See how that first definition is easier to read? It feels more consistent with everything you’ve read here so far. Doesn’t mean the second definition is wrong — it's just… different.

Heck, maybe you even read it with a British accent. Non-native English speakers often overlook the subtle connotations between synonyms. “Said” vs. “Claimed” vs. “Uttered.” All these words have similar meanings but different connotations that you pick up over time.

When someone “claims” something, it can subtly imply they’re lying or wrong — but the dictionary won’t tell you that.

“She said we’d be paid” vs. “She claimed we’d be paid.” These subtle differences can make huge differences in voice.

Vocabulary also includes the readability of your writing. Are you using longer, more advanced words, or simple phrases? Big vs. gargantuan? Use vs. utilize? Thingy vs. cutting-edge revolutionary digital solution?

While some articles recommend you should write around a grade seven reading level (meaning a 12-year-old could read it), others say you should aim below grade three (meaning an 8-year-old could read it).

As for what’s REALLY ideal? It depends on your market. If you’re targeting customers for a one-off purchase like a supplement or an ebook, then maybe grade seven or below will be most effective.

If you’re writing a quick check-in to a client, you might write more basic. But if you strive for a long-term relationship with a more advanced consumer, you might want to write more robustly.

For example, if most of your audience are established business owners and you want intelligent customers, simple writing might be a turnoff for them. It may appear too basic. But if your writing is more comprehensive and complex, it might show you’re the perfect fit.

And remember, turning off the wrong audience can absolutely be a good thing.

The same goes for jargon. Most writing advice is to avoid industry insider language, but to the right people, it acts as a credibility identifier.

For instance, in the cheese world, a true cheesemonger would never describe a cheese as “sharp.” They’d say “acidic” or “lactic” or “aged.” If you use the more common term of “sharp” when marketing to a true cheese head, you’ll immediately mark yourself as an outsider and lose trust.

This doesn’t mean you should write complex sentences just for the heck of it. Even with an intelligent market, simple is almost always better. You’re not “dumbing it down” — you’re making it more readable. You’re letting the message have more power than the words. You’re not making readers burn calories to decipher your message... and you’re being respectful of their time.

Tone in writing is just like tone in speaking — but it can be trickier to convey. Jokes are especially tough and humor can be lost entirely. We’ve all had those moments where a sarcastic text message gets lost in translation and misinterpreted by the receiver. It can lead to some awkward conversations.

It’s also easy to let our own emotions accidentally affect tone — like when we reply to a boss or a client who’s irritating us. While our words may be professional, our tone can often cause problems. “Per my last email...”

Notice how each of these following phrases make you feel...

BOSS: Will you be attending today’s meeting?

YOU: Yes!
Yes...
Yes.
Yeah
Yes?
Yes
yes
Affirmative
Yup!
Yuppers.
👍

Notice any vibes coming from the punctuation, casing, or formality? That’s tone.

It’s difficult to recognize tone in our own work because we’re reading the text in our head with our own inflections. We hear it as we want it to sound. But the reader doesn’t always hear it the same way. That’s why it always helps to have others review your work (even emails when they’re important ones) to make sure there isn’t an underlying tone you may be missing.

Love ‘em or hate ‘em, emojis can be a huge help here. But we’ve all seen people who rely on them as a crutch. The real mastery comes from being able to convey tone without them. (Pro-gamer move.)

Want to see this in action? Grab a friend and play Name That Tune. Tap (don’t hum!) the beat to “Happy Birthday” on a table and ask them to guess the song. You’ll be dumbstruck that they can’t get it because, while you hear the changes in pitch in your head, they only hear a monotone beat. If by some chance they do guess correctly, it’s because they recognize the cadence.

(Rudy from sales just put his hand on your knee.)

You jolt.

Cadence is created with a combination of sentence length and word choice. Some writers (like me) have a staccato-type cadence. They write short sentences. Choppy. Lots of periods. Few commas. Fast pace. Lots of jabs.

Others have a more flowing, musical, and rhythmic cadence with longer sentences that go on and on and on and often connect multiple ideas that convey continuous streams of thought as if they’re lost in the idea and you’re on the journey with them, speeding up and slowing down, clinging to every word, searching for meaning, preparing for the end and bracing yourself until finally both you and the writer, commingled in the prose, fancifully reach the conclusion together.

Shorter cadences can convey urgency. Show frustration. Sporadic thinking. Sometimes aggressiveness. While longer cadences usually give a more peaceful, relaxed, and serene feeling. (Though not always.)

Shorter cadences can convey urgency, frustration, sporadic thinking, or sometimes aggressiveness, while longer cadences usually give a more peaceful, relaxed, and serene feeling (though not always.)

Read those two paragraphs again. Did you feel the difference? Intentional shifts in cadence can create drama in a piece to highlight important moments.

For example:

Today I was walking along the sunlit streets of Manhattan, enjoying the majestic shadows created by the towering structures overhead, when suddenly a clumsy man with unwieldy elbows passing by collided with my arm causing my coffee to tumble.

Not cool, man. Not cool. At all.

However, I brushed off the moment and continued my stroll, determined to have a pleasant morning.

This example is a noticeable and intentional shift in cadence that illustrates the interruption in the author’s morning. The long, flowy opening sentence is interrupted by three short, choppy sentences. And then, they quickly shift back to the original cadence. It paints the image of someone strolling along — then stopping abruptly — then continuing again.

Cadence in writing is easy to overlook but it’s massively powerful. For the record, the average sentence length in English is between 15-20 words, with most copywriters hovering toward the lower end.

Shorter sentences may be easier to read, but they become monotonous if the rhythm never changes. The most interesting writers vary up the cadence to keep readers engaged. It’s like the 3:05 mark of Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody when it turns from a ballad to an opera, then jumps again with the guitar riff at 4:09 to arena rock.

Cadence is the difference between Derek & The Dominos classic rock version of Layla vs. Eric Clapton’s unplugged session that lulls you to sleep.

Same words. Same notes. Different cadence.