THE FINE ART OF TERSENESS

Saying a lot with a few words is one of my favorite things to do. If you've been wandering around this site, though, you can probably tell that I am not often very good at it. I have my moments, I suppose, but all in all I am not nearly as terse as I would like to be.

There is something about an economy-of-words that I find very attractive. There is such a neatness in it, yet, at the same time, an effectiveness that makes such an ability truly desirable. Whatever else you say about it, you must admit that a person who has mastered the art of word brevity is rarely (if ever) a bore.

One of my all-time favorite stories about being terse is a little anecdote I once read about Calvin Coolidge, supposedly the most terse individual to ever occupy the White House. It seems that a reporter once approached him, at some sort of gathering, and said, "Mr. President, I have a bet with one of my colleagues that I can get you to say more than two words tonight." To which, Mr. Coolidge replied, "You lose."

I never fail to spark a laugh from anyone I share this with. And the laughter is quite often accompanied by a comment like, "That is awesome," which leads me to believe that I am not the only one who admires this kind of power, the power to say a lot with but a few words.

Power. That's the ticket (as they say). We all want it, whether we want to admit it or not, and there is an unmistakable aspect of power associated with the ability to be terse.

In fact, it is hard to avoid speaking in terms of power and strength whenever we begin to describe what precisely it means to be terse. We find ourselves saying things like, "a handful of words that pack a big punch," or, "saying a lot with a little."

As you can see, I have not exactly been very terse myself in my treatment of same. I suppose you could call this an essay on how not to be terse.