I stand in the cabin.
Rain drums down above me.
It hits the roof again and again. Again. Again.
The heavy water falls, it pools and runs in rivers.
I stand, warm and dry inside my cabin. Coffee, hot and black warms me.
And I think about words that drum like drops of rain inside your head.
Words are a funny thing, dear reader.
We have short and sharp ones, like short and sharp. We have long meandering ones, like meandering or monosyllabic. We have fancy French ones like liberty and artisan. We have strong Anglo-Saxon ones like freedom and craftsman.
We have real words.
And we have fake words.
Wrong words, and right words.
Last week we talked about using the right words even if they're longer ones.
This week, we’re talking using the real words…
…Which are normally the shorter ones
But these two posts aren’t contradictory but complementary.
When you’re a real writer, not a guru, you know that there are nuances and layers to everything. And reading both together will give you the understanding you need to succeed.
So.
What are real words?
Real words are words that name something in the real world. Something solid. Something you can see, touch, taste, hear, smell or feel.
They stand in contrast to the words that swarm through social media and bad writing.
The dreaded abstractions!
Abstractions are the enemy of good writing.
They’re either vague, or theoretical, or high-falutin’ concepts instead of earthy realities.
They’re the kind of words that people hide behind when they’re too afraid to say what they mean. The kind of people who say that they’re “not entirely sure you’ve adequately expressed the full sentiment behind the authors intent when analysing Animal Farm” instead of saying:
“Your Orwell essay is shit.”
Orwell himself would have none of it.
Bad writers, and especially scientific, political and sociological writers, are nearly always haunted by the notion that Latin or Greek words are grander than Saxon ones, and unnecessary words like expedite, ameliorate, predict, extraneous, deracinated, clandestine, sub-aqueous and hundreds of others constantly gain ground from their Anglo-Saxon opposite numbers.
I know I rail against the little-dictionaried gurus around here, and rightly.
But small words are often the right words. The real words. The best words.
Long words are often fake. They’re an attempt to hide the truth. To shroud it in euphemistic veils. Like saying "expostulated" in place of "argued", "pulchitrudinous" in place of "pretty", "misinformation" in place of "lie".
The answer to your question is not in the negative.
The answer is no.
Are long words bad? No.
Are short words always true? No.
Just look at the little dictionary gurus who lie about all sorts of stuff. But the thing about long words is that they’re foggy. They’re soft. They’re abstract and vague.
Short words offer you fewer places to hide.
Why?
Because the small words tend to be the real words. The tangible, concrete, visible words.
The words of our bones.
Words like:
Heart. Eyes. Nose.
Steak. Chips. Rum.
Love. Truth. Lies.
Light. Smoke. Pipe.
Shed. Rain. Sun.
Pain. Death. Life.
Hope. Joy. Peace.
They’re the old words, the straight words, the plain words.
They’re the words you can see, feel, hear, taste and touch. There’s no abstract vagueness to them.
Dear reader, if you care about something you talk plainly about it.
But if you want to hide something, you obfuscate it with polysyllabic pleasantries and platitudes.
It's why I want to give you a change in viewpoint today, not a paradigmatic shift in perception.
So do not despite the way of small words. Small sentences. Small paragraphs.
Embrace it.
Learn the long words, yes! But not so you can hide behind them.
So that you can pull the right one out at the right time. To add clarity or to adorn your simple prose.
As a writer you ought to know the seventeen synonyms for love…
…and you ought to know just to call it love.
Yes, you need to know the difference between a pallet, a palette and a palate. No, you don’t need to use all three in a sentence to show off your skills.
Write like the man in the grey suit with the striking pocket square, not the try-hard with a pink suit and a top hat.
Don't be afraid of long words, but don't despise the way of small words either.
Your words should be true, not false.
Your words should be clear, not obfuscated.
Your words should be real, not abstract.
The problem is that short words demand you be direct and say what you mean, but many writers are timid or lazy and hide behind flowery phrases that mean little.
The attraction of this way of writing is that it is easy. It is easier – even quicker, once you have the habit – to say In my opinion it is not an unjustifiable assumption that than to say I think.
Short words leave nowhere to hide.
You have to say click this link and buy this course, not "perhaps you should peruse this page in order to consider a purchase".
In other words, it requires courage to write with small words in the right way.
Do you have that courage?
Let me give you a challenge, one I picked up from Paula LaRocque’s book “The Book on Writing” and adapted (because the idea was there but she never gave guidelines).
Go outside for ten minutes. Soak in the day, whatever it’s like.
Now, turn back to your desk. Sit down, stand, whatever.
Describe what’s out there.
But do it in words of one syllable. Real words. Words you can taste and see and touch.
I can almost guarantee it won’t be bad writing, however bad a writer you are. It might not be great writing, but it’ll at least be good.
I’ll be adding more thoughts on real words and editing to Effective Editing soon. But you can click this link and buy that course now and be ready for it then.
Meanwhile, may your pipe feel real in your hands and your prose be real in your readers’ minds,
James Carran, Craftsman Writer
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