Ask any professional journalist or memoirist for their "holy trinity" of craft guides, and William Zinsser’s On Writing Well book is almost always at the top of the heap. It’s been around since 1976. That’s a long time for a book about "clutter" to remain relevant in an age of TikTok captions and AI-generated noise. Honestly, it’s a bit of a miracle. Zinsser wasn't just some stuffy academic; he was a writer for the New York Herald Tribune and a teacher at Yale who believed that writing wasn’t a gift from the gods. To him, it was a craft. Like carpentry. Or plumbing.
You don't just sit down and wait for a muse to whisper in your ear. You sweat. You cut. You delete.
I’ve read it four times. Every time I go back, I realize I’m still using too many adjectives. Zinsser hated adjectives. Well, he didn't hate them, but he thought they were usually just lazy crutches for weak verbs. If you say someone "ran quickly," you’re being redundant. Just say they "sprinted." This isn't just a guide for people who want to write the next Great American Novel; it's a manual for anyone who has to send an email, write a business report, or explain a complex scientific concept without putting the reader into a coma.
Why the On Writing Well book keeps surviving every digital trend
We live in a world of "content." Zinsser would have likely loathed that word. Content implies filler. It implies volume over value. The core philosophy of his book is simple: Clutter is the disease of American writing. We use big words to sound smart. We use "at this point in time" when we could just say "now." We use "assistance" instead of "help."
Basically, we are afraid of being simple.
The On Writing Well book argues that the secret to good writing is stripping every sentence down to its cleanest components. Every word that serves no function, every long word that could be a short word, every adverb that carries the same meaning that's already in the verb—these are the enemies. When you clear that away, the reader can finally see what you’re trying to say. It sounds easy. It’s actually the hardest thing in the world to do.
Think about the last corporate memo you read. It was probably full of "synergy" and "leveraging stakeholders." Zinsser’s ghost is likely screaming somewhere. He believed that the human element is what makes writing work. Even if you're writing about the most boring technical subject—say, the inner workings of a diesel engine—you have to write as a person. You have to find the humanity in the machine.
The four pillars of the Zinsser method
Zinsser breaks his philosophy down into a few main themes: Clarity, Simplicity, Brevity, and Humanity. He doesn't just tell you to be clear; he shows you how. He famously used a "brackets" method when editing his students' work. He would put brackets around every word or phrase that didn't do any work. Usually, that was about half the page.
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Clarity is the foundation. If the reader is lost for even a second, they’re gone. They aren't coming back. You’ve lost them to a notification or a stray thought about what’s for dinner.
Simplicity is the tool. You don't need a thesaurus to be a writer. You need a clear head.
Brevity is the result. Most first drafts are twice as long as they need to be. Cutting is where the actual writing happens.
Humanity is the soul. Writing is an act of ego, in a way. You are asking someone to spend time inside your head. If you aren't being yourself, why should they stay?
Dealing with the "Science and Tech" problem
A lot of people think the On Writing Well book is only for "creative" writers. That’s a total misconception. Some of the best chapters in the book are specifically about technical writing. Zinsser argues that to write about science or technology, you just have to explain one thing at a time. It’s like a ladder. You can't reach the fourth rung until you’ve stood on the first, second, and third.
He uses real examples of scientists who wrote beautifully because they weren't trying to sound like "Scientists." They were just trying to explain what they saw. This is a huge lesson for anyone working in STEM today. If you can't explain your research to a ten-year-old, you probably don't understand it as well as you think you do.
The struggle with the "I" word
For decades, students were taught never to use the word "I." It was seen as unprofessional or subjective. Zinsser completely dismantles this. He believes that the "I" is what gives writing its authority. When you say "I saw this" or "I think that," you are taking responsibility for your words. You are becoming a reliable narrator.
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Of course, this doesn't mean you should be narcissistic. The "I" is a lens, not the subject. It’s about perspective. It’s about letting the reader know that there is a real human being on the other side of the screen. In an era where we are drowning in anonymous, bland, corporate-speak and AI-generated text, this human touch is more valuable than ever.
