Why using concrete, visualisable language works

Creativity & Communication

Weak words are more abstract. They don’t conjure clear images. This makes them less compelling.

For example:

I used to work in an office with two side-by-side bins in the kitchen. One was labeled MIXED RECYCLING. It was for plastic bottles and containers, tin and aluminum cans, all sorts of paper, all sorts of glass.

The other was labeled LANDFILL. It was for everything else.

The latter doesn’t say TRASH or GARBAGE by design because, in this instance, LANDFILL generates an image. When you read it, you instantly see where the Coke can you just tossed will end up.

Bins labelled MIXED RECYCLING and LANDFILL ask for the same sorting decision. Only one label shows where the mistake goes.

“General waste” is administrative language. It describes a category created by the system. “Landfill” describes an ending: the can, cup or wrapper leaving the hand and joining a heap. The word supplies consequence at the moment of choice.

Concrete language can be equally useful without being dramatic. “Your draft will be deleted at 6pm” beats “content may become unavailable”. “A stranger with this link can read the file” beats “access is unrestricted”. The stronger version identifies an object, actor and result. Nothing needs to be “empowered”.

Vividness can also cheat. A graphic anecdote makes a rare danger feel common. One heartbreaking case can push a dull base rate out of attention. Concrete detail improves imagination; it has no built-in commitment to proportion.

So the writer’s problem is accuracy with edges. Which physical event makes the abstract term true? Who does what, to which thing, and when? If those questions produce no answer, perhaps the original claim was fog.

A discarded cup hovers over the two openings. MIXED RECYCLING requires the person to recall a classification. LANDFILL shows a destination. The hand pauses. That pause is small. So was the word.