Writing, Clear and Simple

I’ll always remember the children’s story, The House that Jack Built, which has such a simple premise: Start with a sentence that includes a restrictive clause, and then turn that sentence into a restrictive clause (those are the ones that begin with that) and tack it onto another sentence.

This is the house that Jack built.

This is the malt that lay in the house that Jack built. 

This is the mouse that ate the malt that lay in the house that Jack built.

And so on. (You’re probably reciting the next line now; the pattern is so memorable.) It makes a great story for children because of the natural meter that arises from the structure.

It’s not so good when you begin to find this structure appearing in your own writing (unless you’re writing a children’s book.) I recently edited a software manual that included this phrase:

Notifications are message templates that contain the text that will appear in the e-mail messages that documents are attached to.

Three restrictive clauses in one sentence. I can live with two, but three just seems a bit much. And it would be simple to get rid of one of those restrictive clauses.

 Notifications are message templates; they contain the text that will appear in the e-mail messages that documents are attached to.

With all three restrictive clauses, there was no natural break, no place for the reader to pause and let the information soak in. By the time we get to the end, we’re quite out of breath, and have likely lost track of exactly what’s being described here. Adding the semicolon gives us a place to stop momentarily. We read that first phrase and absorb the fact that these notification thingies are templates. Then we move along to the fuller definition.

Look for strings of restrictive clauses—remember, they begin with that and add essential information to the sentence—and think about ways to rewrite the sentence, or perhaps break it into two sentences.

Keep on writing.

Every day, write something to exercise your writing ability, whether it’s a blog, or your journal, or the beginnings of a novel, or a letter to the editor. Write something. Anything.

You may feel that you’re just not a good writer, and that there’s not much point in laboring over it. “Some people have it, and some don’t. I’ll be a good writer as soon as pigs fly.”

Hogwash.

Nobody is a “natural writer.” It would be as foolish to say that someone is a natural juggler, or a natural cabinet maker. Some aspects of it may come easier for some, but everybody has had to spend some hard effort learning the basics. And even those who are “naturals” have to spend time honing their skills (as writers, jugglers, or cabinet makers).

Nil desperandum! (“Never despair!”) The rewards are worth the struggle. No matter what your profession or vocation, the ability to use words well will help you. “In this knowledge economy, writing is the chief value-producing activity,” says Kenneth W. Davis. Scott Ginsberg goes even further, claiming that (for a number of reasons) “Writing is the basis of all wealth.”

All of your knowledge, opinions, and emotions have value, but they can’t do anything hidden under a bucket. Writing is a powerful way to tap into that value. And you don’t deplete the value by spreading it around; you multiply it.

(Image by Trevor Romain. Used with permission.)

Related to my recent article on business jargon, Gene Weingarten of the Washington Post has a column about his experiment in using PR jargon to talk to PR professionals.

So I decided to call the PR people who issued these releases and tell them that The Washington Post wants to write a big piece about their little story. (To PR people, in terms of arousal, this is like mainlining pheromones.) Then I would tell them that I just had one teensy little question to ask, and once they answered it, we’d be good to go. The question would be written like their press releases. When they failed to understand me, I’d say, “Well, too bad. I guess I just can’t do the story.”

Things didn’t quite go as planned, though.

Me: Vis-a-vis the implementation of SAP technology, what is the source-related derivation of the acronymically based identifier of the service entity, and how does it operate so as to enhance production and profitability or, alternatively, improve the business model of the shelf-stable protein supplier of which Clarkston is now a client?

Angelia: So you’re asking me what SAP is an acronym for and how it helps Bumble Bee?

Me:

Angelia: Hello?

Me: You understood me?

Angelia: Sure, it was very clear.

Here he was looking for a quick laugh at poor Angelia’s expense, and she—and two other PR flacks that he called—didn’t play along. They understood what he was saying.

The problem with Weingarten’s column is simple: he forgot that, for PR people, that kind of language is natural. That’s what they speak.

