Seanan McGuire (seanan_mcguire) wrote,
Seanan McGuire
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Thoughts on Writing #18: Thesaurus vs. Velociraptor.

Let's take a trip back in time with number eighteen in my ongoing series of essays on the art and craft of writing, aka 'the first essay where Seanan has really had an excuse to use dinosaurs as a metaphor for life.' There will eventually be fifty essays in this series, all of them based on my fifty thoughts on writing. Naturally, this means that some essays will be more useful than others, while some essays will contain a lot of references to extinction events and the need for electric fences around your velociraptor pens.

Here's our thought for the day:

Thoughts on Writing #18: Thesaurus vs. Velociraptor.

I realize that the title isn't entirely helpful, which is why we always have an expanded topic for discussion. (My personal shorthand for a lot of things is very, very strange. This is only one of those things.) Here's today's expanded, hopefully less-confusing topic:

Using big words doesn't make you a better writer, it makes you somebody who figured out how to use a thesaurus. Every word has a purpose and a meaning, but there's no reason to clutter up what you're trying to say with a bunch of words that will leave most readers diving for their dictionaries. That doesn't mean you need to dumb yourself down. It just means you need to really stop and ask yourself whether you want to use the word 'expectorate' when what you mean is 'spit.' Even Shakespeare used small words sometimes, and even the trashiest popular novelist in the world is allowed to use big ones. Suit your words to the task at hand.

That's right: this week we're going to be talking about word choices, what those word choices actually say about us as writers, and how to use the Thesaurus without inspiring people to beat you with it. The velociraptors are a metaphor for using the appropriate word in the appropriate situation. Also, I just really, really like velociraptors.

Ready? Excellent. Let's get started.

Let's talk about words.

We all start our lives with a vocabulary consisting entirely of random noises. We cry when we're hungry, or cold, or tired, or want something. We gurgle and chirp when we're happy. We shriek when we're upset. Eventually, we start to pick up words, much like flypaper will eventually start to pick up flies. The first words we learn are likely to be either the words we hear the most frequently, or the words our parents most hope we won't learn. (Sometimes, these words are the same thing. I doubt many parents have been particularly thrilled when their kids start shrieking 'no' at every opportunity. Given a choice between that and 'shit,' I think that most parents of two-year-olds would need to really sit down and think about it.)

Those first few words are a constant adventure in expanding vocabulary. If you really think about it, there's no other period in our lives where we increase our word power at such a geometric rate, and there's definitely no other period in our lives where people really go out of their way to teach us awesome new words. Small children encounter new words, request definitions, and incorporate them into their vocabularies like it was some sort of an Olympic sport, and many of the people who become writers were probably gold medalists in those early word-acquisition tourneys. When a little kid uses some huge and unexpected word, they're not viewed as showing off or being an intellectual elitist. They're viewed as 'precocious' and 'clever.'

Sadly, this changes somewhere around sixth grade, when vocabulary lessons are phased out in favor of electives like 'wood shop' (where I built the world's worst spice rack), 'home economics' (where I got excused from class after the third time I managed to set something on fire), and 'choir' (where I learned the soprano part of the choral version of 'The Theme from A Love Story'). 'Vocabulary' isn't an actual class anymore; it's just something that happens as a natural side-effect of not flunking English. Most people stop really hunting for new words. The words that they have are perfectly serviceable, and when no one's standing there saying 'yes, but you need to find the right words,' there isn't much of an urge to go hunting. People who love words become strange, if they weren't already. Vocabularies, so carefully constructed over the course of years, begin to simplify.

Is this always a bad thing? Well, no. There are some words which are very good at being clinical and specific, but really don't belong in casual conversation. I'm sure you can come up with three or four of them, just off the top of your head. (I was informed recently that being my friend results in the acquisition of a vocabulary many first-year virology students would envy. Just because most people don't wander around talking about droplet-based transmissions and viral amplification...) Sometimes, the words we hang onto really are the best.

Is this always a good thing? Also, no. I'm a writer in part because I love words. I'd be willing to bet that the same holds true for many of the people reading this. I adore the fact that there's a word that matches up with just about anything I could possibly want to say. Not everything needs to be that perfectly precise, but when the need exists, bam. The perfect word is ready to jump right in there.

Words are our friends. We should treat them that way. You wouldn't invite all your friends over at the same time, would you? Of course not. Your house isn't big enough, and some of them don't really get along. Also, if you invited absolutely everyone you'd ever met over at once, you know there would be drama.

Again, words are our friends. Be kind to them.

The fearsome and mighty THESAURUS.

At some point, all of us will discover the thesaurus. It just happens. If you hadn't discovered the thesaurus before reading this essay, well, congratulations: introductions have been made. The thesaurus is a big book that contains a lot of words. Not only that, it contains a lot of words and a lot of lists of other words that mean almost the same thing (ie, 'synonyms'. Take, for example, what you get when you plug 'blue' into a thesaurus:

"Azure, beryl, cerulean, cobalt, indigo, navy, royal, sapphire, teal, turquoise, ultramarine."

