The cumulative effect of vague expressions

Every time you use a vague word or phrase, you are likely to earn a small demerit in the mind of an intelligent reader. These demerits add up. At some point (different from reader to reader) your total demerits exceed the reader’s tolerance and he stops reading. He is not going to work hard to decipher copy that you were too lazy to write clearly.

In other words: one offense, by itself, probably will not stop any intelligent reader. But an accumulation of many offenses, however small individually, will stop all readers (except for readers who are obliged to keep reading; for example, as part of a course assignment).

Here’s a piece of text with a lot of vague expressions per paragraph. On Freep.com (The Detroit Free Press online), Barb Arrigo last Tuesday posted an article titled, “That &*#@ California tailpipe rule.” These are the first two paragraphs (a total of 119 words):

“Among the issues that are tough for an editorial writer, the ability of states to take a different stand from the federal government is one of the trickiest to navigate. If you only want what’s best for your state, you end up being for states’ power — except when you’re against it. There aren’t prizes for that kind of reasoning.

“So today we have the semi-regular topic of whether California (and at least 13 other states that have tagged along) should be able to set separate tailpipe rules for carbon dioxide. As staunch Detroiters and Michiganders, we think this is an awful spot to put the domestic automakers in. The impact of global warming falls everywhere, not just in California.”

As you can see, this is really sloppy writing. Now here is the same text with questions (in blue) that a reader may silently ask at various points:

Among the issues that are tough for an editorial writer,

By “tough,” do you mean difficult to understand; politically dangerous to write about; or something else?

the ability of states to take a different stand

Do you mean the ability of each state to take a stand, or do you mean the ability of several (or even all) states to take one collective stand?

from

Did you intend to insert that of here? Without that of, the sentence is illogical and ungrammatical.

the federal government is one of the trickiest to navigate.

How does one navigate an ability?

If you only want what’s best for your state, you end up being for states’ power — except when you’re against it. There aren’t prizes for that kind of reasoning.

What kind of reasoning? What are you trying to say?

So today we have

Do you mean that this is the topic your article is going to discuss today; or do you mean that the topic is being discussed currently in some legislature or court; or something else?

the semi-regular topic of whether California (and at least 13 other states that have tagged along) should be able to set separate tailpipe rules for carbon dioxide.

Separate from the tailpipe rules for other effluents? Or separate from the federal government’s tailpipe rules for carbon dioxide? Or separate from other states’ (that is, outside of California and the aforementioned “at least 13 other states”) tailpipe rules for carbon dioxide? Or something else?

As staunch Detroiters and Michiganders, we

Is this the editorial we? If it is, you are using it awkwardly because you are cornering yourself into having to refer to yourself as more than one Detroiter and more than one Michigander. Or are you actually presuming to speak on behalf of all residents of Michigan, as if they were of one mind?

think this is an awful spot

Which spot is that?

to put the domestic automakers in. The impact of global warming falls everywhere, not just in California.

How does that last sentence support your argument, and what is your argument, anyway?

(From this point on, the editorial becomes even vaguer and more rambling, so I will stop analyzing it here. I think I’ve made my point: there are a lot of vague words and phrases in the first two paragraphs, and the cumulative effect irritated you.)

The Takeaway: By publishing what you write, you are implicitly asking the reader for his continued voluntary attention. Every time you use a vague or awkward word or phrase, you gain a demerit in the reader’s mind. If the demerits keep accumulating, eventually he will stop reading. He may even decide to avoid your writing altogether in the future.

The periodic sentence (3)

In previous posts (1), (2), we’ve discussed live, online examples of the periodic sentence, as opposed to the loose sentence. In a periodic sentence, the main clause, or the predicate of the main clause, appears very late.

