Just and Still

My Horrible Writing Habits Revealed

I got my book manuscript back from the copy editor the other day and now I’m reviewing her suggestions and changes. I’m one of those writers who thinks editing makes my work better, rather than the kind of writer who is sure my staggering brilliance is being quashed by the meddling of sadistic editors. If you tend to be more of the latter, well, enjoy your toxic narcissism! Seriously, I’ve had a run of mostly wonderful editors and copy editors over the years. After fussing with it and polishing it and reading it out loud and tweaking and buffing it and then a final tune-up, I turn my work in pretty much move-in ready. But there’s always something that can be improved, that someone else notices and I’ve entirely overlooked.

Photo by Agence Olloweb on Unsplash

So what’s it this time? Overall, I’m proud to report that Joyride didn’t need major surgery, that the little edit boxes floating in the margins once I toggled on “reveal changes” were few and far between. What interested me, though, was how many of them called out the same bad habit. For whatever reason, I littered my book with the same two words: “still” and “just”. Oh lord. Shame on me.

“Still”, meaning “up to and including the present or the time mentioned; even now (or then) as formerly” (tip of the hat to dictionary.com) is one of those words you almost never need, or shouldn’t need. I think of it as a crutch word, an emphasizer that is tempting to use and overuse, but is usually just clutter. I’ll give you an example. In the book, I wrote, “I still wasn’t sure how I was going to shape my reporting into a book, but I soldiered on, making a trip every few months to one of the places that I had chosen.” I see why I used the word there—I’m trying to say that I wasn’t sure how to shape my reporting, and that condition continued, but I also kept working even while I remained in this state of uncertainty.

That’s legitimate, and almost justifies the use of the word. But shouldn’t I have already established that my uncertainty was ongoing? Do I need to say it if I am merely noting the continuation of a state of mind? Or am I trying to set up a contrast: Still unsure, still working. I read the section over a few times and each time, “still” seemed more and more… unnecessary, a kind of throat-clearing that made the sentence flabbier than it ought to be. I pruned it and to my surprise, the sentence worked exactly as it had, now with less flab: “I wasn’t sure how I was going to shape my reporting…”

If you want me to make an embarrassing confession, here it comes: I used the word “still” SIXTY-TWO TIMES in my manuscript. Sixty-two!!! That’s ridiculous! I searched for each instance, and removed about fifty-five that did absolutely nothing except fill up space. There were a few instances when “still” was important, to emphasize that something was continuing in a steady state, (“I still had Covid, but I decided to run a marathon”—not a sentence from my book, by the way, but one I’ve just made up to illustrate my point) but most of the time it really didn’t. In fact, it fuzzed up the sense of time and space. It’s a word that gets used when you aren’t sure the reader understands the world-building you’ve done, perhaps?

Now onto the next, and perhaps more useless, crutch word: “just”. Don’t get me started! Guess how many times I used it? Now double that guess and maybe you’ll be close. I used it (gulp) one hundred and eighty six times. I can’t quite believe it, and maybe my search was double-counting uses, and I know it was highlighting times when those four letters appeared in perfectly legitimate words like “justified”. But I used it EXCESSIVELY. “Just” does have some utility. It can nicely imply “a moment before” or “by a narrow margin”. But most of the time, it’s ugly clutter. Here’s an actual sentence from my book: “He chatted with bums and waitresses and farmers and cops just as easily as he did to senators and powerful businessmen.” Here, the word “just” does…nothing. Nothing! Tonally, it is sort of conversational—I think we all say “just” a lot, almost as much as we say “like” and probably for the same reason (emphasis, pacing, holding the floor). But look at that sentence and removed the word “just” and, presto, it means exactly the same thing. And it says it more crisply and more confidently.

I spent a good long time picking out “stills” and “justs” from my book, as if I were removing ticks from a dog, and boy am I glad. They wouldn’t have ruined the book, but I think now the writing is so much cleaner and more assured. I’m going to try to break my habit of using these nasty little things. If they help me write, they’re a fine tool; I have to remember to then search and remove them once their usefulness has been exploited. They will not be missed.

SHOW NOTES

—Highly recommend searching TheRealReal for Libertine, if you dig their stuff. I’ve found lots of good pieces there, which offsets the fact that I think it’s overpriced.

—Did I mention that I’ve queued up “Rooms for Vanishing” by Stuart Nadler to hear when I finish “Crossing to Safety”? And speaking of “Crossing”, I’m really loving it. Question: Does anyone hear echos or at least some similarity to “The Great Gatsby”? Different eras, of course, and different characters, but the cool carelessness of Charity (from “Crossing”) is so Daisy Buchanan-ish to me. I’m only a quarter of the way through the book, so maybe this is a hasty thought, but I definitely feel it now.

—I had the great pleasure of seeing Elevator Repair Service perform “Ulysses” the other night at UCLA. I had seen their amazing production of “Gatz” (speaking of Great Gatsby!) a few years ago and loved it. And I loved this. Hard to quite describe the performance, but it’s a sort of edited version of James Joyce’s masterpiece, performed… sort of. It was great.

Until the next time! xSusan