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(by Jeffrey Cranor)

I’ve been thinking a lot about the linguistic term “thought-terminating cliché” lately. I learned this phrase from Amanda Montell’s book Cultish: The Language of Fanaticism. Montell didn’t invent the phrase (Robert Jay Lifton did, in 1961), but she talks about it as it relates to the way cults or cult-like groups (e.g. multi-level marketing schemes) use language to keep followers from deepening any questions they have about what the cult is actually all about.

An example of a thought-terminating cliché is “Boys will be boys,” a refrain often heard after stories of men behaving violently. It’s a variation on “It is what it is,” or even “It could be worse.” Another pretty gnarly one is “Here we go again,” which is a more personal attack on someone that doesn’t specifically address a grievance or disagreement. It tonally mocks the previous speaker, suggesting that they’re “back on their bullshit.” As if they’ve repeated an idea so many times that it has lost all intrinsic value.

Thought-terminating clichés are everywhere, and you can’t really stop them all, but I’m finding it more important to try my best to curb my use of them. Partly this is because I don’t want to make others feel small or unheard if I mindlessly repeat some old phrase that doesn’t allow conversation to smoothly continue. But mainly I’m thinking about the way I use thought-terminating clichés on myself.

I had a tough day earlier this week. My feelings of sadness and anxiety were pretty overwhelming. Joseph and I had a zoom meeting that afternoon, and I told him I was feeling low. He said, “I’m sorry to hear that. Do you want to talk about it?” and I said, “You know, it is what it is.”

And then I caught myself. It’s true that sadness and anxiety are sadness and anxiety. It is what it is. Not false, but also completely thought-terminating. It doesn’t easily allow my friend to ask any follow-ups, and more significantly it doesn’t allow me to express those feelings in words. They just are what they are. What else is there to say?

I backtracked and said, actually, I do want to talk about it. And it was great. I mean it was terrible because I had to be vulnerable, but in the end it was great, because I didn’t terminate thought (and expression) with a cliché.

And let me take this idea one step further. In writing, we’re taught to avoid cliché, and that’s good advice. But it’s almost impossible not to fall back on common phrases that don’t seem like clichés. (“It’s almost impossible.” Is that true? Did I use the most descriptive words there? Would “It’s easy to fall back” or “It’s understandable that we often fall back” or simply “It’s difficult” be more articulate of our idea.) And I’m trying to be more conscious of these little terms and phrases that either exaggerate or broadly metaphorize what I’m actually trying to say.

It's not just about being more prosaic or writing bigger words or elongating sentences. It’s about clarity. Is a character so emotional that they’re “losing their mind” or “can’t think straight”? Or are they feeling upset because their partner lied to them, and they cannot focus on the big presentation at their job tomorrow morning?

An exercise I’ve been doing, and you can, too (whether you’re a writer or not), is to listen carefully to yourself in conversations for a few days. Think specifically thought terminating clichés, and make mental note of the times you say something that doesn’t allow for someone to ask more questions or deliver more comments. Listen for the breaks in conversational flow and remember the phrases used.

One important part of this exercise is NOT to judge yourself for this. We all do it. Don’t be embarrassed, and don’t rush to “fix” anything. Just make a note of the phrase(s) you often use and think about how you use them. You can them make a choice (just like you can when you write fiction) about whether or not you want to work to change that part of your speech. Sometimes a thought-terminating cliché is helpful for when you don’t want to pursue a topic any further, but sometimes finding more specific language can open you up to opening up.

Comments

Vivika Kerridge

'But what can you do?' is my go to. Your writing is beautiful as ever. I'm sorry to read your pain, but it's an honour you've shared your sadness and anxiety with us so honestly. Discovering Night Vale caught me at a low, low point and helped lift me through my darkest times. I'm grateful I've found this weird, wonderful collection of beings. I'm thankful you have friends you can be vulnerable with and who raise you up. I'm hopeful we can all find the same.

Gracie Bou

Definitely going to look at this. I’ve found changing the way I speak to myself to be life altering. And this is an aspect of language I’ve never considered