Nib #37 — Don’t “Let us…”
Here’s a Nib for all you speechwriters and speech-givers out there — which is all of us at some point in our lives. Are you ready? Here it is.
Don’t start sentences with, “Let us…”
“Let us…” is one of the speechy-est of all speechy expressions. It’s the kind of thing that sounds like the kind of thing you hear in important speeches (which is to say, John F. Kennedy used it a lot).
But hold on, you might say! Martin Luther King, Abraham Lincoln, John Paul II, and Winston Churchill all used “Let us…” from time to time. And if it’s good enough for the greatest orators of the age, why not for everyday congressman or school board member or town hall speakers?
First, because chances are they are not among the great orators of the age — speechy rhetoric is hard to pull off. Second, and more importantly, because “Let us…” is an assertion of deep, earned leadership and trust. It’s a rhetorical technique of speaking for rather than appealing to one’s audience.
When Dr. King said “Let us…” to civil rights activists, his own part in that “us” was acutely, heroically authentic. And President Lincoln’s 2nd Inaugural — “let us strive on to finish the work we are in to bind up the nation's wounds” — not only spoke for the ravaged Union he represented, but conspicuously included the conquered southern states in its “us.”
Of course, there are more ways to earn trust than leading millions of people through harrowing crusades. We all know beloved institutional leaders — clerics or business executives or headmasters or coaches — who have earned it over many years of devoted, sacrificial service.
Without that kind of trust, “Let us…” comes across as presumptuous and cringe. Imagine being a lifelong employee at Apple Computers, dating back to its Golden Age, how different “Let us…” might sound coming from Steve Jobs vs. Tim Cook. Just think about how you would receive “Let us…” from a politician you dislike in behalf of a cause you oppose.
In our increasingly divided and trust-deprived culture, would-be leaders should be submitting ideas to their audience rather presuming to speak for them.
Let us all help stop orators from claiming trust they have not earned.
Until next week… keep writing!
Good writing is downstream from clear thinking. The vast majority of times writers get stuck mid-composition, tugging at their hair and chewing pencils wondering what to write next, the real problem is they’re not sure what they think . The fix here is not grammatical or stylistic, but logical. The next time you find yourself in this situation, try the One Sentence Trick. Very quickly, summarize your whole argument in a single sentence. Then summarize each component part — each angle, each bit of evidence, each rebuttal of the other side, and then your conclusion. Essentially, you’re reverse engineering your outline here. If any of these summary sentences proves hard to write, you’ve found your problem. Chances are you’ve thought and/or written yourself into a corner. In such cases, the best way out is not through, but back. Return to the outline, to the previous sentence, or the previous paragraph and start reading. Somewhere along the way, you just took a wrong turn. Find the wrong turn, and you’ll quickly get back on track. The key is cultivating the discipline and humility not to push on to try and “get there from here.” You’ll waste words and time. Back up, find the hitch in your logic, and you’ll be back in the flow in no time. Until next week… keep writing!
Congressional leaders tend to think of big policy debates as binary affairs — support Bill X or oppose Bill X. If they had their way, every elected official, pundit, or spokesman on their side would repeat the exact same two-sentence talking point. They call this “message discipline.” Except that’s not what message discipline is. Message discipline is when each spokesman sticks to his or her best message over the course of a debate. It does not mean that 300 different spokesman all parrot the same message. If Ted Cruz and Susan Collins — or for that matter, Elizabeth Warren — both support something, you don’t want them making the same case for it. You want them making distinct cases tailored to the audiences they can best reach. Young congressional communicators: don’t work forward from the messaging of the speaker or the committee chairman or that one pundit you like. The people who you’re trying to reach may not trust those guys! Instead, work backwards from your boss’s audience and make the case that will appeal to them . When it comes to strategic communications, intentionally saying something a little bit different is a lot more effective. Until next week… keep writing!
If you look up the words whom , whomever , and whomsoever in the dictionary, you’ll find them. It’s probably best to leave them there. Don’t get the Nib wrong. Relative pronouns are great. Direct objects, too. And in isolation, whomsoever is a peach of a word. But in most real-world writing, sentences requiring whom — and especially whomever and whomsoever — tend to be wordy, fussy, and distractingly pedantic. The Nib endorses William Safire’s old rule of thumb: “If whom is correct, recast the sentence.” Until next week... keep writing!
In a public debate, whether in person or in writing, remember: your strategic audience isn’t your opponent. It’s the undecided, persuadable people witnessing your back and forth. This is why it’s so valuable to be generous and charitable in your tone and arguments. No, a softer touch isn’t likely to move hardened, convicted advocates on the other side. But it absolutely might help reach undecided readers and listeners. Trial lawyers don’t try to convince opposing counsel. They’re focused on the judge or the jury. In the same way, conservatives and liberals on the Senate floor aren’t debating for each other’s votes, but for the support of undecideds watching at home. In your writing, then, don’t be afraid to tailor your arguments, acknowledge the other side’s best ideas, concede unessential points, or refrain from taking tempting pot shots. Especially if your opponents are strident and censorious, a charitable tone can go a lot further than answering in kind. Respect and generosity in persuasive writing isn’t weak, it’s persuasive — which, remember, is the whole point. Until next week… keep writing!
