Oh Lord, save us from euphemism!

It seems astonishing but it was actually more than 20 years ago that I wrote an article for The Independent which was fairly savage about certain nasty but popular expressions. One of them was ‘natural wastage’. When I first heard this I was curious; I seriously had no idea to what it referred and I recall being a little shocked to learn that it was intended as a quick way of referring to people who take early retirement at a time when a company is intent on shaving down numbers. So it’s kind of but not quite ‘a forced early retirement’.  

Perhaps the person or committee that came up with this term intended the ‘natural’ element to convey something that is going along happily in the ordinary course of things, and therefore is acceptable. But the idea of ‘wastage’ makes the expression totally repugnant, particularly as regards putting people out of work. Somehow the inventor of this expression either missed a trick or is taking the Michael.

Natural wastage is one of many grubby little euphemisms. Like most euphemisms it sits on the shady side of the street and is used as a means of, at best, lessening the impact of a hard truth and, in most cases, attempting to sterilise the emotional impact of words. But it’s an odd thing to do isn’t it? To use words which seek to muffle meaning? So often, the very attempt at muffling meaning or diverting an emotional reaction will simply draw attention and even augment the very emotion you are seeking to calm or suppress. There is a cold, clinical detachment in ‘natural wastage’ – a sense of job-lot disposal of real human beings – that is not felt at all in the easy equivalent idea of ‘early retirement’, even of ‘forced early retirement’.  

  

One other point about this particular expression and then I’ll stop worrying the bone on the floor any further. Part of the reason for its repugnance is that it is one of a number of macho, semi-militaristic expressions that flooded business language in the late eighties and early nineties. Business people, even number-counters, liked to think of themselves as bold, aggressive fighters bringing home the bacon, doing the deals, hoisting the stuff up the flagpole, bringing each other up to speed. The first Gulf War brought such gems as ‘collateral damage’ meaning the accidental killing of civilians into most people’s living rooms and this and other military terms were a gift to the new business ‘speke’ of that era.

Another one is ‘ethnic cleansing’ – a term that bobbed up at about this time, leaping on to the news pages and into the mouths of broadcasters as they reported on the Bosnian/Serbian conflict in former Yugoslavia at the beginning of the nineties.

I couldn’t believe that people would stoop to use such a term. What on earth is ‘cleansing’ about a process that starts at persecution and ends at cold bloodied murder? I remain amazed that this strangely anodyne term is still used today to describe an activity that so often happens in war-torn countries across the globe.  

Here’s what I said at the end of that article of yesteryear: “Natural wastage is probably as welcome a term to the naturally wasted as ethnic cleansing is to the ethnically cleansed. Let us murder, kill, rid ourselves of, but let us not ethnically cleanse.”

But twenty years later and this proved to be such a fruitless plea. There are some fashions of speaking which just disappear after a brief outing – remember how everyone in business referred to their salaries in terms of ‘k’? But a large number remain. What slightly disturbs me is that so many of those that eventually get bound into the lexicon show our weakest profile.

How to write advertorials

Or perhaps I should say why to write advertorials. Do we need advertorials? Do they work and for that matter how many adverts that we submit to magazines in a sometimes desperate attempt to nudge the awareness of the buying public actually work as they are supposed to? How do we measure this? Too many questions.

Usually it is a matter of trust. Let’s say you are a hard-working independent retailer and you are called by your local town, city or county magazine and told all about the wonderful forthcoming Christmas issue. You are given what appear to be impressive distribution figures so that you imagine countless thousands of people devouring every page and vacuuming all the information you put together about your shop. It’s a little pricey but surely a half-page advert will do wonders for your Christmas trade. You can submit some photos and your logo and the magazine will do the rest, even allowing you to write your own words to accompany the advert – the beloved advertorial.

