SOME VERY, VERY IMPORTANT PRINCIPLES OF EXCEPTIONALLY GOOD WRITING THAT YOU SHOULD ALWAYS TRY REALLY HARD TO APPLY TO YOUR MODIFYING WORDS, a.k.a., SOME ADVICE ABOUT ADJECTIVES AND ADVERBS

Tidy up your modifiers the way you tidy up your fingernails.

Write with nouns and verbs, not with adjectives and adverbs. The adjective hasn’t been built that can pull a weak or inaccurate noun out of a tight place.—E.B. White, The Elements of Style.

    This post is about adjectives and adverbs, by way of expanding on E.B. White's excellent advice. The first title of this post is an example of badly used adjectives and adverbs.

    Consider the following paragraph:

My extremely hypocritical boss, Mr. Testerman, claims he treats all the valuable, hard-working employees in his workforce alike, but he always and forever shows greater preference to the strikingly attractive, good-looking women in the company that all the men seem to ogle continuously. For example, he recently gave a very large pay increase in salary to Betty B., who is a busty, well-endowed, strawberry-blond assistant manager, although she has been with the company only a mere month. In actual point of fact, Betty, although exceedingly sweet, is a really poor-performing employee. She is so very much distracted by all that abundant male attention that she absolutely forgets to file her reports while she’s forever filing her remarkably long red fingernails and fluttering her dreadfully long brown eyelashes. Nevertheless, Mr. Testerman is exceedingly forgiving of her notorious work habits and, as I said, has even actually rewarded them with a seriously big raise in pay of $100 per each week!

     The writing in this paragraph is not terrible (believe it or not). The writer displays several of the characteristics of good writing: she cares about what she’s saying; she provides some hard facts (the $100 per week raise) and concrete details (the description of Betty) to support and clarify her ideas; she (mostly) sticks to the point of the paragraph; she has clear transitions between sentences; and she writes grammatically.

     And yet I’m sure you recognized that there’s something wrong with the paragraph. Can you put your finger on what the problem is? Right: This writer’s adjectives and adverbs are out of control.

     As E.B. White and other writing experts note, good writing rests, for the most part, on nouns and verbs. Question every adjective, adverb, and modifying phrase; keep only those that serve your purposes.

      Below I strike through the adjectives, adverbs, and modifying phrases that I consider unnecessary in the highlighted paragraph above:

My extremely hypocritical boss, Mr. Testerman, claims he treats all the valuable, hard-working employees in his workforce alike, but he always and forever shows greater preference to the strikingly attractive, good-looking women in the company that all the men seem to ogle continuously. For example, he recently gave a very large pay increase in salary to Betty B., who is a busty, well-endowed, strawberry-blond assistant manager, although she has been with the company only a mere month. In actual point of fact, Betty, although exceedingly sweet, is a really poor-performing employee. She is so very much distracted by all that abundant male attention that she absolutely forgets to file her reports while she’s forever filing her remarkably long red fingernails and fluttering her dreadfully long brown eyelashes. Nevertheless, Mr. Testerman is exceedingly forgiving of her notorious work habits and, as I said, has even actually rewarded them with a seriously big raise in pay of $100 per each week!

     You may disagree with some of my deletions. A case could be made, for example, that labeling Mr. Testerman “hypocritical” immediately sets the subject for the rest of the paragraph and that the color and length of Betty B.’s fingernails and eyelashes adds useful concrete visuals to the paragraph. My counterargument would be that the first sentence shows Mr. Testerman’s hypocrisy (he claims one thing and does another), so that it is not necessary also to label him a hypocrite, and that the color and length of Betty’s fingernails and eyelashes are not relevant. (The paragraph is about Mr. Testerman, not Betty, isn’t it? Or is it?! One wonders about the writer’s real motives here.) In any case, I would entertain the idea that “hypocritical,” “long,” “red,” and “brown” may serve a purpose here, although I would leave them out.

     My point is not that you should delete every adjective, adverb, and modifying phrase but that each must serve some appropriate purpose.

     Here are some principles to apply when judging your adjectives, adverbs, and modifying phrases.

