Wordiness is one of the cardinal sins of writing. Extra words are like weeds in a garden, keeping the flowers from blooming. And like the pretty yellow leaves of the dandelion that mask its damaging intent, these word weeds may sound nice but only distract you from your goal of clean, strong, direct writing.

Many a writer has been tempted to pad their words so they can satisfy the algorithm's demands for a minimum word count. More often, I think, it's just a habit; we get so used to writing certain phrases a certain way, it seems unnatural to change them.

It may explain why news stories sometimes refer to an "armed gunman."

Have you ever heard of an UNarmed gunman?

The ridiculous redundancy probably comes from the writer's perceived need for an adjective; "gunman" by itself seems so . . . lonely.

I've committed wordiness plenty of times, but if I force myself to do without those extra words, the ones left behind really do manage on their own.

[Hmm, did I really need that “really”? Let’s try “the ones left behind do manage on their own.” See what I mean?]

Excise the Extraneous

Try on these sentences and see if the boldfaced phrases don’t work better with some cutting:

• The restaurant serves up a classic menu.

• The restaurant serves a classic menu.

• She asked whether or not I was going.

• She asked whether I was going.

• Personally, I think you’re wrong.

• I think you’re wrong.

• I would like to thank you for your help.

• Thank you for your help.

• It’s my very favorite subject.

• It’s my favorite subject.

• If we find we can afford it, we will buy it.

• If we can afford it, we will buy it.

None of the pared-down sentences suffers for having the extra words removed sentences. They’re stronger. (I resisted the urge to say they were “actually” stronger.)

That's not to say your writing can't benefit from additional words to create a pleasing rhythm.

Making Words Count

It’s not about the word count. It’s about making the words count.

In their classic writing guide, The Elements of Style, William Strunk Jr. and E.B. White cite the opening line of Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address as an example of extra words that work:

Mr. Lincoln, knowingly or unknowingly, was flirting with disaster when he wrote “Four-score and seven years ago.” The President could have gotten into his sentence with plain “Eight-seven” – a saving of two words and less of a strain on the listeners’ powers of multiplication. But Lincoln’s ear must have told him to go ahead with four score and seven. By doing so, he achieved cadence while skirting the edge of fanciness.

Lincoln’s intent, in my opinion, was not to point out when the Declaration of Independence was written. It was to note the passage of time between that event and the civil war that was being waged to define what the still-new country stood for. By using a phrase two words longer than the number of years that had passed, Lincoln added poetry to his opening line.

Wordiness is not a matter of how many words you use. It's about using unnecessary words.