Why My English 101 Students Were Better Writers Than Most Copywriters

I get a weekly update from a certain biz/marketing guru who shall remain nameless.  I like her work, generally, so I don't want to seem ungrateful for the gems she shares with us.

And I will, if I name her, because I'm gonna read (but not drag) one of her latest posts about how to improve your website copy.

In the advice she gives in that post, she's missing a big secret, and it's something that I used to teach even my introductory-level English students.  So regardless of whether you're an entrepreneur trying to get more hits or a freshman in college trying to understand why this writing class that you're forced to take even exists, this post in the Oratoria is for you.

It's the Rhetoric, Folks

Take a look at my second sentence in this post:

I like her work, generally, so I don't want to seem ungrateful for the gems she shares with us.

This sentence is rhetorically off the mark.  How so, you ask?  My English 101 students could have told you.

On day two (or so) of English 101, I told (NB: I don't teach anymore) students about rhetoric.  Aristotle defined it as the art of knowing the available means of persuasion in any given situation.  Today's rhetorical studies is less concerned with persuasion than with "communication of meaning," which encompasses persuasion.  But the rest of the basic elements are still important.  Based on that definition, what can we see that Aristotle emphasizes?

• Audience: In order to persuade someone, I have to know what they believe, think, like, are moved by, etc.  In order to communicate with them successfully, I have to know what language they speak (even better: what dialect of that language), what their mood is, what they care to hear about at any given moment, etc.  I have to know their motivations for listening.
• Topic: What am I trying to persuade them of or communicate to them?  What are the details of that topic that they'd be interested in?  Uninterested in?  Repelled by?  Curious about?  Aristotle spent hours and hours lecturing about how to appeal to very specific demographics of the typical audiences that his students might encounter, as proven by the hundreds of pages of class notes from his lectures that now comprise his Rhetoric. 
• Purpose: Why do you want to communicate?  Why is the other party listening and, perhaps, responding in a specific way?  What are you trying to achieve?

Those are the basics.  For any given item of writing--from a grocery list to War and Peace--my English 101 students knew how to break down any communication and understand it rhetorically.

In my sample sentence, there are a few problems, mostly to do with audience.  First, I don't identify who "us" is.  Secondly, I seem to assume that my audience will be persuaded by my discussing what I like, which is the topic of that particular sentence.  Speaking of topics, that sentence is shaky, because its topic seems to be what I like, while the rest of the introduction of this post is headed in a very different direction.  That set-em-up/switch-em-up approach isn't always problematic, but it's certainly risky, especially vis-a-vis purpose.  Why did I need to do that re-direct?  Why did I need to explain what I like and don't like?  Why did I need to shift gears suddenly thereafter?

This is, admittedly, a very, very close reading of just one little sentence, but my point is that my English 101 students were equipped to do that.

Oh, the Errors You'll Catch

So I'm watching this video post by this guru, and she's giving out very helpful advice: people should write their businesses' websites with the customer in mind, not themselves.  What does that mean?  Well, for example, my "About" section on this site is tucked away behind two pages; it's past the page about my company, Laughing Saint Editorial LLC, on a sub-page of that sub-page.  Why?  Because what I do for a living is about providing a service, not about providing a spotlight for myself.  It's you, the customers and readers, who come here looking for (here comes purpose) information about my services and about how to survive in the usage jungle.  (NB: Someday, I'm going to write a book titled Oh, the Errors You'll Catch: How to Survive in the Usage Jungle.)  So instead of writing about how I like copyediting, I write about what my services are and what they provide to you when I'm writing the main pages.  I do the same thing for my clients: your website (rather than your LinkedIn profile) is about your customers, so I'm going to write your website copy with a lot of "you" and "your," a bit of "our" and "we," and almost no "I" or "my."

The guru, in explaining that, was 100% right.

But, right at the very end of the post, she mentioned that being "cute" and funny on your website is pretty much required for catching customers today.

Woah, there.  Not so fast.

Clearly, she knows her own audience: they like her quirky style, and her brand is all about being personable.  Her audience expects this, but not all audiences are her audience.  Not all industries are her industry.

