Your favourite mix of 90’s hits and writing tips is back and hopes you’re all doing okay out there. This one goes out to all the writers who find that they just have too many words.

“It’s *only* words,” croon Boyzone on their lovely 1996 cover of the Bee Gees classic.

That’s all very well for them to say, though, isn’t it?! It would be a ‘brand new story’ if they were only meant to write 6,000 words, for their dissertation say, and then ended up with nearly 10,000 of them! Or if they somehow had to cut 500 words out of their essay! It wouldn’t be all linen suits and chandeliers then, would it?

No, it would be “but we did loads of research! It took us ages! We can’t just cut it out!” And “but what if we cut the wrong bits?!” And “but we think it’s all important!”  

Luckily, if Boyzone were to re-evaluate their rather blasé attitude towards words and require assistance in these matters, we’d be there with these handy hints.

First thing’s first, try nibbling

There are two general approaches to getting rid of words, Cutting, which we’ll come to, involves bidding farewell to substantial portions of text – entire paragraphs or sections. If you’re significantly over the word limit, cutting probably can’t be avoided. However, it’s always worth ‘nibbling’ first to see if you can get rid of any unnecessary words. We’re all guilty of using more words than we need to at times, and reading your work aloud might be a good way of picking up on this. Have you said “during this time period” when you could just have said “during this time”? Any places where “prior to this?” could be replaced to “previously” and that sort of thing? Deleting the odd unnecessary word here and there can add up and once you’ve done this, you’ll have a clearer idea of how drastic your cuts will have to be.

Cutting words: it’s not about you

 It’s natural to get very attached to the words we write. We put a lot of work into them. It’s never a pretty scene at WDC HQ whenever we’re asked to cut a paragraph from one of our blogposts, we can tell you! But as writers, we’re not always the best judge of what’s important because everything seemed important enough for us to write it down in the first place. We have to take a step back and think of our readers. Sometimes, we need to write something – to develop an understanding of a topic or to untangle an idea – but the reader doesn’t need to read it.

Need to know versus nice to know

To establish what’s important for the reader, remind yourself what you are trying to tell them. What’s the take-home message of your dissertation, for example? Or the main argument of your essay? What do you want the reader to know, think, understand and/or believe after reading your work? The material that best contributes to this is “need to know” for the reader and also more likely to be critical – something that serves your argument rather than merely delivers “nice to know” information. When we do a lot of reading and research, such as when we’re writing a longer essay or dissertation, we tend to want to show this off. This can result in overwhelming our writing with facts and description that don’t contribute to the overall argument. Editing out these unnecessary facts will not only get the word count down, it will also open up space for the analytical writing that will make your writing more persuasive.

A few words on signposting

Signposting words and phrases tell the reader what you’re doing and why, and help them following your argument. A lack of signposting can cause the reader confusion. We can turn again to popular song to see what havoc a lack of signposting can wreak. It causes Dionne Warwick no end of bother in “Do You Know the Way to San Jose?” And let’s not mention the struggles poor old Tony Christie has in “Is This the Way to Amarillo?”

When ‘nibbling’ words, it can be tempting to just get rid of all the ‘howevers’ and ‘additionallys’ but proceed with caution: these words could play a crucial role in conveying your argument.

It is also possible to ‘over signpost’. This can often happen when you’re writing a longer piece like a dissertation or a thesis. We can have a tendency to start a  chapter by recapping the previous one – often because it’s been a while since we wrote that previous chapter so we need a reminder for our own purposes. But the reader’s experience will be different. They will have just read the previous chapter – do they need a recap? A useful way of judging can be reading your work all the way through as the reader would: how much of a recap do you feel they might need at the beginning of new section or chapter?

We hope these tips have been useful but perhaps you have tricks of your own up your sleeve? If so, let us know in the comments or come and see us on Twitter (we’re @NCL_WDC)!

The third in our blog series in which we use popular song to help you consider the oft-posed question: “Is my writing academic enough?”

The most cursory of glances around this blog will reveal two important things about the WDC: 1.) we like 90s music and 2.) we dislike unhelpful study advice.

Advice like “make sure your writing is clear” is particularly unhelpful because, well, if we’ve written something then odds on we’re able to understand it. It can be very difficult to distance yourself from your work to the extent that you can respond to it as a reader would. This makes it tricky to spot any instances where your reader could get a bit lost and where communication between the two of you could break down.