But caveat emptor! One client of mine has followed through two such conversations and has both times decided to take an advert and also, both times, has asked specifically that she be able to write the advertorial – not the magazine. She then came to me to prepare about 250 words to go with an advert showing off her new Christmas products and promoting her name to the world. In advance of the deadline for submitting the material for the advert, the magazine editor emailed her with a suggested advertorial of their own. It misspelt several things, was poorly punctuated and it seemed to be loosely based on a template selling just about anything in any shop. My client quickly made it clear that she was, as agreed, providing the advertorial, not them and soon afterwards sent them the words I’d written. Subsequently, no proofs arrived for her to check and approve but she was sent a copy of the new issue on the first day of publication. Lo and behold, there before her was an advertorial written by God knows who at the magazine – boldly printed but written badly and about nothing in particular, with all the misspellings and solecisms intact. My client was furious and vowed never to have further dealings with the magazine.

A year went by, the phone rang. A new charming editor talked my client through the dazzling Christmas issue – a nice price was dangled. My client had not forgotten what happened before but nevertheless gave in eventually and booked another ad. I was again contacted to write another 250 words. Oddly enough, as the deadline for submitting the advert approached the magazine sent a reminder with their own poorly penned, misspelt and generic piece of advertorial nonsense appended. My client was very quick to pick up the phone and tell them in no uncertain terms that only the advertorial she sent them must be printed. Again, she sent them the piece of writing she wanted.

Two weeks later the glossy magazine landed on her doorstep and when she opened it – you know what I’m going to say – the ghastly piece of nonsense was there in place of the advertorial she had commissioned from me. This time war was declared. Here was another printed advert that would probably do more harm than good. The editor and editor-in-chief both called and grovelled but the damage was done.

I was going to write about how to write advertorials but I was side-tracked, my only excuse being that this might act as a warning to others to ensure that, since you pay good money for this supposed service, you should damn well get what you have agreed in the deal you have struck.

But as to how to write advertorials, the nub of it is this. Make it interesting and different. Give the piece a bit of personality – perhaps by opening it with a quote from the business owner about something new in the Christmas offer. Employ an angle, or hook just as you would when you tell any story and you’ll find that instead of just saying ‘we sell beautiful scarves’ you’ve already wrapped a tantalising silk scarf round your customer’s neck and you’re towing her to your door.   

How to start writing

You know that the time has come – in actual fact it probably came about three weeks ago – when you really must sit at your computer and write that report, article, content piece for the website, important business letter…

But one of the main reasons for your timidity about doing this, possibly your dread of doing this is, is how to start.

On previous parts of this blog I’ve given advice about the need to marshal your thoughts, take notes, organise material, get prepared, before you sit down to write anything. I won’t repeat any of that here. I want to keep this simple and just say that in my experience there are far too many logical and perfectly acceptable beginnings to reports, business letters and so on to allow your fear of starting to have sway over the process.

My advice is simply this. Once you’ve reasonably focused your ideas and organised your material, just start writing. Start anywhere you like and work towards your theme. Do not try to uber-craft every word or sentence from the outset because nine times out of ten the good stuff, the proper logical direction of your argument, will not appear until at least the second or third paragraph. It’s as if your initial words are like the preparation before the real paintwork begins; they provide a fix and a foundation, an even and clean surface, but they will not be seen when the job is done.

So having written all or a considerable amount of your first draft, look back at your opening and be very critical. Does it lay a half-decent basis for the arguments that follow? Does it grab attention? Are you trying too hard to encompass everything that follows in a few short swift strokes and so confusing the reader?

Be prepared to use the scalpel and if necessary cut all the beginning section and try to forget that you spent considerable time squeezing your brains in its preparation and that some of the sentences are really quite felicitous; what a shame to lose them.

Honestly, this is hard-won advice. I spent years crafting and re-crafting the opening lines and early paragraphs of speeches, presentations, brochure copy, website home pages, reports – you name it – only to return and make the painful incision, dropping all of it to the cutting room floor.

Of course, this hard editing approach is necessary right the way through your work and not just for the beginning section. Read, reread, cut, shape, refine. It will improve the message. I believe in hard editing generally. But in my experience it is usually the beginning that needs the most attention – which is why I am advising you to be easy on yourself when you start. Start anywhere and in due course you’ll realise that you are doing the job you set out to do.  

