Having a Thesaurus Does Not Make You a Writer

First, before we get to the meat of this, I got my exercise video (late) today, so, starting tomorrow, I cannot write my blogs unless I've done the workout. I will be going through the tutorial later tonight. So, if I'm not on, you know, I've been bad or I'm just too exhausted. Here's hoping I show up.

Today's topic could actually count as a soapbox but I'm going to think of it as a writing tip instead because it's really bothering me (i.e., don't want to wait until next Sunday). I have a pet peeve, though I think most writers do, and that's about writers who think "great writing" means "stringing long and pretentious sounding words together even if the meaning makes no sense." I can't read such a writer without envisioning someone with a thesaurus looking synonyms with no concept of the nuances of the words. Bzzt! Wrong answer!

Language is beautiful, flexible and does the near impossible by making people, who have never existed, seem real and painting scenes that have never been with a vivid brush. But that flexibility and incredible versatility means you need to use it judiciously. Mark Twain (who knew his language) said, "The difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between lightning and a lightning bug." He was not wrong.

Let me give you some egregious examples:

"a ruddy young girl dithers, pale and fair-haired" - Don't use words to describe someone that are mutually exclusive. Ruddy, literally, means red and denotes someone (or something) with a reddish complexion or appearance (often specifically healthy). Need I point out the contrast with that description and "pale"? My guess is that the author looked up a synonym for the term "coarse" as in a commoner and ruddy came up as ruddy is often used to describe a commoner who spends his day in the sun. Clearly, not applicable here.

"rode her horse over verdant green grass" - I read this on the first page of a book and had to set it down immediately. Verdant means "green" - not a particular shade of green, just green, so adding it to the sentence accomplishes nothing since green's already there. In fact, unless the grass a particular shade of green, like jade or emerald, or some unexpected color (like purple) the green in the sentence is fairly superfluous. And the friend that loaned this book to me was an English teacher.

"the child lumbered nimbly across the room" - seriously, folks, not every synonym for "walked" is appropriate. Most five-year-olds don't lumber unless they're simulating a dinosaur or carrying something twice their size; however, in the unlikely event that they are lumbering, they are not likely to do so nimbly. In a similar way, "marching lightly" or "traipsing ponderously" - both of which I've seen - make no damn sense.

There are more examples, but I'm trying to forget them. Here's the thing, by all means, use descriptive, nuanced, even advanced language. The right word in the right place can do a great deal to evoke an image, describe action, breathe life into a character, but you should never use a word without an understanding of its meaning and its nuances. Finding it in a list of synonyms is no guarantee that they share identical meanings. Use any words that add to the picture, but no more than needed and only if it adds something.

There are some that will be impressed, awed, at a flood of big obscure words because they don't understand them. Such readers might mistake such tactics for good writing, but it fails the most important test. Does it communicate?

If someone misuses language, the only ones who appreciate it are those that don't understand the words anyway.

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Bare Necessities: English (or Language if your native tongue is different)

Duh!

Language is all about the capacity to communicate with others. I would not be lying if I told you that the ability to communicate can be the difference between life and death, and the lack of ability to do so automatically leads to conclusions about cognizance, understanding and intellect. One reason cetaceans (whales and dolphins) are regarded so highly involves their ability to communicate with each other, presumably using language. Many insects (particularly communal insects like bees and ants) also have complicated and exhaustive methods of communication that add appreciably to their ability to survive.

People who can’t or won’t talk are routinely thought of as stupid or dumb (a word often used for mute), even if the reasons have nothing to do with intellectual capability. That lack of communication ability hampers children who communicate poorly (like autistic or dyslexic children) even if they are otherwise quite capable. The scope of the importance of communication is so vast, I’m all but stumped to try to describe it. Without communication, cooperation is impossible, communities destroyed, and chaos ensues. Everything we know about history, culture, every concept we cherish, every law, every emotion, every artistic ideal, has been expressed with language with the intent to teach or provide understanding or describe something. If language evaporated today, we’d wander around ignorant of our past, unlikely unable to make sense of the art and objects, perhaps even the music around us. I also believe we’d be looking for another method of communication immediately.

