I usually blog about bigger-picture communications strategy issues, but my alter ego the Grammar Queen has been fighting to get out over the weird obsession with word repetition.

We hear from clients all the time, when reviewing all kinds of writing—articles, marketing copy, taglines—”But isn’t it bad to repeat a word?” Sometimes it is. Sometimes it’s good. And sometimes it just doesn’t matter.

I suspect that confusion on this points stems from a misunderstanding about why word repetition is sometimes bad. It’s not necessarily that repeated words make for monotonous writing (though they certainly can); it’s that repeated words often signal hazy ideas. Here’s a a simple example: The sentence, “We had a great meal at this great restaurant in a great neighborhood,” is obviously lame. Many people would think the way to fix it is to find synonyms for great. But is “We had a great meal at this excellent restaurant in a fabulous neighborhood” really any better? (Hint: no.) That’s because word repetition here is only a symptom of the real problem. “We had a great meal at this new restaurant in my favorite neighborhood” is a better expression of the thought because the new adjectives are not synonyms—they’re more precise information.

If you read something that repeats words and seems bland and uninformative, it’s usually not because the writer failed to use a thesaurus; more likely they failed to think through what they wanted to say and communicate that precisely.

When is word repetition good? When you want to convey the same information about different things: “Great for kids. Great for parents.” When you want to emphasize a subject: “It was the most fabulous shoe I’d ever seen. It was the shoe of my dreams.” (Substituting footwear for the second shoe would only drain the ardor.) Or when you want to create a transition: “The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain. That plain is where two-thirds of Spain’s … .”  (Substituting flatland for plain would not aid comprehension.)

As the Grammar Queen has frequently observed, the first prerequisite of good writing is good thinking.

A recent piece in the New York Times reveals that living green is driving couples into therapy when one half of the couple is greener than the other. One partner might sneak unsustainably produced meals, set the thermostat too high or drive too much—chiding and guilt ensue. If it goes on long enough, the happy couple is no longer happy. Even families are tense as greener children clash with their not-so-green parents.

This seems a bit ridiculous (for a number of reasons), but it got me thinking about what does work when trying to convince someone (or some company) to change their unsustainable ways. This is the topic of an annual conference called Behavior, Energy and Climate Change; among its lessons:

• Information alone doesn’t work. People usually need some other motivation. Money saved is good; money earned is better.
• The payoff (or bad result from inaction) needs to be relatively immediate. The threat that your town may be under water when the glaciers melt or knowing that you’ll break even on that solar system in a mere 15 years doesn’t get many to change.
• Competition helps. If you know what your neighbor is doing, you want to do better.
• Tracking progress also motivates, especially if you can see how much money you’re saving.

It’s hard to change behavior, and harder still to communicate in ways that make a difference. When I consider these campaigns, the successful ones have this in common: they lead by example. A company credibly demonstrates that they are walking the talk, and others follow or do business with them. Or a campaign fosters friendly competition, so participants naturally follow one another.

Meanwhile, my former housemate will be pleased to know that I’ve drastically shortened my shower times….

Do a survey about attitudes on any sustainability topic and it will get reported. And commented upon. And tweeted and retweeted. Everyone’s looking for insights on the cultural moment—or something that looks like insights because it has a number attached to it.

But what do surveys (about sustainability or anything else) really tell us? More and more I think, not as much about the people answering the survey as about the people constructing it. Case in point: a recent Rasmussen Reports survey finding that 47 percent of Americans reject the idea that they are selfish for putting economic concerns ahead of the fight against global warming.

What struck me was not the result—hardly a shock, since people don’t like to think of themselves as selfish—but the assumption behind the question: it’s the climate vs. the economy. This is a trope of anti-environmentalism, so perhaps it shouldn’t be surprising, but it’s particularly wrong-headed in this case, since multiple reputable examinations of the issue have found that not addressing climate change is far more costly than acting to curb it. When you know that, the question makes no sense.

Twenty-four percent said they weren’t sure—which reminded me that just about every time I’ve been surveyed, I’ve been asked at least one question I couldn’t answer. Not because I didn’t have an opinion on the issue, but because I rejected the premise of the question.

If you’re conducting a survey and want an honest read on what people are thinking, it’s essential to examine the assumptions behind your questions. Are you closing off the possibility of opinions that don’t conform to your perceptions? And when you’re evaluating survey data, it pays to think as carefully about the questions as you do about the answers. Whose opinion is being reflected here?