How to Tell Truth from Bullshit

The only tangible objects I inherited from my paternal grandfather when he passed away were a set of pajamas and a rubber stamp that said, simply, "BULLSHIT."

Though he didn't specifically bequeath me this item (rather, I picked it out of a pile of things my grandmother gave us to choose from), I like to think that in looking for ways to use the stamp, I developed a nascent tendency to determine if something has the ring of truth or the dull thud of a cow pie hitting the ground.

In college, I took a course on the afterlife in literature, and our class took a field trip to a few "haunted" places in the area, a local "ghost expert" in tow. I noticed some things about the expert's "professional assessment" that indicated she was possibly not on the up-and-up.

For instance, she told us to be careful to use the electromagnetic field (EMF) detector away from any electrically-powered devices to avoid possible interference, but then held one suspiciously close to an electric alarm clock, declaring at the same time that she was definitely picking up on something.

Then, at a local inn, she surreptitiously moved a binder that was sitting on one of the beds before calling the attention of the group and proclaiming "Look at this indentation! There is probably definitely a ghost sitting right here!" I raised one eyebrow as high as it would go and it stayed that way until we got back to the classroom.

"So," asked our professor, "What did you guys think of the expert?" I raised my hand and explained what I had noticed. The professor then gave me the biggest compliment I've ever received: "Erin, you have a foolproof bullshit detector."

While this is my only formal bullshit-detecting qualification, I want to talk about some signs that are total giveaways when you're trying to evaluate the veracity of a particular source. Check it out after the jump.

Prune Your Message

I think one of the reasons I so enjoy proofreading and editing is that I find endless reserves of joy in the process of fixing things that are broken, or bringing new life to what is seemingly unusable.

This is a recurring theme for me; there is nothing I love more than leaving the thrift store or a flea market with an armful of objects that just need a little TLC to become as good as or better than new. By the same token, reordering a wandering paragraph so its message can sing gives me immeasurable satisfaction. It didn't work, and now it does. It was broken, and now it is repaired.

It's the concept of beauty in simplicity: economy of words, economy of materials. The same principles apply; instead of shopping endlessly and watching your home fill with redundant clutter, allow necessity and the desire to use what you have to inspire creative ways to solve a problem. And in writing, rather than inundating your reader with excess language or endless repetitions of the same idea, using as few words as possible with precision lets your idea rise to the top without all the baggage. This is why good editors are so important: as an objective reader, I might see a faster route to your main idea than you can.

Like removing brambles from a path, pruning unnecessary words teaches you to do more with less, but it's not always easy. Writers know, getting too attached to a word or phrase can stand between you and clarity. Instead, focus on the words as means to an end, and commit yourself to your idea rather than the way you've written it.