“How’s that working out for you?”
“What?”
“Being clever.”

One of the most damaging things I see writers do is try to be clever. Now, being funny is a great and good thing and I think all writers have a duty to learn how to leverage humor for themselves. But humor and clever are not the same thing. Not at all.

Clever is terms or phrases that a writer will make up to show the audience exactly how witty the author is. Phrases like “Hollyweird” for example, are ones that exist to show you that the user is theoretically smart. Here’s the thing though – it doesn’t work. Here’s the why: It slows the reader down. Clever is designed to do that, consciously or not. When you use clever language like that (“Single Serving Friends” to go back to the point where we came in with the quote) the point is to explain it, or have the person you say the phrase in question to stop and work it out quickly and smile. This way they know how smart you are. They get it. You’re good. Slick.

Except, no, not really.

It’s needy and desperate and almost never works.

You know, most readers can feel what sits behind words on a page. It’s funny and not a science or anything but when a writer truly loves what they’re working on that feeling is somehow captured in the words. Maybe it’s a bit more speed to the style, energy in word choice, I don’t know but you can feel it (the true pros, of course, know how to fake that, bless them) and readers are shrewd. Desperation is picked up on, too. You can imagine where that slide lands you.

Yeah.

Now, some people will defend clever word use as a thing-like-slang. Slang, of course, is a set of words in general use by a decent sized group. Clever phrases aren’t. Now if you use slang, unironically and straight, you can run into the same problem that you can when writing dialect. Both are extremely hard to do well. That doesn’t mean you don’t do it, it means that you generally try to do it as little as possible.

Again, not an absolute. Some people can totally make it work. Some = Nothing like all = Probably not you or me.

And hey, I’m honest here. I write a webcomic, Things Wrong With Me ( thingswrongwithme.com – updates every Tues/Thurs – endplug!) where one of the characters speaks in a fake dialect on occasion. My rule of thumb is as little as possible. The big one, with that one character, is the phrase “dearling” instead of “darling.” It’s clever and I’m never sure it isn’t a huge mistake but I figure if I keep it that closed down I can get away with it.

I may be wrong.

There are, of course, other ways to be clever besides odd word choices and intentional misspellings that force people to slow down and get your meaning – even if only for a second – to try and be cute, funny or smart.

Generally, though, all of the ways you can be clever boil down to the same problem: trying to show people who smart, in touch, hip or funny you are. This is will almost ALWAYS backfire on you.

If you want to show people how smart you are then you write something smart. I’m not saying turn out a physics paper, though you could certainly, I’m saying make the characters smart, the plot and their choices intelligent. Show that you have brains and are using them, on the page.

If you want to be in touch and hip, that’s cool too! Show, not tell. Always show and not tell. For the love of everything you hold dear – show and not tell.

Funny. Funny is a big problem of one. I am bad at writing outright comedy. I write things that are humorous, but I tend to do it by taking something that isn’t funny and then twisting it the right way. What is the right way? I don’t know until I’m there and then it feels obvious to me. I wish I could explain that better. But outright, hands down, funny stuff? Not really. At least not consciously. There are metrics involved that I can’t always make sense out of. But I do know that you can’t get there from being clever.

It’s that … you know when you can feel someone trying too hard? That horrible feeling when you wish they would just get on it with and calm down and trust in themselves for a second? I hate that feeling, because it makes me sad. It really does. Generally the people doing it are folks who are funny when they aren’t trying so damn hard. But people have moments of doubt and want to make sure they’re being funny and smart and that you know it so they reach into the bag and try too hard and end up clever and it makes you feel like you just bit the lime after licking the salt but somehow forgot the Tequila.

I also, to be blunt and honest, don’t just mean this about writing prose. Oh sure, I certainly do mean it that way but we live in a different world now. If you write a blog, write some columns, live online at all chances are your audience will have access to other things you write. That doesn’t mean that everything you write is under a spotlight by default, but it does mean that it is in the public eye. And your reputation, what people think of you and your skills, is often determined way before they read your work. It can determine if they read your work.

And while I am not suggest, again, that everything you write everywhere be … no, you know what – I am suggesting this:

Everything you write that ever shows up in public anywhere should be coherent, spell-checked, something you don’t mind being in public and done with some skill. Sorry, that kinda sucks but it’s reality. Don’t be clever just because it’s not your professional work and “that stuff you are straight with,” because how is a prospective buyer supposed to know that? Telling them doesn’t help, they wonder why you aren’t doing the same. And what answer can you reasonably give? I’d love to hear it: make sure it doesn’t sound defensive, now.

I don’t mean you can’t be you in your personal space. Of course you can. They’re buying you after all, and in this future we live in that means you for you as well as you for your work. So be yourself. Just don’t be clever. Relax and take it easy and be charming instead. Charming is much better.

They make princes out of charming.

See that line up there? It was clever. You hated it as much as I did, I bet. That’s what I’m saying.