Writing Tics, Tic, Tic, Tic!

Writing tics - are they faults or an essential part of writing style? (Part One)

Hi there, I’m back.

Here’s a little something for all of you out there who, like me, want to take a dive into writing craft issues. This week, it’s those words, phrases and habits that keep cropping up in our writing. Tics.

So, are they wicked phenomena which must be eradicated; beautiful imperfections that we should embrace - perhaps nurture - or do they lie somewhere on a spectrum between the two; or perhaps warrant a death sentence or a certificate of merit, depending on what they are and where they lie?

Did you spot one I don’t like? It’s common, at least for me: it’s an echo or repetition of a word or phrase. Perhaps was the word. See it there, lurking in the second paragraph? This was also a pretty long and convoluted sentence. Indeed paragraph. There’s another tic! Indeed paragraph isn’t even a sentence.

First things first. Finding writing tics depends either on software or a pair of human eyes. (For those of you in the future who aren’t human, my apologies. I’m sure AI systems will view themselves as a cut above ordinary hum-drum software.)

There are some super bits of software that will highlight the tics for you, like pro-writing aid, but these systems look invasive, with all their charts and bells and whistles. It also feels like you’re being shoved along a corridor. Sure, it’s your writing and you can ignore what you’re being told, but if you’ve forked good money out for the app, you’ll be inclined to take its suggestions as more than just advice.

Human eyeballs, on the other hand, can be fooled. Well, no, that’s not right, exactly; they merely miss the obvious, especially when those very same eyeballs have been the ones connected via biology to the fingers that typed the defects in the first place. Different eyeballs are better. However, as there’s effort involved and time, and skill in a lot of instances, don’t be surprised when there’s a cost involved in winkling out those demons. Software might be the lesser of the two evils, especially if you don’t like a large one-off payment to an editor, or like to return favours.

So, returning to the crux of our question. Tics, are they good or bad?

Perhaps the answer lies with the reader. One man’s tic is another’s endearing little foible. In what way does the tic - I won’t even say defect, as this colours the word - affect and inform the reader’s experience? For example, with perhaps, if you didn’t notice it, should the writer be concerned? Maybe it’s a case of best practice, and not chancing it too much. If I’d used it yet again, for a third time, would that have bugged the reader? Who knows for sure? Or maybe it’s just what one can get away with. Slide the tics under the carpet; gather enough of them together, and if anyone notices, they become components of style!

If we construct an idealised reader in our heads, as I guess we must do when we’re writing, that will help us. So what sort of tics would this perfect reader be quite happy to experience, and which ones would they hate? No, no, scrub that. Let’s err on the side of caution. We should perhaps (got to get it in there!) construct an extra-sensitive reader in our minds, the one we’re sure would take exception to any idiosyncrasies. We can then pull out anything that smacks of repetition or that’s likely to offend.

Perhaps that’s the way to go.

Perhaps.