“People Will Think We’re Amateurs”

"A living, breathing, beautiful organic lifeform."

This endearing comment from a client of mine this week who cares–really cares–about perfection. And why shouldn’t he? His entire career has been based on his meticulous choice of words, and he’s an incredibly skilled writer. What was he so worried about that he thought our reputations depended on getting it right? Well, we were operating under different rules for what exactly qualifies as a “bad break,” or an inappropriate way to split a word in two when it falls on two lines of text. Yup, we publishing types fight bloody wars to break words between lines where we see fit.

I don’t mean to rag on him in particular. In fact, in general we see eye-to-eye on issues of style: He’s the only writer I have ever allowed to misuse the subjunctive case, because he doesn’t believe in using it at all–and that is part of his style. That kind of purposeful use of the English language is admirable, in my opinion, because it means he has thought out why he should or shouldn’t use the subjunctive and has a method to his madness. And that is my point, dear reader. Style is not there simply as a ruler to rap your knuckles.

So back to amateur night. I respect a passion for perfection. But this comment reflects a point of view that I have largely abandoned, and that is that writing can be perfect. Writing can be perfect in the same way my daughter is perfect–as a living, breathing, beautiful organic lifeform. While I am quite competent at following a style guide and crossing all my Ts, I don’t subscribe to the notion that a piece of writing can always be made just right by following one set of rules. Writing needs to breathe like its author, needs to reflect his tone and at least some of the idiosyncrasies of his speech. And don’t forget the audience. All writing has an intended audience, even if it is the author himself, so the form of a piece of writing must also follow the function. And that requires flexibility in style rules to accomplish the objective.

I am adamant about consistency, so don’t think this is an excuse to throw all rules out the window or be lazy. It can be quite challenging to determine the right approach to editing a piece of writing, as I imagine it must be difficult to figure out the right approach to disciplining a child whose temperament is the polar opposite of her sibling. When there is no one-size-fits-all, you have to think.

This is what it boils down to: I believe that writing has a soul–the soul of the author–and needs to be treated with respect and a little flexibility. These are couture garments we are creating; this is not an assembly line. Just thought you might like to know… your editor might have a soul after all, too.

Can You Help My Emoticon Lose Weight?

My husband loves to send me this xkcd comic about the “emoticons in parentheses” problem. It’s hilarious, but tricky. Many editors just dismiss it with a wave: “You should never use emoticons in professional writing!” Well, how simple. But email is devoid of emotion, and emoticons can clarify your tone. I find myself using them more and more often even in professional emails, to smile it up a bit. Otherwise, I seem to come across like Ben Stein.

Here is one solution: simply convert your emoticon to a smiley face before transmitting. But that doesn’t always come through. What happens if my “angel” smiley face turns into “(A)” before it gets to the recipient? Message not received.

My solution is inelegant, and it bugs me every time I use it, but I think this may just have to work for now:

(My Emoticons Get Double Chins : ))

Yup, my emoticons are fat, and they will remain fat until one of you can give me a better solution to this little problem. Can you help my emoticon lose weight?

A Shot in the Arm for Your Writing

Here’s a quick way to give your writing a shot in the arm (thanks to megisi for the post idea!): scan for “to be” verb forms such as “is,” “was,” “were,” etc. and replace them with active verbs (“wrote,” “ran,” “eats,” etc.). Passive constructions are like water, slipping into every crack in your writing until it’s sunk–and you never saw the leak!

How much of a difference does this make? I’ll give you an example. Here is a sample of my own writing, first with “to be” verbs, then with active verbs plugged into those cracks:

Arielle found herself holding Periwinkle so tightly she was nearly squeezed in half. She loosened her grip and looked at the doll. Her fingers were stiff. She threw the bed covers off and scooted to the edge of her bed. It was dark out, and quiet. The open bedroom window let in the sounds of the neighbor’s dog barking and distant traffic, and a dim light came into the room from the street lamp outside her window and from the night light in the hall outside her open bedroom door. Normally Arielle loved the soft puddle of golden light the night light cast on her floor, but tonight it was too dark. She slipped her feet into her fuzzy white slippers and walked carefully downstairs, staring anxiously at every shadow.

Okay, so here’s what I did. I went back to this paragraph and
1) replaced all the “to be” verbs
2) That cleared up the text enough for me to notice that I had repeated several words in the text, namely “she,”
“her,” and “the”–all boring words.
3) I cleaned up these redundancies, and this is what I got:

Arielle found herself nearly squeezing Periwinkle in half. She loosened her stiff grip around the doll, threw the bed covers off, and scooted to the edge of her bed. The neighbor’s dog barked, and Arielle could hear the sounds of distant traffic through her open window. The street lamp outside and the night light in the hall both cast their dim light into the room. Normally Arielle loved the soft puddle of golden light the night light cast on her floor, but tonight felt too dark. She slipped her feet into her fuzzy white slippers and walked carefully downstairs, staring anxiously at every shadow.

I’ll probably rewrite this 10 more times, but it’s a little tighter, don’t you think?

Chicago Says, Place Commas Wherever You Might, Pause…

The Exclamation Point Freaks Out Again by andrea_daquino, Flickr

Okay, here goes with my new experiment discussing nitty gritty grammar and style….

Here’s one that annoyed the crap out of my former managing editor and has ever since bugged me: The Chicago Manual of Style lists the usual rules for comma usage (use around appositives, between items in lists, after or before direct address, etc.), but then totally cops out with a CYAQ (Cover Your Ass Qualifier) that states you should use a comma whenever you would pause in speech. Um, okay. I get that–commas do indicate a pause in speech–but what about people who talk slowly? Are we doomed to trip and fall over all those commas, which make the page look like a pen sneezed on it? It’s slow death by commage!

Thoughts on this one? How do you decide whether or not to use a comma? What other style and grammar issues grind your gears? Let me know in comments.