Today we have a live, online and egregious example of a periodic sentence. The example is from the January 23 issue of Fortune magazine. In an article about Peter Schiff, a celebrity financial commentator, we see this sentence:

“One ten-minute video on YouTube that’s packed with some of his ‘greatest hits’ – with, for instance, clips of Schiff predicting a brutal recession and massive credit crunch while prominent debate partners, such as writer and actor Ben Stein and former Reagan economic advisor Art Laffer, make what now sound like laughably optimistic counterarguments – has been viewed just over a million times at last count.”

The predicate of this periodic sentence, “has been viewed just over a million times at last count,” follows 53 words. That’s enough words to make two overly long sentences. And the 53 words contain three clauses and several prepositional and participial phrases. That is a lot of structure to expect the reader to keep in mind while he waits for the predicate.

It would not take much revision to relieve the burden on the reader’s short-term memory. Here’s an example.

More than a million viewers have watched one of his videos on YouTube. The ten-minute video includes some of his “greatest hits” – for instance, clips of Schiff predicting a brutal recession and massive credit crunch while writer and actor Ben Stein, former Reagan economic advisor Art Laffer, and other prominent debaters make what now sound like laughably optimistic counterarguments. [Loose sentence.]

The Takeaway: An occasional periodic sentence is OK. But whenever you do use a periodic sentence, please spare your reader: don’t use too many words before completing the syntax. Thirty words is a lot for most readers. Fifty-three words, as in today’s live example, is definitely too much. That’s why I called it an egregious example.

The periodic sentence (1)
The periodic sentence (2)

Conciseness: eliminating clauses

In previous posts on conciseness, I’ve discussed several easy ways to make your writing more concise: You can boil down wordy phrases. You can delete redundant adjectives, adverbs and nouns. And you can eliminate useless metaphors.

Here’s one more way to improve conciseness, and it’s especially effective: reduce the number of clauses in a sentence. Every additional clause makes a sentence harder to read, because the reader must keep in mind all the verbs in the sentence and how they relate to each other. The verb is the most important part of speech; it commands more attention than other parts of speech.

So, you can significantly increase conciseness and readability by eliminating a clause and making the same point in a different way. Here’s a simple example, from a news story in yesterday’s Denver Post:

“A 34-year-old Grand Junction man was rescued Wednesday from a van teetering off a cliffside about 170 feet above a canyon floor [in Colorado National Monument].” (The van is visible in the photo above.)

After the rescue, the park superintendent, Joan Anzelmo, described the evidence at the scene and suggested that the accident was an attempted suicide.

“ ‘The sense we had last night was that it was intentional,’ Anzelmo said.”

Although the quoted sentence contains only 11 words, it is not a good example of conciseness. It contains three clauses (sense was, we had, it was) but needs to contain only two (we sensed, it was):

Last night we sensed it was intentional.

The Takeaway: To increase conciseness, eliminate as many clauses as possible while still conveying the same meaning.

A Good Resource: We all can learn a lot more about conciseness from The Dictionary of Concise Writing: More Than 10,000 Alternatives to Wordy Phrases, by Robert Hartwell Fiske. This is a book to keep by your elbow as you write.

My Previous Posts on Conciseness:

Concise writing is usually clear writing (2)
Avoiding redundancy (2)
Rhetorical clutter (1)
Avoiding redundancy (1)
Concise writing is usually clear writing (1)

Placement of modifiers (3)

As demonstrated in two previous posts (1), (2), clear writing requires correct placement of modifiers. Fortunately, the rules for placement of modifiers boil down to one simple rule. Here it is:

So far as possible, place modifiers where the reader expects them to be – that is, close to what they modify.

In other words, the placement of modifiers is a matter of common sense. It is a matter of empathy. The greater the separation (as measured in the number of words) between a modifier and what it modifies, the greater the risk of distracting and confusing the reader.

And there is one other factor – besides the separation – that determines the risk of distracting and confusing the reader. This factor is the plausibility of the wrong construction; that is to say, if the reader associates the modifier with the wrong word or phrase, how plausible will that association be?

Here are two examples that demonstrate the point.

