The uninhabited clause (12) – why it’s dangerous

When you use a lot of uninhabited clauses* – that is, when your prose contains mostly (or only) non-human subjects – you will sound hollow and theoretical.

You will also face an even greater danger: without intending to, you may sound as if you are trying to hide something.

For example, in last Thursday's post, I quoted the president and the marketing vice president of Embotics, a Canadian software company, who were talking – indirectly – about information technology managers who had deployed virtualization technology without having first conducted their customary impact assessments. But the president and the marketing vice president did not mention these real-life people.

The president said:

“Virtualization [did not go] through the normal impact assessments that most technologies have to weather before deployment.”

The marketing vice president said:

“[Virtualization] hadn’t gone through the normal impact assessments that most external data center technologies do before deployment.”

They talked as if virtualization (an abstraction) had evaded the assessments, like a criminal taking a detour to evade a police roadblock.

A more straightforward wording would be:

In their exuberance for virtualization, many IT managers rushed ahead without having made their customary impact assessments. They were taken by surprise when the results fell far short of their expectations.

The Takeaway: If you use a lot of uninhabited clauses, you may sound as if you are trying to hide something. This message (that you are trying to hide something) may overpower the message(s) you intend to convey. Don’t invite suspicion. Put some people in your prose.

See disclaimer.

*An uninhabited clause (my coinage) is a clause with a subject that is a physical thing or a concept, as opposed to a person or group of persons.

Empathy helps you connect with your reader

Empathy helps you connect with your reader. Failure to empathize with the reader is the fundamental error of the careless writer. It is the error on which he builds all his other errors.

I just saw a terrific example of the value of empathy. In a blog post titled “The Worst Sales Email EVER,” inside sales expert Trish Bertuzzi quotes a very un-empathic email she received. She comments, in part:

“There is absolutely nothing in this email to show that the sender took the time to learn anything about me or my business. There are no like-customer references, no acknowledgement of my role or business challenges and the email is filled with marketing speak.”

Read her entire post. It is a practical, real-life lesson in the value of empathy.

The Takeaway: Before writing anything – even an email – build empathy by visualizing your intended reader. And if you are selling something, you need research in addition to empathy.

See disclaimer.

Bad diction: the uninhabited clause (12)

Overuse of the uninhabited clause is a form of bad diction. I use the phrase “uninhabited clause” to describe a clause with a subject that is a physical thing or a concept as opposed to a person or group of persons.*

Last Thursday, in another context, I quoted the president and the marketing vice president of Embotics, a Canadian software company. The same quotations are also excellent examples of uninhabited clauses.

The president said:

“Virtualization came in fast and grew quickly, without going through the normal impact assessments that most technologies have to weather before deployment. One of the outcomes of this is that the impact of virtualization as a new data centre architecture has only surfaced during the growth phase, leading to problems and eventually applying the brakes to the whole initiative – virtual stall.” (61 words)

The president has used two sentences, containing four clauses, containing four subjects. All four subjects are non-human:

virtualization came in and grew
technologies have to weather
one (outcome) is
impact has surfaced

When someone uses mostly (or only) non-human subjects, his writing sounds hollow. He conveys to the reader a sense that “nobody’s doing anything.”

The marketing vice president said:

“Virtualization is a new architecture in data centers, and one that crosses most of the traditional silos. It entered the data center in a different way than most technologies; driven by the potential economic savings associated with consolidation and the value of the flexibility it brings to IT organizations. It was introduced as a top-down initiative aimed at decreasing the ongoing footprint of the data center and preparing for an internal cloud architecture. It came in fast, grew fast, but hadn’t gone through the normal impact assessments that most external data center technologies do before deployment.

