The Flesch Reading Ease test. The Flesch-Kincaid Grade Level test. The Gunning Fog Index. The Coleman Liau Index. The SMOG Index. The Automated Readability Index. All are designed to show the level of education necessary for readers to understand a passage of written English.

Sounds good, doesn’t it? I mean, after all: getting your message across to the widest possible audience is what marketing is all about. If you could know in advance with greater certainty that your message posed no serious obstacles to reader comprehension, you’d be in clover, right? Well, hold on there a minute.

In this Age of Unbelief, even believers want the assurance of scientific validation. Tests like these are part of a trend to quantify anything and everything – even that which was once understood to be unquantifiable. We take comfort in numbers. Yardsticks. Testable phenomena. Repeatable results.

The tests I’ve listed above all use mathematical formulas to assess readability. For the most part, they count the number of characters in a passage, the number of words, the number of sentences, the average number of characters per word, the average number of syllables per word, the average number of words per sentence, and so on. The lower the numbers, generally speaking, the higher the readability for the greatest number of people.

I know from my professional associations that most writers feel as I do about these tests: we distrust them. Advertising and marketing firms tend to look on them warily as well. Why? Because, in spite of what their creators and advocates maintain, the tests aren’t accurate. Nor could they be.

Nothing so complex as “readability,” or “reader comprehension,” can be reduced to a set of numerical constructs. No mathematical equation, no arbitrary assignment of numerical values, can tell you unequivocally what readers are, or are not, taking away from something you’ve written.

Readability, simply put, is governed by too many variables. And many of those variables can never be known with confidence, precisely because they are unquantifiable.

Aside from basic intelligence, education surely plays the most significant role in readability. But all kinds of social/psychological factors also come into play. The length of words and sentences? Yes, that too has an effect. But many of the most familiar words, words that even less-educated readers recognize, have three, four – sometimes more! – syllables. A one-syllable word might score better on a Flesch test, but it wouldn’t be as apt for the audience. Beyond that, there are times when only a long sentence, well-constructed, can accurately and coherently convey an idea. To split that long sentence up would be to muddy or destroy the relationship between various components of the thought being expressed. Result? Reader confusion.

Now, I don’t say readability tests are completely without value. They can alert a writer to wordiness. And writers are always best advised to keep copy brief. Especially when writing for mass audiences.

A handful of paragraphs looks friendly. Short sentences read well. Monosyllabic words pack a punch. They’re just not always the most expressive way to communicate. Attempts at the kind of brevity these tests promote – especially by beginning or unskilled writers – often leave copy wanting. The text may be short. But it shortchanges readers because it lacks the detail that brings color and clarity; that inspires and motivates.

In the end, it’s experience that serves as a far better guide to readability than any numerically based readability test. Experienced writers and marketers know how to address different audiences; they know what engages and motivates people of different ages, in different professions, at different social levels, with different interests and inclinations. They know because countless times over their copy’s been tested in the fires of the marketplace. They’ve seen what doesn’t work. And they’ve seen what does – as evidenced in growing customer bases and greater sales, among other signs.

If numbers have anything to do with the readability of marketing copy, these are the numbers that count.

[AUTHOR’S NOTE: Occasionally, I’ll put aside writing my usual column, Doing Write, to address the cultural and social issues that interest me and feed my creativity. I’m calling these entries Flotsam & Jetsam. It’s a title that seems best to reflect the random nature of the fevered musings I’ll be sharing here!] 

I confess. I love Avatar. Yes, yes, I’m well aware of its shortcomings, particularly storywise. And I share little of the cultural/political worldview that informs it. But I do identify with the hero, Jake Sully. Not because I think I’m like him, but rather because I wish I had more of his attributes – his courage, his loyalty, his childlike sense of curiosity and wonder. 

Then, there’s the look of the film – its extraordinary, eye-popping CG imagery – and the technological breakthroughs that enabled it. Most other sci-fi/fantasy films (there are notable exceptions) require more than a little “suspension of disbelief.”  This film – visually, at least – presents an alien world that’s thoroughly immersive and utterly convincing in spite of its strangeness. 

So, yes, I love Avatar. Not so, one of my coworkers. Having just viewed the film on DVD, he came in the next day expressing, shall we say, extreme distaste for it. Though I respect him and his views, I decided to have a little fun with him. Hence, I wrote the following: 

—- o —- 

COMING TO TERMS WITH AVATAR

A GUIDE FOR THE INTRACTABLY BELLIGERENT

by

Dale Allen Steinke

Author of the Best-selling Novel Why Can’t I Remember My Name?

[Okay, I confess again: I’m joking. I haven’t written, let alone published, any such book.

But I do forget my name sometimes.] 

Avatar is a good movie. A really, really good movie. Honest. You just don’t see it that way because, well … you’ve got some ridiculous notion that a film should:

•  have an original plot
•  have an unpredictable plot
•  have a comprehensible plot
•  have a plot—period. 