Writing as a process of constant re-evaluation
One of the most comforting (and terrifying) things Zinsser points out is that writing is hard for everyone. Even for him. Especially for him. He talks about the "daily grind" of sitting at the typewriter—yes, he was a typewriter guy—and struggling to get the lead right.
The lead is the most important part of any piece. It’s the hook. If you don't grab them in the first two sentences, you’re dead in the water. But he also warns against "over-hooking." Don't promise something you can't deliver. Don't be "clickbaity." Be honest.
He also spends a lot of time on the "Ending." Most writers don't know when to stop. They keep talking long after they’ve made their point. Zinsser’s advice? When you’ve said what you need to say, just stop. You don't need a summary. You don't need to repeat yourself. Just get out.
The trap of "Journalese"
Zinsser had a specific distaste for what he called "Journalese." This is that weird, compressed language that newspapers use. Words like "blaze" instead of "fire" or "famed" instead of "famous." It’s a sort of fake urgency. We see it everywhere now in digital headlines. It’s exhausting.
Instead, he pushes for "plain English." It’s the language of the King James Bible or Abraham Lincoln’s speeches. It’s timeless because it doesn't rely on slang or trendy buzzwords that will be forgotten in six months.
Putting Zinsser into practice today
If you want to actually use the lessons from the On Writing Well book, you have to be willing to be ruthless with yourself. It’s not about being a "natural." It’s about being a better editor.
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- Read your work out loud. Seriously. If you run out of breath in the middle of a sentence, the sentence is too long. If you stumble over a word, it’s the wrong word. Your ears are much better editors than your eyes.
- Look for the "is/are" traps. Passive voice is a momentum killer. Instead of saying "The meeting was held by the manager," say "The manager held the meeting." It’s shorter. It’s punchier. It has more energy.
- Kill the "little qualifiers." Words like "very," "little," "rather," "quite," and "somewhat." These are just fluff. They weaken your statements. Instead of saying "He was very tall," just say "He was a giant" or "He stood six-foot-seven."
- Focus on the verbs. Verbs are the engine of the sentence. If you use strong verbs, you don't need many adjectives or adverbs.
What most people get wrong about Zinsser
The biggest misconception is that Zinsser wants everyone to write in a boring, minimalist style. That’s not it at all. He wants you to have a style, but he wants that style to be yours, not a costume you put on. He actually encourages flair and wit—as long as they are built on a foundation of solid, clear prose.
He also emphasizes that you shouldn't write for an "audience." That sounds counterintuitive. But his point is that if you try to please everyone, you’ll end up pleasing no one. Write for yourself. If you find something interesting or funny, chances are someone else will too. If you’re bored writing it, I can guarantee the reader will be bored reading it.
The Actionable Path Forward
Reading the On Writing Well book is a start, but writing is a muscle. You have to train it. If you’re serious about improving, start by taking a piece of your own writing—maybe a blog post or a long email—and try to cut it by 20%. Don't lose the meaning; just lose the fat.
Look for those "clutter" phrases. "In order to" can just be "to." "Due to the fact that" can just be "because." It feels small, but when you do this across a whole document, the effect is massive. The writing starts to breathe.
Next, pay attention to your "leads." The first sentence should compel the reader to read the second sentence. The second sentence should compel them to read the third. That’s the only job of the opening. Don't try to explain everything at once. Just pull them in.
Finally, embrace the rewrite. Zinsser famously said, "Rewriting is the essence of writing." Professional writers don't just "get it right" the first time. They fail, then they fix it. If your first draft is a mess, congratulations. You’re a writer. Now, go back and make it look like it was easy.
Next Steps for Your Writing:
- Identify your "crutch words"—those three or four words you use way too often (like "actually" or "basically").
- Go through your last three sent emails and delete every "very" and "really."
- Buy a physical copy of Zinsser’s book. It’s one of the few craft books that deserves a permanent spot on a desk rather than a digital shelf.
- Start a "Clutter Journal" where you note down the worst examples of corporate-speak or "journalese" you see in the wild. Once you start seeing the clutter in other people's work, you'll stop tolerating it in your own.