“WHAT MAKES ME NERVOUS IS THE WRITING.”
Every day, Quora sends me questions from writers that begin like this: “How do I write a…” The thing they’re tasked with writing is irrelevant. The question always makes me shake my head, because the answer seems so simple: Sit your butt in the chair and do it. But is it that simple? Yes. Yes it is. It is that simple-- IF you have the one single, secret ingredient. The simplest version of that ingredient was just handed to me by a high-school chemistry teacher. We were talking about her efforts to get an advanced degree. She said that the monkey wrench in her degree program was the writing. It made her nervous. But one day, that changed. It changed when she finally clarified for herself what she wanted from the program. Then, the writing stopped being a struggle. Instead, it became simplicity because bot she and the writing were charged with that one ingredient: Purpose. “Once I knew what I wanted, it became simple. Now it had meaning.” Purpose is the pole star of writing. When you’re tasked with writing something--anything--purpose is your guiding light. This is especially true if you don’t consider yourself a writer. Don’t know your purpose? That’s probably because you’re sitting alone in a room staring at a computer screen. Get out of that room. Go talk to someone about the challenge. Say, “Hey, I have to write about BLANK.” Have a conversation. Let the other person ask you questions that require you to explain it. During the conversation, an idea will begin to form. Purpose will begin to peek its little head over the edge of your problem and whisper, "Here I am!" You’ll begin to feel an electrical charge of meaning and direction. You will experience the joy of moving from confusion to control. Go back and immediately sit down to write. Yes, it will still take more writing than you might want to do. That’s part of the process. Just let the brain dump happen. Shape it and control the words later. Right now, just let them flow. Know your purpose and your writing will pop. Cheers, Blaine Parker Your Lean, Mean Creative Director in Park City LIGHTNING BRANDING ON AMAZON The Kindle edition of our new book is now available at Amazon for the bargain price of $19.95 For details about our new Lightning Branding courses, both do-it-yourself and we-do-it-with-you editions, click here. (There's even a video of us!)
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OBVIOUSLY, THIS IS A DUMB MISTAKE
Write with more impact! More punch! More zip and zest! More verve! But, how? What magic must there be in making words sizzle on the page, and perhaps leap from an announcer’s lips as if frantic newts scampering away from a hot griddle of garter snakes? Obviously, you have no idea. But one of the first, obvious things to do is stop using a word like, “Obviously.” Want to see? Look at how much punch is in this one line after removing the adverb: You have no idea. That word is obviously standing between your idea and your reader. We’re going to call that word a “crutch word.” It’s one of those words that we lean on every day because it’s there and it’s easy and we got used to it when we were small children. Another word we got used to as even smaller children was, “Goo.” As in, “Goo goo.” We stopped saying that one. Is it not time we stopped goo’ing up the works using words that don’t move things along? Should we not stop allowing our words to slump and slumber? Shouldn’t we stop dragging our fat sentences across the page like lead-filled plaster casts of broken body parts? Instead, why aren’t we vaulting into the air on vital, rippling musculatures of verbal lean? And is that preceding paragraph awful? Yes! But you’ve read this far. Why? Two reasons. One, there’s an initial promise of something better and more profitable. Two, that paragraph was not expected. It’s fast. It flies. It surprises. And it doesn’t do that by leaning on crutch words like, “Obviously.” As has been established in previous episodes of this missive, one must write fast—even if it means