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Might I have a word?
I hope this isn't too long.
I love to write. Can you tell? I often hear my editor sigh (usually under his breath) when he first pulls my column from the file into the allotted space and finds, once again, that it won't fit.
Sometimes, I give him my helpless look (it doesn't faze him) and explain earnestly that I have cut and cut and cut and it simply won't take another cut. At other times, I just shrug my shoulders and say, without apology, "It takes as many words as it takes to say what I have to say."
Last week, our city editor pinch-hitted for the editor and put page two together. She expressed surprise at the length, or rather the relative brevity, of last week's message. Her surprise seemed somewhat too "hearty" to my ears, and I realized that she too must be of the opinion that sometimes, well, I just have a tendency to take too long to tell a story. (I think the word you're looking for is "verbose" dear reader, not "long-winded.")
What can I say? I love words. I try to stay away from the dictionary lest I find too many new ones, and too few ways to use them. And, as I have already confessed, I read voraciously. (Neat word, huh?) Words are everywhere, just begging to be used.
I also love to tell stories. (You still haven't heard about my one night in jail, or when we lived in our car for four nights, or when... oh, never mind, you'll just have to stay tuned.) Truly, it is only my desire to avoid misunderstanding that compels me to give such ample background information in the telling.
On the subject of dictionaries, I believe that prudent use of a dictionary is a very wise thing. The other day, during our usual after-deadline banter, I referred to my young co-worker as a "young whipper-snapper." The phrase intrigued her, and she asked about its origin.
Naturally, I turned to the dictionary. There I discovered the definition: "an insignificant, impertinent person, usually young." I immediately promised never to call her a whipper-snapper again. She is at times impertinent. Who isn't at the enviable age of 21? But she is nothing close to insignificant. No one is. The word is heretofore banished from my vocabulary.
So, for the sake of clarity and to in order to avoid misspelled words, I do keep a dictionary close at hand. I just try to limit myself to the word in question, and not the 20 that precede it and the 20 that follow.
Nevertheless, for the sake of space and to save my readers a certain amount of eyestrain, I truly do try to watch my word count and to make every word count. When I tell Bruce "it takes as many words as it takes," or "I've cut and cut and cut and it won't take any more cutting," I am being sincere. Time is precious, finite on this side of eternity, and shouldn't be squandered. It is not, however, a commodity. Commodities can be bought and sold, though I have often tried to find that particular bartering table. There is no such listing on the Dow. So, whether you have time on your hands, or need a 28-hour day, you simply cannot trade time. (Yet one more reason to live in this present day, squeezing into all that is needful and sparing ourselves from the waste that is worry and anxiety.)
That being said (she writes in an attempt to wrap it up) consider the brevity found in the words of the song "The Final Word" by Michael Card.
"You and me we use so many clumsy words.
The noise of what we often say is not worth being heard.
When the Father's wisdom wanted to communicate his love, he spoke it one final perfect word.
He spoke the Incarnation and so was born the son.
His final word was Jesus, he needed no other one.
Spoke flesh and blood so he could bleed and make a way divine.
And so was born the baby who would die to make it mine."
-- "In the beginning was the Word..." John 1:1 (NIV)