“Its impact surfaces during the growth phase, leading to problems and eventually applies the brakes to the whole initiative – also known as virtual stall.” (120 words)

In this longer passage you can clearly hear the hollowness. The marketing vice president has used four sentences, containing eight clauses, containing eight subjects. All eight subjects are non-human:

virtualization is
that (virtualization) crosses
it (virtualization) entered
it (virtualization) brings
it (virtualization) was introduced
it (virtualization) came in but grew and hadn’t gone through
technologies do (go through)
impact surfaces and applies

The Takeaway: Whenever you feel that your prose may sound hollow, conduct this test: Select a paragraph or two. Take out a pen and circle every non-human subject of every main clause. Then read aloud all those non-human subjects and their verbs, as in the list above. If it really sounds hollow, put in some people. It will make your prose feel more substantial to the reader.

See disclaimer.

*In previous posts on this topic, I have defined “uninhabited clause” narrowly as a main clause with a subject that is a physical thing or a concept as opposed to a person or group of persons. To improve readability, I am broadening the definition to include dependent clauses. The definition is now: “An uninhabited clause is a clause with a subject that is a physical thing or a concept as opposed to a person or group of persons.”

Economic metaphors

Economists and financial writers use a lot of metaphors. Unfortunately, these economic metaphors often make a writer’s meaning less clear.

Economist Paul Krugman (pictured), points out an even worse danger than an unclear economic metaphor: a clear but inaccurate metaphor:

“The [Obama-McConnell tax-cut] deal, we’re told, will jump-start the economy; it will give a fragile recovery time to strengthen.

“I say, block those metaphors. America’s economy isn’t a stalled car, nor is it an invalid who will soon return to health if he gets a bit more rest. Our problems are longer-term than either metaphor implies.

“And bad metaphors make for bad policy. The idea that the economic engine is going to catch or the patient rise from his sickbed any day now encourages policy makers to settle for sloppy, short-term measures when the economy really needs well-designed, sustained support.”

Well stated.

The Takeaway: There’s nothing inherently wrong with using economic metaphors (or similes). Just make sure that: (1) they make your assertions clearer, not less clear; and (2) your assertions are accurate.

See disclaimer.

Talking around a definition

(Updated Below, March 9, 2011) Many writers today, unable or unwilling to clearly state a definition, resort to talking around (talking indirectly about) a definition.* If you want to write clearly and persuasively, try to avoid falling into this habit of talking around a definition.

Example of talking around a definition

I wanted a definition of virtual stall, a computer term.

I looked in online dictionaries but found nothing; perhaps the term was too recent. I searched for articles. The first article I found was “Virtual stall: What it is and why you have it.” Its very title promised a definition.

But the text does not provide one. The author (president of Embotics, a Canadian software company) only talks around a definition. This paragraph is the closest he comes to stating a definition:

“Virtualization came in fast and grew quickly, without going through the normal impact assessments that most technologies have to weather before deployment. One of the outcomes of this is that the impact of virtualization as a new data centre architecture has only surfaced during the growth phase, leading to problems and eventually applying the brakes to the whole initiative – virtual stall.”

By placing a dash and “virtual stall” at the end of the paragraph, the author hints that the definition of “virtual stall” is buried somewhere in the preceding phrase, sentence or paragraph. In other words, he expects his readers to dig up and articulate the definition that he promised to deliver to them.

I tried another article, “Q&A: Avoiding VM Stall,” in which the marketing vice president of the same company says:

“Virtualization is a new architecture in data centers, and one that crosses most of the traditional silos. It entered the data center in a different way than most technologies; driven by the potential economic savings associated with consolidation and the value of the flexibility it brings to IT organizations. It was introduced as a top-down initiative aimed at decreasing the ongoing footprint of the data center and preparing for an internal cloud architecture. It came in fast, grew fast, but hadn’t gone through the normal impact assessments that most external data center technologies do before deployment.

“Its impact surfaces during the growth phase, leading to problems and eventually applies the brakes to the whole initiative – also known as virtual stall.”

Whereas the president uses a dash and “virtual stall” to tell the reader where to start digging up and articulating the definition, the marketing vice president unhelpfully (and ungrammatically) adds the phrase “also known as.”

Disgusted, I tried a third article, “From Virtual Sprawl to Virtual Stall.”

