We all want to sound smart when we write. But some ways of going about it are smarter than others. Pursuing a strategy of maximal complexity with the intention of increasing audience admiration for your erudition is not one of them. Keep. It. Simple.

Back in the day, Socrates warned that a weakness of written texts is that they are static and can't defend themselves in debate the way a person can. Of course, the only reason we know he said that is because Plato wrote it down. If the trade-off is getting your ideas out in the world versus being able to constantly defend them, what's the best way to protect them?

As is often the case, the best defense is a good offense: assuming your ideas are well-rooted in evidence, the simpler and clearer you express them, the better they'll weather the storm.

If you're more convinced by data than philosophy, consider the 2006 study from Daniel Oppenheimer that quantified how the authors of complex texts were perceived as less intelligent than those of simple texts.

There are three places to look for simplicity in your writing: your vocabulary, your sentence structure, and your tone.

The easiest thing to simplify is your vocabulary. English has vacuumed up a massive number of words over time, but just because they're there doesn't mean we need to use them all.

Which would you rather put in your mouth: A leavened wedge of pulped love apple and deliquescent curd? Or a slice of cheese pizza?

Don't just toss the thesaurus, though. It can still be handy for finding some new verbs. Consider how much nicer it is to read "We conclude that simplicity is best" than "The conclusion of our study is that simplicity is best." Efficient verbs always outshine clumsy nominalizations. Your readers with thank you. And it will help you come in under that word count.

Those examples hint at the next level to cut unwelcome complexity: sentence structure. Spoken language can be remarkably complex: subordinate clauses abound, tenses shift, and modifiers dangle. But what is unremarkable in speech becomes tedious in writing. Examine your text for places where two clauses might be rearranged into one.

Consider “Having reviewed the data, the researchers proceeded to make cohorts,” versus “The researchers reviewed the data and made cohorts.” The comma is banished and what felt like two ideas for readers is condensed into a single thought.

Once your vocabulary and your structure are lithe and efficient, there may still be some dead leaves to shake off. Think of this as simplicity in tone or managing the signal-to-noise ratio of the text. This can have a lot to do with confidence: is the text full of qualifiers or conditionals that take away from the confidence of the argument? Or maybe there are words like "indeed" peppered throughout to sound more authoritative. Your readers understand that you're making an argument: If the text is either too pompous or too timid, it will seem less trustworthy.

Remember: we're here for your ideas. Your reader comes to you with curiosity. Don't smother that curiosity with verbosity. If we can't understand you, it won't matter how elegant your prose is. All writing is a form of persuasion: you have to persuade us not only of the power of your ideas, but that they are worth our time to engage with. And once we've engaged with them, you want us to help carry your ideas forward; the lighter you make them, the easier they are to carry.