What? Are you dreaming? Come on! All you need in a movie is pretty pictures. And sentiment … lots of ooey-gooey sentiment. The more politically correct, the better. 

Oh, I know: You say you “appreciate” Avatar’s special effects. But that’s just to ward off argument. You want Story. Character. Wit. Humor. Intelligence. 

Well, you’re not going to get it here! 

You need to relax. Lower your expectations. Try a few of the suggestions below, and see if they don’t bring you to assess Avatar anew. 

• Hug a tree (checking it first for termites and poison ivy).
• Renounce the evils of Capitalism and redistribute your wealth to the poor and needy—namely, Me!
• Empathize with the Na’vi. Dye your skin blue with food coloring and run around your neighborhood in a brown leather thong. Spear, optional.
• Walk right up to strangers, look them in the eye, and solemnly say, “I see you.” (Check your medical insurance coverage first.)
• Pretend your Doberman’s a Leonopteryx and see how far and how high you can fly him. (Heed medical insurance note above.)
• Send a “thank you” card to Kevin Costner for his Avatar-inspiring predecessor, Dances With Wolves.
• Liven up nighttime patio parties: Paint backyard critters with fluorescent Dayglo^® colors to simulate bioluminescence. (Squirrels will be tricky.)
• Entwine the ends of your ponytail with the mane of a lion and see how quickly you “become one” with him. Don’t have a ponytail? Use your nose hair. (Medical insurance? I doubt this is covered, anyway.)

If you’ve done all this and still hate Avatar, serious psychotherapy may be in order. I won’t give up. I’ll make an Avatar lover out of you yet!

You’ve heard people say it, particularly of political speeches: “It’s just rhetoric.” They mean, of course, that it’s B******T! – a bunch of grandiose, pretentious, self-serving, undoubtedly deceitful, and ultimately empty words meant to pull the wool over the eyes of all us rubes.

Of course, people apply that definition of rhetoric to most advertising and marketing copy, too – or would, if B******T weren’t so much more, well … colorful!

But is that all rhetoric is? Traditionally, no.

Aristotle gave rhetoric what remains its primary definition: the means of persuasion, or, as today’s American Heritage Dictionary has it, “the art or study of using language effectively and persuasively.” And how does one do that? By employing rhetorical devices such as metaphor, simile, allusion, paradox, personification, hyperbole, understatement, irony, ambiguity, rhyme, puns, symbol, synesthesia, anesis, antithesis, parallelism, chiasmus, zeugma, eulogia, paramythia, bdelygmia, and yadda yadda yadda. I know: Even if most of it weren’t Greek, it’d still be Greek to most of us.

Used properly, rhetorical devices lend power, grace, and eloquence to one’s words. They move people to think, to feel, to take a particular course of action. They persuade.

Used improperly … Well, even his day, Aristotle had to defend his definition of rhetoric, arguing that the use of what’s good for a bad reason doesn’t negate the goodness of what’s good.

So, really, rhetoric is a good thing – until a bad writer or speaker or someone with bad intentions turns it into B******T.

“He was born with a gift of laughter and a sense that the world was mad.”

There’s music in that line. Read it aloud and you’ll hear it. Read it aloud and you may never forget it. That’s the beauty of a well-turned phrase. It takes hold of you and captures your imagination not only because of what it says but also because of how it says it. And it’s the “how” that makes it memorable.

If you’re a literature buff, you may recognize that line as the opening sentence of Rafael Sabatini’s classic tale of adventure, Scaramouche, set at the time of the French Revolution. The line was famous once for its indelibly apt, concise, and eloquent description of the book’s protagonist, André-Louis Moreau. Today, given how little people read anything of substance, let alone classic literature … ah, well … (If you could see me now, you’d see me shaking my head in dismay!)

But I digress. Getting back to my theme …

Sabatini was a master storyteller – quite successful in his lifetime (1875–1950) – and a supremely gifted prose stylist. What’s noteworthy about that is, English wasn’t his first language. A native of Italy, born of an Italian father and an English mother, he was raised in England and chose to write in English because he believed the best tales were told in that language.

On the evidence, actually, a number of foreign-born writers who adopted English later in life proved extraordinarily expressive in it. Joseph Conrad (Lord Jim) comes to mind – as do Vladimir Nabokov (Lolita) and Isak Dinesen (the alias of Karen Blixen, famed primarily for her memoir, Out of Africa). The facility these authors had with the language is revealed in the richness, the liveliness, the playful experimentation of their prose. Theirs is writing that sings. And its musicality renders it at once compelling and unforgettable.

Certainly, other writers working in various genres and with different levels of diction exhibit a skill for writing “musical” prose. But not many. Skim just about any contemporary work of fiction or journalism and you’ll see what I mean. The writing is competent. It says what it means to say coherently and intelligently enough. Maybe it’s even emotionally engaging. What it lacks, though, is the kind of rhythm, meter, and melody that makes the message stick with you. That’s what prose styling is all about.

