What To Do With All Those Words

    The application form said, “Describe yourself in fifty words or less.”

 "Concise," I wrote. During the interview a week later, the lady, referring to my response, said, “I just had to meet you. You have such a way with words.”

    “Word,” I corrected.

    She lost her composure at that point, and I left the office with a job offer.

    Some words just add to the load that the reader must carry. Others generate fear, joy, reflection, sadness, excitement or anticipation of what is to come. Try this: look at each word in a sentence and ask yourself, “How does this word help achieve the desired reader response?” If you can’t answer that question, rewrite.

    In the article, Baby Booze (see February 2012 in Archives), I compared this:

My father died when I was sixteen

with this:

My father was always there for me. He had his emotional and character warts like anyone else, but I saw beyond his bluster and into his deep compassion and fierce commitment to us—his family. His sage advice on matters of life buoyed me through the darkest chapters of my adolescence. I remember the summer of my first love, when I was sixteen, and the crushing despair when my world fell apart. He was there for me. He didn’t say much, but he was there. And that was all that mattered.

The day after graduation, I came home to find several cars in the driveway. Inside, my mother sat on the couch weeping inconsolably. The minister, without a word, came to put his arm around me, and I knew then that I would never see my father again.

    While the first bereavement account is concise, it does nothing to generate the emotional response needed to captivate readers. Consider this commentary on strength:

True strength is not about feeling great or having powerful muscles and lots of energy to accomplish great feats.  True strength is when you are exhausted, muscles trembling under an unbearable load, confidence in your own ability shattered, your sense of vision and purpose hidden by a cloud of confusion, and yet you don't give up.  True strength is when you cling to hope although everything around you points to despair. You've been hit with disappointment after disappointment and sorrow after sorrow;  you don't feel strong.  In fact, you feel weaker and more defeated than you've ever felt, yet you keep believing in a good God. That is true strength.

 (From Kendra Fedrau’s journal, published with her permission: © KD Fedrau 2012)

    Being more concise, in this reflective piece, would dilute its impact. Concise is relative—make your words do what you want them to.

    Until next time, cross out every second word (just kidding).

Merve