EXAMPLE 1: In a travel article in thestar online, we see this paragraph:

“Palmyra was once ruled by Queen Zenobia, a descendant of Cleopatra. She defied Rome and her country was subjugated. All but forgotten, travelers have brought her back to life.”

When the reader reaches the third sentence and encounters the adjectival phrase “All but forgotten,” followed immediately by “travelers,” he assumes (for a moment or two) that “All but forgotten” modifies “travelers.”

But he soon realizes that this assumption is not very plausible. Why would travelers be described as all but forgotten? So the reader looks for some other candidates. He looks back and sees six: “Palmyra,” “Queen Zenobia,” “descendant,” “Cleopatra,” “Rome,” and “country.” The most plausible choice is “Queen Zenobia,” followed by “Palmyra” as a distant second.

So, to be clear, the sentence should read like this, or close to this:

Queen Zenobia [or Palmyra] was nearly forgotten, but travelers have brought her back to life.

EXAMPLE 2: In an electrician’s advertisement on the web, we see these two paragraphs:

“Reactive Electrical Limited, the number 1 Electrician Essex has to offer, is a NICEIC Part “P” approved Domestic Installer offering a full electrical service to domestic, commercial and industrial clients throughout Thurrock in Essex, London and the South East [sic, no period]

“Being part of the Government backed TrustMark Scheme you can be sure of employing a reliable and trustworthy establishment to make improvements and repairs to your property.”

When the reader encounters the participial phrase “Being part of the Government backed TrustMark Scheme,” he assumes temporarily that it modifies the word immediately following it (the pronoun “you”).

Unfortunately for the reader, this incorrect construction is fairly plausible. The reader might logically ask himself, “Did this electrician mean to say that if I am a member of TrustMark, he will be more reliable and trustworthy to me?” Or did he mean to say that his being a member of TrustMark certifies that he is generally more reliable and trustworthy than electricians who are not members?”

The reader might then surf the web and find the TrustMark Scheme’s web site. The web site suggests that the scheme helps homeowners find reliable contractors and obtain good service. So, the reader concludes that it is more plausible that the participial phrase modifies “Reactive Electrical Limited” than “you.”

I would suggest the following revision:

Reactive Electrical Limited is a member of the Government backed TrustMark Scheme. This means you can be sure that Reactive Electrical Limited is a reliable and trustworthy establishment for making improvements and repairs to your property.

The wrong construction was more plausible in Example 2 than in Example 1. Therefore, the reader is more likely to become confused, and to stay confused longer, in Example 2. Therefore the writing in Example 1 is clearer (more precisely, less unclear).

The Takeaway: The correct placement of modifiers is easy. As you write, always try to place modifiers close to what they modify. As you edit, look for places where the reader could easily construe the wrong word or phrase as the thing modified.

Placement of modifiers (1)
Placement of modifiers (2)

The periodic sentence (2)

To help make your writing clearer, limit your use of periodic sentences. A periodic sentence creates suspense by requiring the reader to take in and remember a long string of words before he reaches the end of the sentence and finally understands your point.

Suspense is occasionally useful; for example, to emphasize an important point or to maintain interest. However, if you overuse periodic sentences you may tire, irritate and even repel the reader.

In a previous post I discussed an example of the periodic sentence. In that example, the entire main clause (subject and predicate) came at the end of the sentence, following 39 words.

Here’s another example. It’s an excerpt from an article that appeared in The New York Times last Tuesday:

“Hundreds of economists who gathered [in San Francisco] for the annual meeting of the American Economic Association seemed to acknowledge that a profound shift had occurred.

“At their last annual meeting, ideas about using public spending as a way to get out of a recession or about government taking a role to enhance a market system were relegated to progressives.”

The second sentence is a periodic sentence. The subject, “ideas,” appears after only five words, but the predicate, “were relegated to progressives,” begins after 30 words.

