clarity

More than Labor Pains

By Joshua | September 30, 2015 - 6:16 pm | general writing, grammar, style, word use

Let’s talk contractions.

First things first: If you’re working for a person or a company who insists that contractions be kept out of formal writing, don’t put them in your formal writing. This will help you avoid some problems. If the boss says no contractions, don’t use them. The funny thing is that when the boss tells you, it will probably come out as: “You can’t use contractions;” or “We don’t use contractions.” And you see the fun little issue there, right?

If you’ve been given the freedom to use contractions, or if you work for yourself and don’t have “the man” sticking false rules to you, there is no good reason not to sprinkle contractions in to even formal writing, where appropriate. Contractions can increase the readability and flow of writing. You probably don’t want to use them in every sentence, but a complete rejection of contractions leaves some sentences feeling cumbersome or unnatural. Usually you can substitute “cannot” for “can’t” without making your sentence too odd; not all contractions work like that, though. “Do not” sounds much more severe than “don’t.” And with some common contractions, the full-form of the phrase is nearly obsolete in spoken language. When was the last time you said, “Let us go to the movies tonight” instead of “Let’s go to the movies”? I’ll bet it’s been some time, unless you were trying to sound highfalutin (there’s a fun word I don’t get to use everyday).

And let me make one thing absolutely clear: if you’re writing dialogue—especially for works of fiction—please, please, PLEASE use contractions! Unless you are writing about some futuristic, purely-dystopian society where comfortably dialogue has been completely abolished, failing to use contractions will make your characters and conversations feel wooden and unnatural. We all use contractions when we speak; there’s nothing wrong with using them; and if you want your characters to read as real people, they should use contractions in conversation. Sorry about that, I’ve read a couple books where the characters spoke without contractions. You may have noticed that it bothered me a little bit.

And now for a disclaimer: I have neither performed nor read any studies on this next point, but will believe it true until proven otherwise. One of the biggest keys to persuasive writing is to get your readers to believe that your conclusion (the one you want them to reach) was their idea all along. And trust me, when they think, they probably use contractions. If you can lead your reader through to your conclusion in a way that is so natural she believes it was her own idea, you’re more likely to convince her you’re right. In doing this, it can’t hurt to write like your reader thinks; contractions and all.

That’s my two cents. And doesn’t that just read much more naturally than “That is my two cents”?

I thought so.

Tradition!

By Joshua | September 17, 2015 - 6:08 pm | general writing, structure, style, word use

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This truth may be hard for some to hear: much business and legal writing is based more on tradition than on clarity or transmitting meaning. There, I said it. Too much of our writing is mired down in the muck of tradition to the point where we write things from forms and do it simply because, “We always do it that way.”

I’m going to let you in on a little secret here:

“Because that’s how we’ve always done it,” is a horrible reason for doing anything in a certain way. “That’s how we’ve always done it,” doesn’t mean it’s the best way to do it, or even that it’s a good way to do it. It only means that someone did it that way first. Do we still fly on planes like the Wright Brothers built? I don’t know about you, but I haven’t been on any planes like that in at least a couple of years. You know, at one point, everyone could have used the reason, “Because that’s how it’s always been done,” to justify refusing to make any improvements on almost anything ever invented.

Do you want to be the type of person, the type of writer, who does something because that’s the way it’s always been done? Or do you want to be the person who looks at how it’s been done and sees all the ways that it could be made better? I’ll let you in on another secret (wow, I’m really dishing those out today!): you want to be the person who makes it better.

If you are using a template or form to write any sort of document—whether a contract,case brief, or anything else—the first thing you should do is make one major change to the form. Starting out with that one major change will give you the freedom to modify the form where necessary. If you’ve already strayed from it, why not stray from it some more?

There is certainly a place for forms and templates. They can be very helpful and get us by many of the initial obstacles to many writing projects. But they can also be dangerous. They can hold back progress. When using a form or template, you’ve got to realize that, just because it’s been that way, doesn’t mean that’s the way it should be.

On the other hand, be sure not to “throw the baby out with the bathwater.” A form becomes a form because there is at least something in it that works. Try to keep the parts that work and drop the parts that don’t. Perhaps the problem with the form is not its substance, but the words used. Maybe you just need to modernize it a bit; give it a “plain language” checkup. For example, if you’re working from a form contract, be sure you get rid of the “party in the first part” language—that stuff is ridiculous, and there’s no reason for it.

