My style is stylistic

This happened one drowsy afternoon in the late yuppie years of the 1980s in the newsroom of the Daily Globe, whose publisher was Teddy Boy Locsin, who the younger people had just discovered then to have a way with words (not to mention his middle finger). "I think Mr. Locsin will like my articles because my style is stylistic," the guy sitting in the chair beside my desk said as he started opening his slim black attache case. Great. I suppose that given the chance he would also have described his attire as stylistic – from his well-shined loafers to his well-pressed black pants and white shirt with a snugly-knotted blue tie to his slicked black hair. Even his black attache case would have to be stylistic. I have nothing against good grooming. But in the Globe newsroom, decorated in what I'd call bunker-style chic, he stood out like a well-dressed sore thumb. In hindsight, I realize why the secretary passed on the would-be staff stylist to Emmie Velarde, lifestyle editor and my boss, who in turn passed him on to me: As a new staff writer fresh off the police beat, I was in no position to hire anyone, stylistic or not. And I probably wouldn't have hired him even if I were the owner of the paper myself. I just wasn't, and never will be, at ease with anyone who'd call himself stylistic, unless he's part of a singing group. So I made some polite noncommittal grunts as the applicant showed off one stylistic manuscript after another. Then I passed him on back to Emmie, who gave him the "we'll get in touch with you" line – and the stylist passed himself out through the front door. He might yet have turned out be as stylistic as he claimed to be. I had no idea. It wasn't up to me to read and rate his pieces. But that was the last I saw him around the newsroom. Maybe he was just too stylistic for the paper. As it turned out, he would not be the last self-appointed stylist I would have to disappoint. Years later, as an editor in various publications, I had to read some manuscripts handed in by writers who couldn't even make a simple sentence stand straight on its own. And yet, as clumsy as they were in the language they chose to write in, they would try to do some acrobatics: "Now, for my next death-defying sentence, I'll take five of these tried-and-true cliches over here and juggle them while I hang upside down from that dangling modifier over there." I'm not sneering at people who want to be writers. I'm really not one to take a piss at anyone's dreams, because I still recall how it was to be a greenhorn. In my early years in the business, I've had to take some constructive cutting down, both in sentence length and in pride, from editors like Emmie and the late Teddy Berbano, may he rest in literary peace. My point is: If you want to be a professional writer, or for that matter speaker, you'd do well enough to first get used to the language you want to use, whatever it is, before trying anything fancy with it. In fact, if you want to write for any media outfit, it is better not to try anything fancy at all – not with the language and certainly not with the facts, whether you're just reporting them or using them to back up your own opinions. If you ask me, that should be the norm in any sort of office where you have to do any sort of writing and speaking – which is like saying everywhere. And it should work just as well in your personal dealings with co-workers, friends, and relatives. Just try being stylistic with them and see where that gets you.