Tricky, but not impossible. There are practical editing strategies you can apply to help identify any areas where your meaning might be getting lost. One such strategy is ensuring you don’t repeat the mistake Meatloaf makes in his stirring power ballad, “I’d Do Anything for Love (But I Won’t Do That).”

Ever since its release in 1993, the song has been part of a running joke in pop culture as people across the globe puzzle over just what exactly it is that Meatloaf wouldn’t do for love. Wrestle a bear? Climb a mountain? Investigate what’s blocking the U-bend? If you’re simply agog to find out, you’re not alone. Apparently, “WHAT WOULDN’T YOU DO FOR LOVE MEATLOAF?!” is one of the questions most frequently put to the man himself.

Well, would it surprise you to learn that the answer was there in the song all along? It would? You don’t believe us? Let’s take a closer look at that first verse, then, shall we?

And I would do anything for love

I’d run right into hell and back

I would do anything for love

I’d never lie to you and that’s a fact

But I’ll never forget the way you feel right now

Oh no, no way

And I would do anything for love

Oh I would do anything for love

I would do anything for love, but I won’t do that

No, I won’t do that

See? The answer was hiding in plain sight all along. Meatloaf would do anything for love but he would never, under any circumstances, not even if you paid him a million dollars, “forget the way you feel right now” (eew). So why the confusion?

Well, in this case the cause of the confusion is a four-letter word: “that”. The relationship between “that” and the thing it actually refers to (“the way you feel right now”, remember?) is not clearly signalled. The fact that there are four lines of emoting in between them doesn’t help matters either. Even if you had managed to establish what “that” was, you’re likely to have forgotten by the time the word crops up.

So, if you’re wondering how on earth you can check whether your writing is clear or not, one thing you can do is ask yourself if it’s always apparent what you’re referring to. “That” is just one potential cause of confusion. You might also like to double-check any instances of “this”, “they” and “these”. That way, any “Meatloaf Moments” may be neatly avoided.

The second in our new series in which we use popular song to help you consider the oft-posed question: “Is my writing academic enough?”

Academic writing is about constructing a scholarly identity. You might not *feel* like an authority on a particular subject, but it’s necessary to *sound* like one in order to convince your readers they’re in safe hands.

You can begin projecting this authority from the get-go with an introduction that tells your readers:

1. I know exactly what I’m talking about
2. I know exactly what I want to say

We now refer you to TLC’s 90s feminist anthem, No Scrubs, as the perfect example of an authoritative introduction.

To begin with, the ladies – T-Boz, Left Eye and Chilli – define their terms. You may notice that this series talks a lot about the need to avoid ambiguity in academic writing. Indeed, it’s crucial there’s no room for misunderstanding between you and your readers. In this case, you may be slightly mystified as to what a “scrub” is. Are the ladies declaring their refusal to wear protective overalls whilst working in a hospital? Are they happy with every other item in their Boots No. 7 gift set aside from that exfoliating face wash? It would be impossible for me to understand, let alone begin to agree with, their argument if I didn’t know what they’re rejecting in the first place. Luckily, the opening lines of the song inform me that a “scrub is a guy who thinks he’s fly”. Moreover, the group helpfully explain that a scrub “is also known as a busta” – just in case I’m familiar with the concept, but happen to call it something else. I’m also impressed that TLC’s knowledge of their topic is such that they’re aware of variations in terminology.

When it comes to your own writing, you may think there is no need for you to define your terms in this way. After all, you’re writing for somebody who already knows them: your tutor. But remember that one of the reasons this tutor is reading your work is to assess your knowledge and understanding of the topic. So you know that they know, but they want to know that you know. Right? And maybe there are – as in the case of a “scrub” – several possible definitions and even synonyms. It’s important for your readers to know which definitions you’re using.

Anyway, once TLC has clarified exactly what they’re talking about, they get right down to outlining their argument. “No, I don’t want no scrub,” they declare. “A scrub is a guy that can’t get no love from me.” Straight away, then, we know what critical stance the ladies will be adopting in this song. They then go on to provide a rationale for this argument, stressing that this gentleman is being rejected because he is “hangin’ out the passenger side/Of his best friend’s ride/Trying to holler” at them. Justifying your claims in such a way is, of course, good practice in academic writing where much of your authority stems from having evidence to support your claims rather than leaving them unsubstantiated.

Is your writing as authoritative as it could be? Use our TLC editing checklist to make sure:

Terms: have you defined them?

Lay out your argument and/or aims in your introduction

Check you have supported your claims with evidence