concrete

Sep

2020

More About Concrete Examples

Visionary Writing Techniques #08

By John Onorato

When we use strong language skills — whether in writing or in speaking — we have a much better chance of getting what we want and need from people around us. Not only that, we have a much better chance of understanding … and being understood.

One way of examining the language you use is by its “concrete-ness.” Another way of putting this is Generality vs Specificity.

One of these kinds of language is likely to be understood. And the other is more likely to be MIS-understood.

In other words, the more specific and concrete your words are, the more vivid and clear the understanding of your reader.

Concrete and Abstract Terms

Abstract terms refer to concepts and ideas. They have no physical referents.

Please re-read that definition. It is vague and boring — and this is by design. Even if you do find it interesting, it will be hard to pin down why. We need examples — concrete examples to make this abstract language clearer.

“Love” is an abstract term. So is “freedom.” The words “something” and “someone” are similarly abstract. Yes, we generally agree on what they all mean, but the specific meaning for individual people is difficult to pin down, because it changes over time. A teenager will not have the same definition of love as a senior citizen who has been divorced twice already.

We need abstract terms, however, because we frequently talk about these concepts and ideas. Thus we need terms to represent them.

At the same time, long chains of abstract terms can be tiring. Boring. They’re useful in introductions and paragraph topic sentences. But they’re not going to make points clear or interesting by themselves.

Abstract terms name things unavailable to the senses, while concrete terms refer to events and objects which can be sensed. Examples of concrete terms include:

Fork
Countertop
Eyebrow Ring
Superhero Mask
Cold
Running

The meanings of these words are pretty stable, as they refer to objects we can hold and events we can see. I can pick up a fork and hand it to you, but I can’t show you a Freedom. I can’t point to a small Love crawling on the wall. I can measure air by weight or volume, but I can’t collect a liter of love or a pound of moral outrage.

Nailing it Down

Take the assertion “We all want success.” You may understand, and you may even agree with me. But success means different things to different people, so you can’t be sure about my precise meaning from the abstract term. On the other hand, if I say “I want a yacht and a mansion with two staircases,” you know exactly what I mean. At that point, you know if you agree with me (or not).

Can you see how concrete terms are both clearer and more interesting than abstract ones?

As effective writers and communicators, we need to use fewer abstract terms, and more concrete ones.

Specific Terms (and General Ones)

“Abstract” and “concrete” are opposites, more or less. But there is a significant range between “general” and “specific” terms.

Take the word “vehicle.” This is a very general term. Many different possibilities are contained within. Can you form an image of “vehicle”? You might see an ocean liner or an 18-wheeler. You might see your personal car, or the bike you rode this morning.

Even if you can create a distinct image in your mind, how likely is it your reader will come up with the same one?

“Vehicle” is a concrete term, as it points to an object we can see and feel. But its meaning is difficult to pin down, because the group is so large.

We can shrink the group with a more specific word: Boat. It’s still pretty general, as it still refers to a class of objects, rather than an individual object. Still, it’s easier to picture a boat than it is to visualize a vehicle.

The next step is “rowboat.” Our picture is getting clearer now. The images we form are likely to be fairly similar, and we’re likely to have similar associations (safety, smallness, has oars, used for fishing, etc). So this more specific term communicates more clearly than the less specific terms “vehicle” or “boat.”

We can get even more specific. Your boat can be a sailboat. It can be a blue and white sailboat. It can be a blue and white sailboat named “St. Marne.” It can be a blue and white sailboat named “St. Marne” that berths four people and has a Barbie doll lashed to the prow, like the figureheads of old.

Do you see how, by the time we get to the last description, we’re talking about an individual vehicle? A single, specific boat? Note how easy it is to see THAT boat in your mind.

In Other Words

In short, when you rely on general terms, your writing will be vague, lifeless, and dull. As your words become more specific, however, your meaning becomes clearer. Your writing becomes more interesting. When your writing is interesting, it’s more likely to be read.

And isn’t that what we all want?

You might wonder if you now have to stuff your writing full of detailed descriptors. Short answer: No. You don’t need modifiers to identify individuals: Mention Eckhart Tolle or Oprah Winfrey, and everyone knows who you mean. So too with Steve’s Suburban or the scar on Harry’s forehead.

Also, not everything needs to get the individual treatment all the time. We might need to know that Fred crossed the ocean in a boat, but we don’t always have to know what that boat looked like.

It’s all a matter of discernment at this point.

To Sum Up

I invite you to think back on what you’ve just read. What do you remember about it? Odds are you’ll recall the yacht and mansion, and the sailboat named “St. Marne.” Why is that? Because their meanings are clear. They create clear images in the mind.