Is there a difference between a sentimental grandmother and a very sentimental grandmother?

1. Question most intensifiers. You can nearly always omit intensifiers like “very,” “really,” “extremely,” “exceedingly,” and “utterly.” (See Roget’s thesaurus for dozens of similar words.) Such intensifying adverbs usually add nothing; often they are the lazy writer’s way of trying to force a more intense reaction from the reader than the writer has earned with strong facts and details. For example, calling your grandmother “very sentimental” is not significantly different from calling her simply “sentimental.” Likewise, a “really hot day” is no hotter in its effect on the reader (really) than a “hot day.” In general, save intensifiers for when they actually add useful information that is difficult to convey otherwise: “very early each morning” is different from just “early each morning,” so “very” is useful here. (However, if the time is the same each day, it may be better to give an actual hour). Intensifiers are also sometimes useful to show politeness or accuracy of feeling: “I am very grateful to you for writing me a recommendation letter” may convey your deeper feeling better than simply “grateful.” (But don’t go so far as to seem insincere: “I am honestly and truly grateful beyond words” would be too much.)

 

2. Avoid empty modifiers. Examples: “awesome,” “nice,” “incredible,” “spectacular,” “tremendous,” “remarkable.” Even “good” and “bad” often say little. What does “It was an awesome ballgame” really tell me about the game (and did you really feel awe)? What does “We had a spectacular meal” really tell me about your meal (and was it really a spectacle)? What does “He was a remarkable-looking man” really tell me about what the man looked like (and what remarks might be made about him)? Indeed, what is a “nice day” or a “bad haircut”? Only nouns and verbs would clarify such concepts, and once you provide them, you don’t need the vague adjectives.

3. Avoid adjective-noun, adverb-adjective, and adverb-verb clichés. Examples: “blind faith,” “warm feelings,” “depressed mood,” “urgent plea,” “full attention,” “gentle breeze,” “valuable employees,” “widely acknowledged,” “openly contemptuous,” “feels strongly,” “waits hopefully,” “runs quickly.” You can no doubt come up with scores of other examples on your own, words so often paired that they might as well be conjoined twins. If you add a modifier to a word, do it because you’ve thought about its usefulness, not because your brain is working on automatic pilot.

If you write "pencils and erasers," do you need to say "yellow" and "pink"?

4. Don’t feel obliged to put an adjective in front of every noun and an adverb in front of every verb. Let most nouns and verbs speak for themselves. Example: “The restless class listened only sporadically to the frowning teacher, who shouted impatiently from behind her cluttered desk, which was widely strewn with bright yellow pencils, pink erasers, and an extremely large tangle of silver and brass keys. The unruly children actively ignored her urgent pleas to immediately stop what they were doing and quickly give her their full attention.” (Actually, this sentence has potential—it at least has some strong concrete detail, and some of the adjectives and adverbs add useful information—but attaching a modifier to every noun and verb is like adding extra sauce to each bite of meat. Which modifiers would you keep in the sentence?)

5. Replace weak adverb-verb and adjective-noun combinations with more precise single words. Examples:

walked awkwardly=staggered, tottered, or hobbled;

moved quickly=hurried, rushed, scurried;

very large=huge, gigantic, enormous;

fell fast=plummeted, plunged, dove;

spoke loudly=bellowed, shouted, roared;

looked intently=gazed, gawked, stared.

Again, Roget’s thesaurus can help you find the more exact word quickly. (Remember: When you use the thesaurus, you’re not looking for fancier words but for more precise words.)

6. Omit adjectives and adverbs that are already “contained” in the nouns, verbs, and other modifiers they modify. Example: “The huge giant tripped awkwardly and crashed down hard onto the soft, fluffy dog in the white snow.” The word “giant” already says “huge.” “Tripped” pretty much contains the idea of “awkwardly.” “Crashed” already suggests “hard,” and “tripped” plus “crashed” already suggests “down.” A “fluffy” dog is already “soft” enough. And if you write “snow,” the reader will automatically perceive it to be white; the only time you need to name the color of the snow is if it isn’t white. So the sentence would more effectively read: “The giant tripped and crashed onto the fluffy dog in the snow.”

