Read, Write, Repeat.

I like lists.

Whenever I take those personality tests, I come out as a confirmed list-maker. I think it gives me the illusion that I have some level of control over my life.

Plus, there’s something so satisfying about crossing off an item on my list. It’s over. Done. Time to move on.

I hesitate to admit this, but I’m even one of those people who will add items I’ve already completed to a list just so I can cross them off.

Lately, I’ve seen lots of posts and articles and heard lots of conversations about words that annoy people. Maybe they’re over-used. Maybe they show the user is trying too hard. Maybe they’re words that break commonly held beliefs about proper language use (turning a noun or adjective into a verb, for example). Maybe they’re just … really stupid.

Lake Superior State University in Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan, even puts out an annual list of words it thinks should be banished. The 2010 list includes nods to pop culture (“chillaxin’”) politics (“stimulus”) and corporate life (“transparency” and “shovel-ready”).

My personal list of words that should be banished includes:

• Synergy – If people are really trying to sound impressive, they say “synergistic.”
• Utilize – Try “use” instead.
• Key – It’s fine as a noun, but adds no value as an adjective.
• Strategic – Sounds important, but is it really necessary?
• Within – “In” almost always works instead.
• Prior to – “Before” is much more conversational.
• Disconnect – OK if you’re discussing electricity, plumbing or computers. Not OK if you’re talking about ideas as in, “I sense a disconnect here.”

Please note that I’m talking about an ideal society. I know many of these words won’t go away. I edit articles every day that contain lots of these words. I try to reduce their use, but sometimes they’re still in the final copy. And I can live with that.

So here’s YOUR chance. What words would you be happy never to see in a manuscript or hear in conversation again?

So you’ve written. You’ve edited. You’ve revised. You’ve analyzed every last word for sound and meaning. 

If you work in corporate America, you’ve had subject-matter experts and lawyers review your work. If you don’t, your critique group has shared its feedback.

You’ve pondered, pruned and polished again. You’ve worried and wondered.

Are you done?

That depends.

Have you thought about how your copy looks?

Is it … accessible?

If you aren’t sure, set your carefully crafted prose aside and then – a few hours later – glance at it again like it just appeared on your “to-be-read pile” for the first time.

What do you think? Does it look like something that would be easy to breeze through? Or does it look like … work?

People are busy. If your copy isn’t something they asked for and are eagerly awaiting, they don’t have much incentive to plow through it if it looks off-putting. Just like plating is important in fine dining, accessibility is important in writing.

What can you do to make your copy more accessible? Try these tips:

- Use a font that’s easy to read. I like Times Roman for print and Arial for e-mail.

- Make your point size big enough. You can’t go wrong with 12-point.

- Add white space. Have one-inch margins. Use short paragraphs. Nothing makes a manuscript look less inviting than seemingly unending paragraphs of dense gray type.

- Use subheads and bullets, if possible. Subheads, bullets and sidebars give readers logical places to enter your manuscript. They help skimmers skim and draw in busy or reluctant readers.

- Have a short, catchy first sentence. And set if off by itself if you can.

- Use black type on white paper.

- Bold key words. But remember, less is always more.

Lots of writers think accessibility doesn’t matter. But it does. I edit lots of stories in my day job, and when there’s a stack on my desk I often go through and do the ones that follow these rules first. They just look friendlier and like they’ll cause me less pain.

I’m not the only one who thinks this way. I sent a brief e-mail out at work recently and got the following response:

“Nicely formatted and written. There’s nothing I like more than an Arial 12-point e-mail with judicious use of bold and bullets. So easy to read.”

And that, after all, is what any writer wants.

The company I work for uses mail mobiles to deliver paperwork throughout the office. These are carts about as tall as my shoulder. They get loaded with mail and sent around the buildings. They follow magnetized tracks under the carpeting and are programmed to stop at certain spots to be unloaded and reloaded.

I’m used to them, but it’s still kind of cool to see them chugging along and beeping.

Anyway, I was walking down a long hallway last week and suddenly wished I had my camera. Apparently some work had been done on the tracks, because there was a paper sign sitting on the floor looking like a large place card from a dinner party. In big, bold letters, it said:

“Please do not step on the wet, invisible line.”

Most people walked past this sign without pausing — busy, no doubt, with Weighty Corporate Matters. But I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

• If the line was invisible, how would I know if I was stepping on it or not? I could be on it right now. Or now!
• And it wasn’t just an invisible line, it was a WET invisible line. Are wet invisible lines slightly more visible than dry ones? Or more dangerous?
• And finally, what would happen if I or someone else accidentally stepped on the wet invisible line?

It was kind of like how the young boy must feel in Helen Palmer’s A Fish Out of Water when Mr. Carp the pet store owner tells him:

When you feed a fish,
never feed him a lot.
So much and no more!
Never more than a spot,
or something may happen!
You never know what. 

Of course, the boy feeds his fish too much. This makes the fish grow to gigantic proportions and causes all sorts of chaos until Mr. Carp steps in to save the day, (thoroughly debunking the notion that children in picture books must solve their own problems).

When I walked down the hall later in the day, the signs were gone, leaving me to assume that the wet invisible line was now a dry one.