If I'm writing a website for someone in an insurance firm, I will not be using cute, funny copy on the website.  If I'm writing a website for a financial-services firm, I will not be using cute, funny copy.  If I'm writing a website for a community organization dealing with emergency services, I'm not going to use cute, funny copy.

Why not?  Because it wouldn't serve my purpose.  It might confuse readers, because rhetoric also includes issues of tone, genre, and timing.  If you're looking for a bankruptcy attorney, do you want that person to be cute and funny when they're trying to solicit business?  Apparently, this guru thinks you do.  My experience says differently.

Research and Field Testing

Thankfully, we could do a rhetorical analysis of other websites in any given industry to see what the norm is, and we can follow up with clients and in focus groups to ask people what their response to website copy is.  We don't have to trust a guru's gut (Not Trusting the Guru Gut will be the next book) about what's effective for any given purpose and audience. 

If cute and funny end up winning the day in every industry, sector, and audience, so be it!  I know, though, that if had asked my students about whether that was a sound rhetorical analysis, they'd have frowned.

Do Your Homework

So, instead of going to the copywriting service that this guru was recommending, which shall also go nameless here, you should find a copywriter who's got some knowledge of rhetoric or some very detailed knowledge about the audience you're trying to communicate with or the industry/sector that you're trying to reach.  Finding just anyone and figuring out too late that that person thinks a blanket approach to writing website copy will do...  Yeah, you don't want to find yourself in that position.  It'll be an expensive bag to be left holding.

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"The house caught on fire; also...": Why you should avoid using "also" as a transition

If there's one transition word that I wish I could wage holy (and, admittedly, self-righteous) jihad against, it's also.  As a transition, also is not your friend.  It is not here to save you.  And using it will only mark you as the noob to writing that you may or may not be.

Before I get too wound up, let me clarify: Today's lesson is especially geared to less-experienced writers, especially high-school and college-level writers, in addition to new teachers of English who're struggling to articulate why they feel queasy when they see a sentence that begins with "Also."  Even if you don't fall into one of these categories, keep reading, because I explain a principle about transitions that's helpful for everyone.

What's the problem with also?

There's nothing inherently wrong with the word also.  I'm not here to argue that it should never be used, that it's best to avoid it, or any of the other typical, universalizing, overly-generalized dicta that other writing gurus are in the habit of nailing to doorposts.  Despite my opening "jihad" metaphor, what I really want is not for us to abolish the word also but to understand that it is a top contender for Weakest and Therefore Most Useless Transition Word and should probably be avoided on those grounds.

What's the difference between transition also and other uses of also?

First, let's clarify that also, as a part of speech, is an adverb, so it's got lots of uses, functionally (rather than grammatically) speaking. 

Here's an example of also put to good use:

There are three good paths for walking to the store, but there are also two good paths for biking there.

In this case, "also" modifies the coordinating conjunction, indicating not a contradiction but an addition that is different.  "And" could replace "but," but the use of "but" carries with it a functional emphasis on contradiction, and "also" manages to squeeze in some of the additive sense that "and" would have added.

Now, here's an example what I'm calling transition also:

There are many reasons to adopt this policy.  Also, several experts have called for similar policy measures to be taken.

What the writer is trying to do here is tie the first sentence to the next one.  Sometimes, I see "also" used like this but with a semicolon instead of a period used between the two sentences/independent clauses.  Doesn't matter; the problem is still the same: the transition here is weak and vague.

I used to tell my students that also could be used to tie together any two sentences and make it seem as if there's a transition there without there actually being any there there (so to speak).  My favorite example of this was:

I went to the store today.  Also, the house caught on fire.

Huh?  What's the relationship of these two ideas?

See, that's the principle of transitions: they should always clarify what you think the relationship of Idea A is to Idea B.  If your transition misses the mark either by being vague or inaccurate, you're not doing your readers any favors.  You're suggesting that the path from Idea A is up some stairs and around the corner when in fact the way to Idea B requires crossing a highway and walking six blocks.  There's a slight difference between "and" and "but also" and a much bigger difference between "therefore" and "however."  It's up to you to help your readers know where they're going in your writing.

Still not sure how also is vague?  Try substituting another more-specific transition word in its place.  The results reveal just how comically vague also is:

I went to the store today.  Therefore, the house caught on fire.