Easter, the most beautiful thing, has understandably inspired some of the world’s most beautiful writing, including this: "Good Friday” by Christina Rossetti Am I a stone, and not a sheep, That I can stand, O Christ, beneath Thy cross, To number drop by drop Thy blood’s slow loss, And yet not weep? Not so those women loved Who with exceeding grief lamented Thee; Not so fallen Peter, weeping bitterly; Not so the thief was moved; Not so the Sun and Moon Which hid their faces in a starless sky, A horror of great darkness at broad noon – I, only I. Yet give not o’er, But seek Thy sheep, true Shepherd of the flock; Greater than Moses, turn and look once more And smite a rock. Happy Easter! And until next week… keep writing!
There are lots of words young writers should generally avoid. But there may only be one word that young writers should always avoid: impactful . The problem with impactful is not that the word has no meaning, but that it doesn’t mean enough . Writers always have better options. For starters, there are more precise adjectives that really mean what impactful only hints at, like compelling , arresting , or efficacious . But even those are only minor upgrades. Better still, writers and editors should take the very presence of impactful as a signal that the whole sentence needs reworking. Rather than telling your readers something is impactful , show your readers the impact it makes. Don’t say, “The firefighter’s decision to search the attic was impactful.” Say, “The firefighter’s decision to search the attic saved the lives of two young children.” Don’t say, “The president hopes this will be an impactful speech.” Say, “The president hopes today’s speech convinces Congress to support his budget proposal.” If you want your writing to have an impact, try not to write the word impactful again. Until next week… keep writing.
“I would have written a shorter letter, but I did not have the time.” - Blaise Pascal Young writers should take Pascal’s literary koan to heart. Composing first drafts may be the most daunting part of the writing process. But it’s also the least intellectually taxing. The draining, time consuming part of writing — the part that actually makes writing good — is the editing and revision. This is why writers’ procrastination is so pernicious. Good writing takes time — specifically, time after the first draft is already written. One of the simplest ways to level-up your work is build lots of back-end editing time into your schedule. Until next week… keep writing!
One of the quickest and easiest ways to improve your writing is to cut the fat off of loose, wordy phrases. Here are four common examples: in order to for the purposes of due to the fact that at this point in time Young writers often think these phrases make their writing worldly and authoritative. They don’t. Authoritative writing is precise and concise. As you edit your drafts, be on the lookout for elongated phrases whose meaning can be conveyed in a single word. Instead of “in order to” just say “to.” Instead of “for the purposes of” just say “to.” Instead of “due to the fact that” just say “because.” Instead of “at this point in time” just say “now.” Trim that fat. Weed that garden. Eliminate unnecessary words. Until next week… writing!
Young professionals sometimes mistake persuasiveness with authority. You see it in name-dropping, resume padding, and overuse of jargon. In writing, this self-inflating tone is often expressed in posturing preambles. If you’ve ever read a letter or oped or speech that prefaces points with commentary about the status of the author, you know the vibe: “I stand before you…” “Let me be clear…” “I will not apologize for…” “I do not say this lightly…” Phrases like this are meant to subtly assert authority. To the audience, they usually signal insecurity. It wastes words, breaks the flow, confuses the issue, and annoys the audience. The way to impress people with your skills as a writer is to persuade them on the subject you’re writing about. The best way to do that is to remove your self from the equation. Focus on the audience and the issue. Don’t set up your points with these “Look at me!” introductions. Just make your case. If you sell your ideas well, the audience will buy you too. If you try to sell yourself, they’ll usually buy neither. Until next week… keep writing!
Pronouns are always for the audience. Strategically swapping them in for nouns makes your writing more reader-friendly. Unless it’s not clear what noun you’re swapping out. Good writers always make sure their pronouns’ antecedents are obvious. Here are three common mistakes writers make with pronouns, and how to fix them. 1. Multiple Possible Antecedents Consider the sentence: “Senator Jones met with Governor Smith after he was elected.” Who does “he” refer to here - Jones or Smith? It could be read either way. So the writer will want to rework the sentence to clarify: “After Senator Jones was elected, he met with Governor Smith.” 2. Distant Antecedent Sometimes a pronoun’s antecedent is syntactically clear, but too far away for the reader to remember: “The appropriations package, negotiated over several weeks and amended repeatedly amidst backroom horse trading, passed just before midnight after leadership intervened. It alienated coalition members.” Readers could easily think “it” refers to the package, the amendments, the horse trading, or leadership’s intervention. Better to be clear, even if it requires more words: “The appropriations package, negotiated over several weeks and amended repeatedly amidst backroom horse trading, passed just before midnight after leadership intervened. The final text of the bill alienated coalition members.” 3. Beginning Sentences with Pronouns The most common location of unclear pronouns is at the start of sentences. Any time you open a sentence with a this or a that or a those , make sure the antecedent is obvious; otherwise, a single word can gum up multiple sentences. Until next week… keep writing!
