The average American wants to go too far, too fast, without paying for the ride. The same thing can be said for our writing. It tends to become too lengthy, too often, without serving the purpose. In a misguided effort to appear educationally superior to the masses, we forget the primary function of correspondence, which is the written transmission of thought from one to another. That is all that is necessary. If that is done, then the task is concluded. How we do it determines its degree of efficiency. If it is done with a minimum of effort on the writer’s part and is understood with a minimum of effort on the reader’s part, then that is the best way.
How does your writing read? Are you sure? Well, let’s discuss it. Recently the Office of Price Administration issued the following bulletin:
“Unless the Office of Price Administration or an authorized representative thereof shall, by letter mailed to the applicant within 21 days from the date of filing application, disapprove the maximum price as reported such price shall be deemed to have been approved, subject to nonretroactive written disapproval or adjustment at any later time by the Office of Price Administration.” Here’s the way it had to be rewritten by an OP A trade bulletin:
“You must wait three weeks before you can charge the ceiling price you applied for. OPA can always change that price. If they do, they will write you a letter.”
It’s funny, and you are smiling. Well, if the uniform you are wearing is a Navy blue, then shift your smirk to the other side of your face. For like the radio give-away shows there is more to follow. The paragraph below was extracted at random from a naval publication.
“Personnel distribution is made unnecessarily difficult by failure of some ships and activities to promptly report, when occurring, non-compliance with transfer orders issued by this command, together with reasons for such non-compliance. Non-compliance reports should be action Commander Service Force, and information to activity of ultimate destination plus any intermediate reporting stations mentioned in transfer orders. A suitable reason for non-compliance is non-availability. Personnel concerned are sick, AOL, on leave or require emergency leave. In this connection receiving stations are directed to report personnel by NTX in those cases where men have previously been reported as available, assigned by this command, non-compliance reported by receiving station, and same men again become available for assignment.”
You are out of breath, your eyes bulge and you grope for an aspirin. Little wonder. Here’s a sample rewrite of the first two sentences.
“When directed by ComServLant to transfer personnel and it’s impossible, make a prompt report to me, including reasons. Send information copies to destination and intermediate stations mentioned in transfer order.”
Here sixty words are reduced to thirty— a cut of one half—yet the same information is included. The next two sentences in the sample paragraph, although short, are irrelevant. It is obvious that if a man is ill, AOL, or not present for other reasons, he can’t be immediately transferred. As for the last sentence, this is a masterpiece of confusion. Two head-spinning hours after reading it, I finally arrived at the doubtful conclusion that the writer wanted to say:
“Receiving stations keep me informed by NTX, when personnel become available for assignment who have previously been reported as not available.”
This sample paragraph of naval correspondence averaged 30 words for the first two sentences. The whole paragraph averaged 24 words per sentence. The sample rewrite averaged 15 words for the first two sentences. The last three sentences were summed up in 21 words. A total average of 10 words per sentence, and a reduction of more than one half.
On small ships, officers are burdened with steadily increasing peace-time paper work in addition to their normal duties. They find the following routine is the usual treatment accorded wordy letters.
The Captain gives it a quick glance, shudders, and tosses it into the Executive Officer’s basket. That unfortunate gentleman eyes it as though it were a misplaced cobra coiled to strike and surreptitiously slides it along to number three officer. Number three recoils from it in horror and passes it along. And so it goes right down to the spanking new ensign who reported aboard that morning. He in turn seeks out a Chief who wrinkles his brow and announces in bewildered tones that it’s more than he can figure out, and besides it wasn’t like this in the Old Navy.
If the scene described sounds like an exaggeration, multiply the sample paragraph by a hundred and the possibilities will amaze you. Usually, of course, it merely amounts to a general slowing down of correspondence, which in turn has its morale destroying effect of slowing down the whole naval establishment. The “hurry up and wait” policy, so bitterly referred to by inductees during World War II, probably had its source in complicated correspondence which required too much time to interpret and answer. Obscure writing has even been the cause of inquiries being written asking for clarification of some intricately worded point.
Naval Commanding Officers will stand calmly on the bridge of a lurching destroyer or in the Conning Tower of a submarine plunging towards the ocean’s floor and coolly issue informative orders. They are invariably intelligently considered and concisely delivered. Too often these same officers when transferred to a Washington desk job enter the battle of words as verbose opponents against plain language. Their weapons are Roget’s Thesaurus and a large turret-sized edition of Webster’s dictionary. Armed with these they turn upon their hapless brethren and lay down a barrage of two dollar words that confuses the uninitiated and exhausts the veteran. But much worse, the victims take their cue from these complex letters and impatiently wait their turn. When the opportunity presents itself, they retaliate with vengeance. Like a dog chasing his tail, it’s a vicious circle and gets us nowhere. Why this transformation from a direct, word saving intelligent officer into a bureaucratic, wordy official?