Make your own traditions, don’t settle for others’. And don’t set your traditions in stone, it may be time to change them sooner than you think. Always be ready to make the product better.

Size Matters

By Joshua | September 10, 2015 - 2:04 pm | general writing, structure, style

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Now that I’ve got your attention, let’s talk about sentence length. First off: it matters and you should pay attention to it. Shorter sentences tend to be clearer, and we should always strive for clarity. But clarity does not always require the shortest-possible sentence; most thoughts can be properly conveyed in a number of longer or shorter ways. Let’s call this the “length-clarity spectrum.” So long as your sentence falls in the not-too-ambiguous portion of the spectrum, you can choose the appropriate sentence to express your thoughts.

Sentence length, along with word choice and sentence structure, is a key element in pacing your writing. You can take the same set of facts and completely change a reader’s’ perception of those facts through sentence length. As an example, the next two paragraphs demonstrate how much size matters when it comes to sentences. To emphasize the importance of sentence length, both examples are written in active voice with near-identical, mostly-neutral language.

As Tommy neared the stop sign, he hit his brakes and looked both ways to see if there was any traffic at the intersection. Because it was dark, Tommy could not see Billy’s sport utility vehicle, which was also approaching the intersection. As Tommy pulled into the intersection, he heard the sound of a car horn and looked up to see Billy’s sport utility vehicle, with a panicked Billy behind the wheel, also entering the intersection. Both of the drivers, who were trying to avoid a collision, applied their brakes…

Tommy neared the stop sign. He hit his brakes, looking both ways. It was dark. Tommy did not see Billy’s SUV approaching. Tommy pulled into the intersection. He heard a car horn. Looking up, Tommy saw Billy’s SUV entering the intersection. Billy was panicking. Tommy applied his brakes. Billy applied his brakes. Both tried to avoid the collision…

Both examples describe the same incident. The only real difference is that Example #1 contains four sentences and ninety words, for an average of just over 22 words/sentence. Example #2, on the other hand, has eleven sentences and fifty-eight words, for an average of just over 5 words/sentence. Both fall into an acceptable range on the length-clarity spectrum. But as you can see, even though they both give the same facts, they tell a different story.

Example #1 unfolds more slowly, and the pacing does not foreshadow any impending action. Example #2 moves quicker, jerkier, leading us quickly from one fact to the next without allowing us to meander around at any point of the narrative. Even with both paragraphs written in active voice with nearly-identical word choice, sentence length changes the narrative. More could be done to differentiate the pacing, and hence a reader’s perception of the facts, through word choice and sentence structure, but we are only exploring sentence length here.

Is there an optimal sentence length? It depends on what you are trying to do. Are you trying to speed up the story, get to the action? Opt for shorter sentences. Are you trying to draw it out, slow down the story and give your reader the perception that things aren’t happening quite so fast? Go with longer sentences.

I’m interested in your thoughts on this topic. Does size matter when it comes to sentence length? Let me know in the comments.

Clean up your language!

By Joshua | September 1, 2015 - 7:44 pm | general writing, word use

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Last post I went on a bit of a rant regarding the death of “literally.” This post is about another word. This time, the word is “clear,” or in its other commonly-used form, “clearly.” Unlike “literally,” whose unseemly demise was brought about by our fascination with hyperbole, “clearly” has just been overused to the point that it needs to be buried. The problem with overusing “clearly” is most prevalent in legal writing; and it is from legal writing that it needs to be most swiftly excised.

Legal-writing-guru Bryan Garner includes “clearly” in a list of “weasel words.” Defining “weasel words,” he quotes Theodore Roosevelt: “One of our defects as a nation is a tendency to use what have been called weasel words. When a weasel sucks eggs it sucks the meat out of the egg and leaves it an empty shell. If you use a weasel word after another there is nothing left of the other.” Bryan Garner, Garner’s Modern American Usage 853 (3rd ed. Oxford Univ. Press 2009). Garner continues, “[s]ensitive writers are aware of how supposed intensives (e.g. very) actually have the effect of weakening a statement. Many other words merely have the effect of rendering uncertain or hollow the statements in which they appear.” Id.

