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Wordy
By Angelo Paino
I blame my high school English teacher, Mr. Woollings. He was the one who piqued
my interest in writing. He made writers sound like the ultimate humanitarians,
making the world a better place by putting forth literature that informed,
entertained, horrified, and educated us. If that weren’t enough, he also
unleashed the wonders of the English vocabulary and, in the process, unwittingly
created an etymological monster.
It was the words that got to me. Like a wine connoisseur who constantly aspires
to experience nectars of greater depth and rarity, I embarked on a quest to
select words of greater magnitude to enhance my writing prowess. The thesaurus
became my bible.
“Express yourself through words!” my teacher extolled. “Feel the passion and
it’ll reflect in your writing.” Despite possessing the sullen exuberance of a
typical high school English student, I found his enthusiasm contagious. I began
writing with a new sense of purpose. Later, after I had escaped the confines of
high school and moved on to the real world, I became confident enough to submit
a few of my stories for publication. Amazingly, it worked. Editors began to
notice my amateur musings, though with sparse regularity.
My friends suggested that I employ a gimmick. After all, selling my stories
meant selling myself. That’s when it hit me. Visions of having my manuscripts
tossed into a common slush pile prompted me to liven up my stories. This would
surely increase my odds of being noticed. I would write pieces of such literary
bent that publications would clamor for more.
I launched my ascent to literary immortality by deciding to re-work some of my
previously rejected articles. I first chose a piece about buying a boat. Instead
of saying “Bill thought the boat had too many gadgets,” I now wrote: “William’s
ruminations regarding the said vessel divulged a prodigious aversion to the
craft’s extraneous apparatus.” I liked it. Very Shakespearean. I felt like
adding a footnote that read: Act IV, Scene II.
Another article (this, a woodworking piece on building a table) revealed
similarly Spartan writing that was in dire need of charging up. Saying that
“using locally available lumber can save hundreds of dollars on the cost of your
project” could surely be better expressed by writing: “The purchase and
utilization of material indigenous to your locale may drastically reduce the
overall financial outlay incurred in the undertaking of your craftsman’s
concept.” That was it! I smugly congratulated myself for being such a crafty
devil, and began submitting my inflated manuscripts.
Responses soon came trickling in. The first (rejection) said that my article was
a good effort, but too “wordy.” They suggested cutting my 1,200-word gem to an
unimaginable 800 words and re-submitting it. “Impossible!” I thought. That would
be like pulling the motor out of a Corvette and telling people that it’s really
the same car, only now it simply suggests the illusion of speed rather than
delivering it. I felt so governed.
More responses followed: “Doesn’t fit our reader profile-- too haughty.” “Cut
the fat, build on the story.” “Just the facts, please.” Those were discouraging
enough, but the one that hurt the most read: “We work on the K.I.S.S. principle,
Sir.” At least they defined the last “S” as sir.
I was disheartened. Why had I misspent those formative years learning all that
is wondrous about the English language, only to have it all cast aside in the
name of brevity and simplicity? I’d likely have been more successful if I had
stopped taking English at about grade six. What’s worse, I’ve found that writing
simple, concise stories was far more difficult than infusing pages with endless
verbal bloat.
I think it was Stephen King that may have coined the phrase “don’t be afraid to
murder your darlings” when he addressed the topic of editing your work. Sure, I
can state in 800 words what the message of my 2,493-word masterpiece says, but
those extra words aren’t just my darlings; those babies were pulled out of
obscurity to enrich the world’s meager vocabulary, increase its word power,
sharpen its wits. In short, they were sandwiched in there to make me look and
sound good. What with all the drawbacks associated with being a writer, I didn’t
see that as too much to ask.
Still, I’ve decided to take a more simplistic approach to my writing now. I’m
going to heed the comments beset upon me by editors far more experienced in the
craft than I. Pomposity will soon give way to humbleness. Verbal disarray will
yield to understated tidiness. Confusion will be forsaken for clarity. Harps
will strum.
Besides, all that pretentiousness left me feeling a little discombobulated.
Angelo Paino is
a freelance writer based in Komoka, Ontario, Canada (yes, there is such a
place). A self-confessed outdoor fanatic, he has been a field editor for Outdoor
Canada magazine for more than five years, as well as a contributor to other
outdoor and hobby magazines. He is currently awaiting replies on two book
proposals and numerous article submissions.
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