Sunday, October 23, 2005

After Reading Too Many Words

After Reading too Many Words

Stop. Words proliferate. Words fall over one another. Instead of one appropriate word, words cascade into sentences, into paragraphs. Then I read the words— pushing aside the verbiage, looking for clarity. Say what you mean. Putting the reader through hoops, racing through trackless paths, over rope bridges, and rushing headlong into a dense overgrowth obliterates clarity and perpetrates confusion.

A political pundit deconstructs the present problem by suggesting other problems at the crux of the present state of affairs brought about because of the past. And then flails away at a preponderance of evils, never returning to the present that has disappeared in a conundrum of competing words.

A poet, delighted with a facility with diction, forgets the reader and piles assonance, alliteration, and image upon image.

Stop. Remember the simple writer. So much depends upon…
Please, take me into consideration and ask every word what it is doing on a page.