So the reader must take in and remember 30 words before he arrives at the predicate. And it is more than a matter of remembering individual words: the reader must also make assumptions about the syntax and remember these assumptions until they prove true or false.

For example, he may assume that “their” in “At their last annual meeting” refers to “economists” or “the American Economic Association.” He may assume that “At their last annual meeting” is an adverbial phrase modifying something that he hasn’t encountered yet.

Then he sees “ideas” and assumes that it is the subject of the sentence. But he has to hold that thought for a long time, because “ideas” is immediately followed by a 24-word adjectival phrase, “about using public spending as a way to get out of a recession or about government taking a role to enhance a market system.” This adjectival phrase includes two gerunds (“using” and “taking”) and an infinitive (“to enhance”).

That’s a lot of syntax to take in, remember and analyze: an adverbial phrase, a (possible) subject, and a long adjectival phrase.

I would suggest this revision, or something close to it:

At the association’s last annual meeting, only progressives wanted to discuss ideas about using public spending as a way to get out of a recession or about government taking a role to enhance a market system.

This reduces the burden on the reader’s memory. It also removes the passive “were relegated” and its ambiguity.

The Takeaway: Periodic sentences should be used sparingly, if at all, in business writing, technical writing and most other non-fiction writing (speeches are a major exception). The more words the reader has to take in before he reaches the subject and predicate, the more likely he is to become confused – or give up and stop reading what you have written. It’s not clear writing if the reader doesn’t understand it. And it’s not useful writing if he stops reading it.

The periodic sentence (1)

Hiding the noun

In the last post, we discussed “the hidden verb,” a trick that politicians* use in order to downplay something stupid, ignorant, incompetent, immoral or criminal that they have done.

Politicians also like to use a trick that I call “the hidden noun.” It is a handy way of making language blander, weaker, more indirect, more generic, or more diffuse. The politician converts a noun to an adjective (which disguises the noun) and then inserts a blander noun.

For example, in a book on sport management, the authors use the bland phrase “liberty and property interests” instead of the simpler and more natural phrase “liberty and property.”

The authors assert that the Fifth and Fourteenth Amendments to the Constitution of the United States protect these “interests.” But if you look up those two Amendments, you will see that both mention “liberty” and both mention “property,” but neither mentions “interests” even once.

Similarly, we often see blandified phrases such as “crisis situation” instead of “crisis,” “market forces” instead of “the market,” and even “cold gazpacho soup” instead of “gazpacho.”

The Takeaway: If you are not a politician, don’t write like one. Don’t try to hide your nouns by converting them to adjectives. When intelligent readers see your blandified phrases, they will suspect you are covering up something, even if you are not. And they will guess on the high side: they will assume a large – not small – extent of stupidity, ignorance, incompetence, immorality or crime.

*I mean politicians not in the narrow sense of people who run for office or “work” for the government, but in the wider sense of all professional deceivers, including shyster lawyers, corrupt professors, and corrupt journalists.

Hiding the verb

Another rhetorical trick that politicians* use is to de-emphasize a negative via a construction that I call “the hidden verb.” In this construction, the writer converts a verb to a noun or adjective, which disguises the action, which weakens the sentence, which (he hopes) de-emphasizes the negative.

For example, Ruth Kelly (pictured), a British politician, was caught embezzling. To attempt to evade responsibility, she wrote a lame apology that included this sentence: “There was no intention to do anything other than comply with the rules.”

It would have been natural to write, “I never intended to break the rules.” But she hid the verb intended inside the noun intention, and then used the bland verb to be (was). The construction also allowed the embezzler to avoid mentioning the agent: herself. Note also that she avoided using the powerful word break.

The Takeaway: If you are writing about a failure or malfeasance – even if only to deny it – remember that intelligent readers will be especially alert for indications of your candor or lack thereof. Don’t damage your credibility by using a “hidden verb.” Even readers who do not formally know the rules of grammar can often spot this awkward construction. It announces, “Warning: Author Is a Weasel!”