Teachers of modern writing consider brevity and plain language a prime requisite, and it is continually stressed. Possibly of even more importance, the editors of our national publications demand it. The wordy manuscript, filled with the worst from Webster, is returned so fast to the amateur writer that he thinks there is a plot against him in the magazine’s mailing room.
I recall my unhappy introduction to the value of brevity while attending a college class in creative writing. I had just completed reading my first manuscript, a windy affair filled with beautiful phrases, and had returned to my seat. With my head bowed, I sat in blushing modesty, waiting for the words of praise to fall from the lips of our crusty professor. The class was silent as they waited like Russian puppets for the professor’s reaction before declaring themselves. The professor, a picture of suffering patience, tapped the top of his desk with a pencil and sighed softly. The only noise to break the quiet expectancy that filled the room. Finally he spoke. “It would seem,” he said, “that Mr. Dewey is fascinated with the sound of his own voice.”
It was a humiliating experience^ and taught me a lesson I have never forgotten.
Why do you read? For pleasure or instruction? Possibly for both. But we all expect to understand what we read regardless of why we read. The point behind the professor’s remark can be found in any national magazine. Regard the brevity and simple sentence construction. Every word must lend itself to the story or it becomes a candidate for the editor’s blue pencil.
Did someone say “. . . But naval directives and correspondence are not for reading pleasure.” True, but then that is no reason why correspondence should be confusing and long-winded, stuffed with two-dollar words. Actually there would much time and many headaches saved if more correspondence followed modern writing practices. For if simple plain language and brevity will make for easier reading in magazines, it will serve the same purpose in correspondence.
An old axiom states: “Any fool can criticise and most fools do.” The worth of any criticism can be judged by its constructive nature and is no better than the solution offered. How then may we improve naval correspondence to make it more readable, and hence easier understood? Here are three suggested rules to follow:
1. Reduction of the number of words in sentences.
2. Reduction of the use of affixes, that is, prefixes and suffixes.
3. The use of the personal pronoun and active voice, eliminating phrases such as “it is suggested,” “This command,” “You are directed,” “In reference to,” “In accordance with,” etc.
Let us discuss these in order. In preparation for this essay, ten national magazines and the works of Robert Louis Stevenson, Edgar Allen Poe, and Guy De Maupassant were selected for study. The Victorian style of writing indulged in by the immortals averaged as high as 34.5 words per sentence. In modern writing, as found in the ten magazines ranging from The Atlantic Monthly to Rangeland Romances, the average was 13 words per sentence. I do not offer 13 words as an absolute maximum. Certain types of “slanted” writing may require an average of 17 words per sentence, depending on the nature of the piece you are writing. We are speaking of averages here. Many modern writers use sentences that may be 20-words long, but often follow them with crisp one- to-three words and a period.
Editors doubtless would gobble up another Poe or Stevenson, but they obviously would have to be a modern Poe and Stevenson. Remember your reader should not have to pause and ponder over some obscure point. He should be able to understand it as he reads.
As for reduction of affixes, most words are made up of several parts. One part of every word is the “root,” which carries the basic meaning of the word. The other parts are prefixes (beginning) and suffixes (ending), which modify the meaning carried by the root. Some words like truth are just roots. These root words are easy to understand. If we add a prefix “un” and two suffixes like “ful” and “ness” we get “untruthfulness.” This is much harder to understand than is the basic word truth. The use of the prefix “non” betrays the user as a master of confusion. If you want your writing to be easy to read, than shorten your words to as few syllables as possible.
The use of multi-syllabled words when not necessary is a form of “gobble-gook.” Gobble-gook simply illustrated is:
“Extinguish the illumination.” In other words, “Turn out the lights.” Another bad example of multi-syllabled words is the Navy’s substitute for the simple word “rush.” Rush is a word used commercially to indicate a need for quick shipment or reply. It has its objections, though. Everybody understands it. In the Navy we say “expedited,” or worse, “expeditiously.”
President Roosevelt in his famed “fire-side chats” used such simple language that one might easily be led to believe he was lecturing a group of backward children. Simple though his talks may have been, President Roosevelt never talked down to his vast unseen audience, but rather talked on an easy to understand level. The simplicity of his speeches did not subtract from their value to the American people, and President Roosevelt, a great Navy admirer, still lives in the people’s memory.
There is a valuable lesson here for the Navy. I commend its application within our internal affairs for efficiency and in our external affairs for greater public understanding.
Don’t hesitate to use a word which more graphically describes the situation. If it explains what you want to say, then use it. I do not condone slang, and its use has been deplored by school-ma’ams and English language professors from the little red school house up to the ivy-covered universities. Yet slang continues and certain “coined” expressions have even been accepted into our language. Slang is usually made up of one- syllabled words which aptly and graphically describe. Actually slang is a manifestation of the informal American’s rebellion against multi-syllabled words in speech and writing.
