I have two reasons for watching as many figure skating competitions as I can. One is to get to know the skaters. The other is to spot a potential Paul Wylie or Dorothy Hamill.

Neither goal has been particularly successful. I have trouble telling all those Russian and Japanese skaters apart. And I’m still waiting to see a male skater like Paul Wylie or a female like Dorothy Hamill.

Dorothy Hamill is a particular mystery. Why has no one been able to figure out – and replicate – her magic? Is the problem that today’s emphasis on jumps and tricks get in the way of artistry?

Maybe not. I spent Sunday afternoon watching Skate America for three hours. The competition was just wrapping up, and the last skater took the ice – a Japanese teenager who just moved up from the junior level. I have watched so much figure skating that I can tell within three or four seconds whether the person on the ice is my kind of skater.

Oh, my. Kaori Sakamoto just floats on the ice. She came in second, beating the spectacular Evgenia Medvedeva, who is wonderful but doesn’t have that Hamill magic. (I will, I will learn those names.)

By now you’re probably wondering what all this has to do with writing. Sunday’s competition was a long one, and I saw – umpteen times – the same commercial for Homelight realty referral service. That meant that I heard this sentence endlessly repeated:

Homelight ranks over one million agents based on their actual track record.

Today I am asking you to put actual on your do-not-use word list. While you’re at it, put actually there too. (That doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to use these words. Geez – I just used actual on Quora five minutes ago! It means they have to convince you that they add something useful to a sentence.)

Here’s a little trick for finding (and eliminating) cutesy words that don’t enhance your writing. Ask if the word changes the meaning of the sentence.

Let’s try it:

Her actual track record is excellent.

Her track record is excellent.

Actually, I like the pink sneakers better.

I like the pink sneakers better.

Thanks! I feel better now that I got that off my chest.

           Kaori Sakamoto

I often answer questions at Quora.com. Some are fun to answer, but others are disheartening. I’m especially bothered by questions written by people who seem to be afraid to use normal English. Here’s an example: “How do the media recognize freedom of speech?”

Good grief. How would you “recognize” freedom of speech? Would you say “I recognize that!” when someone read the First Amendment to you?

I think the person was trying to find out how the media practice freedom of speech. I explained that freedom of speech means that Congress can’t pass laws limiting what we say or write. There are a few exceptions (such as slander, libel, and lying under oath) – but not many.

Freedom of speech doesn’t mean you can say anything you want. (Try shouting at your boss, and you’ll quickly figure that out yourself.) Nor does it mean that people can’t disagree with you. Open disagreements and debate are vital to a democracy. Nor does it mean that you can march over to a TV station and insist that they let you appear on tonight’s news broadcast.

OK. Back to my original point. When you write (or speak), you need to use clear, simple language. Here’s another example. This morning someone on Quora asked if the double standard in academic publishing was the reason no one reads academic articles any more.

Whew. If you’re familiar with the error called “begging the question,” you know that the poster made two errors. First, he assumed that academic publishing has a double standard. Second, he assumed that people have stopped reading academic journals.

I pointed out both problems – and got a response that it should have been obvious that he was talking about scientific publishing.

As I said, whew. Apparently he has a gripe with a scientific journal. Maybe it’s a legitimate one, and we could learn something from him. But there’s no way to tell from the question he posted.

So: a plea. Skip the gobbledygook. Make sure you’ve said – plainly, clearly, and powerfully – what you meant to say. You’ll save all of us a lot of time! And there’s another benefit: Your own life will roll along more smoothly. Good communication is one of the keys to living well.

After decades of teaching, writing, and editing, I’ve devised three rules that I would recommend to anyone who wants to be a successful writer:

1.  Have something to say.

Good ideas generate good writing. If you don’t have much to say, you’re not going to write sparkling sentences and provocative prose. Why do so many students write badly? The number one reason is getting stuck with a weak topic.