The author of this article spends 185 words meandering through the history behind the term virtual stall and making two false starts at a definition. Then he presents what he apparently thinks is a definition. (I have enclosed my comments in brackets.)

“Virtual Stall can be summed up quite easily [Please don’t sum it up; tell us what it is]. The stall happens when [Never mind when it happens; what is it?] a company realizes that it has gone too far too fast with virtualization, which, while it is a good thing to recognize, results in a complete undermining of confidence in completing the rollout.” [So, what is virtual stall?]

That is not a definition. Take another look at the footnote below. A proper definition includes (1) the name of the thing to be defined [“ewe”]; (2) the verb to be, stated or implied [“is”]; (3) a category the reader will recognize [“sheep”]; and (4) one or more modifiers [“female”] that distinguish the thing being defined from other things in the same category [e.g., a ram].

I tried two more articles and then gave up.

The Takeaway: When you write about a topic unfamiliar to your readers, refer your readers to a dictionary definition or define the topic yourself. If you do neither, you will frustrate your intelligent readers. And if you appear to be deliberately teasing them, they will resent it.

See disclaimer.

*Here’s a definition of definition. “Lexical definition specifies the meaning of an expression by stating it in terms of other expressions whose meaning is assumed to be known (e.g., a ewe is a female sheep).” Source: Britannica Concise Encyclopedia.

Update, March 9, 2011, 11:49 AM: In a thoughtful comment, Andi Mann pointed out that he had indeed, in an earlier blog post, supplied a definition of “VM stall.” It is a fine definition; I should not have abandoned my search so soon. Thanks and best wishes to Andi Mann.

Political spokesmen and medieval superstitions

In previous posts, I have shown that politicians are (and corporate spokesmen sometimes are) poor role models for writers. You may have wondered, “What about political spokesmen? They would seem to combine the worst of two worlds.”

You are correct. Here are two (admittedly extreme) statements made by political spokesmen. These two men apparently believe in medieval superstitions.

Example

A public school superintendent explained why he forced a student to remove a U.S. flag from his bicycle:

“Our Hispanic, you know, kids will, you know, bring their Mexican flags and they’ll display it, and then of course the kids would do the American flag situation, and it does cause kind of a racial tension which we don’t really want.” (Boldface added.)

Apparently he believes that pieces of cloth can cause (his word) people to think hostile thoughts.

Example

An article in Salon News explained how some big-city police departments swap used guns (old police guns and guns confiscated from criminals) for new guns. Licensed firearms dealers later resell the used guns to law-abiding shooters.

The article noted that the Los Angeles Police Department (LAPD) refuses to swap confiscated guns, preferring to destroy them instead. An LAPD spokesman said:

“It’s unfortunate because some of them are beautiful guns. But if a gun’s been used to kill someone, they don’t want it out there where it could kill someone else.” (Boldface added.)

Apparently he believes that when someone uses a gun to kill someone, the gun somehow learns how to kill, and can later kill without human help.

The Takeaway: Generally speaking, do not imitate political spokesmen; their statements are usually inaccurate and sometimes delusional. NOTE: If your job requires you to speak with the press, prepare for each interview as follows: Write down the probable questions and your answers. Edit your answers. Ask someone else to edit and fact-check your answers. Memorize your answers. Rehearse them until they sound unrehearsed.

See disclaimer.

Clarity is not an ornament (2) - Lewis Black

A great many people, when they write prose, think clarity is optional. They believe it is an ornament, and that the essence of writing is “just get it down on paper.”

Newsman Frank Rich clearly does not agree with that belief. In an earlier post, I quoted him:

“You’d think after Enron’s collapse that financial leaders and government overseers would question the contents of ‘exotic’ investments that could not be explained in plain English.”

The other day, I learned that comedian Lewis Black (pictured) had also commented on Enron and clear writing:

“You don’t want another Enron? Here’s the law: If you have a company, and it can’t explain, in one sentence, what it does, it’s illegal.”

The Takeaway: Clear writing can be worth a trillion or two. Maybe more.

