I find the authors I work with repeat themselves quite often. Whether it’s words or phrases, I think we all just get stuck in our heads and want to be absolutely certain we make a point. Otherwise, we forget what we just wrote! We tend to think of repetition as a bad thing, but maybe, just maybe, maybe maybe, it’s not.
Some of my favorite rhetorical devices are actually the syntax structures called anadiplosis, anaphora, and epistrophe. Sure, they sound like dinosaurs (or lizards, or medical terms), but I assure you, they are actually less scary than they sound, and they are pretty easy to use!

Repetition, when used deliberately and in just the right doses, is actually quite stirring. It serves to emphasize a subject or a point rhythmically, much like the Psalms of the Bible do. From Bill Pullman’s speech in Independence Day (We will not go quietly into the night! We will not vanish without a fight!), to probably one of my most favorite movies of all time, Miracle, repetition instills memorable phrases and images in our hearts and minds.

Miracle chronicles the David vs. Goliath journey of the U.S. Hockey team as they took down the dominating USSR in the 1980 Olympics. Coach Herb Brooks delivered the speech of a lifetime, and he did it with repeated phrases that grew in intensity, inspiring the boys to believe in miracles.

"Great moments are born from great opportunity. And that's what you have here, tonight, boys. That's what you've earned here tonight. One game. If we played 'em ten times, they might win nine. But not this game. Not tonight. Tonight, we skate with them. Tonight, we stay with them. And we shut them down because we can! Tonight, we are the greatest hockey team in the world. You were born to be hockey players. Every one of you. And you were meant to be here tonight. This is your time. Their time is done. It's over. I'm sick and tired of hearing about what a great hockey team the Soviets have. Screw 'em. This is your time. Now go out there and take it."

- Herb Brooks, Miracle

Golly, I get goosebumps even reading it! It must be the repetition that stirs my soul...and the hairs on my arms.

So, when I review a manuscript and identify a passage that could benefit from repetition for effect, I love to let my authors know! I enjoy these little teaching moments, but I also get a bit giddy because it’s fun to do! Maybe you’ll get goosebumps, too!

Option #1: Anadiplosis

Anadiplosis, the one that sounds like a herbivore, is the repetition of a word or phrase at the end of a sentence which is then repeated at the beginning of the next sentence. I like my anadiplosis in pairs, so that means whatever ends the first sentence begins the second, and whatever ends the second sentence begins the third. Make sense? If not, check out these lyrics by The Wanted in their song, "Glad You Came." (Which I'm not saying I'm a fan of, but hey, they might have accidentally stumbled on anadiplosis, so why not?!)

Turn the lights out now,
Now I'll take you by the hand,
Hand you another drink,
Drink it if you can,
Can you spend a little time,
Time is slipping away,
Away from us so stay,
Stay with me I can make,
Make you glad you came.

In case you're wondering what the message of "Glad You Came" is and how anadiplosis mirrors it, how about this: The interminable nature of ridiculous partying?!

Option #2: Anaphora

Anaphora is even easier! (It’s opposite is epistrophe—repetition at the end of the phrases...it’s coming soon!). Anaphora is the repetition of the same word or phrase at the beginning of successive phrases or clauses, and it comes from the Greek “to carry up or back.” It creates an echo, a haunting and powerful reminder of what the author is trying to convey. For example, (and for something more legit than The Wanted), check out Bob Dylan's "A Hard Rain's Gonna Fall." The anaphora is incredibly moving.

Oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, where have you been, my darling young one?
I've stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains
I've walked and I've crawled on six crooked highways
I've stepped in the middle of seven sad forests
I've been out in front of a dozen dead oceans
I've been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard
And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, and it's a hard,
And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

The repetition, like raindrops falling, grows progressively more intoxicating, more potent. Like I've said many times over the course of my career, method mirrors message. In this case, perhaps we are all raindrops in a sea of tears, being lied to, being oppressed in different ways, fighting against a growing deluge as we lose all sense of progression since the melody is just as repetitive as the lyrics. It’s a soul-stirring experience generated by the marriage of song and style.

If you’re wondering what anaphora looks like in real life, consult the history books. Winston Churchill’s WWII rally cry is a perfect example:

...We shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be. We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender…

Maybe we shall listen to our English teachers next time. They know what they’re doing.

Option #3: Epistrophe

But although first impressions are important, we still need to consider the butts of our sentences. That’s where epistrophe comes in! The often ignored cousin of anaphora, epistrophe follows a long train of clauses and phrases, pulling up the rear. Get it? (I thought I was a little punny.)

