Clarity is a Cruel Knife

By Brad Beals

Versitext.com

I love words. Give me a string of fat, convoluted, compound-complex sentences over stubby, simple ones any day. But 90% of my work heads to web pages, and since long sentences are harder to scan than short ones, clarity is often a cruel knife. And off they come—lovely words, hard-fought phrases and clauses, whole sentences even.

And then there’s the big-picture part of me who speaks up, and I’m reminded—clarity is good, clarity is key. And that means cutting fluff and sprinkling those long sentences with end-mark punctuation. Here, clarity is a scalpel, and, despite the pain, my text is generally healthier for it.

So clarity is good, and brevity is the soul of web-page copy. Why not stop now and call it a post?

Because not all content submits itself easily to treatment. Difficult-to-convey concepts or complex argumentation can be troublesome. When dealing with such copy, it’s easy for me to slip back into the old ways, placing no checks on sentence complexity, and paying little attention to the scanning tendency of my audience (That’s a long sentence, I know, but I’ll assume that you, as a blog reader, aren’t scanning this). And more than once I’ve heard myself asking this question: don’t we need complex phrasing to communicate complex ideas?

My answer to me: Nope. Complicated ideas should be communicated through the entirety of the text, not in the particulars of sentence complexity. This requires careful organization in the development of copy. Clear, short, active-voice sentences can do the job better than long, fat ones if they’re sequenced effectively. Because it’s within the broad sweep of the text that this kind of clarity is achieved and not in pieces, we’re less likely to be lulled into the old habit of wordiness.

In writing for the web, I’ve had to sharpen my ability to do the job quickly, at-a-glance in some ways. I’ve learned to make eye-contact, present my case, and bring things to a close in a hundred words instead of the thousand I was used to. And as my perception of good writing has changed, so have my means for achieving clarity.

My working definition for clarity is now this: a clear message is conveyed when the reader is brought safely to my conclusion. Yes, you need simple, clear sentences to do this, but you also need reasoning, logic, and the careful sequencing of all of it to help bring your reader home.

So is there no indulgence for the word junkie? None at all? No, there’s not. Not on an ecomm site, anyway. For a word-fix, go write a novel. Or better yet, a blog—it’s faster acting.

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Another Word on Words

By Brad Beals

Versitext.com

The words you use, better than any other indicator, reflect the quality of the thoughts behind them. That’s not to say good thinking can’t happen without corresponding good expression—intellectual genius often goes hand in hand with an inability to express it. But good expression rarely happens without good thinking to drive it. That is, a complicated idea, clearly expressed, indicates that complicated thinking really did happen.

A woman playing chopsticks on the piano might be a virtuoso, but she’s probably not since most people can play chopsticks and few are virtuosos. The expression of chopsticks can convey only that level of proficiency and nothing higher. And if she plays a Rogers and Hammerstein tune, we know she’s at least that good. But is that the extent of her skill? We don’t know, and we wouldn’t assume a level higher than that until we’ve heard an expression that would indicate it.

But if she does move on to playing Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto #3, our estimation of her abilities will rise, and—now this is the important part—we will never again put her skill level at chopsticks or show tunes, even if we never hear Rachmaninoff again!

Your use of language conveys quality of thought in a similar way. Expression will convey that level of thinking, but nothing beyond. If it’s simple, you convey simplicity, which is not necessarily bad—you might just be fooling around with chopsticks. If your words are muddled, you will convey muddled thinking. And if all your expression is mundane, prosaic, plain…well, then that’s the only tune we’re hearing.

But doesn’t this contradict simplicity as doctrine for writing web copy? you ask. Doesn’t what we know about usability suggest we pound out nothing but chopsticks?

Not exactly. Even if our virtuoso prefers to play chopsticks, and even if we never hear a concerto again, her credibility at the piano is established. We know she’s good. Business writing for the web is not about entertainment—it’s about utility and credibility.

So it’s not imperative that every sentence should knock it out of the park (in fact, if you try to accomplish that, you’ll convolute your text) but that your sum-total expression does. If you give your readers a taste of Rachmaninoff early on to establish credibility, they’ll listen closely to the rest.

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Writer, Proof Thyself

By Brad Beals

Versitext.com

Proofing your own copy is like tickling yourself—it’s not real effective. Just ask Lynne Truss, the author of Eats, Shoots and Leaves. Here’s the complete title of her book:

Eats, Shoots and Leaves:

A Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation

And in the subtitle we find, of all things, an error in punctuation. The compound modifier zero tolerance, because it modifies a noun immediately following, needs to be hypenated, as in zero-tolerance approach.

(It’s a great object lesson for copy folk, but don’t let the slip-up prejudice you against Truss’s book—it’s a great read, and no, I’m not forgetting that it’s about punctuation.)

The more time a writer spends with a piece of copy, the more familiar it becomes. If errors aren’t caught early, the writer’s eye and brain (they’re the same organ, really) will begin superimposing correct form onto the copy. You’ll read it correctly because the sentence’s content and syntax encourage you to anticipate and assume the correct form. It’s nothing new; we see what we want to see.

