The Power of Words
The Apostle John wrote in the bible, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God.” I’ve always found that sentence interesting, because John uses “the Word” as a metaphor for Jesus. It’s an interesting choice of metaphors. It suggests that in his pre-mortal life Jesus was somehow linked as the source of God’s power, including the creative power that he used to create the universe when he said, “Let there be light.” Indeed, John would have contended that Jesus did create the universe through words.
In ancient times, words alone were considered to be powerful. In the middle ages, for example, folks wore medallions to hold the plague at bay. The medallions often featured the Eye of Isis on one side, and the name of god on the other written in various foreign dialects--Greek, Latin, and Hebrew being the norm. So the written word was seen as something mysterious and powerful.
That mystic sense of power extended to other languages. The ancient Norse used to mark their fjords with stones. The stones would have a letter carved into them, announcing the names of the gods who were served farther up the channel, whether it be Freya, Woden, or some other guard. English sailors of course couldn’t read the letters, but the very sight of such a marker sent chills up their spines--and would send an English ship running in the opposite direction if such a marker was spotted. Thus, characters in the Nordic alphabet (called runes) developed a reputation as something mysterious and spooky. In later times, soothsayers began using tiny runestones to tell peoples’ future, and that reputation was expanded upon.
So the written word has long been considered to be a thing of great power, and those who used words well gained a fearsome reputation. Among the Welsh, for example, a poet was called a “Maker,” for like a god he could use words to conjure images, create powerful new tales, and ultimately change the world for god or evil. Similarly, poets in other nations gained a fearsome reputation; for when they chanted their poems, they were thought to have cast some sort of “enchantment” over a crowd.
Thus, words have power, and those who use them well were often thought to be either wizards or divine.
As an author, I have to admit that I sometimes feel like a fraud. Think about it: I make a living by shifting words and syllables about on a blank page. To me, that doesn’t seem like a particularly noble endeavor. A simple farmer in China who plows a field and harvests a handful of rice seems like a greater “maker” than I am. However, such feelings aren’t going to stop me from cashing my royalty checks.
So how do you write with power?
I suppose that you begin by writing with precision. Each of us is hardwired to speak and write in our own way. If each person sat down and tried to tell the same story, we would each tell it differently. One person might become more involved in characterization, another in the poetry of the language.
But I sometimes suspect that in writing there is not much that is more beautiful than a sentence that gets the story across. I recall that once we had a couple of stories that tied for first place in a major contest. I was asked to break the tie. I mentioned to the critic Algis Budrys that I was in a bit of a quandary. The stories were so evenly matched, there wasn’t much difference. Algis asked, “Which is the easiest to follow?” I answered, “Story number 1.” He then lamented, “You know, few people recognize the genius required to tell a story simply.”
Sometimes when I’m tempted to wax eloquent in a sentence, or when I’ve got a sentence that is a little convoluted, I recall that bit of advice.
One key to writing simply is to say what you mean. In English, that’s sometimes hard to do. England was conquered by several different countries, and the English adopted words from their conquerors, then added to that list by borrowing words from foreign countries. So, if you want to say that something is little, you might say that it is little, or you might use another word--"tiny," “diminutive,” “petite,” “small,” “minute,” “microscopic,” “slight,” and so on.
Each of those words has the same “denotation,” the same literal meaning. But they might have different “connotations,” slight differences that might have a huge impact on your sentence.
For example, imagine that you’re talking about your friend who is a science fiction fan. You might want to get across the idea that he is a little eccentric. There are lots of words that have that denotation--odd, weird, and strange might all work, but you probably wouldn’t want to say that he is queer, since it has a double meaning.
The author Mark Twain said that the difference between choosing just the right word for a sentence and choosing one that is almost right is the difference between “lightning” and a “lightning bug.”
So our writing can often gain power simply by choosing the precise right word for a story, one with just the right denotations.
These denotations sometimes give us slightly different meanings. For example, men are often pretty bad at describing colors. A man might say that he drives a “red” car. But any woman who buys a tube of lipstick knows that there are various shades of red, with different vibrancies. These might include cherry red, crimson, ruby, burgundy, and dozens of shades between.
Similarly, a man might say that a woman is wearing “a dress,” but most female readers will want to know much more about that dress.
Of course, men may be more attuned to differences of other types. I’m an avid fisherman. If you are writing a story, I find it terribly annoying if you say that “a fish jumped.” I immediately want to know what kind of fish because it tells me a great deal about the setting. If the river or stream has very cold water, then you can let me know by saying that a trout jumped. If the trout was a rainbow trout, then I know that the river is not only cold, but probably the water is moving fast. If on the other hand a brook trout jumps, I imagine that the water is rather stagnant. Of course if a large-mouth bass jumps, I know that the water is warm and slow. The point being that if you just tell me that fish jumped in the water, you’ll only succeed in annoying me by taking me out of the story.
This is of course the greatest problem with new writers. If you are trying to describe something, you’ll often use a general noun or verb rather than something that is more specfic. For example, let’s say that you tell us that a woman is “carrying a child.” That’s pretty vague. For one thing, you might mean that she’s pregnant. The phrase is sometimes used that way. Or maybe you mean that she’s actually carrying a child in her arms. Do you mean that she’s carrying an infant, or a toddler? The size of the child varies greatly, as does the way that she would carry it. An infant might be cradled in one arm, while a toddler might be slung on her hip. Or maybe you mean that she’s carrying a ten-year-old upon her back? In short, if you want to create an image for your reader, you have to be specific.
Words of course can do more than merely describe scenery and clothing. They can help characterize people. For example, if you say that a man is “assertive,” a businessman might read that as a positive thing. But what if you said that your character was “dominating.” It has much the same denotation, but a feminist might see this as a red flag. If you said that he was “pushy,” just about everyone would see it as a red flag.
Similarly, words can go a long way to create a tone for your story. For example, I spoke with a linguist a couple of years ago who had written a paper on how the author Gene Wolfe used latinate words to give his tales something of an antiquated feel. Similarly, Tolkien often used archaic words from Old German and Old Norse to do the same.
Writers with musical ears--like Shakespeare, Theodore Roethke, etc.,--are often attuned to the beauty of words, and find that they can add tremendous power simply be being aware of the sounds within the syllables--the trilling or r’s and l’s, the silences between the syllables, and so on.
In short, as a writer it behooves you to learn to use words well, to lean what they can and cannot accomplish. As you write, I’m convinced that if you simply try to tell a story the way that feels best to you, you’ll find that you create your own style, and you’ll begin to write with greater power.
(The above post was originally published in David Wolverton’s free email newsletter wherein he regularly gives advice to newer writers and discusses books and the state of publishing today. It is reprinted here by permission of the author. Those who are interested can join the newsletter by emailing )
David Farland, an American author of fantasy fiction, is the pseudonym of Dave Wolverton. He began writing at the age of seventeen and in the years since has published over forty fantasy and science fiction novels for both adults and younger readers, including the popular Runelords series.
Over the years, he has worked as a missionary, a prison guard, a meat cutter, an editor, a contest judge, a writing professor, a video game designer and a movie producer.
He currently lives in Saint George, Utah, with his wife and five children, where his hobbies include hiking, fishing and working out.
