from William Strunk and E. B. White, The Elements of Style, 4th ed. (1935, 2000)
Do not overwrite.
Rich, ornate prose is hard to digest, generally unwholesome, and sometimes nauseating. If the sickly-sweet word, the overblown phrase are your natural form of expression, as is sometimes the case, you will have to compensate for it by a show of vigor, and by writing something as meritorious as the Song of Songs, which is Solomon's.
When writing with a computer, you must guard against wordiness. The click and flow of a word processor can be seductive, and you may find yourself adding a few unnecessary words or even a whole passage just to experience the pleasure of running your fingers over the keyboard and watching your words appear on the screen. It is always a good idea to reread your writing later and ruthlessly delete the excess.
Do not affect a breezy manner.
The volume of writing is enormous, these days, and much of it has a sort of windiness about it, almost as though the author were in a state of euphoria. 'Spontaneous me,' said Whitman, and, in his innocence, let loose the hordes of uninspired scribblers who would one day confuse spontaneity with genius.
The breezy style is often the work of an egocentric, the person who imagines that everything that comes to mind is of general interest and that uninhibited prose creates high spirits and carries the day. . . .
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I pulled this off the shelf to double-check how to punctuate that weird construction where you introduce a question as part of a sentence, ("My question is, how do...") and I stumbled onto these passages, which have the virtue of not only embodying their lessons but also of being acidly hilarious.
Also, White was probably talking about a typewriter but the publisher has silently "updated" it to word processor. Which is interesting, because I'm not sure the translation of tactile pleasure from typewriter to computer really works, which is what partly arrested my attention.
Finally, I celebrate what seems to be a depiction of Whitman as mildly retarded.
Hilarious indeed! But watch yourself: Whitman apparently lurks around here, so prepare for some of his wrath.
Also, White has to be talking about a typewriter because I certainly have never added elaborate prose to my sentences just for the sheer pleasure of typing it. Mostly, I stop whenever possible to rub my wrists.
"Ruthlessly" is the operative word for revision. It's advice so easy to give and too painful to follow.
On TV right now, our president is tap dancing, literally, under the North Portico of the White House. He's waiting for McCain to arrive and appears bored. He's made affecting a breezy manner a cornerstone of our national character.
Why do I feel, from the curling ends of my ever-whitening hair to the tips of my calloused toes, that this passage in its acidity, its stern, cold clarity, looks disdainfully, endlessly, indefatigably into the windy corners of my own writing?
"affected breeziness" is endemic to music critics, who are constantly formulating ridiculous observations ("their debut album calls to mind a shoegazing collaboration between john phillips souza and a sasquatch") and then passing them off as if they need no explanation and are in fact perfectly naturally and unquestionably apt.
Um, you realize that citation needs a citation, right? I mean let's give hateful credit where it's due.
I used to write concert reviews of Dallas metal bands for a magazine called Harder Beat. Then, as now, I hated heavy metal, especially as practiced by the double-bass-drum-pounding, post-pubescent teens of North Texas around 1994. All my reviews were dripping with sarcasm written strictly for my music-snob friends and I. We lampooned the poor bands while we listened to Hendrix and Zeppelin and while our friend Jason described his music theory class.
I once wrote about a particularly "dark" band that their music was like "flying through the furnace door to hell." They sent me a thank-you note.
I've always wondered about music critics ever since those days, and who they're entertaining with their Bryant Gumbel-esque descriptions.
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