C.S. Lewis and the Art of Clear and Punchy Writing

Every writer has a literary hero—someone whose words remind us why we fell in love with storytelling in the first place. For me, that person is C. S. Lewis. Not just because of Narnia or the theological brilliance of Mere Christianity, but because Lewis mastered something most writers overlook:

Lewis made hard ideas digestible.

Lewis made deep truths accessible.

Lewis made clarity an art form.

That’s rarer than you think.

Beginning writers often fall into the trap of believing good writing must be ornate, poetic, full of billion-dollar vocabulary words and enough metaphors to impress Cormac McCarthy. Somewhere along the way, we start to believe complexity equals genius.

Lewis proves the opposite.

Pick up The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe or The Great Divorce and you’ll notice something immediately: you’re never lost. You’re never confused. You’re never pulled out of the story to look up a word or untangle a sentence. His writing is clean, sharp, and invisible. The language never stands in the way of the message.

Lewis once outlined five core principles for good writing—principles I believe every writer (fiction or nonfiction) should tattoo on their creative soul.

Let’s explore them.

1. Make your meaning unmistakable.

“Always try to use language so as to make quite clear what you mean and make sure your sentence couldn’t mean anything else.”

Clarity is not the opposite of artistry. Clarity is artistry. When editing your work, the first job is to hunt down any sentence that makes your reader squint, pause, or reread. If you confuse the reader, you lose the reader. The goal of writing is communication, not cleverness.

If a sentence can be misread, misunderstood, or overthought, it needs revising. Shoot for clarity.

Your readers will thank you.

2. Prefer the plain, direct word to the long, vague one.

Lewis compares words like: petrified or panic-stricken with the simple, punchy: scared.

Is there a place for the more dramatic words? Of course. But more often than not, the shortest word carries the most weight.

This is why “He died” hits harder than “He experienced a severe and irreversible cessation of biological function.”

Writers often reach for big words to impress. Readers prefer words that express. Shorter is usually stronger.

3. Use concrete nouns over abstract ones.

Abstract: “Mortality rose.”

Concrete: “More people died.”

Which sentence punches you in the chest? Abstract language creates distance. Concrete language creates connection. Stories live in specificity—real people doing real things in real places. The more tangible your writing, the more emotional power it carries.

4. Don’t tell us how to feel—describe so we do feel.

Lewis warns against lazy adjectives like terrible, horrifying, or beautiful. Instead of telling the reader something is terrifying, show them:

“The boy yanked his hair, covered his eyes, and screamed for help.”

Boom. Terror without the word terror.

This isn’t about never telling—sometimes “he was scared” is the right choice. But when you want emotional impact, description beats declaration every time. Aim for showing, versus telling.

5. Don’t use words too big for the subject.

Save “infinite” for things that are truly infinite.

Save “devastating” for something that deserves devastation.

When everything is monumental, nothing is. Pacing and emotional escalation matter. Start small. Build big.

Lewis’s Legacy: Simple, Yet Profound

Lewis’s brilliance wasn’t his vocabulary—it was his precision. He used language like a carpenter uses tools: with intention, restraint, and craftsmanship. His writing endures not because it is complex, but because it is clear.

And this is the great irony beginning writers struggle to accept: readers don’t want to be impressed. They want to be immersed.

Clear writing opens the door. Flowery writing blocks the hallway. Whether you're crafting a fantasy epic, a spiritual memoir, a crime thriller, or a Medium article that may or may not go viral, Lewis’s principles will sharpen your sentences and amplify your voice.

Reflect & Apply

Ask yourself:

• Where am I overcomplicating language to sound more “writerly”?

• Are there sentences in my draft that could be clearer?

• Am I describing enough for the reader to feel, not just understand?

• Do my word choices fit the emotional weight of the moment?

Try revising one paragraph of your current project using these five principles. Watch what happens. Your writing will tighten. Your meaning will sharpen. And your story will breathe.

The Lewis Litmus Test

Before finishing a draft, ask:

Would a twelve-year-old understand this sentence? Would an eighty-year-old enjoy it?

If the answer is yes, congratulations. You’ve done what Lewis did.

If Lewis were alive today, I’m convinced he’d tell writers the same thing he told students decades ago:

Be clear. Be simple. Be true.

Your readers—and your art—deserve nothing less.

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Hey, I’m Ryan J. Pelton.

I’m a #1 bestseller on Amazon, and I have written and published 23+ books (fiction and nonfiction).

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