Too bad, I had planned to step on it.

Just to see what would happen.

I love writing.

I love editing.

And I love getting feedback from other writers and editors on my writing. There’s always at least one idea or concept I can take away to improve my piece — often in ways I’d never come up with on my own.

During my15 years of writing in the corporate world, I’ve even learned to like getting feedback from the nonwriters who often review my copy for technical accuracy and compliance with industry laws. I like the challenge of listening to their comments or concerns — often expressed in legalese or corporate jargon — and figuring out how to say them in a reader-friendly way.

Of course, some of these reviewers comment on more than accuracy and law abidance.

They ask for unnecessary commas, change correct verb tenses to incorrect ones because they “sound better” and add paragraphs of self-congratulatory fluff. These types of reviewers send the marked-up copy back to me with comments like, “My mother was a proof-reader, and I picked up a few tips,” or, “My sophomore English teacher said I was a good at writing. I didn’t pursue it because accounting was more lucrative, but it was fun to redo this.”

I always consider each change carefully because good ideas can come from anywhere, and there have been times the technical experts or lawyers have found punctuation or grammatical mistakes. But I wrote the poem below in honor of all the times the suggested changes detracted from the finished piece instead of enhancing it.

Please note: The poem refers to banking, but any other highly technical and regulated industry could be substituted, as well.

An open letter to copy reviewers

There. I feel better now. And if anyone who’s ever reviewed my business copy is reading this, the poem doesn’t refer to you.

At all.

I attended the fall Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators conference this weekend in Madison, Wis. It was a collection of more than 100 writers and illustrators who exchanged ideas and listened to a panel of really impressive authors, editors and art directors. We also consumed large amounts of chocolate.

There’s no way I could attend every session or capture all the wisdom that was shared, so I settled for collecting quotes. Here is a small segment of the knowlege I gleaned and some of the weekend’s funnier comments.

Marsha Qualey, author of several young adult novels and faculty member for the Writing for Children program at Hamline University:

• Young readers do not have a full grasp of the mind-blowing power of time. Be very careful when manipulating time in your novel.
• You must start your story at exactly the right point in time. You may have a kick-ass opening. But … You have to ask yourself , “Where exactly is your reader being kicked?”
• I’m clearly a sedentary, middle-aged woman. (This came after she had hustled around the room rearranging posters showing different parts of a story.)

Krista Marino, senior editor at Delacorte Press:

• First person present tense works well for certain projects, but I’ve seen it fail triumphantly.
• Choose your point of view carefully. Some stories, like King Dork, are defined by voice. It wouldn’t work at all in third person.
• Random House editors have been told to acquire more books.

Lauren Hodge, assistant editor, Little Brown Books for Young Readers:

• Picture book texts should be simple, repetetive and consistent.
• Pretend you’re writing for a kid with a very short attention span. Then make it a little shorter.
• Picture books must have a hook — a main selling point. Hooks can be a hot topic, an issue, an emotion or a universal theme that speaks to every reader.
• We’re a boutique publisher. How many picture books do you think we published in 2009? Seven.

Lisa Yee, author of several middle-grade novels, a new chapter book and a new young adult novel. Winner of the first Sid Fleischman Humor Award.

• I like to have heartache and humor together. Because that’s real life.
• It’s not YOUR perception that matters. It’s your reader’s perspective.
• Tell your story the way it needs to be told.
• Look sexy. No — look sexier. (Said while taking a photo of conference attendees for her use on her blog.)

Tammi Sauer, author of two picture books with six more under contract.

• Your character has to encounter the worst possible moment at the worst possible time. Then, things really have to get bad.
• The greater the conflict, the greater the ability for humor.
• Amp up the humor. Ask yourself if there’s a funnier word you could use.
• Chickens are funny.

Abigail Samoun, project editor, Tricycle Press.

• I look for manuscripts with spirit, theme and tone. Or those with weird, intriguing or memorable language.
• Can you describe your manuscript in one sentence? Work until you have a sentence you can say easily that describes what makes your book great.
• Help the editor out by doing some research. Know where your book fits into the market and who will buy it. Know what books it’s competing with for readers’ attention. Know what sets your book apart from the others.

Then, of course, when we weren’t talking about point of view, linear plots or ways to tighten our text, we were worried about weightier matters … like shoes.

Georgia Beaverson, a novelist and magazine editor, took photos of cool shoes worn by attendees. These will be immortalized in the the Bridget Zinn Honorary Cool Retreat Shoes Gallery. (Bridget attended Wisconsin SCBWI conferences before she moved. She was known for her love of shoes — especially boots.) 

I knew I had arrived in the industry when Georgia took pictures of my feet twice — once when I was wearing my hot pink Converse All-Stars and once when I was wearing my black patent-leather Boden flats. It was almost as good as getting an acceptance letter from an editor. Here’s the link. My feet are on Page 2.

Thanks to Pam Beres and Judy Bryan for organizing a wonderful retreat. I left with lists of books to read, revision ideas to try and new stories to write. 

And now? I guess it’s time to go live up to this blog’s name.

