A sentence I can’t help but delete time and time again.
“What truly sets him apart is his genuine dedication to every patient.”
I wrote that sentence, it is nobody’s and also everybody’s. It grabs a reader by the collar, tells her what to believe, and then tells her what to conclude. He is dedicated. Trust him. Be impressed. She is not shown anything, only instructed.
The same doctor could also have been written like this.
“26 years in. He still reviews every scan himself, the night before, at home.”
It doesn’t ask to be believed. It lets her do the maths. She now knows the doctor is someone who could delegate, and he does not. The word dedication is reached without it appearing anywhere. Because she made the conclusion herself, she believes it and she stands firm on that belief. She does not argue with her own conclusion.
A pushed narrative with over-the-top adjectives comes with a taped on salesman, and the reader reads it with one hand protecting her wallet. Facts presented plainly and left alone make her lean in to finish them, and what she finishes, she owns.
Most writing does not trust her to lean in. Adjectives are handrails. Every truly and every amazing and every genuine is a writer whispering to himself, “I wish they would get it.”
She gets it.
He reviews every scan himself.