The Navy took an encouraging step towards brevity and plain language with the telephone school. Started during World War II, telephone schools were maintained to teach crewmembers correct telephone usage. The value of brief, concise speech was emphasized. The elimination of repetitious and confusing words over the phone was also included in the course. The worth of this school was clearly proved in four years of war. If concise plain language in speech is valuable, then it is no less so in written correspondence.
Suggestion number three is worthy of consideration even if it does no more than to eliminate militarisms.
All official letters carry a letter-head, which is the title of the office or command which originates the letter you are reading. Why then is it necessary to say, as in the sample naval correspondence, “Non-compliance reports should be action Commander Service Force”? Why not just say, “report to me.” It is obvious who “me” is. If not, a hasty glance at the letter-head will shortly determine that to anyone’s satisfaction.
Also why should other ships, stations, or commands be referred to as such, or by their official title in the text of the letter? In the heading of the letter it plainly states to whom the letter is addressed. Why not simply say “you”? The more personal references there are in a passage the easier it is to understand. They are more familiar and present something more tangible to the reader. Nor is there any need to fear that some unsuspecting person will be suddenly deluged in an avalanche of mail. Most letters are signed by direction, and incoming mail is routed to the applicable officer or office.
If you use a “you and me” style of writing, your reader feels more at ease. It’s more friendly. Actually is there any reason for being impersonal? If you use simple words and short one-gulp sentences, it is easier to understand. If our thoughts are clear, so will our writing be, and we shall avoid misunderstanding. Write as you talk. This is a case against obscure writing, without a personalized slant.
There is a subtle point to be considered in favor of simplicity in writing.
Every regular enlisted man at the drop of a white hat will regale you with countless hilarious stories of the misadventures of Reserve Officers during the past nastiness. However, if one reads the red side of the ledger, many of these misadventures can be placed at the door of misunderstanding or misinterpretation of naval correspondence. And many a story is not told, because it ended on a somber note.
In World War II the composition of the Navy included 3,011,293 Reserves and Inductees. This represented 88.8 per cent of total personnel, both officers and enlisted men. Actually 87 percent of the total officer personnel were Reserves on V-J Day.
With such an overwhelming majority of commissioned officers coming from farm and city into a foreign environment, it can be easily understood that their indoctrination period would be shortened considerably if correspondence and other written material were slanted for easy reading.
The value to be gained from this is obvious. The following question arises. War being the acid test for peace-time efforts, should 87 percent of the officers in time of war adjust themselves to naval correspondence and naval jargon, as used by the other 13 percent, or should our correspondence be so written that there is an easy transition for the Reserve Officer?
In keeping with simplicity in writing is the elimination of naval phraseology when its use is not warranted. However, whenever this is suggested there is the loud anguished howl from the ranks of the hide-bound. “. . . But naval phraseology is traditional with the Navy. It tends to establish our individuality and fosters esprit de corps.”
Not so. The Construction Battalions of World War Two fame were born of the necessity of war. Unhampered by the knowledge that they possessed no tradition, they went ahead and did a job that elicited unrestrained praise from the notoriously reticent and traditional Marine Corps.
It is the belief of some that tradition tends to stagnate—to place young officers in a rut which soon becomes a ditch. Like horse blinders it conceals the good that may exist to their right and left.
In this day when we stand on the gangplank of a super-sonic, atomic Navy, why should our writing retain the flavor of wooden ships? Furthermore, naval phraseology where its use is not warranted is carrying tradition to absurdity.
It must be a most bewildering experience for the unsuspecting civilian who visits a naval shore establishment. Unaware of what is in store, he approaches a brick and steel building entirely surrounded by parking lots and is greeted by a “gangway watch.” In doubt as to whom he actually should see, he asks for the commanding officer and is told to go “forward” down this “passageway” and take the first “ladder” on the “port” side. Go up that ladder to the “second deck,” but watch the fresh paint on the “bulkheads.” He is warned to “bear a hand” as the “skipper” is about to go “ashore.” Confused, his head swimming, the visitor finds his way to the “captain’s cabin” to be told by the “ship’s writer” that the “ole man” is on the “beach,” having left at “1600.” Possibly feeling that his visit shouldn’t be entirely unrewarded, he asks to use the men’s room and is informed that the “head” is “below” on the first deck all the way “aft.” However, it is “secured” for “field day.” Convinced he has inadvertently wandered into the lair of goofs, he staggers out of the building expecting any moment to see it get underway and steam off at 30 knots.
The use of naval phraseology on board ship where the Captain is either ashore, aboard, or in swimming, is proper. Ashore in a building situated on a firm foundation, the nearest water perhaps a hundred miles away, its use is incongruously confusing to the civilian visitor.
Granting the utility of abstracting from social and sociometrical action that aspect which is more commonly designated as articulate speech transposed into inarticulate correspondence which may be a transitory phase, however synthetically over-emphasized...
I condemn this type of writing, for it is a smoke-screen used by the fuzzy-minded who seek to disguise their limitations. The man who knows and knows he knows, wants you to know.