In legal writing, and persuasive writing in general, “clearly” has come to mean, “I want you to see it this way.” And usually it means that what you are saying isn’t clear at all, but it is your argument. If an argument’s conclusion is, in fact, clear, you won’t need to tell your reader that it is. Judges, and readers in general, do not want you to tell them how clear your argument is. At best, it’s hubris; at worst, it’s insulting. The last thing you want to do is tell any reader, especially a judge, something like, “If you were as smart as I am, you would see how inescapable this argument is. If you don’t think it is clear, you’re obviously missing something.”

When it comes to legal argument, my philosophy has always been to write like you’re just telling the reader how it is, not like you are trying to convince them how it should be. It’s more convincing (and less insulting) to say, “The grass is green and the sky is blue,” than to say, “The grass is clearly green and the sky obviously blue.” It becomes exponentially worse when you are arguing a controversial point, where the judge may not want to agree that the law says what it says. The more you tell the judge how clear it all is, the more likely the judge will see it as anything but.

By all means, make your point, support your point, and summarize your point. But don’t tell me your point is clearly the only conclusion. If you have prepared a well-written, well-reasoned argument, everything in it should draw me to the conclusion that you want. You won’t need to tell me your point is clear. If you have to tell me how clear the conclusion is, you’re telling me that you’re point isn’t strong enough to stand on it’s own and needs you to stand behind it, constantly asking me why I can’t just see it the way you do.

And that, my friends, is clearly a bad idea.

The day a word literally died.

By Joshua | August 27, 2015 - 3:34 pm | general writing, grammar, word use

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Rest in peace, literally. It’s not the first time, but it is one of the most recent. The misuse of the word “literally” as a substitute for “figuratively” has become an accepted definition. Many major dictionaries, including perhaps the most-used modern dictionary, dictionary.com, now include some version of “figuratively” as an accepted use of the word “literally.”

I don’t consider myself a pedant (well, about most things), and I’m all for creating and creatively using words, but I think this one went too far. Not only are the definitions of “literally” inconsistent, the new definition is the exact opposite of the other accepted definitions. Dictionary.com gives us four definitions for “literally:”

1. in the literal or strict sense: She failed to grasp the metaphor and interpreted the poem literally.
What does the word mean literally?

2. in a literal manner; word for word:
to translate literally.

3. actually; without exaggeration or inaccuracy:
The city was literally destroyed.

4. in effect; in substance; very nearly; virtually:
I literally died when she walked out on stage in that costume.

(Definition from dictionary.com.)

In the immortal words of Sesame Street: “One of these things is not like the others; one of these things just doesn’t belong.”

My problem here is not that words cannot be used to express new concepts or meanings. And we’re not playing Scrabble with our everyday language; to a large extent, as my 13-year-old son says, “If you understood what I meant, then it was a real enough word.” (Note: this is not a good practice to use in any official, academic, or business writing, but works in normal, everyday conversation. Also, try to do it without the eye roll that has been perfected by 13-year-olds throughout the ages.)

No, the problem is that instead of helping someone understand a concept, this use of the word “literally” makes the concept less precise, it leads to unnecessary ambiguity. Sure, contextual clues will usually let us know which whether the speaker or writer using “literally” really means “literally” or “figuratively,” but with all of the other good words out there, why misuse a perfectly good word like “literally” as its exact opposite? Yes, I’m pretty sure the speaker did not “literally die” when so-and-so walked out on stage in that costume, but couldn’t the speaker have expressed the same feelings with “I almost died” or some similar phrase?

Don’t worry, my rant is almost over.

Writers should strive for clarity; there’s seldom a good reason for purposeful ambiguity. Unless you’re writing dialogue for a specific character, you should avoid using “literally” to mean “figuratively.” Feel free to use “virtually” or “almost” or just about anything other than “literally” unless you mean it, well, literally.

And for those who truly care about words and want to avoid their needless slaughter, please stop using “literally” as “figuratively” in conversation. Please, it literally makes my head hurt.

You were a good word, literally. I’m sorry this had to happen to you. You will be missed.