When I was writing a book on the inner workings of the George H.W. Bush White House (“White House Daze,” The Free Press, 1994), the late Erwin Glikes, who ran The Free Press (then part of MacMillan) decided to edit my manuscript himself. I was thrilled, as Glikes had a reputation for being a superb editor – one of the best in the nonfiction publishing world.
After I had submitted my first draft, Glikes flew from New York City and spent a Saturday at my Alexandria, Virginia, home. We gathered around my dining room table and went over the manuscript in considerable detail. At one point, Glikes offered advice that I remember whenever I write and, upon occasion, when I open my mouth: “Charlie, don’t be afraid to kill all of your ‘little darlings.’”
I swallowed hard, thought about this comment, and promptly realized its wisdom. Those of us who are writers, speakers, communicators, parents, and partners occasionally come up with precious observations that we are convinced just have to become public. The self-promoting clever phrase. The perfect – and subtle – put down that fulfills a sense of justified revenge. The one-liner at the expense of some obvious, bloviating fool we’ve had to endure once too often. Out comes the Little Darling, and we suddenly feel better.
But Glikes was correct: 95 percent of the time, these Little Darlings are unnecessary overkill, too clever by half, distracting, demeaning, and (on occasion) self-defeating. As we write or utter them, we experience a short-term cathartic glee that persuades us of our own wisdom, insight, and brilliance. Absent those Little Darlings, that Pulitzer Prize will slip from our grasp. We insist that they remain in the text, and any editor who suggests otherwise just doesn’t appreciate true genius.
The 45th president of the United States has demonstrated a propensity for Little Darlings and, regrettably, has yet to appreciate the importance of careful editing. Take his tendency to turn every slight and grievance into a Twitter feed. As a communications device, Twitter has enormous value, but it can also serve as a “Little Darling Express.”
The Twitter challenge is a bit like Haiku minus the mystery: to compose a message or thought in 140 keystrokes and to do so quickly, concisely, and cleverly. A well-crafted Haiku, however, usually flows from careful consideration of form and content. Restrictive writing formats – like Haiku or the sonnet – impose a structure that slows composition and forces more careful craftsmanship. Little Darlings cannot thrive in this atmosphere of enforced, structured reflection.
Throughout his presidential campaign, Donald Trump benefitted politically from a huge Twitter following, reportedly now well above 20 million followers. As the 2016 campaign tightened, his key advisers reportedly took away his communications device in order to end his off-the-French-cuffs Tweeting. They clearly did this for a reason – and they were correct.
Twitter blasts virtually invite one-off Little Darlings. While they can inform and provoke, they can also invite reflexive responses that lack depth, careful consideration, nuance, tact, and diplomacy. Take the Twitter message from Donald Trump that blasted the “so-called” District Court judge in Seattle who blocked his initial immigration executive order. “So-called” is a perfect example of a Little Darling. The judge is a sitting judge. That is a fact. George W. Bush named him to the bench, and using “so-called” accomplishes little, other than to brand the president of the United States as an intemperate cheap shooter who doesn’t understand how our Constitution works.
Another Little Darling – this time verbal and physical – was when candidate Trump mocked a disabled “New York Times” reporter by gyrating and gesticulating wildly in a manner that belittled the reporter’s apparent neuromuscular disorder. This scene only elevated the reporter and made the candidate look insensitive and mean-spirited.
Most parents know that young children go through a period when they blurt out whatever pops into their minds. Quite often, these scenes are hilarious; on other occasions, they can be painful and embarrassing. One mark of maturity is when young children gradually realize the importance of filtering what comes into their minds before they communicate. Sometimes they learn the hard way, but over time, most children appreciate the importance of improving their interpersonal skills and adopting more diplomatic reactions. If children don’t figure out the need for self-editing, their parents or their peers usually find ways to make the point. If these restraints fail, life has a way of conveying similar messages – usually through painful experience.
Trying to conduct a presidency with a steady stream of one-off Little Darlings invites a series of potential problems. George W. Bush was famous for once saying that he didn’t do nuance, but at least he was a somewhat disciplined communicator who avoided the temptation to settle scores via cheap shots.
Donald Trump should by all means continue to use Twitter as a way to connect with his followers without filtering by mainstream media. At the same time, he should realize that a campaign Tweet differs substantially from an Oval Office Tweet. If he doesn’t learn to filter himself and kill his Little Darlings, he may soon find himself feeling good about his instant wisecracks but paying a very steep price as his leadership credibility declines.
Charles Kolb served as Deputy Assistant to the President for Domestic Policy from 1990-1992 in the George H.W. Bush White House. He was president of the French-American Foundation – United States from 2012-2014 and was president of the Committee for Economic Development from 1997-2012.
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