't inhibit my enjoyment though.

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  4. That was a great post, Tom. I found you on LI and thought I'd read your blog. I disagree with one thing. Sometimes, the word you want to replace, isn't exactly (ah, the ly adverbs) the word you want, and you didn't know you didn't want it until you found the one you wanted. (sorry had to do it.) Another point. I think few of us are ever jubilant for more than a short period of time. I was when my first book was published. That lasted until I had to start marketing the thing. Jubilation turned to...the opposite. Tearing my hair out by the roots. (not really) but you get my drift. Happy to varying degrees, I think is obtainable. Have a good one.

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    1. First of all, thanks. Of course you're right, and we don't disagree. I think too many developing writers get bogged down when writing a first draft because they try to find just exactly precisely the word that has to go here, no not quite like that, a little more like something along the lines of . . . As a result, they're always distracting themselves with minute details best left to revision instead of staying focused and plowing forward in a story. They get disheartened because they aren't getting anything done. I want them to avoid this. It doesn't have to be perfect the first time, you just have to get it down.

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    2. Faulkner was one of my favorites in college--Hemingway, not so much.. In our rush through life these days, we often miss the depth of emotion that the "big words" impart. However, a modern writer's audience,not having been exposed to these "big words," must be considered if one wishes to sell one's writing.

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    3. I don't know about the generalization of readers rushing through life and so missing the emotion in what they're reading, but you're right that writers should consider their audience when writing. I wouldn't recommend writing down to anyone, though.

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