Some remedies:

• spell check is a start, but it will miss distinctions between words like wear and where
• reading aloud is helpful for broader form concerns like sentence fragments, misplaced or dangling modifiers, and style, but it won’t catch spelling and typo problems
• reading copy word for word in reverse—this eliminates the brain’s assumptions about form since there’s no syntax to hypnotize you. This is a good complement to reading aloud as it will only catch spelling and typo errors.
• farming the copy out to a proofreader for one last pass

But your best bet is to be doing all four. That’s the true zero-tolerance approach to proofing. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need my wife to read this before I post.

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Zero-Content Blah Blah

By Brad Beals

Versitext.com

Odds are you have copy on your website that can—with no diminished value in usability—be replaced with the words blah, blah, and blah. Jakob Nielsen refers to such copy as zero-content word count. These are words, phrases, and sentences that contribute nothing because our brains have stopped recognizing them as meaningful. And it’s the language that greets most web-page users.

So what does ZCWC look like? One way to identify it is to ask, “would anyone advertise for the opposite of what I’m writing?” For example, “we provide unique opportunities” says nothing because there’s no one out there saying “we provide common opportunities.” And if there’s no one saying the opposite, or at least something very different, then you’ve got no room for differentiation. Unique is an assumed qualifier, so the word adds no value to a user’s experience. You may as well use the term blah, or maybe yada, because your reader will scan over unique in just the same way.

As web users, we have qualifier assumptions, a host of words in our heads that we’re ready to see—unique, progressive, state-of-the-art, efficient, any positive modifier, and a lot of vague action verbs such as integrate, facilitate, develop, excel. Nothing constructive happens with these words because nothing is added to the user’s perceptions. “High-quality” is already there in our assumptions; we’re inoculated to it, so it becomes a nonsense word. And there are nouns too: integration, process, cutting-edge, synergy. But they add nothing substantive. The words we present must construct something new in the user’s thinking or they’re empty and without value. They have zero content.

So how do you add value through words? There are many ways, but the remedy for zero-content is simple: say what it is you do. If you’re a plumber, don’t tell me how your service is professional or state-of-the-art. Say instead, “We clear drains up to 200 feet.” Those seven words add value by building in the user’s perception something as opposed to nothing. Otherwise, save yourself some time and paste in blah blah blah, or leave it blank. It won’t matter either way—your user can’t see it.

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A Word About Words

By Brad Beals

Versitext.com

I recently heard this narrow slice of our modern era—the late 20th, early 21st century—described as the age of image. The notion behind it being that our use of information is primarily image based rather than word based.

It’s not hard to see how this is true. Consider that in the last century we’ve seen not only the advent of digital media, but—going waaay back—of picture books for kids and pop-culture magazines that have had their verbiage squeezed out, a little each decade, by images. Our children today, and for the last couple of generations, really, have been raised, educated, pacified, and entertained with images.

This would seem to speak to the old proverb that a picture is worth a thousand words. But is it? The answer, of course, depends on the words. For example, one picture cannot express…

• a mission statement
• your epitath
• a website’s terms of service
• a knock-knock joke
• what Emily Dickinson can with 10 words
• the simplest legal document

I understand what the maxim means to say. That some pictures—pieces of photo journalism come to mind—communicate ideas, truths, impressions that could not be captured in the same way with words. I don’t dispute that. But there’s a kind of job that images can’t do. They can’t argue. Not really. Images can’t present claims. They can’t reason syllogistically. They can’t sequence premises, conditions, and conclusions. For communication that compels a reader to action—whether the action is a change in thought or a purchase—we need words.

I am not proposing that words are better than visual images. That would be like saying trees are better than clouds; each has value within a particular context. And the context in which words have greater value is that of human thought and expression.

So we can call this the slice of history whatever we want, but one thing’s for sure, we’ll use words to do it. And unless our brains start working differently, words are here to stay.

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Don't Don't

by Brad Beals

Versitext.com

Several posts ago, I dealt with the passive voice, its problems, its uses. One of the reasons that passive-voice construction (The ball was thrown by me, as opposed to the active I threw the ball) is a hindrance to clarity is that it requires an extra cognitive step to get to the meaning. It asks the synapses to fire a few more times than would be necessary with the active voice.

But there are other language habits that do the same thing. Using a negative to indicate its positive opposite, for example. Take this sentence: “Don’t be short.” It’s a caddie talking to his player. Now, this may be good advice. The caddie may know this particular spot on this green and understand that, given the grain, grass type, and the nearby pond, there’s a tendency for golfers leave it short. He might very well know exactly what he’s talking about, but he may also lose his job.

Just like with the passive voice, an imperative framed in the negative, like our caddie’s piece of advice, requires an additional cognitive step. The golfer must first understand what the statement means in the negative and then translate it into the positive opposite. Compare these two cognitive sequences:

A. With “Don’t be short”, the golfer’s brain would do something like this:

1. short means the ball stops before the hole
2. don’t means this is bad and the opposite is good
3. the opposite of short is long
4. therefore, I should try to hit it just past the hole
   

B. With “You can be long” the brain only needs to do this:

1. long means past the hole

2. therefore, I should try to it just past the hole.