committing grammatical transgressions like “fast,” which ought to correctly be an adverb like quickly or (less correctly) “fastly.” (Good grammar is optional if the impact is more important.) Write! Write as quick as silver streaks across a red hot skillet. Whatever that means. It sounds fast. Then, after writing, one must edit. Edit it. Ed-it. Edit. Let’s say you’re writing a 60-second radio script. That needs to be about 150 words of comin’ out swingin’. It might be swingin’ like a punch-drunk fighter in what will be an unfortunate face-down situation on the canvas. Or it might be swingin’ like a big band in front of a floor full of hep cats cuttin’ a rug to all that jazz, daddio. Or it might be swinging like an old tire at the end of a knotted rope tied to the branch of a grandaddy oak tree on a steamy summer day where the only respite from the swelter is in the shade of that green, leafy canopy while mom makes an icy pitcher of lemonade and a lazy banjo plinks away in the background. Three different ways to swing. But not one of them says, “Obviously, you want to swing.” Or, none of them says that right now, that is. Earlier, a crutch word may have been in there, back when your relentless scribe was in a speed-writing brain dump onto the page in an effort to puke up anything that might make sense here. After the dumpage, I went back and used my pen like a surgeon’s scalpel, slicing away the fat and bother. If you want more punch in your prose, you can’t saddle it upon the threadbare horse blanket of words that don’t spur it into action. What words are they? We’re talking about words like, “Obviously,” “Actually,” “Basically,” “Literally,” (which is literally almost never used properly), “So,” “Well,” “Look,” “Awesome,” (almost always never true), “Seriously,” “Totally,” “Essentially,” “Really,” “Just,” “Right,” and “Very.” Oh, and let’s not forget that super-annoying crutch word of the 21st century... “Super.” AUUGGHH! There, I said it. Super awesome or what? Write your brain-dump blather draft. Then, make it make more sense. After that, go through it again and ask yourself about every single word, “Do I need this?” You will often find yourself loaded up on crutch words standing in the way of actual impact, magnitude, swagger or sizzle. Cutting out such words helps your other words talk smack. And while you’re at it, be certain to kill, kill, kill your darlings. There will always be some kind of cuteness in there, all fuzzy and fun and rolling around right in the way of getting things done. And you adore it. Crush it! Squash it like a bug! Execute it with extreme prejudice! What exactly is a darling and how doth one spot it? Good question for another time. I have already overstayed my welcome. Words good. Edits better. Cheers, Blaine Parker Your Lean, Mean Creative Director in Park City LIGHTNING BRANDING ON AMAZON The Kindle edition of our new book is now available at Amazon for the bargain price of $19.95 BUT ON SALE RIGHT THIS MINUTE FOR 3.99! For details about our new Lightning Branding courses, both do-it-yourself and we-do-it-with-you editions, click here. (There's even a video of us!) WORDS GOOD! BANG BAD?
Screamer. Startler. Gasper. Shriek. Pling. Bang. There is a single, potent mark that goes by many names like these. Are you inserting that mark into your writing as a tool of emphasis? And if so, are you plinging yourself in the eye, screaming at your reader, startling your message off the page, gasping with every word, eventually shrieking into the void, and banging yourself into oblivion? Each of the aforementioned words (pling, et al) is a synonym for what is one of the most declarative and most overused pieces of punctuation in contemporary English: the “!”