How Much Do Words Really Matter?

What exactly are words? Besides odd-looking, strange-sounding symbols, what’s exactly in a word? And why on earth do they affect us so deeply?

Maya Angelou said, “Words are things … Some day we’ll be able to measure the power of words. I think they are things. They get on the walls. They get in your wallpaper. They get in your rugs, in your upholstery, and your clothes, and finally in to you.”

Mark Twain, another progress pioneer, said, “the difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between lightning and a lightning bug.”

Whenever I hear this stratospheric analogy, I’m always struck by a similar phrase. Lightning bugs aside, you’ve heard the one about capturing lightning in a bottle? Well, unfortunately no one’s harnessed lightning yet except for Doc Brown.

How about words themselves, though?  Can words aspire to such a shining idiom? If so, how exactly do they reach their gleaming potential?

I’ve always been fascinated by the great writers. Not necessarily the writers themselves but the elusive reasons for their longevity. Ernest Hemingway remarked in his Nobel Prize acceptance speech that a writer will either endure or be forgotten according to “the degree of alchemy he possesses.” He also earlier wrote that, “In truly good writing, no matter how many times you read it you do not know how it is done. That is because there is a mystery in all great writing and that mystery does not dis-sect out.”

Leo Tolstoy, whom Hemingway called a prophet, explained, “I can’t understand how any one can write without rewriting everything over and over again. I scarcely ever re-read my published writings, but if by chance I come across a page, it always strikes me: All this must be rewritten; this is how I should have written it.”

I’ve always valued this less-mystical insight of Tolstoy. If I’m in the mood, however, I can’t help relish Hemingway’s profound “mystery” and all the feeling it elicits. For fear of dismissing him entirely, though, he does have a valid point since no one’s truly articulated what great writing is. I suppose the “mystery” still persists.

Voltaire, chief architect of the Enlightenment and childhood idol of Tolstoy, said, “You can never correct your work well until you have forgotten it.” How’s that for practical? Like Tolstoy, Voltaire clearly admits the inexorable (excruciating) editorial process. How encouraging, too, knowing that he was an actual human who slaved over his writing like the rest of us.

Despite Hemingway’s above-mentioned profundity, whether knowingly or not he did manage to betray some of his loftier observations admitting, “It's none of their business that you have to learn how to write. Let them think you were born that way.” And let’s also not forget that he once declared, “A first draft of anything is shit.”

Nevertheless, regardless of what actually constitutes great writing, James Michener, in my opinion, demystifies the craft better than anyone: “I’m not a very good writer,” he said, “but I’m an excellent rewriter.” How honest can such a prolific writer be?

Above all, I think it’s safe to say that effective writing has a tendency to leave an impression. Perhaps my favorite description of great writing came from an anonymous internet post years ago: “Great writing is something that makes you feel special,” the post read. I immediately wrote it down because it’s so beautifully true.

Whatever the secret, it’s hard to refrain from quoting Maya Angelou again who said, “I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

Quite apart from this profoundly human sentiment, can the same be said for writing? How about writing as it relates to sales, marketing or advertising? What if words are all you have to make an impression? Then they better be the right words, quite honestly. The rest is indeed a mystery and how those words are chosen and constructed will either seize your audience or indeed be forgotten.