Uggh....So. Many. Words.

A fellow writer, after listening to some samples at Critique times I attended, frequently and succinctly had this to say about individual readings that had been presented: 

"Too many words!" 

Ninety percent of the time he said this with a smile, so you knew he was doing his best to be constructive. Unfortunately, his brief assessment rarely specified exactly which words there were too many of, so that could be a frustrating exercise if you were the person trying to figure out where to edit your excesses. A lot of the time that person was me. I like words. A lot.

A couple of weeks ago I was working on a project that made me wish he was sitting with and coaching the project's author, on exactly what had to go, with his heroic catchphrase. Here is a small sampling of some of the interesting turns of phrase used: 

"The flames of the fire reached almost to the ceiling on top of the walls." 

"I was too afraid and scared to talk."

"His eyes fell to the ground."

"He turned his back to her so he was facing away from her."

"It was probably possible."

"She watched the steam rise up from the kettle."

"We noticed as we got closer the skyscrapers got larger and bigger."

"His thighs and ankles ran hard against the pavement."


Sometimes I had to get up from my desk and think about how to say "too many words" constructively, because I know, I really know, that writing something clear and connective and interesting can be really fucking hard. I had to suggest a more concise sentence, pace around the story without stepping on meaning, without imposing my own voice and structure upon the author's own. 

That's what a copy editor is supposed to do -- I'm supposed to make it better without figuratively grabbing the manuscript and slapping it around until it fits what I think will work. Because sometimes I'm wrong. Sometimes the author really wants the redundant "larger and bigger",  or "probably possible" is a voice-ism of a first person narrator. Personally I assume ceilings are at the tops of walls so the phrase isn't necessary, or I'll delete "up" because what other way would something go if it's rising?; and I get the most comical imagery in my head watching eyes hit the ground, or thighs and ankles running without the rest of the body in play -- kind of like those Irish step dancers whose top halves are almost perfectly still while their legs and feet snap precisely, a thousand steps a minute, across a hardwood floor.

But because of my friend Harris, I carry that mantra -- when I work and when I write -- not because you should always use the least amount of words possible, but because you should choose the words that mean something, that make sense and beauty and story, only using the words that count. And you really don't need any more. 

And for him, I have only these three: We'll miss you.

This Week's Pet Peeves

Well. I’m in a less than optimal mood. I’ve been working on a project or two that have me aggravated -- due, for the most part, to continuity and context problems, as well as lazy phrase use and repetition.

            What’s a Lazy Phrase? As a copy editor, I get two perks: I can work in my pajamas if I want, and I get to make up terms, and that’s the one for this week. Here are four phrases that make me want to go whatever is the copy editor’s version of “postal”:

“back in the day”: I suppose it’s meant to be nostalgic, but what does this expression really mean? If you don’t know the person/character who’s using the phrase well (and sometimes even if you do), how would you know to what time period this phrase refers? Most frequently it’s used to express friendly past knowledge, such as “Joe and I used to shoot pool/hunt buffalo/ride dinosaurs/hijack hovercraft back in the day.” You could probably narrow down to a particular century the buffalo or hovercraft adventures, but most of the time it isn’t such a specific activity. “Jane and I know each other from back in the day” makes me want to pop the speaker in the nose. Don’t be so lazy! How about telling us when, exactly, so we’re not left feeling uncomfortably clueless about your past?

            Unless of course you feel, like I do about some of my experiences in the 1980s, that some stories are probably best left vague.

“come with”: This one has become quite the phrase for people trying to sound chic or trendy. It’s used, for example, in invitations: “Marlo and I are going to the club. Care to come with?” Uggghhh. Come with what? Your new nine iron? Extra grapes? A swimsuit? All of your other friends who want to go to the club?

            This also depends upon context of genre. Using this phrase in an epic novel about culture conflict in the 1940s is far different from using it in a contemporary piece of erotica. Think about it. Then finish the sentence, for heaven’s sake. Especially if you’re inviting me somewhere. I want to be prepared.

“sucked in a breath”: Why oh why do so many writers use this phrase? And why, once they’ve used it, do they think it’s okay to use it twenty or thirty times in the same 300-page book? What does it mean, exactly? Try it: “She sucked in a breath at the sight of ….” Careful here. What did she see and what did it do to her? Did whatever she see make her gasp in shock, or deeply and slowly inhale in awe? Did she gulp in a breath because she’d been struggling beneath rough waves at sea and was finally able to surface? Did she need to actually suck in a breath, in case she was trying to siphon something out of a tank? Maybe she just inhaled, after having stopped breathing from some surprise. Take a deep breath yourself, consider your event and the emotional or physical manifestations it would cause, and fit the form of inhalation to what’s happened.

Finally, this week’s un-favorite: “Hot Mess”. Here’s the deal with Hot Mess: You have to make up your mind. A hot mess is either a woman who’s been through some really fantastic lovemaking, pretty much sprawled out naked with her hair in her face and her lipstick happily smeared to her ears; or someone who really looks terrible and can’t seem to get their act together no matter how much they try; or it’s what happens when you leave an 8-year-old alone with a glue gun for too long. Potentially it could be all three of these things – only please, not all in the same book, even if your leading lady is a single mom who’s finally found love again despite the fact that her shoes never match and her kid’s teacher’s calling for the third time that week over yet another art project gone really, really wrong.  In my house it’s what I could call the kitchen during holiday meal preparations, so maybe your heroine also creates a disastrous environment when she’s stirring up a batch of chili. I know some writers like the term and think it’s fresh and to the point – unfortunately so do many other writers, making it not so fresh anymore. It will make your book dated. Rather than just using the lazy phrase, use more descriptive terms that will really give someone a sense of the character – or your best friend, even if it’s affectionately said – than those two overused words. Plus, you should probably stop referring to your best friend that way. It’s just not nice.

 That’s it, I think, for the time being. Can you come up with other Lazy Phrases? What terms have you encountered that made you grumble and scowl?  

"Lazy Phrases" (c) 2015 Various Milliner, Ltd. Publishing Services. Protecting the English language one semi-colon at a time. All rights reserved.