See disclaimer.

Straight talk: an example (8) – Joseph Sobran

For educational purposes, we writers should occasionally read or listen to an example of straight talk. It doesn’t matter whether we agree or disagree with the statements – what matters is the way the statements are expressed. Reading or hearing straight talk can help make us more aware of the evasive diction that besets us every day, so we won’t unconsciously imitate it.

An example of straight talk

The American columnist Joseph Sobran (1946-2010) was a man of straight talk.

For example, here are the first four paragraphs of his March 7, 2002 column, titled “How Might Makes Right.”

“Whatever they may say, most people assume that might makes right. Abstractly, they may consider this is shocking and cynical doctrine; yet in practice they live by it. In plain language, they go with the winners.

“They take it for granted, for example, that the Civil War proved that the North was right and the South wrong: no state may constitutionally secede from the Union. All the war really proved was what wise men knew at the outset: that Northern industrial superiority was overwhelming. (If the South had won, most people would, with equal illogic, accept that as proof that the South was right.)

“In ratifying the Constitution, the states voluntarily joined a confederated Union; they didn’t give up the “sovereignty, freedom, and independence” they had retained under the Articles of Confederation. Such a radical change would have had to be explicit.

“If secession was to be unconstitutional, the Constitution would have had to forbid it. It would also have had to provide some method of dealing with it if a state seceded anyway. It did neither.”

The Takeaway: Many of us are startled when we read or hear straight talk. We react this way because we have been habituated to euphemistical, effete, evasive diction. I advise you to occasionally read or listen to some straight talk. By contrast, it will help you remain consciously aware of evasiveness – and therefore less likely to unconsciously absorb and imitate evasive diction.

See disclaimer.

The cumulative effect of errors (1)

There is a legal concept called the cumulative effect of errors. One description of this concept is: “In some cases, the cumulation of minor errors may amount to error requiring [a decision by a judge], even if individual errors, alone, would not.” (Via LexisNexis.)

Or informally: Small errors add up.

You have probably noticed an analogous effect in your reading. If an author keeps making errors, eventually you will conclude that he is careless and possibly unreliable – even if none of his errors is a serious error.

Example of the cumulative effect of errors

Here’s an example from a blogger, a former Chicago police officer. He is criticizing the Transportation Security Administration (boldface in original):

“The TSA was created as a new ways to waste billions on government contractor fraud as thousands of hard corps unemployable people were given jobs and the power to abuse and steal the belongings of passengers.

“The cargo side of airline security is not seen by passengers and accordingly is largely ignored. The TSA administration has equated the public perception of their job performance by how much aggravation passengers can be put through.

“To date the TSA or their predecessors have not stopped a single terrorist incident.”

Analysis

Here is the passage again, with my comments interspersed, in brackets:

The TSA was created as a new ways

[Should be way]

to waste billions on government contractor fraud as thousands of hard corps unemployable

[Should be hard-core unemployable]

people were given jobs and the power to abuse and steal the belongings of passengers.

[Does he mean abuse passengers and steal the belongings of passengers, or abuse the belongings of passengers and steal the belongings of passengers?]


The cargo side of airline security is not seen by passengers and accordingly is largely ignored.

[Ignored by passengers or ignored by the TSA?]

The TSA administration

[Redundant; the A in TSA stands for administration]

has equated the public perception of their

[Should be its; in American English, an organization is singular, not plural]

job performance by

[Should be with or and, not by]

how much aggravation

[Should be irritation or a synonym, not aggravation]

passengers can be put through.


To date the TSA or their

[Should be its]

predecessors have not stopped a single terrorist incident.

That’s a total of nine errors in 87 words – on average, one error in every ten words. This is a high rate of error, even by the lax standards of personal blogs.

The Takeaway: As you edit, keep in mind the cumulative effect of errors. The more errors you make, the worse you look – even if none of your errors reduces clarity. Eventually your reader stops reading, at which point the effective clarity of your text drops to zero.

See disclaimer.