“I believe the road to hell is paved with adverbs, and I will shout it from the rooftops.” – Stephen King
Adverbs get a bad reputation and the quote above from the illustrious Mr King has been a big part of their character assassination. “Kill your adverbs,” some say, as if every word ending in -ly is a crime against literature.
The truth is, adverbs aren’t inherently bad. They’re just misunderstood. The real problem isn’t their existence, it’s their overuse.
Adverbs should be used with the same restraint as seasoning in a dish. A pinch of salt brings out the richness of a sauce; too much, and all you taste is salt. In the same way, a well-placed adverb can enhance a sentence, adding subtlety or precision. But if you rely on them too heavily, they smother the writing, dulling its impact rather than sharpening it.
Consider the difference between He ran quickly and He sprinted. The first tells us what happened, but the second lets us feel it. The verb sprinted is vivid and precise, while ran quickly leans on an adverb to do work that a stronger verb could have handled alone. This is where adverbs fail—not because they’re bad words, but because they’re often a sign of missed opportunity.
A good verb is flavour; it carries the essence of the action. A well-placed adverb is seasoning: it heightens, refines, clarifies, or provides a contrast. He whispered urgently suggests something different than He whispered. The adverb here adds a necessary layer. But in He shouted loudly, the adverb is redundant as the word shouted already implies volume.
You can whisper loudly. You can call quietly. You should never get those the other way ’round.
Still, shouting can be made ‘more shouty’ by describing the shout, adding a description of someone’s face going red, or the shout sounding like it was tearing something in the shouter’s throat or chest. Not adverbs, and perhaps more flavour notes than pure seasoning.
This is where your writer’s judgment comes in. The solution isn’t to expunge adverbs altogether but to be intentional with how you use them. When an adverb adds something that can’t be conveyed through a stronger verb or clearer phrasing, it earns its place. When it merely repeats or weakens what’s already there, it’s better left out.
Adverbs, when used well, don’t distract. They don’t take centre stage. They slip into the background, enhancing the rhythm and feel of a sentence without announcing themselves. Like seasoning, the best ones are the ones you don’t notice—but if they weren’t there, you’d miss them.
That raises the real question: When is an adverb worth keeping? The answer lies in intent. If an adverb is the best tool for the job, if removing it would strip a sentence of necessary nuance, then it belongs. Sometimes, the precision of an adverb can add depth where no single verb can fully capture the intent.
Adverbs can add tone, rhythm, and voice. They can shift the meaning of a sentence in subtle but powerful ways. The key isn’t in avoidance, it’s in awareness. The best writers don’t fear adverbs, nor do they overindulge. Instead, they choose them with care, knowing that in the right moment, a little seasoning makes all the difference.