But first (that’s kind of funny, too), who comes up with these crazy terms? Honestly?! Why can’t we just call it “caboosing” a sentence? Oh yeah, because it’s literally Greek to me. The Greeks can be blamed for pretty much every weird term, but whatever. They can be the butt of a few jokes, too.

Why do I like the butt of a sentence more than the butt of a joke? Because there sure is a swell of strength at the end of successive clauses or phrases, and it makes me want to get off my butt and do something. The following is an excerpt from one of Barrack Obama’s speeches. This is a nice round apple bottom of an example because yes, it includes epistrophe (Yes we can) that leads a cheer for unity. But there’s also a touch of anaphora (when we’ve) and other repeated words phrases (creed, we) to round things out:

“But in the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope. For when we have faced down impossible odds; when we’ve been told that we’re not ready, or that we shouldn’t try, or that we can’t, generations of Americans have responded with a simple creed that sums up the spirit of a people: Yes we can.

It was a creed written into the founding documents that declared the destiny of a nation: Yes we can.

It was whispered by slaves and abolitionists as they blazed a trail toward freedom through the darkest of nights: Yes we can.

It was sung by immigrants as they struck out from distant shores and pioneers who pushed westward against an unforgiving wilderness: Yes we can.“

— Barrack Obama, New Hampshire primary, 8 January 2008

I don’t know about you, but I feel like I can do anything. Maybe even fly. Or fly. Or perhaps fly.

Revising With Repetition

So how can we help you craft your writing to elevate its literary value using these techniques? Our editors are not only talented writers, but they also have an exceptionally trained eye to identify areas where you can apply these strategies.
For example, take a peek at the before and after versions of one author’s paragraph. In the story, a young girl desperately wants to feel loved, but she doesn’t think she’s worthy. And the more she pretends she’s perfect, the more imperfect she feels until finally, she can’t take it anymore.

After injecting some dark and hungry words that exemplify the dangerous serenity of the scene and elongating the sentence structure to highlight the dream-like state in the garden, we wanted to focus on the anxious, panicked voice inside her head once she snapped back to reality. The anaphora in this section speeds up her mind and her heart, taking the reader on the same desperate journey, ultimately ending with ambiguity.

In a way, the juxtaposition of the tenuous moments before her final decision and “play” creates an even more disturbing irony to her pain. She’s just a child, and no child should ever have to feel so alone and desperate.

Here’s the before:

The moon emerged above the trees in the silent night sky. The floating clouds dotted the blackness. The trees protected her, providing a barrier from the outside world as she sat alone on the bench.
She began to reflect. Thinking about her awful day. Her fingers curled around the blade. Shiny and brand new, not a single spot of rust, it was perfect.
Unlike her.
The memories of her day rushed through her mind and tormented her. Her eyes shifted downward toward the blade. She played with it, then thought about death until her eyes closed.

Here’s the after:

The moon emerged above the trees as blackness devoured the silent sky. Discreetly, the floating clouds were swallowed by the unquenchable darkness which was desperate to be satisfied. In her garden, where she hid, tall trees provided a barrier from the outside world—like a tower safeguarding its princess—as she sat alone on the cold bench in her safe-haven.

She began to reflect, looking back into the abyss of her day. Her fingers tenderly curled around the dangerous blade. Shiny and brand new, not a single spot of rust, it was perfect.
Unlike her.
Her ratty hair, her puffy eyes, her fat everything.
Perfect.
Unlike her.

The memories of her day echoed through her, taunting her, forcing her to relive the horror. Her eyes shifted downward toward the blade. She played with it. Played with darkness. She played with death. Her eyes closed.

We hoped the repetition of “perfect,” “unlike her,” “her,” and “play” would hammer home the point, one strike at a time, that she just couldn’t take any more punches.

Final, Final Thoughts Finalized

I hope I haven’t repeated myself too much and the value of deliberate repetition has been repeated enough to echo in your writer’s mind repetitively.

In all seriousness, though, anadiplosis, anaphora, and epistrophe don’t have to be scary beasts or medical procedures—with a discerning eye, we can help you take your writing to an impactful new place that will leave your name repeated in their hearts when they remember you and your novel.

Written by:
Christine W.
Deputy Editor

Three Ways to Use Repetition in Writing and Not Sound Repetitive by Repeating Yourself