The Dreaded Cliché

Useless words, tired and worn out, contributing little to the richness of the writing–that’s what clichés are all about. So why do we have them? I suppose there was a time when clichés were fresh and new and, sparingly used, they added a certain zip to the sauce of writing, but most of these prefabricated phrases are now considered redundant, overused, or, worse yet, misused.

When I first began writing seriously, my early efforts were sprinkled with many clichés.

My critiquers waggled their fingers at me. “No,no, no! You can’t do that! Clichés must not be used in good writing.”

“But why not? We talk that way,” I protested.

“That’s true,” they said, “and that’s almost the only time it’s okay to use a cliché–in dialogue.”

It took me a while to see what they were talking about and in time I, too, developed a horror of those overused and abused, pointlessly distracting and detracting phrases.

Just for fun, I thought I would write a short and silly story, using as many clichés as I could manage to squeeze in. I’ve marked them in red and green to make it easier for you to pick them out. If you’re brave enough to read to the end, I doubt you will ever want to use a cliché in your writing again.

Here we go:

The Doomed Woodcutter 

Like a bolt out of the blue, George appeared on the horizon and walked down the road. The man with a heart as big as all outdoors came down the road to take care of business as a matter of course.

As a matter of fact, he had crossed the field to the house as the crow flies. He’d hoped the homeowners would come out to see him, but as a last resort he knocked on the door. He wanted to be paid for his firewood today, but receiving no answer he beat a hasty retreat.

He’d been busy as a bee from dawn to dusk, cutting firewood. The stack had grown by leaps and bounds. Conspicuous by his absence, the son was of no help to him.

He had hoped his son would show up but he was doomed to disappointment. Not having been paid, he headed into town instead to get a loan from the powers that be in the corridors of power. Gaining access was easier said than done, since he was wearing his work clothes.

He had worked his fingers to the bone and was dog-tired. He had grown up gentle as a lamb and good as gold, but if and when it would all pay off and the chickens came home to roost, in a manner of speaking he knew that his wife still would not appreciate it. Any news of a promotion or pay raise would go in one ear and out the other.

In the long run, his wife got tired of him and one day when it was pouring buckets, she said, “We have to talk turkey.” It goes without saying that the moment of truth had come and she gave him the boot and tossed him out on his ear with all his belongings, lock, stock, and barrel.

Somewhere down the road, off the beaten track, he found a new, younger woman who, needless to say, was smart as a whip. Since it was love at first sight, he decided that he would strike while the iron was hot and ask her to tie the knot. It stands to reason, that because she came from the wrong side of the tracks, when all was said and done, in no way, shape, or form would she turn him down.

On the day of the wedding, who should arrive but the useless son, one and the same, last but not least. It was already raining cats and dogs, but a rude awakening reared its ugly head when slowly but surely, the son, strong as an ox, stood up in the congregation and told his father, “It goes without saying that you can’t marry her. She’s got a bun in the oven and it’s mine.”

The wedding plans were nipped in the bud, and in time, George gave up his job to look after his pride and joy, Georgina, the grandchild with many and diverse ways to wrap everyone around her little finger. She was sharp as a tack and cool as a cucumber, always getting her own way. She was the spit and image of her mother and used to calling the shots. She was on the right track and that was par for the course.

*****

I once heard someone ask a mother how her daughter was doing in the new school, since they had only recently moved to town and it was the middle of the school year.

She said, “Oh, thanks for asking. She’s liking it well enough, but she’s finding it hard to make friends because all the girls in her class have already formed their clichés and it’s hard to break into their groups once they’re formed.”

She meant “cliques,” of course. So you see, even the word cliché itself can be misused. STEER clear of clichés as much as possible.

*****

To find out more about Anneli Purchase, follow these links:

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4 thoughts on “The Dreaded Cliché

  1. I was taught (100 years ago) that “cliche” comes from the French for blocks of metal type that the typesetter kept on hand that were all preset phrases that never changed and were in common use. He could simply drop one in when called for. That was in the days of the linotype machine with its smell of hot metal. Anyway, I find it hard to think in cliches–even when I need one. That is when I have a character who would naturally come up with one. I used to have a dictionary of cliches, which was fun to read, the way whole pages of the Oxford English Dictionary are fun to read straight through. Cliches are useful in that they are accurate and they are universally understood. Your little story could be a teaching tool–amusing, too.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you for that insight about the history of cliches. I concede that sometimes a cliche is exactly what we need to say what we mean, but as my silly story points out, one can get carried away. It’s a good thing we can still use cliches in dialogue because people do talk with cliches all the time, but to read a book that has them in the narrative part would be a horror!
      Thanks for visiting my blog and for commenting. I love to hear what people think.

      Like

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