Human brains are like that: It’s easier for them to recall images when they are linked with a distinct sense impression. This is why it’s easier to recall how you learned to swim than it is to remember when you learned about World War One.

Through our senses, we experience the world vividly. As infants, and before we learn words, we sense soft and rough, hot and cold, loud and silent. Our earliest words also also concrete: ball, nose, cup, Mommy. And we teach using concrete terms: “Where’s baby’s hand?” “Where’s the doggy?”

So why do we turn to generalizations and abstractions while we write?

Part of this answer has to do with our desire to pass on ideas and conclusions. We want to efficiently share the knowledge we’ve gained through hard work and pain. We don’t want to see others suffering, learning the same lessons we’ve learned the hard way. So we make generalizations: Instead of detailing all the trauma we’ve endured, we tell our children “You can’t always trust everyone.”

You went through a lot of pain to learn that lesson. You endured a lot of experiences both specific and concrete, yet you pass that lesson on with a few general words. Sure, we think we’re doing it right by passing on the lesson without all the hurt we endured to learn that lesson.

But I would posit that pain is a great teacher. The hurts teach the lesson, not the general terms.

Thus, “You can’t always trust everyone” might be a great phrase to use. It may be all you want your child (or reader) to grasp. But if you want to make that lesson clear, if you want to see your reader actually learn from your words, you have to relay the concrete, specific experiences.

Aug

2020

Concrete Examples

Visionary Writing Techniques #005

by John Onorato

It’s easy to write about physical objects.

It’s not difficult to describe the weight, feel, and roughness of a brick in your hand. It’s not hard to talk about the smoothness of your cat’s fur in a way that will make your reader understand.

But here in the Visionary group, we talk about a lot of high-falutin’ concepts. Although it’s easy to make general statements about these concepts, this is the hallmark of a beginning writer.

It is more effective, and thus arguably “better,” to focus on specifics. It’s a good idea to provide concrete examples. When you do so, your writing becomes stronger.

Introduce With an Example

Read the following for an example of what I’m talking about.

“Mediterranean and Baltic are the principal avenues of the ghetto. Dogs are everywhere. A pack of seven passes me. Block after block, there are three-story brick houses. Whole segments of them are abandoned, a thousand broken windows. Some parts are intact, occupied. A mattress lies in the street, soaking in a pool of water. Wet stuffing is coming out of the mattress. A postman is having a rye and a beer in the Plantation Bar at nine-fifteen in the morning. I ask him idly if he knows where Marvin Gardens is. He does not.”
— from “The Search for Marvin Gardens,” by John McPhee

Now, without looking back at the passage, try and recall some of the images.

Do you recall the dogs? The windows? The mattress? The postman?
Why do you think you remembered those things?

You were able to recall them because they were memorable images. You can see them in your mind’s eye. Although the specifics of our internal images will differ from person to person, we’ve all seen dogs. We all know what windows look like. We each have more-or-less a common base of experience around mattresses and postmen.

The good writer knows this. The good writer draws on this. The good writer uses concrete imagery to tie the images in their head to the same images (or similar ones) in their readers’ heads.

And Now for the Opposite

What if the author above had written the passage differently? What if he had said “The ghetto is a poor neighborhood. There are lots of stray dogs, abandoned houses, broken windows, and a mattress on the sidewalk.”

Why is that passage not as effective as the first one?

It’s not as effective because it states a general fact. It then offers a few details, but no concrete specifics are mentioned. You might end up with a hazy rendition of a poor neighborhood in your mind, but it is not likely to be a clear picture.

The Lesson Here

As writers, our implicit goal is to have readers see what we see. We want them to understand what we say.

One of the better strategies to do this is to illustrate your ideas with specific examples. Concrete objects are ideal.

A concrete object is just that: Something you can drop on your foot. You can drop a brick on your foot. So too with a wet mattress or a window. You can even drop a stray dog on your foot. The postman might strenuously object, but you could still drop him on your foot. Theoretically speaking, of course.

Concrete objects convey ideas and concepts more effectively than abstractions such as poverty.

The more you write about actual things — objects you can touch — the more readers will enjoy and understand your writing.

Of course, here in the Visionary program, we talk about abstract concepts such as Love, Compassion, Integrity and Coachability. I realize it’s hard to “drop those on your foot.”

So the trick here is to use examples from your own life. Those can be just as concrete as a brick or a postman.

Tell us about that time you showed Love to the stranger. Talk about the time you chose to remain in Integrity with yourself, even though it meant pissing a friend off. Remind us about the Compassion you felt when you visited the hospital.

Or whatever it might be.

Illustrate your words with examples from your own life. That’s the trick to having your words remembered.