Improving Our Craft

Mark Twain once said, “I didn’t have time to write a short letter, so I’ve written a long one instead.”

What he meant was that it takes work to write succinctly. Or as I’ve always encouraged writers: Write it; then trim it. Nothing can improve our writing like the delete key!

I’ll offer a few words here you could (read: should) target as you edit:

Literally ~ When something is true in a literal sense, you don’t need to add the word literally. It clutters. The only time you should use the word literally in your writing is when you need to clarify that you’re serious when it is entirely possible that you are joking.

Suppose a well-trained athlete wrote, “I literally ran five miles today.” Literally is a wasted word. It should read, “I ran five miles today.” He’s a great athlete. We take him at his word.

Now if I wrote, “I ran five miles today” you wouldn’t believe it. (Nor should you!) If by some miracle I actually did run five miles, that would be a place where literally would bring clarity—Darin’s not kidding, he literally did it. Are you okay, Darin? Do you need oxygen?

Very ~ Let’s be honest: very is a very weak word. The rock isvery hard. How much harder than hard is very hard? Have you ever met a soft rock? When we use very in a sentence we’re attempting to intensify the description. But the description doesn’t need intensifying. Your reader gets it. Rocks are hard. Really.

That brings us to another …

Really ~ Just like very, really is another oft wasted word. “It’s really important that you sign up.” Try this: “Sign up! It’s important!” Do you see what I mean? Really really adds nothing. In fact, it takes away from the aim—which is “sign up!” Sort of like the word literally mentioned above, unless your reader has some reason to doubt the point you’re making, the word really should be chopped.

Totally ~ I think this one is a holdover from the 80s, Jeff Spiccoli vocabulary from Ridgemont High (or perhaps the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles), “That’s totally awesome, Dude!” But, Ridgemont High grads, imagine this in Mr. Hand’s voice: “Let’s consider the meaning of the word totally, shall we? It means … wait for it … in totality. Consider this sentence: ‘I was totally shocked.’ Can you be partially shocked? You’re either shocked or you’re not. So, which it is, Mr. Spiccoli? Hmm?”

Back to my voice: just write, I was shocked. That says all you need to say.

I get that we all go kicking and screaming through the trim phase. But try me on this one. Cut those words out and see for yourself, your writing will be better for it. Nothing screams literary novice quite as loudly as frequent appearances of literally, very, really and totally in your writing.

Finding Your Writing Voice

Years ago, someone complimented a book I’d written for a client. “I loved it,” they said. “It sounded exactly like him.”

I smiled and thanked them. What they didn’t know was that I’d written every word. To this day, I consider that one of the greatest compliments I’ve ever received.

Let’s talk about your voice for a moment.

Not the voice you speak with. The voice you write with.

Every writer has one. It’s the rhythm of your sentences. The words you naturally reach for. Your sense of humor. The way you describe people and places. It’s the personality that quietly emerges on the page until readers begin to think, Yep… that’s unmistakably them.

Some writers intentionally create a written voice that’s different from their conversational voice. That’s certainly a legitimate approach. Personally, at least where nonfiction is concerned—and especially memoir or anything rooted in personal experience—I prefer the two to be nearly identical. I want to hear the author speaking to me. I don’t want to feel like they slipped into a different personality the moment they sat down at a keyboard.

That philosophy shaped my work for years as a collaborative and ghostwriter. My goal was never for readers to admire my writing. It was for them to hear my client’s voice. Their tone. Their personality. Their cadence.

To me, that’s ghost/collaborative writing success.

Over the next several Writers Write articles, we’ll spend some time talking about your writing voice, tone, and style.They’re related, but they’re not the same thing. And one of the quickest ways to strengthen your own voice is to recognize the habits that quietly weaken it.

One of those habits is an overreliance on passive voice.