. It is also known as the exclamation mark or exclamation point. Granted, this is probably not be about you and your writing. But guaranteed, you know such a writer. You? You are more likely a victim of this punctuational assault on the senses. And it can help to know a little about the weaponry of one’s adversaries in an effort to disarm them. One great place to start is with the great F. Scott Fitzgerald, contender for Great American Novelist status as author of The Great Gatsby. Fitzgerald was mentoring Hollywood journalist Sheila Graham, who had literary aspirations. She asked Fitzgerald to look at something she had written. According to Ms. Graham, Fitzgerald read the piece, edited it, and told her… “Cut out all these exclamation points. An exclamation point is like laughing at your own joke.” In other words: Ah-ha! Ah-ha-ha-ha! Ah-ha-ha-ha--ha-ha-ha! HA! HA!! Nobody needs that. The person who needs it least is the joke teller. When you tell a joke that way, you lose the telling and become the joke. And the comedy is not pretty. That said, the exclamation point has a colorful history. Really! It has been places and seen things. It may have originated in Latin, evolving from “io,” which was an exclamation of joy. Medieval copyists would write “io” at the end of a sentence to express joy. Gradually, the “i" was moved on top of the “o”. And eventually, the “o” evolved to a dot, and the rest is history! It’s possible that you’ve used an old manual typewriter that has no exclamation point key. Instead, you were required to type an apostrophe, backspace and type a period. (That should give you some idea about how frequently one was intended to use the mark.) Back in the day, secretaries and proofreaders called the mark by perhaps the most glorious of its many names. And that name was, “Bang.” Why bang? The fun option is that it’s a reference to comic-book style, where a gunshot is indicated by “!”. Computer hacker slang has borrowed the “bang” descriptor, and also uses the words “shriek” and “pling” to indicate “!”. And yes, “!” has become a fixture in social media and in texting. But I’ve even seen it used to excess in BUSINESS EMAIL!!!!! HOLY COW!!!!!!! Let’s revisit the word “pling” for a moment. It’s a lovely word. It sounds like the barest tap of a tiny hammer on fine crystal. That sound, used once, can be pleasing. Less pleasing is when that tack hammer BANGS that crystal over and over until there is breakage and crashage and a gigantic mess of epic proportions. Yes, from joyful to junk with just a few keystrokes. When used with relentless abandon, the exclamation point stops being a mark and becomes the message. The message is, “I have nothing to say. Words escape me. But I possess a giant bag of hammers and I will use them all right here and now.” The “!” is a single kiss. But some writers are sucking face in the backseat with their date and nobody needs to see that. The problem of the “!” is a problem of emotion. A writer might have powerful feelings, but mistakes the mark for conveying those feelings with power. Not so. Excessive use of the mark is thrashing about in a cage, the emotion imprisoned by a lack of verbal control and command. Replacing the mark with potent wording is far superior in conveying meaning. Let’s express this as succinctly as a tweet, shall we? “I hate exclamation points!!!! They suck!!!! Stop doing it!!!!!!!” OK. But what about… “Every time you use the mark, it’s a dagger thrust into the heart of your reader. Each exclamation point kills your message, your reader and you just a little bit more.” Each of those thoughts will fit Twitter. But one of these things is not like the other. THE FIRST ONE IS SCREAMING ABOUT ME!!!! The second one is about someone more important, and the injury being done to them. Persuasion does not come at the end of a bang! Persuasion doesn’t scream, shriek or pling. Persuasion comes at the end of phrasing that matters. Try turning the scream into a whisper. It’s easier to hear. Cheers, Blaine Parker Your Lean, Mean Creative Director in Park City LIGHTNING BRANDING ON AMAZON The Kindle edition of our new book is now available at Amazon for the bargain price of $19.95. For details about our new Lightning Branding courses, both do-it-yourself and we-do-it-with-you editions, click here. (There's even a video of us!) Why is the word of the month “Apathy”?