I went to the store today.  However, the house caught on fire.

I went to the store today.  Alternatively, the house caught on fire.

I went to the store today.  Consequently, the house caught on fire.

How can you remediate transition also?

I see transition also all the time in my EFL students' and clients' writing.  Whenever I see it, I ask the writer, "What's the relationship between Idea A and Idea B?  Why did you put this sentence [or phrase] after the first one?"  In the case of my favorite example, it's hard to explain how going to the store is related to the house catching on fire.  If there's no way to explain it, I'd tell the writer to reconsider organization: Maybe one of the sentences needs to find a more appropriate place in the paper.  If the writer can articulate the reason, then I suggest that we make that reason clearer.  Chronology seems to be the most likely reason for putting Idea A (about going to the store) next to Idea B (the house catching on fire), in my example, so I might suggest using "Subsequently" as an alternative to "Also."

So, the next time you find yourself writing "also," especially at the beginning of a sentence, stop to wonder whether you're using it as the glue that ties ideas together (not just in a list or in phrases like "and also" or "but also").  If you are, ask yourself whether there's a more-specific term you could use to express that relationship.  Your readers will thank you.

So you want to get better at writing, or: The erstwhile handbook

Not long ago, a prospective client asked me about what he -- a man in his 60s completing a degree program -- could do to remedy his poor writing.  As a former university writing director and composition teacher, I've got a few answers to that question:

Everyone thinks he or she is a terrible writer.  He or she is (usually) wrong.  What's happened is probably some combination of the following:

1. Having been the student of untrained teachers of writing (e.g., people who think they know The Rules and that Good Writing = Rule-Based Writing).  Let's say your English, history, or psychology professor gives you an assignment with a large writing component, but writing wasn't the main point of the assignment (maybe it was instead to explicate a play, to discuss the significance of Ceasar's crossing of the Rubicon, or to write a meta-analysis of common depression treatments).  If you lose a letter grade or more on that assignment any academic work that isn't intended to test and evaluate your use of grammar, usage, punctuation, and other rules and customs pertaining to writing, then your writing teacher is untrained according to contemporary composition-studies best practices.  He or she is likely to make you think that you're a "bad writer" because you didn't follow his or her idea of what counts as "good writing."  It's a common problem.
2. Having worked or lived with what I sometimes think of as "false prophets": people who claim to have The Answers about what counts as "good writing," but unfortunately these folks haven't realized that G-d has yet to hand down the tablets of writing standards.  Beware the false prophets: they live among you.  You can usually tell them by their opinions, which are loud and voluminous.

So, what was my advice to my prospective client?  That's easy!  Just about anyone can do any one of these things in any proportion and see some improvement:

1. Buy a college-level writing handbook (you know, the one you sold back to your bookstore but should have kept around as a handy resource).  Get one with exercises.  I recommend The Everyday Writer by Andrea Lunsford.  You can get older editions used for pocket change.  Read a chapter a week (no, really; read the full text of the chapters, not just the examples and such).  Do the exercises (the answers will be in the back).  Then set it aside for a few months or even a year and do it again.  It's even better if you're doing this with someone else, because your responses to the writing and style (as opposed to the grammar and punctuation) exercises will be different in interesting ways.
2. Read a book about style written by a professional fiction or non-fiction writer.  The one that changed my life was William Zinsser's On Writing Well, but there are many good ones, including one by the same title written by Stephen King.
3. Write privately every day or so.  Start a private blog.  Keep a journal.  You'll want to practice your newfound skills in a risk-free environment.
4. Optional, for the truly serious: hire a writing tutor (I can help you with that) and ask that person to review your writing and give you feedback.  Just be sure that person is doing more than just making corrections for you.  That person should be pointing out problems and progress; the problems should be there for you to fix and improve upon, not opportunities for the tutor to become your copyeditor and fix herself.

Anyone can improve his or her writing.  It's important to remember that there is no ultimate standard for what counts as good writing, and even the best writers can continue to improve and learn about writing and language.  Kudos to you if you're thinking about improving your writing skills!  If there's anything I can do to help, don't hesitate to contact me.