Trash These 5 Words and Phrases for Stronger Writing

They’re Amateur, Distracting, and a Waste of Real Estate

When it comes to finding your voice as a writer, we’re told to write like we speak. It’s not awful advice when it’s taken lightly. Paying attention to the way you speak, analyzing your tones and patterns, isn’t a bad start at finding your voice. The advice falls through when people take it too seriously, and start writing the exact things they say in conversation.

Our language is horribly flawed. English is a nasty amalgamation of so many other languages and the conventions are choppy, at times, unclear. For some reason, it’s easy to write the way you talk, but not easy to read the way people talk.

For these reasons, eliminate these five phrases from your writing to produce a more effective, clear message or story.

Believe // Think

Do you think? I do! At least, I believe I do.

Using phrases like “I think…” or “I believe…” pull an incredible amount of weight away form your writing. If you’re trying to show confusion, of course it’s acceptable. For instance:

Jerry scratched his head, suspended in disbelief. I swear I left my keys here, he thought. Well, I think I did…

But if I told you I think using these isn’t as powerful as alternatives and delegitimizes your words, you’d be left wondering if that’s true. Afterall, who am I to say?

Let me tell you, though: using “I think” or “I believe” is down-right asinine. It’s career suicide. If you take yourself seriously and know you’re bringing value to the table, speak with conviction. Say what you know, and if you’re left thinking, you probably shouldn’t say it.

All Qualifiers and the Likes

Qualifiers really suck, but they’re simply impossible not to use sometimes.

I get it — it’s hard to avoid them at times. If you really like something, it’s hard to convey just how much you like it. But taking the time to do that presents a stronger case in your favor. Odds are good that you don’t really like it, rather you treasure it. I cherish my computer. I don’t really like my girlfriend, I love her. I adore her.

Same for all the other ones out there. Simply, really, very, may, variations of some, probably — they’re all qualifiers.

Qualifiers are occasionally necessary, especially when indicating the level of certainty, you feel about a statement. They’re usually superfluous, though, and should be at the top of your editing list. Below I’ll demonstrate ways you can replace them.

Before: I sometimes feel left out because my friends don’t appreciate me.

After: I feel left out because my friends don’t appreciate me.

Before: You might like this article.

After: You need to read this article.

Before: The way the McDonald’s employee acts when I show up shirtless is simply offensive.

After: The McDonald’s employee acts detestably when I arrive three hours before breakfast for my egg McMuffin.

Before: That woman is very cute; I want to smell her socks.

After: That woman is beautiful; I will smell her socks.

The Thing Is…

The thing is, what does this even mean? Why do we use it? If you want to say, “The thing is, he can’t even dunk on me,” you’d be better off saying, “He can’t even dunk on me.” If he can’t dunk, he can’t dunk. I’m unsure of where this originates, but my guess is that it’s a dramatization technique.

Got

“Got” is horribly lazy. “We got a new car,” can easily be replaced with, “We bought a new car!” The issue with a generic word like “got” is that we use them so much it gets overwhelming. Take this example:

The other day was great! We went to the store and got groceries. We got a new car. We got a dog from the rescue shelter. We got ice cream. We got married. Then, after the wedding, we got drunk and I got pregnant!

If you said this to a friend, it would be okay. No one would think anything of it. But your goal as an editor (and yes, as a writer you are by default an editor in my mind) is to eliminate repetition. On paper, that paragraph is a nightmare. Look at what else you could write:

We had a great day! Tom and I stopped by the store for groceries; we decided we wanted a new car, so we financed this Subaru; I insisted we rescue a dog from the shelter — his name his Bugle; we ordered ice cream on the way to our impromptu wedding, married, and then went home to drink ourselves to sleep! It was a blast, and now I’m pregnant!

Obviously

Isn’t it obvious that using the word “obviously” doesn’t make something obvious? Do you know what makes something obvious? Saying it! Cats shouldn’t obviously avoid the washer in your basement. They do avoid it, and it becomes obvious to those who don’t when you turn it on (personal experience from my childhood — incredibly traumatic story). Obviously can go!

Parting Thoughts

Take this story:

Jenny and I got ice cream the other day, sometime around noon. We were eating the ice cream and walking past a basketball court when I heard this kid shout, “Hey old man, you ball?” I stopped and looked around because I knew he wasn’t talking to me, but he was! Jenny begged me to ignore him, but naturally I stepped up. I mean, Old Man? Who the Hell does he think he’s talking to? So, I grabbed the ball and engaged in a classic one on one, prison style. He was maybe fourteen or fifteen years old and already over six feet tall. But the thing is, he couldn’t even dunk! It was laughable. I still lost and Jenny made me sleep on the couch after he threatened to call the police when I pushed him over, but that’s beside the point.

This sounds like something a friend would say to you. Casually written the way they’d tell it. As a reader, it seems lazy. Now, imagine this written example:

We stepped out of the ice cream parlor on Main Street. Jenny suggested we take the scenic route home, so we set off down Washington near a local park. A man played basketball with himself, and as we inched closer, slopping up the ice cream faster than it could melt, I realized it was a teenager. A massive one, probably six feet tall. We locked eyes, and he motioned at me to come join him. Jenny squeezed my hand, warning me not to go, but the kid sealed his fate. “What’s the problem, too old to play?” I broke free from Jenny’s grasp, ripped off my bomber jacket and threw it over her arm. He tossed me the ball, and instantly I nailed a three. He’s six feet tall but can’t dunk — this should be easy, I thought. Over the next five minutes he whooped my ass…

You get the idea. It’s not an exciting story but the point remains the same: these words and phrases weaken our writing. If you wish to pull an audience in, scrap them wherever you can. They’ll occasionally be necessary for what you’re conveying, but you must become the master of sniffing out the instances where they aren’t.

You’ve obviously got to listen to me because — the thing is — I really think your readers won’t like it if you don’t.