Okay, that's not so bad. I mean, yes, I would throw a book across the room if the heroine had 'beautiful beryl eyes,' but all those forms of blue have legitimate, modern, non-intrusive uses. How about face?

"Countenance, kisser, mug, puss, visage."

Again, all viable words. All good words, even. But is the hero in your modern-day fantasy really going to tell your heroine that she has a lovely countenance? Probably not. And unless you're writing epic historicals, nobody's likely to behold a grim visage. (Even then, please don't.) Most people have eyes, not orbs. Most people have sex, not intercourse. Most people, in short, use common, everyday words to do common, everyday things.

There's a sort of power to holding a thesaurus. All those words, just waiting for the right hand to place them lovingly upon the page! Properly handled, they could be magical. They could be spectacular. It's a little bit intoxicating, looking at those columns of synonyms and related words. There's an old commercial where a woman who's just won the lottery pauses and thinks to herself, "I could totally afford all this cheese." A writer who's just been handed their first thesaurus is likely to be thinking something similar: "I could totally use all these words." This is true. But even as eating all that cheese would make that woman extremely sick, using all those words would do some nasty things for your vocabulary.

What about specialized vocabulary?

Specialized vocabulary exists for a reason: to fill a genuine need. There are going to be times when no, really, it is a visage, and those are baleful cerulean orbs. We need all the words we have because all of them fill vital ecological roles in our vast vocabulary veldt. There will always be characters who say 'I am undergoing massive viral amplification' instead of 'I feel sick.' There will always be situations where you need to describe the specific parts of a ship, rather than just saying 'it was a big-ass boat.'

(Although a word of caution: a little specialized vocabulary can make you look knowledgeable and well-grounded in your subject material. Too much specialized vocabulary can make you look like a textbook. You need to tell a story, rather than providing a lesson plan. If your readers walk away with a few new words, that's awesome, but make them the spices, not the soup. Without familiar words to provide context, you might as well be writing your books in Martian.)

I am not recommending that you dumb down your writing, or that you reject the words you want in favor of words you think are simpler. I'm just saying that you need to use the words that are appropriate to the situation, and that you need to provide the necessary context to define them.

Trust your instincts.

Most of us will think first of the word that works best. The brain goes fumbling through its files, and picks up the right thing. Second-guessing that word choice is what turns rooms into chambers, eyes into orbs, and red hair into 'the heart's-blood of swans.' (Sadly a genuine example.) When you think you have the word you want, trust yourself. You can always change it later, and I think you'll find that, as you revise, you'll almost always be revising towards the simple.

A few of my favorite words.

Just in case today's topic has made you think that I dislike complicated words, here are a few of my favorites:

redact
necrosis
Stygian
terpsichorean
verdigris
threnody
oration
rapscallion
mondegreen
pendulous
autumnal
sepulcher
lugubrious


I may not get much of a chance to use them, but I love them all the same. Collect the words you love; save them; use them wisely. And when the thesaurus lumbers into view, release the velociraptors of savvy editing, and let the tribe eat well.
Tags: advice, contemplation, writing
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  • 46 comments
Every word has a purpose and a meaning, but there's no reason to clutter up what you're trying to say with a bunch of words that will leave most readers diving for their dictionaries.

You mean there's really no excuse to describe someone as "lounging like an odalisque"?
In my opinion, only if she actually is. You have to be careful that she's not actually sprawled like a slattern instead.

dragovianknight

8 years ago

azurelunatic

8 years ago

seanan_mcguire

8 years ago

mariadkins

8 years ago

vixyish

8 years ago

mariadkins

8 years ago

seanan_mcguire

8 years ago

vixyish

8 years ago

seanan_mcguire

8 years ago

seanan_mcguire

8 years ago

(Darn my lack of paid account = inability to edit comments.)

It would actually never dawn on me that some of the words on your "favorite words" list would count as complicated. "Autumnal" and "pendulous", for example; I suspect "Stygian" and "sepulcher" are a reflection of the people I hang around with.
Oh, totally. I mean, I keep getting told that my virology-related vocabulary is overly-complicated. I'm like, but how do we explain the anthropological roots of quarantine without it? And most of my friends go 'no one else wants to.'
...but redact, oration, autumnal, and sepulcher don't seem like complicated words!

(Neither does necrosis, but that? That is actually entirely your fault, and I know it. *grins*)
I win!
*giggle* I was just considering sending you a book with a character that obsesses over necrotic fascitis (spelling?)...
Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm, necrotizing fascitis...
Suit your words to the task at hand.

Boiling the essay down to this core concept, I agree completely.

But . . .

Reading this, I think some may infer, incorrectly, that big or non-standard words should only be used when they enhance practicality or clarity. But they may also be used, successfully, when appropriate to the milieu, or even when they fit the author's chosen stylistic voice.

For the former, yes, having a modern-day hero tell the heroine that she has a lovely countenance would be, well, weird, unless it's to illuminate something about the hero's character. But conversely, you're unlikely to find Aragorn telling Arwen she's got one hot kisser. Dialog should reflect how the people in the world you've built talk. (Yes, I'm aware that many excellent novels in various period-style fantasy genres and sf futures have been written in which the dialog uses a contemporary style. That's a matter of authorial choice, not a standard for How It Should Be Done.)

