A New York Times blogger notes that, on some occasions, an unusual word is just the thing writers need to capture and communicate our message, and we should eschew the ordinary word when an unusual phrasing better serves the purpose.

“Still, when a fancier word keeps popping up in spots where a down-to-earth alternative is readily available, it can draw undue attention to itself. We may seem to be trying too hard.”

If we cultivate a garden of roses, would we plant a giant redwood tree in the middle? Or, since such a tree takes many years to grow so tall, let’s ask ourselves instead whether we would plant a rose garden around that stunning redwood.

Setting aside the shade, for a moment, that the roses might not thrive in, perhaps the redwood tree is the perfect complement to the roses. Its enormous height and girth might create a lovely focal point much like a beautiful statue invites the eye to the garden from a distance.

But if we want garden visitors to pay close attention to our roses and not only learn the difference between a floribunda and a grandiflora but also fully appreciate the meticulous arrangement, vibrant colors, and heady scent our roses emit, then we should consider whether this is, in fact, the best location for a rose garden. Or a redwood tree.

Who are we writing for? Ourselves? Or our readers?

If we write only to please ourselves, we can choose any words we wish. We can grow roses with a giant redwood—if that makes us happy—whether the arrangement is a winner for our visitors (and our roses) or not.

But when we write for ourselves, we’re just practicing mental masturbation. If we don’t care whether our message is understood by our readers—or whether we have any message at all—we can do as we like. Anything goes, of course, if we only wish to please ourselves.

If we write to satisfy only a reader, our audience, on the other hand, we’re robbing ourselves of our own satisfaction. At the extreme end—pumping out mindless drivel for content mills, say—we prostitute ourselves.

The best match between writer and reader is that of two lovers who know each other well.

The writer offers a consistent repertoire and rhythm for reliable results, but she spices her work skillfully for that sudden ah-ha moment or sweet surge of delight.

In turn, the reader quickly falls in step with the writer’s tempo but welcomes pleasant surprises that bring him to new levels of understanding or awareness.

But like an ill-placed redwood tree in a rose garden, a lover’s sudden, unusual move made with little consideration for her partner might not only ruin the mood but also could damage the relationship.

We might do well to ensconce Sequoiadendron giganteum with Rosa californica in a multifarious rosarium en plein air. But a tall evergreen tree surrounded by colorful roses in an outdoor garden would also be quite nice.

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