Only the wealthy dare apply

I’m just back from a couple of days in London where I went to support my partner Rai on an exploration and buying expedition at the Decorex Trade Fair. This is one of several major annual events showing off the great and the good in the interior design sector.

Compared to one or two other fairs I’ve been to for the same purpose, Decorex is what might be called ‘high-end’. That’s to say that for the most part one’s eventual customers have to be extremely well heeled. The fabrics, furniture, lighting, flooring, panelling, wallpaper and accessories on show were generally sumptuous and gorgeous. So much so that there were actually very few items that Rai felt she could order for her shop – although thankfully she was pleased with the few she did encounter – because once you add her own mark-up the price becomes prohibitively high. There are too few people in and around provincial Ludlow who could imagine paying more than £4,000 for a single deckchair or £25,000 for a chandelier, nor even the more accessible £2,000 for a glass vase from Murano – let alone actually shell out for such purchases on a rainy Tuesday afternoon.

On the second day we went to the Chelsea Harbour Design Centre which had its very own show, tying in with Decorex event. The Design Centre oozes urban chic as you would expect. But added to chic and some serious creative flair was an almost chilling note of opulence.

Each beautiful shop in the three beautiful domes housing several storeys of top brand outlets was manned by beautiful, expensive-looking people. I couldn’t help but feel that my frayed collars had been noted in an expert flick of the eye, the smile unchanging.

Some of these shops were deceptively huge. The Armani display was like a many-roomed cave; there was a chocolate-rich darkness in which every prized item was lit ingeniously; a place where even a humble glass paperweight would set you back £350.

Close by, the Clive Christian premises offered an entire show-home featuring a chandeliered and panelled kitchen and a hallway with a large bar plus a bedroom with a walk in wardrobe fit for Gatsby himself. It is easy to feel marginalised in such an environment because the overwhelming theme is super wealth with designs that have travelled a long way beyond tacky into the realms of a fantasy of polished granite, gilding, faux snakeskin and superb craftsmanship. Awaiting each visitor in the inviting hallway was a mysterious golden bag with a gold brochure and gold hardback book of selected Clive Christian interiors. Who could resist?

But while I’d thoroughly enjoyed much of what I’d seen I was left by both Decorex and the Design Centre with a sense of alienation. I had been to see someone else’s world which seemed to be many moons and generations away from reality, even of everyday London life. When Rai and I stepped out of the Decorex show, held at Kensington Palace, to find some lunch, we were at one point approached by old immigrant woman; twisted, tiny and pleading for money, she was in an agony of poverty of a kind no one could alleviate. Oddly enough, her image looms large as the themes of opulent and fabulous design fade. 

A Plea to readers and writers

You can throw a brick (or perhaps be gentler and employ a sandwich) in Piccadilly Circus and you’ll hit someone who calls himself a writer. And why not? Almost every single one of us can write and we spend an inordinate amount of time texting and emailing if not actually working on the old fashioned business of furrowing our brows and putting pen to paper.

But my thought is this: because we can write – in that we were taught this amazing skill at school – ought we therefore to take responsibility for the creation of all the many words we pour into promoting our businesses. Should we write our own brochures, our own websites, put together our own annual reports and script our own speeches and presentations?

It is my contention after many years of perplexed experience and plenty of research that the vast majority of proud owners of websites advertising their services and wares are also the proud writers of those very websites. And it is for this reason that so much unrepeatable and terrible prose is published abroad. There are literally trillions of words out there smashing and grinding nonsensically together, desperately vying for reader’s attention: lumpen, clanking, duplicating words, a vast medium for the cliché of the moment and the many clichés of yesteryear, for biz-speke, jargon and general nonsense written in the egg-laying and strenuous pursuit of making sales to potential customers.

My plea is for all such writers to stop and for readers to complain. 

Just think how much better informed we would be, how much more inspired and enthusiastic we could be, if all this fantastic verbiage was trimmed, shaped and balanced for easy consumption. Wait for it – by a professional copywriter who has hard-won experience and plenty of skill.

