CHAPTER FIVE

CLICHÉS

THE SLEEPING PUPPY (A CASE STUDY)

The PBS documentary scene: A black puppy scampers across the lawn chasing a butterfly when, plop, she drops limp on her side, fast asleep. Moments later, she's up and romping. Then again, plop. “Narcolepsy,” intones the narrator, “can strike its victim at any time. She'll sleep a few minutes then get up and move on, unaware that anything happened. Scientists cite a variety of possible causes.”

The documentary fails to mention the radio playing in the background. Watch and listen closely — the puppy topples over at the lines. “You gotta take a chance / If you want a true romance.” She sleeps until the song finishes, then gets up chasing her tail until she hears “Take my hand / Let me know you understand.” Plop. I may not be The New England Journal of Medicine, but I know why the puppy is falling asleep: clichés. Cliché phrases. Cliché rhymes. Cliché images. Cliché metaphors. These viruses infect songs, television, movies, and commercials, not to mention everyday conversations. And if clichés can put puppies to sleep, think what they'll do to people who listen to your songs.

Clichés have been worn smooth by overuse. They no longer mean what they used to. Strong as a bull, eats like a horse, and their ship came in no longer evoke vivid images of bulls, horses, and ships. Overuse has made them generic. They suffer from the same malady that infects all generic language: They don't show — they can only tell. How ya doin'? What's up? How's it goin'? These phrases are interchangeable. So are break my heart, cut me deep, and hurt me bad. Your job as a writer isn't to point to a generic territory where images could be, but instead to go there, get one, and show it to your listeners. Clichés don't pump gasoline anymore.

Songs should be universal, but don't mistake universal for generic. Sense-bound is universal. When you stimulate your listeners' senses, they pick pictures from their own personal sense files. When you use generic language, they fall asleep. There's a difference between this:

and this, from William Butler Yeats:

Both express roughly the same sentiment, but the first, cliché and generic as it is, can only point to territories of meaning. Yeats takes you there.

Clichés are prefabricated. You can string them together as easily as a guitarist strings his favorite licks into a solo (two Claptons + one Hendrix + three Pages + one Stevie Ray, etc.). The problem is, it isn't his solo. Using other people's licks is an excellent way to learn, but there is a next step: finding your own way of saying it. Clichés are other people's licks. They don't come from your emotions.

Look at the sample lists of clichés below. They're all familiar — maybe uncomfortably familiar.

CLICHÉ PHRASES

Clichés come effortlessly. It's no sweat to string them together and feel like you've said something:

It does say something, just nothing startling. It doesn't yank you by the hair into her room. No humming fluorescent lights. No faded lace curtains. You get to nap securely at a distance, untouched, uninvolved. Getting to the good stuff is harder work. Though clichés are great in a first or second draft as place markers for something better, don't ever mistake them for the real thing:

CLICHÉ RHYMES

When you hear one of these, no need to lose sleep wondering what's coming next. Plop. Naptime.

Most cliché rhymes are perfect rhymes, a good reason to stretch into other rhyme types — family rhyme, additive and subtractive rhyme, and even assonance rhyme. These imperfect rhyme types are guaranteed fresh, and most listeners won't notice the difference.

CLICHÉ IMAGES

These have been aired out so much they are mere whiffs of their former selves:

The best cure for cliché images is to dive into your own sense pool and discover images that communicate your feelings. What did your lover say? Where were you? What kind of car? What was the texture of the upholstery in the backseat? You get the idea.

CLICHÉ METAPHORS

Review chapter three, “Making Metaphors.” There's no reason to keep sleepwalking in these yellow fogs.

I've listed enough clichés to keep whole herds of puppies asleep for decades. If you have a barking dog in the neighborhood, instead of yelling or telephoning your neighbor, try reading aloud from these lists in its general direction.

FRIENDLY CLICHÉS

In some cases, you can use a cliché to your advantage. Put it in a context that brings out its original meaning or makes us see it in a new way. For example, I'll be seeing you, as a cliché, is a substitute for so long or good-bye. When Sammy Fain and Irving Kahal set it up, it's brand new:

This passage implies good-bye, but only as an overtone of the primary meaning. The result is a combination: After we say good-bye, I'll see you everywhere.

David Wilcox slants it's all downhill from here to his advantage in “Top of the Roller Coaster” with this setup:

He also gets a new look at over the hill and tiptop while he's at it. Neat.

Without a terrific setup, duck whenever you see a cliché. They come easy and from all directions, so it's difficult not to be infected. Your own senses and experiences are your best protection. So is brutal and resolute rewriting. I don't mean to sound revolutionary, but you might also try a diet of good literature and poetry. You are what you eat.

Knowledge brings responsibility. Now that you know the fundamental cause of puppy narcolepsy, you have a special responsibility to keep your writing sense-bound and original. No one likes a person who puts puppies to sleep.