I once read a blog post that opened with three exclamation points, deployed the word “amazeballs” without irony, and included so many emoji that my screen looked like a teenager’s phone had exploded across it.
The topic? B2B software implementation.
The writer was trying to be lively. I respect the impulse. But somewhere between “conversational” and “kindergarten,” a line got crossed, and it’s a line I see crossed almost every day.
Lively writing is wonderful. It’s what separates content worth reading from content that evaporates on contact with the eyeball. But paragraph after paragraph of glitter-filled, neon-rainbow verbal excess, without any grasp of craft, isn’t lively. It’s exhausting.
Even if you like sparkle (I do), you just need a little. Too much glitter always looks cheap.
The Most Important Thing Before We Begin
I don’t get to dictate what works for your audience. If your readers adore a tone that makes me cringe, their vote is the one that counts. I can show you common pitfalls, but I’m not the audience you’re writing for.
Keep that in mind. Now let’s talk about what I call the Glitter Threshold, the line between color that illuminates and color that overwhelms.
Warmth Is Good. Candy-Coated Mania Is Not.
Nearly any content benefits from a warm, individual voice. Even B2B. Think about your professional life: you know that it’s possible to be absolutely professional and still be warm, funny, and genuinely likeable. That’s the tone you’re after.
I imagine I’m having coffee (or wine, depending on the topic) with a smart friend, and I’m explaining the thing I’m writing about. I’ll include conversational asides as they make sense.
Then I go back and delete about half of them.
That’s not self-censorship. That’s craft.
Forced, candy-colored cheerfulness makes content look repetitive, lightweight, and grating. If you’re a member of Team Relentless Cheer:
- Stick to one exclamation point per article. Zero would also be fine.
- Conversational asides are great, but if you love them, cut at least half.
- Positivity is lovely. Reality is lovelier. Write about problems, too.
- Don’t tell me it’s “awesome” or “epic.” Show me why.
- You and I should probably both examine our relationship with emoji.
Our gentleman creators sometimes suffer from a related condition: Gary Vee Syndrome. If your content is an endless stream of ALL CAPS, exclamation points, bossy-but-earnest pronouncements, and you address your audience as “My Friends”, remember that there is one Gary Vee. And it is not you.
Web Clichés: The Empty Calories of Digital Writing
BFF, BTW, TFW, TBH, AFAIK, WTF. We’re all citizens of the web, and our tribe has a distinct language, one made up by people too lazy to spell things.
One or two make your content feel conversational. Too many and my eyelids start to flutter from the sheer effort of decoding. Web shorthand is like hot sauce: a few drops add flavor. Dousing everything in it just burns.
Richness and Color: Where the Real Voice Lives
So much content looks like it’s actively competing for a World’s Dullest Website award.
There’s no shortage of sites for raw information. We’re all seconds away from knowing the gestation period of the American Crocodile. You can’t compete with Wikipedia, and you shouldn’t try.
Compete where you win: with an original human voice. A point of view. The thing no algorithm can replicate.
Don’t just tell us what the numbers are. Tell us why they matter. Don’t just analyze, make it vivid. Use texture, storytelling, slang, analogy, metaphor, nuance, and connotation to sculpt a three-dimensional understanding.
Descriptive language creates impressions. Think about smells, tastes, colors. “Loaded” language carries firepower, calling something pallid or bleached hits differently than the generic light-colored.
But make sure your nouns and verbs are doing the heavy lifting. Don’t write The deliciously scented, intricate purple flower. Write The lilac.
Pouring verbal goop over thin writing doesn’t make it richer, it makes it indigestible. Every adjective and adverb should earn its place with a hard stare to make sure it’s pulling its weight.
The Fancy Nancy Trap
Do you always have a penchant for things, instead of just liking them? Do canapés taste better than snacks? Do you travel in a vehicle instead of a car?
Your writing voice may be suffering from Fancy Nancyism. Like glitter, a few elevated words can add sparkle. Too many and you stop looking sophisticated and start looking silly.
Keep most of your word choices in the plain, straightforward Anglo-Saxon:
- House beats residence.
- Smell beats odor. When appropriate, stink beats both.
- Eat beats partake.
The advantage of plain language: when you do choose a word that’s a bit luminous, it stands out. Rarity creates emphasis.
Vulnerability Is Good. Train Wrecks Are Not.
Perfect people are boring. And annoying. Most of us are a little fed up with the glossy, the over-curated, and the Instagram-perfect.
Talk about problems. Open up about insecurities. (If you don’t have any, maybe you should manufacture a few for the sake of your writing.) No one becomes an authority without stepping in some unpleasantness. Talk about that.
But here’s where the line gets sharp: vulnerability becomes a problem when it stops conveying that you’re someone your audience can rely on.
Are you a freelancer who goes on and on about missing deadlines? Fix the problem. Clients don’t need another flaky freelancer. Are you a therapist who lurches from one personal crisis to another? That’s work for your therapist. Your clients need to know you can handle their problems.
It’s like parenting. Good to let kids see you make mistakes. Not so good when they start feeling like they need to parent you.
Your audience isn’t your support group. You’re there to help them, not the other way around.
Find the Glitter Threshold. Stay on the right side of it. Let your voice be warm and human and alive, with enough craft to keep the sparkle from becoming the whole point.