Finding a good topic, alas, is not easy. Think about the gaps in experience and interests between, say, a 17-year-old college student and a 45-year-old literary critic. Is it surprising that so many students hate to write – and that teachers dread reading their essays?

One solution is what’s called “service learning.” As part of their coursework, students perform writing tasks for community organizations. They keep journals about their volunteer experiences and make a presentation about what they’ve learned. Suddenly students find that they have a lot to say, and the door to powerful writing begins to open.

If you’re out of school and free to write about anything, you’re in luck. Cultivate stimulating ideas, experiences, and friendships. Develop your analytical thinking powers. Observe. Ask questions. Good writing has little to do with grammar (you can always get someone to fix your commas) and everything to do with what you know.

2. Ask someone to check what you’ve written.

In school, getting help with a paper is sometimes considered cheating. In the larger world, getting help with a writing task is considered common sense. No competent person in business would dream of submitting an important report, for example, without having a colleague check it first. My husband and I (both professional writers) always check each other’s work. I edit for friends, and they do the same for me.

I would offer this advice to anyone who wants to be a successful writer: Make friends with at least one person who knows a lot about writing. Wine, dine, and flatter that person. Consider marriage if the person is really competent. That relationship is going to be invaluable as you navigate the perilous waters of a writing career.

3.  Revise.

One afternoon I sat down and wrote a 1,000-word reflective piece for a local paper. “This can’t be any good,” I thought. “I spent hardly any time on it.” Nonetheless I submitted it to the local editor, who promptly sent it on (unbeknownst to me) to a national publication, where it was published and even generated some fan mail. It remains one of the best pieces I’ve ever written – I reread it the other day and was astonished at how good it was.

Here’s what I learned from that experience: Anyone can be struck by lightning once; I’ve had my magical moment, and it’s unlikely to happen again. So everything I’ve written since has gone through endless drafts and revisions. I know I’m not going to get struck by lightning again. Maybe you’ll get your turn too – but maybe you won’t. Best not to risk it. Endless revising and polishing are the surest path to writing success. 

(If you’re wondering why that one piece was so successful for me, go back and reread Rule 1.)

Now that we have computers, writers are expected to do some of the publishing preparations themselves. Here are some tips and resources:

• You’re not using a typewriter anymore! Use only one space after a period.
• Don’t use the space bar for formatting. Limit yourself to one space after a word and after a punctuation mark.
• Use the styles menu for all your formatting.
• Don’t use the underlining key at all.
• Click this link for some self-publishing resources that I’ve collected.
• Log on to Smashwords.com to download a free guide to manuscript preparation that includes using styles and other computer skills (it was a lifesaver for me).

We’ve seen some violent weather this year. Here’s a sentence I saw in a headline on the Weather Channel last month:

Large, battering waves will enhance the storm surge.

I have two quibbles about this sentence.

First, I don’t like that comma between large and battering. If you’re a stickler about usage, the comma is correct. (Often – although not always – it’s correct to put a comma between two adjectives: large, battering). But I think the sentence would be more dramatic without it.

Second, I wouldn’t have used enhance. It’s a positive word, and there’s nothing positive about a storm surge that puts lives and property at risk. I would have used increase.

It’s important to pay attention to the way words and sentences feel. I have another example (also related to weather). Our local weather reports used to be hosted by a man who struggled with two basic words in the English language.

The first was “milder,” which he thought was a synonym for “warmer.” So we would be told that the temperature was going to be “milder” tomorrow because it was going from  88 to 91.

Another habit (this one really drove me crazy, and I wrote him a letter about it – to no avail) had to do with the word “threat.” He thought it was a synonym for chance. And so – again and again – during a horrifyingly long drought we would hear that there was a “threat of rain this weekend.”

The real threat was what I wanted to do to him every time I heard one of those weather reports. Don’t follow his example, please!

I spend way too much time doing what I’m doing now – sitting at this computer. It’s usually unproductive time. (OK, let’s be honest. It’s wasted time.)

