vignette

Hey, Mr. Marvin Wilson: Are you talking to me?

Truth be told, I used to write like that. And looking back, I could only laugh at myself for not knowing better. But guess that happens to the best of us. Especially when we're just starting.

My acceptance to two of the country’s most prestigious writing workshops helped a lot in exorcising my writing with superfluous adverbs and adjectives. Adverbs, most especially. And I’m glad I’ve heeded the advice of Strunk and White (“The Elements of Style”) to write with nouns and verbs, not with adjectives and adverbs.

But it wasn’t easy.

Adjective as part of speech is a word which describes or gives more information about a noun or pronoun. By that definition, I had this mistaken notion before that the only way one can describe a person or thing is through adjectives. Same with adverb. I thought it’s the only tool to modify a verb.

But like I said, it wasn’t easy ridding my writing with adverbs and adjectives. Okay, most.

Then I discovered Mark Twain. In 1878 he wrote Orion Clemens a letter, thus: God only exhibits his thunder and lightning at intervals, and so they always command attention. These are God's adjectives. You thunder and lightning too much; the reader ceases to get under the bed, by and by.

In "Pudd’nhead Wilson", Twain again said that when in doubt, strike adjectives out.

I, too, used to overwrite. I was wordy and had the tendency to over-explain as though my readers (all three of them!) were barely out of kindergarten. But then again, I discovered Mark Twain. In 1880 he wrote D. W. Bowser a letter, thus: I notice that you use plain, simple language, short words and brief sentences. That is the way to write English--it is the modern way and the best way. Stick to it; don't let fluff and flowers and verbosity creep in. When you catch an adjective, kill it. No, I don't mean utterly, but kill most of them--then the rest will be valuable. They weaken when they are close together. They give strength when they are wide apart. An adjective habit, or a wordy, diffuse, flowery habit, once fastened upon a person, is as hard to get rid of as any other vice.

In my case, I'd like to think that I had tamed the beast within. Thanks to Strunk and White who told me to omit needless words.

But like they say, old habits are hard to break and I have my lapses. But only on occasion. See? I didn’t say occasionally.