I do not know. Nor do I care. See what I did there? No? Oh, well. I’m presently perched upon a chair I do not own. I’m sitting in a VRBO rental on the Mississippi Gulf Coast. Outside the window next to me, the bird song is going hog wild. And I don’t even care that the preceding phrase pushes me halfway to a mixed metaphor. Back here in the gnarled old-growth trees beneath a glorious cerulean sky that’s as blue as blue gets until you start paying big money for glorious sapphires the size of paperweights, this hog-wild birdsong glory is free. Free, free, free! Well, it’s “free” in that the VRBO landlord is not charging extra. You still require the credit card it takes to book a Gulf Coast VRBO rental that has old growth trees in the back yard. But I digress. And still, I care not a whit nor a whipporwill. I’m also apathetic that the now-Oscar-winning film Nomadland and the fearsome Frances McDormand do not clearly have an agenda to make Amazon look like The Great Satan of American business. If I weren’t so apathetic, I might care more that Nomadland isn’t even much of a story. But since Nomadland (as The Bard would say) is to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature vis á vis American behavior here in the first quarter of the 21st century where nobody speaks in Elizabethan English any more, I accept Nomadland as art. And art doesn’t care what I think, so why should I waste any energy on the alternative? I’m even apathetic that none of what precedes this sentence makes much sense. But what is apathy? Funny you should neither ask nor care. Apathy is a lack of feeling. A lack of emotion. It is about harboring neither interest nor concern about something. Apathy is a state of indifference. To that, I say, Meh. Much more interesting is that the word “apathy” is derived from the Greek "ἀπάθεια." Does that word even look like Greek to you? It does to me. But that all probably depends upon one’s computer and whether it cares to display characters of the Greek alphabet. But in translation to English and the Latin alphabet (if you care), that word in Greek is “apatheia,” which comes from the Greek root “apathēs,” which means "without feeling." If you remember your “A” prefixes from that day in middle school where you slept through English class, you know but may not care that the letter “A” means "without” or “not." And if you’re familiar with the word “pathos,” which means “emotion,” you might care (or not) to deduce that “apatheia” means "without emotion." Wikipedia (again!) tells us it is important to not confuse the two terms “apathy” and “apatheia.” That’s because somebody was somnambulant at the switch that day in The Clarity Division of the Greek-To-English Root Words Department. They clearly did not care that “absence of emotion” or “absence of passion” in the guise of “apatheia” was used by those laugh-a-minute Stoics to signify a desirable state of indifference towards events and things which lie outside one's control. Can’t do anything about it? Just don’t care! You see, the Stoics believed that their school of philosophy offered monthly subscribers a much better way to live. All things around us are exterior! We cannot control them! Be responsible only for your own representations and judgments! In other words, apatheia is a virtue. But apathy as we know it in our culture is a bad thing. In fact, Christianity decries apathy as a deficiency of love and devotion to God and His works. And that leads us down the slippery slope to Sloth, which (as we all know but often don’t care) is one of the Seven Deadly Sins. So, depending upon your stance, my morning apathy amidst the birdsong here at the edge of a white sand beach in the magnolia state is either spiritually abhorrent or philosophically commendable. Also, you probably don’t care. Good for you. Cheers, Blaine Parker Your Lean, Mean Creative Director in Park City LIGHTNING BRANDING ON AMAZON The Kindle edition of our new book is now available at Amazon for the bargain price of $19.95. For details about our new Lightning Branding courses, both do-it-yourself and we-do-it-with-you editions, click here. (There's even a video of us!) Word Of The Month: Patriotism
Welcome to the first installment of Words Good, a marginally enlightened effort at illuminating the use of words that penetrate the zeitgeist like a stake through the heart but without as much of a mess to clean up. This month’s word, “Patriotism,” is being tossed around a lot lately. Interestingly, it’s unclear whether everyone is in concurrence on its meaning. So, what does “Patriotism” mean? We can start with a basic definition stolen straight from the oracle of all that is true because of the zeroes and ones involved: Wikipedia. “Patriotism” is a feeling of love, devotion and sense of attachment to a homeland, and an alliance with people who share the same sentiment. (No, I’ve used not quotation marks on that definition, but again, to be clear: stolen directly from Wikipedia.) I once had the rare fortune to live in the wilds of Los Angeles among the fearsome Hollywood Liberal Elite. These are people who, ironically, consider themselves patriotic but would never call themselves “patriots” because they feel it smacks of jingoism. So now, one must ask: What is "jingoism," anyway? It sounds