Total Linguistic Failure (TLF)

Sometimes it’s tough to reconcile writing with my day job. I’m a patent translator by trade, specializing in optics and nuclear engineering, and finding the right words is my bread and butter.

The one thing you should know about patents is that they are entirely devoid of style. In fact, I regularly come across, and produce, terms like “control-rod guide tube actuating mechanism arm” and “loop-knittedly” (I kid you not). As with anything, you get used to it, though. In fact, it makes work easier, not having to strain to think of the most aesthetically pleasing phrase.

Back at home, I flick the switch and allow the creative juices to flow once more. Except, now and again, the switch jams, and stringing sentences together becomes a task seemingly beyond my capabilities. Suddenly, incoherent thoughts fumble for a concrete term in the mush of vocabulary, groping for something, anything, I can use to convey my idea. Instead of describing suspense in terms of how my MC experiences it, I resort to stylistically challenged sentences like “she was scared out of her mind”. The patent-way of writing, where direct and simple statements are the ideal.

Those moments are what I call total linguistic failure (TLF). This “fire bad, flower pretty” way of writing destroys all confidence concerning any talent I may possess. Don’t get me wrong. Pulitzer-worthy I’m not by any stretch. But neither am I a complete hack (I hope).

A couple of months ago a weird thing happened. A friend confided in me that she, too, experienced bouts of TLF. I was intrigued. Could this be an affliction that affected more people than I’d thought? Entirely unrelated to my job? If so, what was the government doing about it?

I did some research, called a few more friends, checked out some blogs. The results shocked me. Credible evidence suggested this was indeed a common disorder; as many as seven in ten writers suffer from it at one point or another. And apparently there are no help lines, no charities set up to assist the victims. Would I have to give up writing altogether?

No, I’d come too far to simply coil up and submit.

I’m now seeing a team of psychiatrists once or twice a week. Their names are Ben & Jerry’s, and they taste creamy and sweet, and they are a lot nuttier than I am. Still, their influence on my life has been immeasurable.

Now, each time TLF returns, I clench my fist, set my jaw and work my way through the rough spells. It’s the equivalent to flipping the bird at TLF. Light always follows darkness, and soon enough I’m back on form. My new coping mechanism has done wonders for my word count. What’s more, all lingering signs of TLF can be removed at the editing stage.

So, if you, too, are familiar with TLF, you no longer have to suffer in silence. If caught early, I believe it is entirely treatable. Feel free to share any tips for dealing with this problem in the comments section.