7. Use de-intensifiers sparingly. Examples: “rather,” “somewhat,” “a bit,” “quite,” “fairly,” “barely,” and “pretty” (as in “it was a pretty good game”). De-intensifiers can be used for effective understatement (“Jesse Owens was a rather good runner”) and humor (“The poison did quite a nice job of ending the relationship.”) If overused, however, de-intensifiers can leave your writing limp and wishy-washy.

Is "very ecstatic" redundant?

8. Use “absolute” modifiers precisely. A thing is either “unique” (one of a kind) or not unique. There are no degrees of uniqueness—it is an absolute concept—so a thing cannot be “very unique” or “somewhat unique” or (as I read in today’s newspaper) “thoroughly unique.” (Careless writers often use “unique” when they mean “special” or “unusual”; a thing can be “very unusual,” although “rare” would replace that phrase tidily.) Likewise, a thing is either “perfect” or not. Something can be “nearly perfect” but not “rather perfect.” Other modifiers are not so obviously absolute but work the same way. I would argue that words like “hypocritical,” “vicious,” “pregnant,” “ecstatic,” and “functional” cannot sensibly be modified by intensifiers or de-intensifiers. Put an intensifier like “very” or a de-intensifier like “somewhat” in front of each word: “very ecstatic,” “somewhat functional.” Does the result make sense? [Interesting question: Can someone really be “barely alive”?]

9. Don’t use adjectives and adverbs to explain what is already clear. E.B. White notes that, for example, many untutored writers like to add unnecessary adverbs to the word “said” and its synonyms in their dialogue:

“I’m so sorry for what I did,” Joe said apologetically.

“Get out of here! Now!” Jean replied angrily.

“Okay, okay, I’m going,” murmured Joe sheepishly.

The adverbs in the above dialogue are unnecessary; the spoken words themselves do the job.

[Digressive note: In dialogue, the word “said,” alone, is, most of the time, the best word. If you replace “said” with “replied,” “murmured,” “whispered,” “exclaimed” and so on, running through all the synonyms you can think of in order to avoid the word “said,” your prose will begin to sound like a bad romance novel. Ninety percent of the time, just use the word “said,” unadorned, and you’ll be fine. It’s an invisible word in dialogue, so it won't seem repetitious.]

Write "coal" and your reader will automatically perceive "black."

    Likewise, nouns often “contain” an adjective. (See suggestion #6, above.) Again, if you say “snow,” your reader will see “white,” so there’s no need for the adjective. Likewise, “grass” contains “green,” “fog” contains “gray,” and “coal” contains “black.” Only if those things are not the expected color is an adjective useful.

The cool guy's slang will always be ahead of yours.

10. Beware of jargon or slang modifiers. Here are some examples from the business world: “proactive,” “mission-critical,” “actionable,” “game-changing,” “buzz-worthy,” “synergistic.”

“John was proactive in establishing synergistically actionable programs that are both game-changing and mission-critical.”

Such a sentence will impress only the easily impressionable; anyone who thinks for himself will know you’re simply blowing smoke and trying to join the “with it” crowd. Here’s a link to a website that lists some of the worst business jargon .

     You can also find examples from the world of education: “Your son shows optimal positive emotive response to peer interaction during nonclassroom recreational-agenda time periods.” (Translation: “Your son gets along well with the other children during recess.”)

     From the world of government: “Gridlock occurred due to failure of an electronically adjusted, color-coded vehicular-flow control mechanism.” (Translation: “The broken stop light caused a traffic jam.”)

     And from the world of economics: “The Engineering Department experienced advanced downward adjustments.” (Translation: “The Engineering Department laid off some employees.”)

     Such jargon reveals only the writer’s insecurity with plain, everyday language—and his or her rather sad desire to belong.