dirty. Well, it kind of is “dirty.” But not in the sense of getting sent to the principal’s office, or writing lines that say “I will not say ‘jingo’ in class,” or having your mouth washed out with soap kind of dirty. It's more like empirically dirty. To again steal unabashedly from Wikipedia (and know that I do make my annual meager donation to the non-profit Wikimedia Foundation, so I hope to receive some special dispensation for that beyond the tax deduction), “jingoism” is a kind of nationalism in the form of aggressive and proactive foreign policy, such as when a nation uses threats or force to protect its national interests. That sounds like something I saw in The Sopranos before James Ganfolfini’s heart exploded on a bathroom floor in Rome. Did he (or Tony Soprano) have a proactive foreign policy? Hard to know. We can’t ask him. Anyway, we never seem to hear patriots talk about jingoism. That might be because, like me, they might fear it sounds dirty, or else they just don’t know what it means. Or both. But back to Word Of The Month: “Patriotism.” Guess what? Americans define patriotism differently than other places. Who saw that coming and waving a flag ahead of it? American patriotism diverges from the European definition of patriotism. And since the US has traditionally diverged from European countries on many things, that’s unsurprising. See also: gasoline prices, the cost of medical care, and cisgender leg hair. The English word “patriot” derives from the Middle French word “Patriote,” which in turn comes from the Late Latin, “Patriota,” or “fellow countryman.” Want more coffee yet? I do. I want French-style coffee. The French make coffee strong enough to make your head fly off. And just by the way, France and America have historically been great allies despite the fact that us Yanquis put ketchup on our fries instead of mayonnaise or Dijon mustard. The French also have something called sauces pommes frites, which is "vaguely béarnaise-like" (thank you again, Wikpedia), and despite translating to "fried potato sauce," it bears no resemblance to the Utah phenomenon known as "fry sauce" which is in no way "bérnaise-like" and more Russian-dressing like, which means like ketchup and mustard whirled together in a bowl, and which could also be the beginning of an international incident. And speaking of international incidents, the French seem to hate the English language and don’t like to speak it because centuries ago, the then conquering English forced them to speak English instead of French. Did the French also have to start calling pommes frites by the word "chips"? Historical records are unclear. Conversely, the English and Americans are great allies because a couple of centuries ago, America sort of kicked the crap out of them. I once witnessed July 4th in the UK. It was very celebratory of us as Americans. I don’t get it. But I digress. None of us (the English, French or Americans) are fellow countrymen, but are we all patriots? Ugh. That word again. Would it please get around to explaining itself? The classic European meaning of patriot is anyone who is a fellow countryman, regardless of socio-economic position. But at one point, the term was applied to Barbarians, who were considered "uncivilized or primitive." The only thing Barbarians had in common with their fellow countrymen was country, and wondering why the New England Patriots couldn’t keep legendary quarterback Tom Brady. Also, it’s ironic that, at one point in world history, it would not have been unusual to hear a castle sentry cry out, “The barbarians are at the gates claiming to be patriots!” But again, I digress. Differences aside, a commonality of patriotism in both America and Europe is a notion of “civic virtue.” For another purloined definition (don’t worry, we will examine “purloined” as next month’s word of the month), “civic virtue” refers to the habits important for the success of a community and the common welfare. Important to note that "civic virtue" is taught mainly in a republic. But in a monarchy, there is no civic virtue. It is preempted by the monarch’s virtue. So patriots are not Barbarians at the gate, but citizens who feel a love and devotion and sense of attachment to a civic virtue for the success of the community and the New England Patriots until Tom Brady starts playing for Tampa Bay. All this just in case you start wondering what the word “patriotism” means when that word starts being overused in various contexts that leave you scratching your head. Word of the day: “Patriotism.” It might also be your can of worms of the day, should you decide to open it. I’m sure it’s now mine. Cheers, Blaine Parker Your Lean, Mean Creative Director in Park City LIGHTNING BRANDING ON AMAZON The Kindle edition of our new book is now available at Amazon for the bargain price of $19.95. For details about our new Lightning Branding courses, both do-it-yourself and we-do-it-with-you editions, click here. (There's even a video of us!) |
AuthorBlaine Parker is prone to ranting about any and all things related to brand. In many ways, he is a professional curmudgeon. While there is no known vaccine for this, the condition is also not contagious. Unless you choose it to be so. Archives
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