Sound Smarter and Sexier: Using Meter in Everyday Life
Transcript
In a moment, I’m going to say two sentences. And I want you to listen to them and think about the difference between the two of them.
“Every leaf has fallen down.”
“Each leaf has fallen down.”
Good? Okay.
Now, for most people, there was no difference between the two sentences. If you want to be pedantic, you could say that “each” is for when you have two or more things, while “every” is for when you have three or more things. You wouldn’t say something like “every eye that you have is gorgeous,” for example, unless you had a thing for spiders.
And then you have another possible distinction: “each” is for referring to individual things in a group, while “every” refers to the entire group. For example, “each star is being catalogued” versus “every star is big.” But the difference is slight, and speaking as a copyeditor, I’m not gonna ask you to change one to the other if it makes sense.
And there are many more leaves on trees than two or three. So, practically, what’s the difference between “every leaf” and “each leaf”?
The answer is meter. Rhythm. The way you stress syllables and pause between each.
Now, I’m not an expert on poetry or rap or anything. I usually just write prose, which is, well, regular writing. And when I do write poetry, I usually do it in free verse, which has neither meter nor rhyme. So don’t expect a detailed analysis of Homer or Snoop Dogg or anything, at least not in this episode.
But what I do want to do is help you start to think about meter when it comes to your own speech and your own writing. Because meter isn’t just for poetry or rap; it can spice up just about anything, even everyday speech. You can get people to think you’re smarter than you actually are, and you can get people to listen to you more—which are a couple of my favorite ways to do less work and to shore up my social credibility.
So setting aside grammar and pedantry, which sentence sounds better to you?
“Every leaf has fallen down.”
“Each leaf has fallen down.”
To me, the first one, with “every leaf,” is the better one. You can hear that I’m emphasizing the first and the third syllables: “Every LEAF.” DUH, duh-DUH. “Every LEAF.” It flows pretty nicely, I think.
But in the second sentence, with “each leaf,” I have to pause slightly to say everything: “EACH LEAF.” DUH, DUH. “EACH LEAF.” That’s because I’m emphasizing both syllables, and my mouth just can’t say that as quickly as going stressed then unstressed. “EACH LEAF.” “Every LEAF.”
The unstressed syllable bridges the two stressed ones. “Every LEAF.” “Every” is two syllables and “each” is just one, but “every” just feels more effortless to say in this context. And because of that, it feels more effortless to listen to.
You might be familiar with something called “iambic pentameter.” It’s what Shakespeare uses to write many of his plays: duh-DUH, duh-DUH, duh-DUH, duh-DUH. You don’t need to go full iambic pentameter whenever you come into the office every day—“good morrow, good sir, does coffee bide betwixt our stocks?—but it is good to sprinkle it in from time to time.
“Every leaf has fallen down.”
“Each leaf has fallen down.”
Now, I’m not saying that you should never say “each leaf.” Saying “every leaf” is a bit like gliding on a frozen lake. Saying “each leaf” is a bit like gliding on a frozen lake and then getting your foot stuck in a hole that’s opened up. If you want your reader to get their foot stuck, to dwell on the first part of the sentence rather than somersaulting through it—maybe you’re writing a story about the postapocalypse and you want to focus on the world’s decay—then sure, break meter. But in most cases, you want your reader to feel nice about what they’re reading—so in most cases, try going for the gliding-on-a-frozen-lake option.
Okay, you might be thinking, But this is speech, not writing or reading. If I’m not signed up for Toastmasters, then why should I care? And that’s true: meter inherently has to do with speech. But reading and writing are merely extensions of speech, not the other way around.
Now, I’m not an anthropologist or a historian, but according to research, humans invented spoken language fifty thousand years ago at the latest—some suggest that we started talking as early as two million years ago. But the earliest examples of writing that we have date from as recently as five thousand years ago—which was thousands of years after we largely abandoned our hunter-gatherer lifestyle and started doing agriculture, growing crops.
In other words, speaking is hardwired into our DNA. Writing is not. It’s a technology that we invented, like fire, not a skill that we’re born with. It’s why babies can start to string together coherent words just two years after they come out of the womb—without any sort of formal education—while you, much older than two years, need a copyeditor.
So when someone’s reading your work, they’ll always be thinking about how it would sound if they’re reading it out loud—even if they’re not actually reading it out loud. So make sure that your words sound just as great and as effortless spoken—if not better.
My name is Yiu-On, and thank you for listening. Consider subscribing to my blog for more like this.