It’s an amazing thing that website designers can create wonderfully customised sites with both subtle and powerful business branding, full of flair and invention – and when they’ve been through all the iterative design stages to achieve this thing of beauty they ask the client for the copy. They then shoehorn this in somewhere – it is little more than a shape on the page to them and usually the less of it the better.

This approach is typical and it has carried on, in my experience, from the ancient days of printed brochures (rather than websites) to the second and third generation online age. Design comes first and the quality of the message is left to look after itself. Clients pay a lot of money ‘for a website’ and then they fill in the words – because words are cheap. This is all so wrong.

The message you are trying to convey is actually your prime purpose, supported by graphic design and layout considerations rather than the reverse. A skilled professional will use words boldly and strikingly, create useful sub-headings and links to signpost people to other layers of information and, above all, write clearly and simply with the ducks in the right order. In this way, you will hook readers and make them want to explore. 

A word of warning

It just goes to show – if you are a professional writer or probably a professional anything– you should never abandon the golden rule that must apply with new clients. Be paid at least 50 per cent of the first agreed project before you start. Having discussed the project and agreed a price, with both parties happy with what is to be done, you must insist on a down payment. Don’t even start your real thinking before the money arrives.  

I have been doing this with new clients for more than 25 years but for some reason I let up my guard, for the first time, only recently.

I was asked to write a brochure and a series of film scripts for a company and everything was needed urgently. I had met the client, looked over the factory, saw the value of the products involved, organised access to relevant information to support the first task, the brochure, and soon came back with a price.

I was about to go on holiday for a week and emailed the client to ask whether the deal was sealed. I received two phone calls and one email saying that the deal was indeed sealed, the price agreed and that they were delighted to have me on board.

I wrote the brochure and sent it to the client. I then wrote eleven, one-minute film scripts and was doubly careful that each one could be spoken, instructively and fluidly by a professional presenter, to be hired for the job.

My instincts should have warned me not to send anything before receiving an initial payment. The first fire alert was the quite unbelievable illiteracy of the owner of the factory, clearly someone who insisted on his signature throughout every aspect of the company. I had already noticed in the notes he gave me concerning the product range that he was all but illiterate. And I’d seen his hand on the company’s website where the English is shocking in almost every respect, including spelling where the simplest of words looked foreign. Even the word ‘seen’ was spelt ‘sean’. How, I should have said to myself, is someone who has so little basic understanding of the written language going to appreciate even straightforward prose let alone something confidently and boldly written by a professional?

Having foolishly submitted my brochure and scripts – all written in time to meet what was apparently an urgent need – I awaited a reply. Nothing came. No acknowledgement of receipt, no thanks. After several attempts to call by landline and mobile, and various emails over about a week and a half, I received a version of my ‘scripts’ edited by said company owner. He had turned something clean and clear, written for a professional presenter – into something utterly unintelligible and he asked me to ‘aprove/edit’ (sic) these abominations. With trepidation in my heart, I attempted about four scripts and sent these back to see if we might end up on the right lines. Weeks went by. No responses to my calls and emails. So I sent him a note saying I must charge him for my work to date and stated the amount. Whereupon less than an hour later I received a rude and belligerent stream of consciousness effectively stating that he was not paying me anything although what he was actually saying took some time to decipher.

I shared this email with my partner who told me in no uncertain terms that I was completely mad not to have made sure this particular ‘bottom feeder’ had paid me in advance. She is of course right. I won’t make the same mistake again. I’m now sharing my sense of shame and loss with my blog in the hope that anyone else out there who writes professionally abides by at least one basic rule with all new clients.  Be paid first! And do please pay heed to your gut feelings.

A word of warning

It just goes to show – if you are a professional writer or probably a professional anything– you should never abandon the golden rule that must apply with new clients. Be paid at least 50 per cent of the first agreed project before you start. Having discussed the project and agreed a price, with both parties happy with what is to be done, you must insist on a down payment. Don’t even start your real thinking before the money arrives.  

I have been doing this with new clients for more than 25 years but for some reason I let up my guard, for the first time, only recently.