And he lost a huge opportunity by not telling them that their “native” language leaves him—and pretty much everyone else—saying “Look, you’re really cute, but I can’t understand what you’re saying.”

Technology can be like the little girl in the Longfellow poem: When it’s good, it’s very good, but when it’s bad…

I had to interview a group of three people for an article I’m working on, so I experimented with some software solutions for scheduling, conducting, and recording the interview.

Pick a time, any time 

Scheduling the was going to be a bit dicy, because the three interviewees and I are in four different time zones. I recalled that Lifehacker had mentioned some free online applications for meeting scheduling, so I  looked them up and decided to give TimeToMeet a try.

• The good: The application is free, and the interface is very easy to use—a basic point-and-click to block out the times you have available. Then you enter the names and e-mail addresses of the people you want to meet with, type in a short message, and let TimeToMeet handle the rest. Your meeting participants receive an e-mail message with a link to the website, where they point-and-click to indicate the times they have available. The software then picks the first time that everyone is free (you can pick a different one if necessary).
• The bad: TimeToMeet doesn’t seem to know anything about time zones, which strikes me as an odd omission. That meant that I had to send out a follow-up e-mail to my participants clarifying that the phone call would happen at 1 p.m. Eastern, Noon Central, 11 a.m. Mountain, and 10 a.m. Pacific.

The verdict: I would highly recommend TimeToMeet if it accounted for time zone differences. Otherwise, there are other meeting schedulers to look at (mentioned here).

Four tin cans conneced by string

Since all three of my interviewees—Brenda, Char, and Kit—were Skype users, I signed up for an account, too.

• The good: Conference calls with Skype are simple, built right into the main interface, and free (unless you want more than 9 participants ). The sound quality is very good as well.
• The bad: For some unknown reason, we kept losing the audio connection with Kit. (The three are co-authors of a book, and they told me this happened to them all the time. Something about Boise—where Kit lives—or her computer didn’t like Skype.)

“This call is being recorded for quality purposes”

I’m not very good at shorthand*, and I don’t like trying to take extensive, detailed notes in the middle of a conversation, so recording the call was a requirement. Enter Pamela, which adds a number of things to Skype, including the ability to record calls.

• The good: Very simple to use. Install it, start your call, and Pamela asks if you want to record it. Say yes, and it announces “This call is being recorded” and off you go. It creates an MP3 recording of your call (I believe you can switch to WAV if you prefer), and turns off when you’re done talking.
  
• The bad: Not much at all.  The free version only records for 15 minutes, but you can get a free 30-day trial of the Pro version. 

The verdict: I haven’t tested it extensively, but I like it, and plan to shell out $24.95 for the Pro version.

*That is, I don’t have the vaguest idea how to do it. 

Be careful whenever you use the words ranging from. Why? Because writers frequently use ranging from when there isn’t any real range involved. For instance…

The 14 have medical problems ranging from a brain tumor to cancer.

(That’s from today’s Forum, in an article about the Farm Rescue organization.) So, what’s the problem here?

Used this way, range implies some sort of span, extent, or distance. You can have numeric ranges, like the classic “ages ranging from six to sixty,” or alphabetic ranges, like “professions ranging from astronaut to zoologist.” Or you can have distance ranges, such as “from Alaska to Florida.”

What kind of range is “from a brain tumor to cancer?” It’s hard to come up with a legitimate range of health issues, unless you do some thing like “ranging from dandruff to athlete’s foot.”

It seems to me that we tend to fall into the trap of using ranging from when we want to imply that there are a lot of different things involved, even when there isn’t technically a real range involved. A quick internet search found more than 68,000,000 examples of ranging from, including these:

• “Conspiracy Theories Ranging from Stupid to Insane” — a valid range
• ”EU Foreign Ministers discuss international issues ranging from Central Asia to the Sudan.” — maybe valid; depends on whether they were talking about the range of countries and regions between Central Asia and the Sudan.
• “With options ranging from subs to salads, convenience stores offer more fresh food choices” — not really much of a range, is it?
  

Class assignment: Use your favorite search engine to look for good and bad examples of the use of ranging from.