I used to think smart writing meant fancy words. I had a thesaurus open in another tab at all times. Instead of "use," I wrote "utilize." Instead of "help," I wrote "facilitate." Instead of "show," I wrote "demonstrate" or "illustrate" or "exemplify." 
My freshman English professor wrote on one of my papers: "Your vocabulary is impressive. Your clarity is not."
I was offended at first. I thought she didn't appreciate my sophisticated prose. But then I read my paper out loud. And I realized: I sounded ridiculous.
No one talks like that. No one thinks like that. I was burying my ideas under a mountain of unnecessary syllables.
I started reading published essays in major magazines — The Atlantic, The New Yorker, The New York Times. And I noticed something. The best writers use simple words. Not always. But most of the time. They say "use," not "utilize." They say "help," not "facilitate." They prioritize clarity over impressiveness.
Here's the thing: big words don't make you sound smart. They make you sound like you're trying to sound smart. There's a difference.
Readers can tell when you're using a word because you know it versus when you're using it because you looked it up. The first is fine. The second is painful.
Now I have a test. Before I use a word that isn't part of my normal speaking vocabulary, I ask myself: "Do I actually use this word in conversation?" If the answer is no, I don't write it. Unless it's a technical term that I need. Then fine. But most of the time, the answer is no.
My grades improved when I started writing more simply. My professors could actually understand my arguments. They didn't have to read a sentence three times to figure out what I was saying.
Simple doesn't mean stupid. Simple means clear. And clear is the goal.
So here's my advice: close the thesaurus. Write like you talk. Then clean up the grammar. That's it.
You'll sound smarter. I promise.
My freshman English professor wrote on one of my papers: "Your vocabulary is impressive. Your clarity is not."
I was offended at first. I thought she didn't appreciate my sophisticated prose. But then I read my paper out loud. And I realized: I sounded ridiculous.
No one talks like that. No one thinks like that. I was burying my ideas under a mountain of unnecessary syllables.
I started reading published essays in major magazines — The Atlantic, The New Yorker, The New York Times. And I noticed something. The best writers use simple words. Not always. But most of the time. They say "use," not "utilize." They say "help," not "facilitate." They prioritize clarity over impressiveness.
Here's the thing: big words don't make you sound smart. They make you sound like you're trying to sound smart. There's a difference.
Readers can tell when you're using a word because you know it versus when you're using it because you looked it up. The first is fine. The second is painful.
Now I have a test. Before I use a word that isn't part of my normal speaking vocabulary, I ask myself: "Do I actually use this word in conversation?" If the answer is no, I don't write it. Unless it's a technical term that I need. Then fine. But most of the time, the answer is no.
My grades improved when I started writing more simply. My professors could actually understand my arguments. They didn't have to read a sentence three times to figure out what I was saying.
Simple doesn't mean stupid. Simple means clear. And clear is the goal.
So here's my advice: close the thesaurus. Write like you talk. Then clean up the grammar. That's it.
You'll sound smarter. I promise.