I was asked to write a brochure and a series of film scripts for a company and everything was needed urgently. I had met the client, looked over the factory, saw the value of the products involved, organised access to relevant information to support the first task, the brochure, and soon came back with a price.

I was about to go on holiday for a week and emailed the client to ask whether the deal was sealed. I received two phone calls and one email saying that the deal was indeed sealed, the price agreed and that they were delighted to have me on board.

I wrote the brochure and sent it to the client. I then wrote eleven, one-minute film scripts and was doubly careful that each one could be spoken, instructively and fluidly by a professional presenter, to be hired for the job.

My instincts should have warned me not to send anything before receiving an initial payment. The first fire alert was the quite unbelievable illiteracy of the owner of the factory, clearly someone who insisted on his signature throughout every aspect of the company. I had already noticed in the notes he gave me concerning the product range that he was all but illiterate. And I’d seen his hand on the company’s website where the English is shocking in almost every respect, including spelling where the simplest of words looked foreign. Even the word ‘seen’ was spelt ‘sean’. How, I should have said to myself, is someone who has so little basic understanding of the written language going to appreciate even straightforward prose let alone something confidently and boldly written by a professional?

Having foolishly submitted my brochure and scripts – all written in time to meet what was apparently an urgent need – I awaited a reply. Nothing came. No acknowledgement of receipt, no thanks. After several attempts to call by landline and mobile, and various emails over about a week and a half, I received a version of my ‘scripts’ edited by said company owner. He had turned something clean and clear, written for a professional presenter – into something utterly unintelligible and he asked me to ‘aprove/edit’ (sic) these abominations. With trepidation in my heart, I attempted about four scripts and sent these back to see if we might end up on the right lines. Weeks went by. No responses to my calls and emails. So I sent him a note saying I must charge him for my work to date and stated the amount. Whereupon less than an hour later I received a rude and belligerent stream of consciousness effectively stating that he was not paying me anything although what he was actually saying took some time to decipher.

I shared this email with my partner who told me in no uncertain terms that I was completely mad not to have made sure this particular ‘bottom feeder’ had paid me in advance. She is of course right. I won’t make the same mistake again. I’m now sharing my sense of shame and loss with my blog in the hope that anyone else out there who writes professionally abides by at least one basic rule with all new clients.  Be paid first! And do please pay heed to your gut feelings.

A thought about consistency...

Hobgoblins and hobby horses

Here’s a thought: if as Ralph Waldo Emerson once said “a foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of small minds adored by little statesmen, philosophers and divines” then how do we measure “foolish” and when does one step over the line into little-mindedness?

I’ve often argued that consistency in grammar, punctuation, capitalisation, spelling and so on makes writing of any kind more readable. (Content helps too, of course.) I think this is partly because I’ve slaved for years attempting to dig out a clear message or two from business prose too often lacking in any consistent element except cliché.

I favour consistency in all writing, not just in texts aimed at readers but for words written for speakers too. Take away consistent punctuation, clarity of thought, balance in sentence length, a bit of rhythm to allow ideas to make links and breaths to be taken, and you’ll find the speech is unreadable, unspeakable and generally insufferable. Hough! Hough! Clipperty clop! I’m now a little statesman on his hobbyhorse.

Am I being little-minded by advocating consistency in these ways? Perhaps. But in mild self-defence I believe that Emerson is referring to consistency as a kind of beast which inhibits exploration, change, creative or even coruscating thoughts and ideas, rather than referring to an element of style. Whereas I am offering consistency as the useful and possibly dutiful cousin of style.

But I’m still a bit piqued by the notion of being a bit of a pedantic prat. And, even when I’m trying to put together some kind of consistent narrative flow or style, I like the idea of busting out occasionally – if I can get away with it. It’s like the clown on skis. He knows his art so well that he can do astonishing acrobatics while looking completely out of control.

My contention is that we should truly know our art as writers too – we must learn and apply the rules before we break them successfully.

Actually most writing, particularly in my hobgoblin sphere of work, is not so much devoid of consistency making it unreadable but of content making it unpalatable. Hough, puff, clopperty clip.