William Brohaugh

Invaluable experience, because here’s something you may not have realized: you can learn ever so much more reading bad writing than good.

It’s the writing, folks. It’s not only the writing; there must be a story, there must be characters–––but if the writing’s not good, nothing else is going to matter

Elmore Leonard, a man who has yet to write a clumsy sentence or an uninviting paragraph, has famously explained his writing style. “I try,” he says, “to leave out the parts people skip.”

published four instructional books for writers, including the classic Telling Lies for Fun & Profit.

No, we write tight because, like virtue, doing so is its own reward

It is the difference between hitting with a pillow and hitting with a baseball bat. The pillow, soft and fluffy and unshaped. The baseball bat, hard and compact and well-defined.

Baseball-bat writing—tight writing—shows confidence, which in turn communicates authority. It is also memorable. (Not to mention quotable.)

Tight writing is not by definition short writing. And short writing isn’t always tight.

Wasted words are wasted time. Pertinent, efficient, important words—those are what readers will stick with.

Traditionally, lengthy writing is defined as verbose writing. Using “redact” instead of “edit,” “ecdysiast” instead of “stripper,” “at this point in time” instead of “now”—such usage mires the reader in unneeded syllables.