Dip in to this list anywhere, and give your inner editor’s funny bone a tickle. Take “hurriedly scurried.” Or “moral high horse.” Or “live studio audience.” “Old codgers.” “Old coots.” “Old fossils.” “Old ruins.” “Commonly available general knowledge that anyone would know.” I don’t make this stuff up. Bonus: Smiling at redundant phrases sharpens your writing. Warning: These things are addictive. Continue reading
The “How to Write a Sentence” infographic is now a poster. Order yours today. Continue reading
I’m not ready for Apple watches wearing employees. How about you? (CMSWire.com, can you spare a hyphen?) Continue reading
How do you write a sentence that someone will want to read? This infographic spells it out.
Please join me in celebrating the release—today, April Fools’ Day—of my second book, You Can Say That Again: 750 Redundant Phrases to Think Twice About. You won’t find any April Fools’ jokes in this post; the timing is coincidental. I admit, though, I like the idea of this lighthearted book coming out on this lighthearted day.
Wonky words. They’re all around us: on billboards, on beer bottles, on bus-stop signs. I’m talking about words that make you go hmmm. I’m talking about the kind of writing that makes word nerds groan.
Why stop at groaning? Let’s have some fun with these egregiosities. I propose writing captions for them.
Redundancy creeps into everyone’s writing. At best, it adds bloat. At worst, it insults readers’ intelligence. We don’t intend to insult readers, so why do we do it? Continue reading
You’ve tried dressing like a boss. Acting like a boss. Still waiting for that promotion? Try talking like a boss.
For starters, don’t raise problems. Raise concerns. “I have a problem” makes you sound like a whiner. “I have a concern” sets you up as a responsible corporate citizen. Open this way, and then state your problem.
Is your department overworked? You don’t need people. You need resources. Better yet, you have a resource concern.
Need an extra chair? You could get one. Then again you could procure one.
Don’t tell people what to do; give them action items. Don’t make plans; negotiate logistics. Don’t prepare; do legwork. (Legs are not necessarily involved.) Don’t get people to agree with you; get them to sign off on your ideas. (They don’t sign anything.) First, though, triangulate — don’t bounce — your ideas off them.
Goods and services aren’t cheap. They’re cost-effective. And you don’t spend money. You spend monies. Appropriated monies. (Monies taken from someone else.)
Above all, don’t ask for a raise. Discuss a salary action.
Learning the lingo is easy. Whenever a manager happens to be talking nearby, listen. Take notes. (This isn’t eavesdropping; it’s career development.) Build a fast-track vocabulary list. Practice your new words on the way to and from work. Say them out loud. Roll them around in your mouth. Make them your own. Then start easing them into your conversations. They’ll sound artificial to you at first, but soon you’ll be feeling comfortable with your new language.
And your new peers.
But be prepared for new challenges in your managerial role. Imagine that you catch the CEO in the elevator. You tell her that you have a critical-path concern about resources. You’re not asking for sign-off yet. You have a few ideas to triangulate first to ensure a cost-effective resolution. You offer to take an action item to do the legwork and negotiate the logistics if she’ll appropriate the monies. You’d even postpone your salary action if doing so would procure her approval. She says, “Let’s handle that issue off-line.” Her words mean “Later.” She means “Tough.” You realize that you’re on your own.
The top isn’t the only place it’s lonely.
(I first published this article, in a slightly different form, in the spring 1991 issue of IABC Communicator, the newsletter of the Central New York chapter of the International Association of Business Communicators.