     As for slang, be aware that as a writer you can never keep up with it. It will always date your writing and make you appear to be trying too hard to be hip, cool, boss, groovy, awesome, phat, bad, bitchin’, bodacious, chill, da bomb, dope, fly, gnarly, kickin’, outasight, rad, righteous, sick, slammin’, smooth, solid, or wicked. You might as well proclaim that you’re the bee’s knees. For fun, here’s a link to an online slang dictionary listing for many of the words that have meant “cool” over the years. You can be sure that as soon as a word enters this dictionary, it is already out of date. The really cool kids are already saying something else. 

Use modifiers effectively and you'll be the bees' knees.

A Paean, Accolade, Tribute, and Encomium to Peter Mark Roget

Peter Mark Roget, author of Roget's Thesaurus

     I come to praise Peter Mark Roget.

     Roget’s International Thesaurus should be on every writer’s bookshelf, within easy reach. Be sure you have the right version of a thesaurus. Later I’ll explain which one that is. It’s not the kind of synonym dictionary which simply lists words alphabetically and piles synonyms next to them. The real Roget’s Thesaurus is much better than that. It doesn’t pile words, it offers them in bouquets.

     I’m not really sure how writers wrote at all decently before Roget’s Thesaurus was first published, in 1852. In some cases, it seems, writers simply made up the words they needed, as John Milton invented the word “pandemonium” for a “place full of devils,” and Shakespeare probably invented “boldfaced,” “coldblooded,” “eyesore,” and “enrapt,” among other words. (There are many words attributed to Shakespeare’s invention, but it’s difficult to know which ones he invented and which ones he simply put into print before anybody else we know of. But I do like to think he invented “droplet” and “newfangled.”)

     I come to laud Peter Mark Roget.

     Roget was born in 1779. He was a smart fellow. He entered university at 14 and became a medical doctor by age 19. He dedicated much of his life to medical education. He wrote some of the first papers about nitrous oxide—laughing gas—and its use as an anesthetic. He was an early expert on the subject of tuberculosis. He even ranged beyond medicine: He invented the log-log slide rule and tried for years to invent a calculator. He helped found the University of London. He gave a paper on the optical illusion that makes turning wheel spokes look static when viewed through vertical slits—an idea that was connected, many years later, to the development of motion pictures. He invented clever chess problems, with clever solutions, and a useful pocket chessboard.

     I come to pay tribute to Peter Mark Roget.

     Roget did not have an easy time of it. His father died when Roget was young. His mother was a little crazy. An uncle committed suicide by slitting his own throat while Roget tried to stop him. His daughter was a depressive whom Roget more or less tried to ignore. He was probably obsessive-compulsive himself. He liked to make lists, possibly as a way to deal with the chaos of his personal life. The best book about him is called The Man Who Made Lists: Love, Death, Madness, and the Creation of Roget’s Thesaurus, by Joshua Kendall.

     I come to celebrate Peter Mark Roget.

The first page of Roget's original thesaurus. His first category was "existence."

     Around 1800, Roget began making lists of words. He grouped them by “verbal classification,” with categories and subcategories. The 19^th Century was the Age of Classification (of animals, of fossils, of elements). Roget loved to classify. For example, he placed the word “praise” under the general category of “Affections,” the subcategory of “Morality,” the subsubcategory of “Moral Sentiments,” and the subsubsubcategory of “Approbation.” He divided that last subsubsubcategory into parts of speech having to do with approbation: nouns, verbs, adjectives, and so on. In outline form, it looked like this:

Class Eight: Affections

I. Morality

            C. Moral Sentiments

                        Section 966. Approbation

                                    Sections 966.9-966.14: Verbs
                                                        "praise"

     All verbs and verb phrases having to do with “approbation” (i.e., approval) are listed there, from “approve” to “ring the praises of.” There are 124 different verbs and verb phrases grouped around “praise” in Roget’s Thesaurus. (In the Microsoft Word thesaurus, by contrast, there are just 14 boring synonyms.) Not only that, but in Roget’s system, you could find, nearby, all the nouns, adjectives, adverbs, and interjections related to the concept of praise, like “credential,” “estimable,” “in favor of,” and “bravo!”

     I come to say “Bravo!” to Peter Mark Roget.

