Purple prose
noun. Writing that tries so hard to be beautiful forgets to be clear. Think: sentence wearing six velvet cloaks, weeping into a gilded handkerchief.
What is purple prose?
Purple prose is overly elaborate, flowery writing that draws attention to itself, usually in a bad way. It’s heavy on adjectives, light on clarity, and often more concerned with sounding impressive than communicating anything useful.
Instead of pulling readers in, it makes them roll their eyes. Or worse – stop reading altogether.
Example (purple): The moon, a silvery sentinel suspended in the obsidian tapestry of night, wept its melancholy beams upon the tremulous earth below.
Example (revised): The moonlight shone on the ground.
The first one? Exhausting. The second? Effective.
Where did the name come from?
The term goes all the way back to the Roman poet Horace, who warned against “purple patches” – lavish sections of writing stitched into otherwise plain fabric. Basically: don’t slap glitter on every sentence and call it great prose.
Why do writers fall into the purple prose trap?
Because we love words. We want our writing to sound good. And sometimes, in the quest for beauty, we overdo it. Especially when we’re just starting out.
Purple prose often crops up when:
- You’re trying too hard to sound “literary”
- You’re describing emotions or scenery
- You don’t trust the reader to get it unless you spell it out very dramatically
- You’ve recently discovered the thesaurus
How to avoid purple prose?
Cut unnecessary adjectives/adverbs. If it doesn’t add meaning, it’s just fluff.
Be specific, not fancy. “He ran” is better than “He locomoted with fervent urgency.”
Read your work out loud. If it sounds like a Victorian poet having a moment, maybe rein it in.
Trust the reader. Clarity doesn’t mean boring. It means readable. And that’s the whole point.
Is purple prose always bad?
Not necessarily. Some writers use lush language intentionally, and it works – if it fits the voice, tone, and genre. (Looking at you, gothic novels and dramatic fantasy epics.) But it should serve the story, not smother it. Purple prose becomes a problem when it distracts more than it delights.
More examples of purple prose (and how to fix them)
1. Description gone wild
The golden orb of the sun ascended triumphantly over the horizon, spilling molten radiance across the dew-kissed emerald blades of grass like a triumphant god shaking out his blazing cloak.
Clearer version:
The sun rose, lighting the damp grass with gold.
2. Overwrought emotion
Tears cascaded down her porcelain cheeks as anguish gripped her soul in a relentless, vice-like hold of torment, her heart shattering like brittle glass beneath the boot of fate.
Clearer version:
She cried, overwhelmed and heartbroken.
3. Action overload
He propelled himself forward with desperate urgency, limbs flailing like wind-blown branches in a storm, as the cacophony of approaching footsteps ignited every nerve with frenzied anticipation.
Clearer version:
He ran, fast and panicked, as footsteps closed in behind him.
4. Internal monologue meltdown
Was this the end? The final curtain drawn on the grand stage of her life, the moment when fate would at last cash in its chips and reveal her fragile mortality in the cruel spotlight of consequence?
Clearer version:
Was this it? Was she really going to die?
5. Scenery overkill (Fantasy edition)
The castle loomed in the twilight, its ancient spires clawing hungrily at the heavens, each stone etched with whispers of forgotten blood and long-dead kings whose spectral regrets echoed in the crumbling mortar.
Clearer version:
The castle stood dark against the sky, weathered and full of history.