Similarly, vocabulary choices in narration can be used to set tone and mood. If you want to draw the reader into that dank castle, and feel how heavily impending doom weighs on everyone, well then, maybe the king isn't just sad or gloomy. Maybe he really is lugubrious. Words don't just have meaning - sometimes they have noticeable weight and texture as well.

Mastering those extra dimensions, knowing when upping your vocabulary level enhances the story and when it just distracts readers by making them think you're showing off, is a skill, and one that can be difficult to acquire. It's probably true that most people shouldn't even try to write like Gene Wolfe. But I'm awfully glad that Gene Wolfe writes like Gene Wolfe.
I think that the clause about appropriate use of larger words covers this. You're absolutely right in that even the most obscure of words has its uses (although I'd argue that in some cases, the shift of meaning has rendered a word's original purpose tragically non-functional). It's just that most beginning writers -- myself included, and thank God I was fourteen before I had reliable Internet access -- shouldn't be allowed to play with their thesaurus unsupervised.
My pet peeve is the wrongful use of 'regardless' - as in, when someone puts 'ir' in front of it, thinking that's a word.

Poor dears.

When I discovered what subrogation was, I danced a jig. Fantastic word!
*waves hello from the insurance industry*

:D

seanan_mcguire

8 years ago

seanan_mcguire

8 years ago

My favorite word is "superfluous".
Good word.
A friend of mine wrote an essay on language usage in Rex Stout. Great piece.
A girl I was friends with in high school was a tremendous fan of that sometimes-horrid beast, the thesaurus. Sure, sometimes it was nice to know that her female protagonist's eyes were cerulean, because that is a specific shade of blue, but just as often working one's way through the writing was worse than wading through quicksand. If more than one paragraph was incomprehensible (and frequently, it was), I'd give up on everything she'd written and pick up something different--cross stitch, cooking, juggling hollow glass balls filled with quick lime, etc. Because any of those things would be less complicated and painful than laboring through one more clause filled with words that should have been voted off the island of English.

seanan_mcguire

8 years ago

seanan_mcguire

8 years ago

True, true. One must, if one wishes to write in a given fashion, obtain a situation in which it fits.

I utterly adore the prospect of telling some anal-retentive dipshit to "attempt aerodynamically-stable intercourse with a high-velocity spinning toroidal pastry," but have yet to find a good opportunity to do so, and as such am just sitting on it (and occasionally trying to find a better synonym for "rolling").
Revolving? Oscillating?

kyra_neko_rei

8 years ago

miintikwa

8 years ago

kyra_neko_rei

8 years ago

seanan_mcguire

8 years ago

'the heart's-blood of swans'

...is _sticky_.
Well, yes.
I love the word petechial. Just the way it sounds. I doubt I'll ever use it in a book, but it's an awesome word nonetheless.
You're right. That is an awesome word.
In my own opinion, you are always better off using a word you actually knows than trying to dig up and plug in an unfamiliar one on the spot. If you don't know the difference between a bodkin and a stiletto, all of your characters should stick to daggers. There are shades of denotation and connotation, subtleties of history, and details of usage for words you don't know just as much as for words you've been using all your life. Even a good dictionary won't convey all of this. When the word you're using is also unfamiliar to your reader, you can probably get away with it, but for that reader who really knows that word, the fact that you're not using it quite right will grate.

If you use a thesaurus now and then to remind you of the perfect word that you know but just can't recall right now, great. But if you let it tempt you to put in words you've never seen except in the dictionary (or worse only in the thesaurus), it will make your writing worse.
I'll agree with the proviso that sometimes you really do need to go and find the word that means exactly what you're trying to say, and just hope your readers will catch you if you're doing it wrong.
An especially good thing is if you can find a thesaurus that bolds the common words in its results.

Not quite the same thing, but rhymezone.com does this. I use both rhymezone and thesaurus.com for songwriting when I'm stuck, because often I know what I want to say, but I'm going to need to restructure the rhyme or reorganize to fit within the scansion. But, just like writing a story, when writing a song you still need to keep to words appropriate to the character, mood, story being told, time, etc.

Which is why having the common words stand out more in your results list is a really handy thing.
Absolute agreement here.
I spent several years as an editor, working with folks who just *knew* that they needed to use great big solid-chromium words in their reports. Often, they made no sense whatsoever. I'd sit them down and ask them what it was they were trying to convey (sometimes I was even polite about it). They'd say something like, "Oh, I just mean that if X happens, then Y will happen as a direct result, within 6 weeks."

"Ah ha," I would say. "Let's write it the way you said it." And they would stare at me, stunned to find out that it's OK to be clear. If you speak reasonably well, write the way you talk. Of course, if you can't speak the language either, then you're equally screwed - but that's a different problem.
I do wish more people got the lesson in such clean, concise terms. Gold star to you!