Why Writers Should Avoid Using Clichés (Even Though It’s Easier Said Than Done)

 

The thing about clichés is that they’ve already done all the heavy lifting. They come pre-packaged with a bow, like a grocery store cake. You know it’ll taste like sugar, but you’ll forget it the second you swallow. That’s the problem. Clichés don’t stick. They don’t bruise, sting, or leave a mark. They slide right off the brain like a fried egg on a Teflon pan.

Writers, especially new ones, love to hide behind clichés the way nervous speakers hide behind a podium. They’re little parachutes for when your imagination decides to take a coffee break. And yes, we’ve all done it. We’ve all leaned on them because they feel safe, familiar, universal.

But safe doesn’t make anyone keep turning pages. Familiar doesn’t make a line hum inside someone’s chest three days later. A cliché is like reheating leftovers in the microwave: sustenance, sure, but no one’s licking the plate.

The real juice of writing comes from making the reader see it differently. Not just cold, but cold in the way your knuckles ache before the snow comes. Not just tired, but tired like your bones are begging for a bed that doesn’t exist. These are the details that snag people. That tattoo themselves in memory.

Clichés are basically the graveyard of originality. If you’re dragging one into your work, ask yourself: What am I actually trying to say? Then dig deeper. Scratch until you bleed a little. You’ll find something truer, sharper, more unsettling. That’s the stuff readers are starving for.

Because if writing is about connection, clichés are the static on the line. Clear them out, and your voice finally comes through.

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Up Next → 10 Clichés That Need to Die Already

Think you don’t rely on clichés? Let’s see if your favorites make the hit list.

 

Clichés: Cheap Tricks and How to Kill Them

Part 1: Why Writers Should Avoid Using Clichés (Even Though It’s Easier Said Than Done)

Blurb: The thing about clichés is they don’t leave bruises. They’re safe, polite, disposable … and that’s why they’re poison for writers. In this first post, I pull the plug on why clichés are lazy shortcuts that sand down your voice until it’s as smooth and forgettable as elevator music.

Read Part 1 →

 

Part 2: 10 Clichés That Need to Die Already

Blurb: Let’s get specific. In round two, I drag the worst offenders into the spotlight: from “at the end of the day” to “it is what it is.” Spoiler: they don’t survive the encounter.

Read Part 2 →

 

Part 3: Clichés—Sometimes the Joke’s on Them

Blurb: Plot twist: sometimes clichés work. Not often. Not without restraint. But when you twist them for humor, when you use them to make a character sound human, or when you let one land with a wink, they can actually earn their keep. This finale is about knowing when to break my own rules.

Read Part 3 →

 

Why I Never Niched Down

 

Every other day on LinkedIn, someone’s shouting about how you have to niche down if you want to succeed as a copywriter. Pick a lane, they say. Specialize, they say. Be the "go-to" in SaaS for dentists who run on solar power, they say.

And every time I hear it, I can’t help but think: Nah.

Niche down? It doesn't align with my curious nature. And curiosity is one of my strengths. Niche down? Never have. Never will.

And I’ve done OK.

As a copywriter: I don’t need to spend a decade buried in the widget-making industry to write killer copy about widgets. I need to ask the right questions. I need to listen. I need to pay attention to what the audience cares about, what the brand promises, and how the product solves a problem.

I get up to speed fast. Research like a detective with a deadline. Sniff out the story.

And then I write words that make people lean in, click, sign up, buy.

And that’s true whether the client sells software, sandwiches, or shirts.

In fact, too much industry knowledge can be a curse. Because when you’ve marinated in the same industry stew for years, you start dragging around a suitcase full of preconceived notions, biases, and "best practices." You stop asking questions. You stop being curious. You stop seeing things fresh.

And fresh is where the magic happens.

Of course (before someone in pharma or finance comes for me) some industries have rules, regs, and legal landmines that can’t be ignored. You need to know 'em. But that’s different from being so entrenched in an industry that you can’t see it from the outside anymore.

Great copy isn’t about parroting industry jargon. It’s about connecting with humans. It’s about clarity. It’s about relevance. And none of that requires me to live and die in a single niche.

So no, I never niched down. And I never felt the need.

Because I’m not here to be the copywriter who knows everything about one tiny sliver of the world.
I’m here to be the copywriter who knows how to get people to pay attention.

And that skill?

That travels.

Moji

 

When Moji realized I was out of the bananas I’d been feeding her she gave me what could best be described as a gentle hug with her trunk.

I rubbed her rough cheek and her huge forehead and looked into her heavily lashed eye. I could see a deep intelligence there as we started to walk together toward the open field.

I felt comfortable and safe even though the 60-year-old rescue from a Myanmar logging operation (with the scars to prove it) outweighed me by 8,000 pounds.

As we walked, she turned away from me and, as nonchalantly as I might pick a bacon-wrapped chestnut hors d'oeuvres from a buffet table, she uprooted a small tree with her trunk and stripped the leaves from it with her mouth.

Was it a casual snack or a reminder to me that humans had mistreated her in the past and that she could as easily toss me into the underbrush as I could discard an unwanted Teddy bear?

She was in a sanctuary now. And nobody was going to hurt her ever again. But scars run deep.

Not just for elephants.