*I mean politicians not in the narrow sense of people who run for office or “work” for the government, but in the wider sense of all professional deceivers, including shyster lawyers, corrupt professors, and corrupt journalists.

Hiding the agent

I have been training business writers for more than 30 years. During those years, I’ve learned a lot about how we learn to write clearly. And I’ve learned a lot about the barriers to learning to write clearly.

The biggest barrier is the ubiquity of deliberately unclear writing. Every day, we read and hear the speciously packaged lies and deceptions of politicians, shyster lawyers, corrupt professors, corrupt journalists, and other professional deceivers. (For the sake of brevity, I will refer to these people collectively as politicians.)

Unlike a politician, you are not trying to deceive people. You’re trying to communicate honestly and clearly. However, you read and hear specious language all day long and are at risk of learning to imitate it. If you doubt this, read (or re-read) Orwell’s famous essay on the imitation of decadent language, “Politics and the English Language.”

So, if you are serious about learning to write clearly, your two most important tasks are: (1) learn to consciously recognize specious writing for what it is; and (2) learn to avoid imitating it.

That is why I devote space to showing you examples of specious writing. For example, in a recent post, I explained how a politician abused “uninhabited clauses” in order to manipulate the members of his audience.

That’s a popular trick. Another popular trick – as I am sure you know – is the abuse of the passive voice to hide an agent.

It is proper to use the passive where the identity of the agent is unknown or irrelevant. For example, if you were a real estate broker showing a house, and you wanted to say when it was built, you could properly say: “This house was built in 1848,” without adding true but irrelevant facts such as, “by Peter Hoyt, who was the town doctor at that time.” In the context of your sentence about the age of the house, the identity of the agent (Peter Hoyt) is irrelevant.

But it is improper to use the passive to hide the agent when his identity is known and relevant; for example, by using phrases such as “Mistakes were made” in order to evade identifying the agent who made the mistakes (or, more probably, committed the crimes). This handy phrase is so popular with politicians that it has a Wikipedia entry.

The Takeaway: When you use the passive, be sure to use it properly. As you edit your work, look critically at every passive-voice verb; does the logic of the sentence call for – or at least tolerate – a passive-voice verb there? If not, change the verb to active voice. And if your passives are proper but frequent,* try to change some to active, to spare your readers; passive voice is more difficult to read than active voice.

*In most types of writing, a frequency higher than 15 percent is probably excessive.

Concise writing is usually clear writing (2)

With few exceptions, concise writing is clear writing. There are two reasons. First, in order to produce concise writing, the writer must choose words and syntax more carefully. The result, almost automatically, is clear writing.

Second, concise writing is more readable, because the reader has fewer words to process. Remember, a reader’s short-term memory can hold only so many words; so, the fewer the words you use to make your point, the more likely will the reader be able to follow you and comprehend your point.

In other words, concise writing is both quicker and easier to read.

Here is an example of wonderfully concise writing. It is a definition of the state, from the introduction of a new book: The Left, The Right, and The State, by Llewellyn H. Rockwell, Jr.:

“It is the group within society that claims for itself the exclusive right to rule everyone under a special set of laws that permit it to do to others what everyone else is rightly prohibited from doing, namely aggressing against person and property.”

It is a near-perfect (or perfect) example of concise writing: that is to say, it could be improved only in minute ways (if at all). Although it defines a complex idea, it is only 43 words long. So far as I can see, every word is needed; remove any word and you weaken the definition.

The Takeaway: Concise writing is usually clear writing. More concisely stated: shorter is usually clearer. When you have produced copy that is pretty clear but you want to make it clearer, try cutting 10 percent of the words. Or, if you are feeling unusually vigorous, try 20 percent. While cutting, you will usually choose clearer words and syntax. (If this is difficult for you, don’t get discouraged: concise writing is one of those skills that develop slowly and steadily over the years.)

Concise writing is usually clear writing (1)