But sometimes there’s a payoff. I just came across a wonderful essay by Paul McHenry Roberts called How to Say Nothing in 500 Words. OMG. It’s an oldie-but-goodie piece that goes back to the 1950’s.

The article brought back memories of the countless dull essays I’ve read during my career as an English teacher. And – happily – it also revived memories of some of the great ones. (It also tickled me with a reference to a portable typewriter – ye cats, that was my life for many years.)

I wish I’d read it at the beginning of my teaching career. I started out teaching writing the way I’d been taught – a lot of rules and advice – instead of emphasizing the most important thing: having something to say.

But I digress. This is the first of two or three posts about McHenry’s advice. Here are two rules from him that get to right to the heart of the matter: 

Avoid the Obvious Content

Take the Less Usual Side

Here’s my version: Never tell them what they already know.

It is a rule I strive mightily to live by right here on WritewithJean. There are websites galore about writing (I’ve visited them.) They will solemnly tell you how to differentiate between its and it’s – how to use subordinating conjunctions – how to write an introductory paragraph – and so on.

Yuk.

I’m a Shaw scholar, so I keep up with the new work being done in my field. So much of it is ponderous and heavy – a straightforward idea dressed up in fancy words to impress me. No, I am not impressed. Please – tell me something interesting – surprising – thought provoking.

Suzanne Farrell (world-class ballet dancer who was also George Balanchine’s muse) once said something about pirouettes (fast spins) that has stuck in my head ever since.  Any dancer, she said, can do a pirouette. The problem was to make it interesting. Bravo, Suzanne! (Or perhaps I should say Brava!)

My blog has – I’m happy to say – some loyal visitors who tell me they enjoy my posts. My #1 rule is that I won’t sit down to write unless I have something to say that you haven’t heard before. Or – if you have heard it (today’s topic, for example), I’ll strive mightily to keep you reading anyway.

That pretty much sums up my writing philosophy – and my practice. It should be your policy and practice as well. 

Yes, it’s difficult sometimes. But the upside is that if I stumble across your piece while I’m wasting time at my computer, I’ll probably read the whole thing – eagerly. And that’s been your goal all along, hasn’t it?

Let’s have some fun. Try defining some words I’ll be giving you in just a moment! But first let me warn you: unless you’re smarter than the average bear, you won’t know the dictionary meanings. (I had to look some of them up myself.)

Here we go: enormity, notoriety, factoid, restive, fulsome, bemused, nonplussed.

 *  *  *  *  *  *

Before I give you the definitions, here’s something to think about. All of these words seem to have clues to their meaning. But in every case the clue will take you down the wrong path.

OK, let’s get started.

Enormity doesn’t have anything to do with size! An enormity is a hideous crime.

Notoriety doesn’t mean “noted.” It means famous for a bad reason.

A factoid isn’t a fact. A factoid is a common notion that people think is true – but it isn’t.

Restive has nothing to do with rest. It means unable to keep still – restless – difficult to control.

Fulsome has nothing to do with fullness. It means excessive flattery.

Bemused has nothing to do with amusement. It means confused or puzzled.

And finally (a word that I struggle with myself!) there’s no “non” idea in nonplussed – at least none that I can see. If you’re nonplussed, you’re surprised, bewildered, or taken aback…

…which is exactly what you might be feeling now that you’ve gone through this list!

*  *  *  *  *  *

Because so many people misunderstand these words, they’re starting to take on the expected (wrong!) meanings. Notoriety is often used to mean “fame,” for example. I just looked at a dictionary that gave “big” as the second meaning of fulsome.

My advice would be not to use any of these words unless the context makes the meaning absolutely clear.

Meanwhile, if you’re intrigued about these words, here’s a link where you can learn more about two of them – bemuse and nonplus. (James Harbeck is an authority on an amazing range of subjects, including words. His Sesquiotica blog is always fun to read!)