By Bethany Bruno
I can tell within one page when a writer mistakes profanity for voice.
Swearing isn’t the problem. Substituting it for craft is.
After a while, it blurs. Every line strikes the same emotional note. When every exchange turns into “Fuck this,” “What the fuck,” or “Shit,” nothing carries weight. The dialogue isn’t edgy. It’s empty.
Profanity can be sharp. It can be funny. It can be devastating. But when it becomes the default setting, it stops revealing character and starts revealing hesitation. It tells me the writer hasn’t pushed far enough into what the character is actually feeling.
And that’s the real issue. Not the word itself. The work behind it.
Why Swearing Loses Its Power So Fast
Curse words carry weight because they’re charged. They break social rules. They signal heat. They suggest something is at stake.
But here’s the problem: readers adjust quickly.
The first f-bomb might land. The fifth feels familiar. By the tenth, it’s just part of the rhythm. The shock wears off, and you’re left with a character who sounds loud instead of layered.
Intensity only works when there’s contrast.
If everything is turned up to ten, nothing feels urgent.
That’s not a moral argument. It’s a craft one.
“But People Really Talk That Way”
Yes. Some people do. Sometimes.
But fiction isn’t a transcript.
If we wrote dialogue exactly the way people speak, we’d fill pages with filler words, repeated phrases, and half-finished thoughts. Good dialogue distills speech. It captures the essence of how someone talks, not every verbal habit.
When every character swears the same way, it flattens voice. A teenager, a grandmother, a CEO, and a mechanic shouldn’t all sound identical on the page. Swearing is part of voice, but it can’t be the whole thing.
The better question isn’t “Do people swear?”
It’s “Why is this person swearing right now?”
What Profanity Is Often Covering Up
When I overuse profanity in early drafts, it usually means I haven’t figured something out yet.
A character says, “This is fucking ridiculous,” and I move on.
But what does she actually mean?
Is she embarrassed?
Scared?
Trying to regain control?
Trying to intimidate someone?
Joking because she doesn’t want to admit she’s hurt?
Those are very different emotional states. And they don’t all sound the same.
Swearing can be a doorway into specificity, but it can’t replace it. If I don’t know what the character is feeling beneath the curse, the line is probably doing less than I think it is.
Historical Writing Raises the Stakes
This matters even more in historical fiction.
I love digging up old slang. Every era had its own insults, innuendo, coded language, and creative ways of expressing frustration. But people didn’t speak exactly the way we do now, especially in public settings.
If a character from 1890 blurts out a modern curse in front of the town council, I need to understand the risk. What does it cost her socially? Who’s shocked? Who pretends not to hear it?
If there’s no cost, it doesn’t feel bold. It feels careless.
That doesn’t mean historical dialogue has to be sanitized. It just has to make sense inside its own world.
How to Make Swearing Count
If you’re revising and suspect you’ve leaned too heavily on profanity, try this:
1. Highlight every curse word in your draft.
Then ask what each one is doing. Is it signaling anger? Humor? Panic? Habit? If you can’t name its function, it might be filler.
2. Cut half of them.
Not all. Just half. Force yourself to replace them with something more specific. What does the character really want in that moment?
3. Give each character a different relationship to swearing.
Some people swear when they’re nervous. Some swear when they’re comfortable. Some never swear in public. Some swear only when they’ve lost control. That variation builds voice quickly.
4. Use silence strategically.
Sometimes what a character doesn’t say carries more weight than what they shout. A swallowed insult. A polite response delivered through clenched teeth. A name repeated instead of a curse. Those moments can linger longer than any expletive.
5. Save it for the pivot.
If you want a curse to hit, put it where something shifts. A truth is revealed. A relationship fractures. A mask slips. That’s when it feels earned.
The Simple Test
Here’s the easiest way to know whether a curse word belongs:
Delete it.
If the sentence still works, the profanity wasn’t doing much.
If the sentence collapses, you’ve learned something about what the line needs to carry.
Profanity isn’t the enemy. Overreliance is.
Your characters don’t have to be clean. They just have to be intentional.
If they swear, let it mean something. Let it cost something. Let it reveal something.
If it doesn’t, cut it. Save that voltage for the moment that matters.
Bio: Bethany Bruno is a Floridian author. She holds a BA in English from Flagler College and an MA from the University of North Florida. Her work has appeared in more than a hundred literary journals and magazines, including The Threepenny Review, The Sun, McSweeney’s, River Teeth’s Beautiful Things, and The Huffington Post. A Best of the Net nominee, she has won multiple writing contests, including the 2026 Saturday Evening Post Great American Fiction Contest. Learn more at www.bethanybrunowriter.com.