Today is National Punctuation Day. Take a moment to celebrate in the manner you prefer.

And feel free to share your favorite punctuation mark, if you’re so moved. I’d vote for the em dash myself. I can get a little dash happy.

A writing affliction is afoot. I call it Church Newsletter Syndrome (CNS). You might have it if you’re tempted to write memos that begin:

Good news! The Ladies Aid Society is excited to inform you that next week’s potluck will be better than ever! You won’t want to miss it!!

“Ah,” you say. “That’s not me. I write fiction.”

Don’t count yourself out. CNS infiltrates all types of writing. Search your stories. Are there sections like this?

Molly had waited her entire lackluster life for this moment! Everything that ever had been or ever would be important hung in the balance. Couldn’t Mrs. Martin SEE what was at STAKE!?

Quite simply, CNS is a tendency to over-promise and under-deliver. Common symptoms include a fondness for exclamation points and unsubstantiated claims. Why are these bad? Let’s review:

Exclamation points – These should denote something big, loud or awe-inspiring. They should not be used casually. (Goody! Pears for lunch!) Pretend you only have three exclamation points to use in your life. Do you want to waste one on fruit? Another problem is that exclamation points tell the reader how to feel. If your writing is strong, readers will know something is big, loud or awe-inspiring without an end-of-sentence prompt. Strangely enough, the more exclamation points you use in your copy the less important it seems.

Unsubstantiated claims – Usually, these take the form of adverbs and adjectives. (Great news … It’s so exciting … In an unprecedented announcement … ) Take out any vague modifier you’re tempted to use and replace it with information that explains why your topic is great, exciting or unprecedented. In business writing, this means carefully explaining the benefits of a new computer system so employees naturally think, “Wow! This system is better than our old one.”

Letting people come to conclusions themselves based on the facts you’ve presented, is much more effective than writing something like, “Company XYZ introduced an innovative computer system today with exemplary, user-friendly features.” This often prompts readers to think, “Oh, yeah? Says who?”

In fiction, that means trusting your characters’ actions to speak for themselves. Put Molly in a situation that shows what she’s waiting for and what’s at stake. If she says, “Touch my trombone and die, dirtbag.” readers will know she’s not pleased. There’s no need to use an exclamation point or add a sentence saying, “Molly was really very mad.”

Other signs of CNS include anything that contributes to an air of unwarranted excitement. Such as:

 • Capitalizing random words for emphasis. (We didn’t say ANYTHING.)

• Putting “air quotes” around words that aren’t a quotation. (Survey data is starting to “trickle in.”)

 • Bolding words when there’s no good reason. (Skippy juggled and made balloon animals.)

Perhaps the best way to determine if you suffer from CNS is to ask someone who isn’t invested in your topic or scene if they think it’s as important as you do.

They won’t, but don’t take it personally.

Most parishioners aren’t excited by potluck changes. Many employees are annoyed by new computer systems. And some readers consider a character’s unspecified angst to be evidence of another writing disorder – Too Much Drama (TMD).

The best you can do is set your scene or share your update simply and clearly using the facts at your disposal. Then step away from the page, and let your readers draw their own conclusions.

All writers have been told to cut their work.

A story I recently sold to Highlights magazine came back with a note that said, “We like this. Can you make it 500 words?”

I wasn’t surprised. In my day job, I edit copy from an array of business writers, and one thing I’ve learned is you can always make a piece shorter. And making it shorter – if you do it right – invariably makes it better.

My story was 625 words. I took the editor’s request as a personal challenge and hit 500 words on the head.

But how do you be brief? How do you look at your work-in-progress and make it shorter, tighter and stronger? Here are a few tips to try:

Eliminate words you love. Every writer has them. For me, it’s “just” and “really.” Other common ones are “that,” “very” and “suddenly.” Search for those words and ask if they truly need to remain. Chances are, your sentence can stand without them.

 Trim certain phrases. Some phrases you can automatically shorten. “Prior to” can always be “before.” “Stand up” can always be “stand.” “First ever” can simply be “first.” Dozens of extra words creep into you manuscript this way. Don’t let them.

 Adjust your adverbs and adjectives. A few will do. If you find yourself using strings of adjectives to describe a noun, pare down to the most essential. And if you use a lot of adverbs, eliminate them and make your verb stronger. Use “wobbled” or “tottered” instead of “walked shakily.”

Check for value. Does each part of your piece add value to the whole? If you removed a scene or a quote or a transition, would you miss it? I can’t count the number of times I’ve struggled with a section of a manuscript for hours only to realize if I cut it, the story would be even better.

 Review each sentence individually. Challenge yourself to say the same thing in fewer words. It can be done!

If you need inspiration to pare down your prose, check out these quotes from some writing masters:

• You can cut 20 words from the tightest page you ever wrote. – Richard Peck
• I try to leave out the parts people skip.  – Elmore Leonard
• Easy reading is damn hard writing.  – Nathaniel Hawthorne

Need more inspiration? Consider what Greenwillow Editor Susan Hirschmann said about All Alone, the first book Kevin Henkes sold her. It was, perhaps, the ultimate compliment:

“There wasn’t an extra word in it.”