The habit of wasting words refuses to die. Instead of writing tightly, many still pad sentences with empty fillers. Good writing is clear, sharp, and unambiguous. Yet, as one English purist once complained, “It is amazing how little thought is given to the need for word economy.” This bad habit is everywhere—newspapers, classrooms, even academic essays. Every day we carry the burden of what experts call the three Ps: parasites, passengers, and piffle.
Critics, of course, have it easy. From the safety of their armchairs, free from deadline pressure, they comb through newspapers and broadcasts for howlers, quick to fault the reporter or anchor. But the real issue is not spotting mistakes; it is avoiding them. Can we cut the parasites? Can we shed the baggage? Can we tell our stories with fewer words, more punch, and no wasted airtime? We can. But only if we deliberately ditch the flab. Journalism runs on speed. Extra luggage slows it down. And readers, listeners, and viewers have no patience for boredom.
Language purists also make the economic case. Newsprint is expensive. Ink costs money. Airtime is limited. Why waste valuable space and resources on words that add nothing to meaning? Examples speak louder. Consider the phrase: “His head was completely decapitated.” The word “completely” is a parasite. Decapitation is already total. Stronger, shorter alternatives? “His head was battered.” Or “His head was broken.” Words must work hard, not hang like dead weight.
Or this: “The woman gave birth to a little baby boy.” Redundant twice over. Babies are little. And women don’t give birth to anything else. Better: “The woman gave birth to a boy” or “to a girl.” Each spare word cut sharpens the sentence. Redundancies hide in plain sight: “throughout the entire,” “cannot possibly be,” “assembled crowd of people,” “for a period of two weeks,” “violated a certain law,” “a clever new innovation,” “before an existing rule.” They are everywhere—parasites masquerading as meaning. The principle is simple: every word must earn its keep. Waste weakens writing. Clarity strengthens it. So here’s the challenge. Hunt the parasites. Slash the baggage. Tighten your sentences. The leaner the line, the stronger the story.