But language is more than just an expression of necessities, though that is its most basic function. It is also a creation of surpassing beauty and subtly, capable of putting not just pictures on paper (albeit using more than a thousand words), but also taste and touch, scent and hearing. In the hands of a master, it can wring emotion or horror from the reader, breathe life into a character that never existed, recreate worlds that have never been. It can influence the beliefs and lives of millions. It can touch hearts. It can express emotions so poignantly a reader can feel them as if they were his or her own.

Unfortunately, to do more than the basics, one must have more than a basic grasp of language. And a poor grasp of language can again give an outsider a skewed sense of (a) intelligence, (b) education, and (c) sensitivity. If you can’t express what you feel effectively, your husband won’t understand why you’re crying, and if he doesn’t have a good grasp of the intricacies and nuances of language he won’t understand it even if you DO express it effectively. In order to communicate effectively, both sides must have an understanding of language.

The best speaker in the world is wasted on the language-challenged. And many an important lesson has been lost because it was communicated poorly or to an audience incapable of understanding it. It is, in fact, a serious issue for scientists – the nuances of language specific to scientists and specialists have an entirely different slant/set of meanings for the public. What’s more, when someone believes they have an interpretation of what is being said/written (even if it’s completely wrong), it is all but impossible to disabuse them of that meaning even with extensive and exhaustive explanation…but that’s another blog post.

My point is that the study of language, specifically one’s native tongue, is critical for effective communication (crucial in nearly every endeavor out there), mental health, and fulfillment. There are few things more disheartening than not being heard and nothing is more likely to ensure a lack of audience than a poor grasp of language.

In my opinion.

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WWW: The Beauty of Language

Since I talked about reading aloud yesterday, I have to talk again about using the beauty of language to intensify one's prose. I've mentioned this before, using the sound of language to reinforce the meaning of the words, but it bears repeating.

But wait, I have examples:

The sequestered situation of this church seems always to have made it a favorite haunt of troubled spirits. It stands on a knoll, surrounded by locust, trees and lofty elms, from among which its decent, whitewashed walls shine modestly forth, like a Christian purity beaming through the shades of retirement. (The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, by Washington Irving)

or

To such perseverance in wilful self-deception Elizabeth would make no reply, and immediately and in silence withdrew, determined, that if he persisted in considering her repeated refusals as flattering encouragement, to apply to her father, whose negative might be uttered in such a manner as to be decisive, and whose behavior at least could not be mistaken for the affectation and coquetry of an elegant female. (Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen)

or

I saw them writhe with deadly locution. I saw them fashion the syllables of my name; and I shuddered because no sound succeeded. I saw, too, for a few moments of delirious horror, the soft and nearly imperceptible waving of the sable draperies which enwrapped the walls of the apartment. ("The Pit and the Pendulum," by Edgar Allan Poe)

If you can't discern how wonderfully the language was used in those passages, go back and read them out loud. Can you hear the somnolent beauty of the setting for the church, with it's pristine walls representing the beauty of faith? Or the sarcasm in the lofty terms Elizabeth uses to express his explanation for her gentle refusals and her hopes that her father can be more successful in saying NO? Or the painful otherworldly description of the torture victim? Not just the meaning of the glorious words, but the sound.

But modern authors can do it, too.

Unsmiling, she chose her target: a man in black and white. Unsmiling, she loosed her arrow . . . and it sang, how it sang, slicing through the sky . . . she heard the distant crescendo; she heard the archer's scream. ("Spoils of War" by Jennifer Roberson)

If you think you get as much out of that passage reading it silently than you do in reading it aloud, you might be doing it wrong.

As the shadows lengthened, she became a shadow herself, another purple shape in the underbrush. In the lee of a tower, she scaled the crumbling wall of the castle unnoticed, unheard. She came up just below where guards kept watch in the turret, sliding beneath them on the battlements, in the shadows, and slipping soundlessly into the keep itself. (Curse of the Jenri, by myself)

Think of your favorite books and see if you can't find a passage that sounds as good as it looks. And, if you can't, trying writing one.

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