I’ve noticed that many beginning writers instinctively gravitate toward passive construction. My guess is that it feels more literary. More polished. More “author-like.” Ironically, it usually has the opposite effect. Passive voice tends to place the action at arm’s length, draining a sentence of energy and momentum.

Compare these two sentences:

Jack opened the door.

The door was opened by Jack.

Both are grammatically correct. Both communicate exactly the same information. But only one sounds like someone telling you a story.

Or consider these:

Jill folded the letter and slipped it into the drawer.

The letter was folded by Jill before it was placed in the drawer.

Again, nothing is technically wrong with the second sentence. It simply feels slower. More distant. Less conversational.

That’s an important clue.

Think about how you naturally tell stories over coffee. You don’t say, “The restaurant was entered by us, and dinner was ordered.” You say, “We walked into the restaurant and ordered dinner.” Conversation naturally leans toward active voice because active voice keeps the action moving.

The same is true on the page.

That’s not to say passive voice is bad. Every accomplished writer uses it occasionally and intentionally. Sometimes you want to emphasize the object rather than the person performing the action. Sometimes it simply fits the rhythm of the paragraph. But if passive voice becomes your default, don’t be surprised if readers begin to feel like they’re watching your story through a window instead of standing inside it.As your writing develops, you’ll discover that strong voice isn’t built by following hundreds of little rules. It’s built by making thousands of small choices that sound more like you. Choosing active voice more often than passive is one of the simplest—and most effective—places to begin.

Writing Exercise: A Quick Write Challenge

Several years ago, I participated in a writing class. Among our assignments each week was a ‘Quick Write’ practice, which is to be completed in ten minutes or less, in response to a prompt. One prompt was, ‘Tell the story of running into someone who you didn’t really want to run into.’ Here’s my QW response:

Fancy Meeting You Here

It was a Monday like every other. I dragged myself out of bed and stumbled past the family at the breakfast table, tanking up for a day at school. Routine. I rounded the table as I passed them, greeting each with a good morning kiss on the top of the head.

Practically sleepwalking, I was into the bathroom, disrobed and in the shower without thinking about it. Like a million times before, I grabbed the shower curtain to pull it closed. A thud at my feet and sudden movement jarred me from any remaining slumber. An eastern rattlesnake had dropped between my feet. The wake-up efficiency was espresso, squared.

If only a video existed.

I somehow went up and out, taking the shower curtain, rod and a pound or so of wall plaster with me as I exited the tub. I screamed something. I don’t remember what, though my wife recalled that it included “Jesus!” and a string of expletives we should expect to hear repeated by the kids.

The serpent and I engaged in a brief stare down. He won.

Naked! I have to tell you, the first thought that crossed my mind was that I was buck-naked and should this snake bite me, paramedics would arrive, and … Underwear! I reached for the briefs. What a relief! Amazing how the thought of dying in your underwear as opposed to out of them makes a difference.

Now, what to do?

The serpent was turning circles, rattling his tail, and cussing little snake words no doubt, because he couldn’t scale the sides of the antique tub. Because she bathed our babies in it, my wife kept the tub squeaky clean. It was slick, slick, slick. Never again would I complain about how slippery that old tub could get! That snake had probably worked for an hour to get up into the shower curtain, moments from escape, when my morning ritual foiled his plan.

All I had at my disposal was a wastebasket and a decorative long handled back scrubbing brush. And my underwear. What more does a man need to protect his family?

‘It’s you and me, serpent! Let’s dance!’

So there you have it. Hope you enjoyed. Have you ever written a short/quick to a prompt like this before? It’s very good practice. Give it a shot. DON’T CHEAT! 10 MINUTES OR LESS. Here’s a handful of prompts to challenge you:

Quick-Write Challenge

Tell the story of finding a note with no name attached.
Tell the story of receiving a phone call you weren’t expecting.
Tell the story of seeing someone from your past you never expected to see again.
Tell the story of making a decision in ten seconds.
Tell the story of opening a door and finding something surprising on the other side.