     Roget made his word lists, he said, “to supply my own deficiencies.” Apparently he didn’t think he could come up with words easily enough without the list. He completed the first version of his list of words in 1805. He kept building and modifying the list for another 47 years before he felt it was useful enough to publish. (Forty-seven years. The 19^th Century was a patient century.) The first publication of Roget’s Thesaurus was, as I said, in 1852. It was called The Thesaurus of English Words and Phrases Classified and Arranged so as to Facilitate the Expression of Ideas and Assist in Literary Composition. The word “thesaurus” is derived from the Greek for “treasure.”

     I come to offer accolades to Peter Mark Roget.

You should buy a version of Roget's Thesaurus that looks something like this, with the word "original" in the title.

     Roget’s Thesaurus has gone through scores of revisions and expansions since 1852. One of the most important revisions occurred in 1911 and was done by a famous lexicographer named C.O. Sylvester Mawson, who also revised Webster’s New International Dictionary. This year is the 100^th Anniversary of Mawson’s revision. The edition of Roget’s International Thesaurus that I have on my desk is called the “Third,” but it’s really about the sixty-third. It contains eight large general classifications of words (Abstract Relations, Space, Physics, Matter, Sensation, Intellect, Volition, and Affections). Those large classifications are broken down into 1,040 subsubsubcategories of words (Number 996 is where “praise” can be found). The first subsubsubcategory in the book is “existence”; the last is “religious institutions.”

      Peter Mark Roget meets with my approval.

      Roget’s Thesaurus does something else besides offer large conceptual categories of words that belong together: it alternates between word groups that fit one category and word groups that fit in the opposite category. In other words, to oversimply a bit, antonyms follow synonyms. So after the “approbation” subsubsubcategory comes the “disapprobation” subsubsubcategory, with words like “disfavor” and “discountenance” and “deprecate”—more or less antonyms for “praise.”

      I feel no disapprobation whatsoever for Peter Mark Roget.

      Roget set out to “supply [his] own deficiencies.” Ever since his thesaurus was published, it has been supplying the deficiencies of all the rest of us who consider ourselves writers. You should throw away, or at least ignore, any "dictionaries" of synonyms you own. Ignore what you find on the internet. Instead, go out now and buy a hardcover copy of Roget’s International Thesaurus. I could not write without mine.

This is the "approbation" subsubsubclassification of Roget's Thesaurus.

     I beat the drum for Peter Mark Roget.

     And for his thesaurus. To find a word in Roget’s International Thesaurus, you must go through two steps. This is one step more than a dictionary of synonyms requires, but it’s worth it. First, in Roget, you look up the general idea you’re looking for in the back half of the book, where common words are listed alphabetically. (Often, I have only a vague general idea of the concept. The thesaurus is miraculously helpful in leading me to a more precise notion of my idea.) Let’s say you’re interested in the general concept of “saying good things about something” or “praising” it. So you look up “praise” in the alphabetical listing in the back of the thesaurus. There you will see some noun concepts for praise (approbation, flattery) and some verb concepts (laud, glorify). Let’s say you want synonyms that mean “praise” in the sense of “laud.” You see, next to “laud,” the number 966.12. You then look in the first half of the thesaurus—the meat part—for section 966.12, and voila!, there are a bunch of synonyms for “praise.” But, even better, there are hundreds and hundreds of other words—nouns (encomium, tribute), verbs (compliment, flatter), and interjections (hurrah! attaboy!)—right nearby. No synonym dictionary will do that for you. And next door (section 967) are all the words connected to disapprobation, from “censure” to “berate” to “God forbid!” This is all a wonderful way to find fresh and interesting ways—and, more important, precise ways—to say what you want. I repeat: I can’t write without it.

     God forbid writers stop using Roget’s Thesaurus. All hail this great book! Bully for you, Peter Mark Roget!

This is the wrong kind of thesaurus to buy, in my opinion. I recommend you do not buy a thesaurus that says "In A-Z Form" or "in dictionary form." Stick to Roget's original design for his thesaurus, which requires two steps to find synonyms. The extra step is worth it.