But is prose styling of any real value in marketing? Isn’t the kind of musicality I’m talking about better suited to poetry and fiction? Isn’t it a little too – what? – “froufrou” for copy simply meant to sell a product or service?

In a word: no. If more marketers paid attention to the musicality of their copy, they might actually make an impression on their audience that leads to more sales.

How does a writer achieve musicality?

First, you choose words not only for their denotative and connotative meanings (which should, of course, be your primary concern) but also for their length, their phonetic attributes, the number of syllables they comprise, which syllables are stressed – and how all these factors relate one word to another in a string of words.

What you’re doing is paying attention to the rhythm and meter – the “beat” – of each sentence you construct, as well as its melody, or pleasing sound (euphony). No, prose isn’t poetry. But it can produce poetic effects, which can be a great aid in reader comprehension and retention.

Take that sentence from Sabatini: “He was born with a gift of laughter and a sense that the world was mad.” Its construction is very poetic, exhibiting a marked and recurring rhythm. In metrical terms, the sentence consists of five anapestic feet and a closing iamb. That’s more than you wanted to know, right?

The point is (to state the case once again), that distinctive rhythm, that meter, that musicality is key to the sentence’s appeal and memorability.

Of course, the same considerations apply to the construction of paragraphs and pages of text. Rhythm, meter, and melody are achieved in this instance by varying sentence length and structure, mixing simple sentences – subject, verb, object – with sentences employing multiple clauses in differing patterns and featuring more-complex punctuation. Even the simplest text intended for the widest audience benefits from some measure of structural finessing on this order.

To sum it up, if you’re a marketer and you want people to pay attention to your message, if you want to motivate people to a specific action, then, by all means, pay attention to the music of your words.

How to Write Killer Web Copy

Hire a professional writer.

Seriously.

Unless you yourself are recognized for your writing talent. If so, have at it: You may well be the best one to write your website.

If not, consider your business goals and what you want your site to achieve. I think you’ll agree there’s too much at stake to trust your Web copy to amateur efforts.

Besides, I and a lot of other professional writers out here could use the work. We tend to be a scruffy lot and need all the help we can get to stay off the dole. Thanks.

What? You really thought I was going to give away the secrets of good Web writing? There are no secrets. You can Google™ all the writing tips you’ll need. They’re a dime a dozen. They generally run something like this:

• Know your audience.
• Write short sentences.
• Keep sentence structure simple: subject, verb – and probably an object.
• Use action verbs, not passive verbs.
• Stay positive. Don’t use words like “don’t.”
• Don’t use big words. (Hey, we professional writers are licensed to break the rules!)
• Avoid clichés (like the plague).
• Limit the use of technical jargon – use only enough to establish credentials.
• Craft a clear “call to action” for every Web page – tell your readers what you want them to do. (Be nice!)
• Proof everything you write once, twice – and again, for good measure.

Actually, those are good rules.

Of course, if you follow them and a gazillion others like them to the letter, you may end up with copy that reads like a “Dick and Jane” primer. Which is okay if you’re writing for Dick and Jane. And you might well be. (See Spot run.) Otherwise, it doesn’t hurt to tweak a rule every now and then, as long as your writing is clear and still in the realm of grammatical plausibility. A bit of carefully considered rule-breaking can give your writing a unique personality, a compelling “voice.” Just be sure you know what rule you’re breaking and why.

Among my pet peeves are the assertions that “You can’t start sentences with conjunctions!” “You can’t use phrases, or incomplete sentences, as sentences!” “You can’t use contractions in formal writing!” Nonsense! These are rules that have never really been rules at all. Desperate grade-school grammarians teach them as such because they know most of their young charges would never learn how to write a good, comprehensible sentence otherwise. The best writers in English have been violating such “rules” routinely for centuries. Literate contemporary writers still do so to “punch up” their writing or to achieve a friendlier, more natural, conversational tone. That tone, by the way, is ideal for most websites. Again: It’s all about giving your site a unique personality and voice.

If you must write your own copy – and, all kidding aside, we recognize that budget constraints or other factors may necessitate that – then do keep the above rules in mind. Consider this, too:

• Your writing will gain in persuasiveness when you follow Aristotle’s advice: Appeal to logic or emotion (whichever best suits your audience or the message at hand), and establish a tone that suggests either authority, trustworthiness, charisma, or some combination of the three.
• You want to keep your writing simple for the widest audience. But you also want to make it vivid. Paint word pictures. Use the standard rhetorical devices, such as metaphor, simile, personification, hyperbole, irony, paradox, puns, and parallelism.
• You’re not just writing for people but also for search engines. That means repeating often enough key words or phrases related to the topic of each Web page. Search engine spiders will hunt down these words and use them to determine how to rank your pages for specific keyword searches. (This is a rich topic in its own right – for another time and another blogger!)

Still need help? Talk with us at Cirrus ABS. We specialize in killer Web copy.