Counterpoint: Pared-down prose is a real loss, not because we necessarily need more Jamesian novels but because too often the instruction to ‘omit needless words’ (Rule 17) leads young writers to be cautious and dull; minimalist style becomes minimalist thought, and that is a problem.
Fewer prepositions.
Many of us need to free up time these days. But time doesn’t go anywhere on its own. Not up. Not down. You don’t have to pull it. You take it. Or make it.
Don’t free up time. Make time. Don’t move out. Just move. You won’t miss out on the concert. You’ll miss it.
Sometimes we even add two unnecessary prepositions to one verb.
Before: “He wants to meet up with Sarah in the morning.”
After: “He wants to meet Sarah in the morning.”
Eliminate redundant references
The reader arrived from your last sentence. She’ll remember it. Don’t begin the next one with a preposition or injection.
“So” doesn’t say so much, “as before” breaks my flow, “or” repeats the obvious alternative. “Well” means you’re not done thinking, well, take more time to write.
Never reference the end of your previous sentence at the beginning of the next one.
Before: “Writing improves your thinking. With this in mind, I suggest you write daily.”
After: “Writing improves your thinking. I suggest you write daily.”
An example from the book On Writing (pp. 340, draft for ‘1408’):
Mike sat down in one of the chairs in front of the desk. He expected Ostermeyer to sit behind the desk, where he could draw authority from it, but Ostermeyer surprised him. He sat in the other chair on what he probably thought of as the employees’ side of the desk.
Trimmed down to:
Mike sat down in front of the desk. He expected Olin to sit behind the desk, but Olin surprised him. He took the chair beside Mike.
Make sure you remove most dialogue tags and words such as ‘that’, ‘I think’ and words ending with ‘-ing’.
But do not overdo it!
King also gives an example where he actually expands on the original draft:
‘Hello, ex-wife,’ Tom said to Doris as she entered the room.
Becomes:
‘Hi, Doris,’ Tom said. His voice sounded natural enough - to his own ears, at least - but the fingers of his right hand crept to the place where his wedding ring had been until six months ago.
Almost all ideas can be explained in simple language, and maybe there’s no need for the “almost.” The most complicated mathematics is built up from simple ideas. Complex language is usually a sort of shorthand used by experts when talking amongst themselves. This is true in many fields, not just philosophy.
Think of cooking:
“while the chicken is poaching, saute the vegetables and reconstitute the fruit juice.”
A newbie will be baffled by “poach,” “saute,” and “reconstitute.”
The instructions could be rewritten to help him understand:
Put the chicken in a pot and completely cover it with water. Then turn the heat up to high and wait for it to boil. Once it does, turn the heat down really low and cover the pot. After about eight minutes, stick a meat thermometer in the chicken and check if its temperature has reached 165 degrees fahrenheit. If it has, you’re done. If not, keep cooking the chicken and checking. Remove the chicken from the pot when the target temperature has been reached.
While that’s happening, put a skillet on stove, and add little oil to it. Let the oil heat for a minute. Add the vegetables and stir them for five minutes or so, until they are tender.
You’ll need to turn the frozen fruit juice into regular fruit juice, so remove it from the freezer, dump it into a jug, and add the amount of water to it indicated on the package. Stir until the water and juice are thoroughly mixed.
That has the benefit of being much clearer to a beginner (assuming I know what I’m talking about, which is somewhat unlikely, because I’m not a seasoned cook), but its downside is that it’s tedious to the expert. Note that a beginner, depending on the context of his knowledge, might still be confused. Maybe he doesn’t know what a meat thermometer is; maybe he’s never heard of a skillet. The writer can explain those terms using simple words, but that will make the instructions even longer. At some point, most writers assume that the reader will either come to the piece with certain prerequisites or will look up what he doesn’t understand. Philosophy is thousands of years old, and each generation has added new layers to it. If every text went back to square one in terms of explanations, philosophy books would be even longer-significantly longer-than the already are. But, in theory, philosophers could do it.
Why do humans insert superfluous words in sentences; is there a brain science related or psychological cause?
There are multiple reasons:
“What I’m sort of trying to tell you is, um, that you should … you should, um go to that … uh … to that place on Friday instead of, um, you know, on Monday.”
“What I’m trying to tell you, in my own hamfisted way (God, I’m such an idiot!), is that you should, if you take my advice, go to that place—what’s it called? I forget—on Friday instead of … well, you know what I’m going to say … on Monday.”
“Before you use the toaster, make sure you unplug the … well, it might not even be plugged in, but if it is, unplug the microwave, because if you use the toaster while it’s plugged in … well, it’s not like the house is going to blow up, but…”
“Please don’t feel obli… don’t bother bringing anything to the party. I mean, you don’t have to bring anything. It will just be nice … it will be great to see you, to spend time with you.”
“Please put those dishes in the dishwasher, that is, if it’s not too much trouble. I mean, it would be nice, but don’t worry if you’re too busy.”
“You’re going to have to use the longish key, you know, that one, to get in. Don’t use any of the other keys, because they won’t work. You have to use that one… the long one.”
“I’m not saying you should get a dog, but if you do, which is not what I’m suggesting, you’d probably like a German Shepherd … or maybe not. Who knows? I mean, it’s your choice. But they’re great dogs. I mean, they’re not for everybody, but lots of people like them. In my experience.”
“Look, what you do with your life is your affair. I’m only saying, and please don’t take this the wrong way, that a sister is a sister and a lover is a lover, and perhaps it’s best to … well, I won’t say any more. It’s not any of my business, really, and God knows I’m far from perfect, but all I’d say is that it’s worth thinking about. I mean, don’t worry too much about it, but, like, maybe give it some thought when you have a chance. Look before you leap, right? I mean, that’s always good advice, isn’t it? I should take it more often, myself. Ha! That’s all I’m saying. No offense. We’re good, right?”
“One needn’t, unless one is desirous of being thrashed within an inch of one’s life, insult the king, which is to say that if one takes pleasure in contemplating the neck as an object bounded by head and body, it is, perhaps, in one’s interest (if my faculties haven’t lead me a-dance) to stifle unchecked sentiments injurious to one’s monarch before they leap, unhindered and with envious verve, perforce from one’s gullet.”
Example: Paul Graham and Tim Urban
23 March 2019