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I used to love adjectives. Really love them. “Bring it on,” I would say. I’d sit down to write and deck out every noun with a cluster of descriptors standing proud like Terracotta Warriors, convinced they made the writing more alive, more compelling.
As I started taking my craft seriously, I noticed that adjectives plunge the story into a pool of treacle where one has to trudge through to get to the other end. I’d re-read my own work and find a tangled mess that obscured the theme. I cringed! Slowly, I started trimming the excess, pruning adjectives here and there, until I could see the clean lines of clarity.
Consider: “Hillwalking in Scotland is a breathtaking journey through mist-laden valleys, rugged, craggy peaks, and expansive, heather-strewn moorlands, where ancient stone cairns and shimmering lochs lie under ever-shifting, silvery skies.”
It’s not happening, is it?
Now consider: “Hillwalking in Scotland is a journey through misty valleys, rugged peaks, and open moorlands, where stone cairns and quiet lochs lie under shifting skies.”
It’s an improvement, but we are not quite there. If there is mist, it is early morning, and the loch is quiet anyway. All cairns are stone, all peaks are rugged, all moorlands are open.
Now consider: “Hillwalking in Scotland is a journey through valleys, peaks, and moorlands, where stone cairns and lochs lie under shifting skies.”
Thirty-two words down to twenty words with no loss of completeness. I kept stone cairns in because the sentence scans better.
There’s also something about simplicity that gives power to a sentence. Where adjectives are not competing for attention.
Once I started ditching adjectives, I noticed my writing moving faster. No longer was I walking through treacle. Sentences started to flow like Beethoven’s Pastoral.