If it sounds like I’m making an issue out of nothing, like I’m inventing for blog material, just hang on. Yes, the brain works so fast that we don’t perceive a difference between “don’t leave it short” and “you can be long.” It’s not as if the golfer now says,”Darn you, caddie! Now I’ve had to unnecessarily expend mental energy transposing your negative imperative into the positive. Two extra cognitive steps! You’re fired!” But something else is going on, something very important to both golfers and anyone trying to compel or persuade with words.

Here’s the problem: When the caddie says don't be short, the player will visualize short—he can’t help it; it’s a language/brain thing. Here’s an illustration: don’t think of green grass! So what did you think of? All kinds of things maybe, but the very first thing and the one to stick was green grass.

So now the player needs to revisualize the opposite of short since the caddie said "don't". Once again, it's not the extra cognitive steps that irk the golfer, it's that first image in his head of hitting the ball short. The golfer now has to superimpose with added effort the opposite image of hitting the ball past the cup. And in high-pressure situations, that can be next to impossible. The caddie has just spoiled his employer's sports psyche by introducing negative thinking. And he may also have just spoiled his own livelihood.

This will be very useful—you’re thinking—when I become a professional golfer, but how does this affect me now as a writer?

The implications for us as writers are the same as the consequences were for the caddie. Your readers, your players, will visualize what you put before them. So, when it’s possible and appropriate, when it doesn’t jeopardize the overall purpose of the copy, when it doesn’t handcuff you into veering away from the best rhetorical sequence, frame your imperatives in the positive.

Here’s an easy way to make a determination as to whether you should avoid a not: Ask yourself this: when casting words in the negative, are you ok with your reader having in mind (and holding it, we have to presume) the opposite of what you’re saying. Is it ok for your player to visualize short when you want him hitting it long? If not, present it in the positive. If it doesn’t hurt, don’t sweat it.

And you can always use these same principles in reverse. Reverse psychology, that is. Don’t open this box. Don’t ring this bell. And whatever you do, DON’T read my next blog.

versitext. Business-Language Solutions

Ink Responsibly

By Brad Beals

Versitext.com

Last week, I stumped hard for the active voice. And for good reason: it’s the better choice, the safer choice for responsible writers. However, the passive voice, in moderation and in the right hands, can be useful for getting you out of some awkward spots.

The weakness of the passive voice—that the actor is stated indirectly, or not at all—occasionally turns out to be a strength. Let’s say, for example, that you don’t know (or want to hide) who the actor in the sentence is. Just call in the passive voice:

Sexual harassment charges against Mr. Jones were filed yesterday. (We’re protecting the person who filed them.)

Forty acres of orange trees have been planted. (We don’t know—and no one would care—who planted them.)

Our house was vandalized. (We’d love to know who did it, but the police have no promising leads.)

To force an active-voice construction would make matters worse:

Someone—we’re not at liberty to say who—filed sexual harassment charges against Mr. Jones yesterday.

Migrant workers, presumably, planted forty acres of orange trees.

Representatives of the local criminal element vandalized our house.

Notice that the active voice shifts emphasis to the actor. Not only does this make for awkward reading, it also changes the intent of the sentences. The original sentences are about the charges against Mr. Jones, the forty acres of orange trees, and our house, not about an unknown plaintiff, migrant workers, or criminals. Now it may be that if we had the information about the actor or the desire to divulge it, our emphasis and intent would be different. But we have neither.

There are also times when we want to emphasize the receiver not because we’re hiding or we’re ignorant of the actor, but because it’s our purpose, and because some things don’t fit neatly into active voice. This is the second use of the passive: intentionally emphasizing the receiver.

In a piece about the Academy Awards, it would be right and good and proper to write a passive-voice sentence like this: This year’s Oscar for best supporting actor was awarded to George Clooney. But in a bio on George Clooney, he should have the rightful place at the front of an active sentence. George Clooney won the Oscar.

And if you think about it, Oscar, as the subject of a sentence, will almost always be in passive voice. Besides sitting on a shelf, there’s little else for an Oscar to do but be given, be awarded, be handed out, be toted, be brandished, be coveted, be sold on ebay. A statue, by its nature, is passive. It will never make a good actor, even if it is an Oscar.

Finally, you might employ the passive voice when your text calls for sentence variety. I say might, because there are many ways to vary sentences without resorting to the passive. However, the rare, adeptly spun passive to break up a long, wooden passage, one that casts no shadow on your subject would be acceptable. But use in moderation.

So while active voice is clearer, stronger, and more concise, it can’t do everything. If the actor is unknown or needs to be hidden, or if the receiver of the action is your focus, cast it in the passive voice. And for the sake of variety, advanced users may employ the passive—but please…write responsibly. Don’t put interested readers at risk.

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