HOUSE STYLE
Gary Provost
Writers are funny critters. In any other pursuit that has the potential to become art, the pursuers are well-versed, even immersed, in the traditions, skills, and expectations of their craft. Aspiring musicians, painters, and dancers, among others, can give lessons about the greats in the field, about their achievements and innovations, their techniques and visions. But, alas, not so with many writers. (For more on this, read Our Editor Responds to a Writer below.)
The results include novelists and historians and poets who do not read novels or history or poetry. And the result of that is often awful. For some reason, it has become fashionable for writers to shoot from the hip, to "follow the muses" or "let their creativity flow" with no knowledge or regard for craftsmanship. That's fine as long as you write for yourself or your mother, who will probably love you in spite of everything. But if you're to write for publication, you need more. Much more.
This page consists of a summary of our house style -- the writing principles and practices we follow at Bear Creek Press. Nothing that follows is a thorough lesson, only a sketch of a particular skill, a necessary trait of effective writing. Please pay attention.
1. Clarify words (with specific, concrete language).
2. Vary sentences (both patterns and beginnings).
3. Link paragraphs (with transitional words, phrases, and ideas).
4. Unify structure (through logical, systematic order).
5. Polish style.
Insert quote tags in the middle.
Also see Usage Preferences in Manuscript Mechanics.
"Use definite, specific, concrete language." William Strunk, Jr.
One of your jobs as a writer is to let readers see the world through your eyes. But if your world is filled with trees and birds and cars instead of with maples, meadowlarks, and Buicks, the reader sees that world with a blurred vision. Frequently the problem is vague language, which creates misunderstandings. Look:
The animal went into the building.
This language is vague because it fails to specify what kind of animal, to define which building. Compare:
The poodle strolled into the bank.
The armadillo staggered into the school.
The ferret waddled into the mausoleum.
To be clear and solid, sentences need concrete language, which you create by following this principle:
Write with nouns and verbs.
Nouns (objects you can grab -- fish and spoons and burritos) and verbs (actions you can do -- stroll and peep and hunker) are the power and energy in sentences, the muscle and force in writing. In comparison, adjectives and adverbs (words that describe nouns and verbs) are so puny that too many of them can ruin a sentence:
The wondrous toad, all green and slimy, delicately wracked his minuscule brain while staring dimly at the buzzing flight of a small fly, which it wanted to eat hastily.
What does it mean? The toad stared at the fly it wanted to eat. But too many describing words almost hide that meaning. This doesn't mean adjectives and adverbs are bad; they have their place. But too many turn your writing to fluff:
The owl landed in a tree.
The graceful owl lithely landed in a stately tree.
The second sentence makes readers wade through 50% more words to get the message. This habit stretches sentences into paragraphs and paragraphs into pages. But what if you want readers to know the owl is graceful, the landing lithe, the tree stately? Use language that triggers images or ideas already planted in readers' imaginations through their experiences:
1. Use concrete actions that show readers a graceful or lithe movement: Make your owl glide or soar in its flight, hover or swoop on its landing.
2. Use concrete objects that show readers a stately tree: Make it an oak, a fir, a pine.
Two more ways to cut adjectives and adverbs:
1. Use a specific verb to replace a verb-adverb combination:
run swiftly = sprint
walk slowly = stroll
look hard = stare
hold tightly = squeeze
2. Use a specific noun to replace an adjective-noun combination:
narrow street = alley
big dog = Boxer
tall building = skyscraper
good time = party
In this world of plank floors and flower pots, rocking chairs and swimming pools, adjectives can be useful tools -- as long as they pull their weight. For example, the adjectives in the previous sentence -- plank, flower, rocking, and swimming -- are all either objects or actions, a sneaky way of using nouns and verbs to describe other nouns and verbs.
For your writing to carry the natural rhythm of your voice, alter the lengths of your sentences and change the position of your details. This begins with a basic sentence, which is a short sentence with no fluff:
Wanda jumped into the moat.
To change the sound of this sentence, alter sentence lengths by adding details -- either description or information, images or ideas -- to the basic sentence. These details fit into any of three positions to create sentences of medium lengths:
1. Details can go in the FRONT of the basic sentence:
Because she yearned for a drink of water, Wanda jumped into the moat.
2. Details can go in the BACK of the basic sentence:
Wanda jumped into the moat, which had been emptied earlier that morning.
3. Details can go in the MIDDLE of the basic sentence:
Wanda, a trained seal from the circus, jumped into the moat.
You can also create long sentences by adding details in a combination of positions:
Wanda, the tallest player on the hockey team, jumped into the moat, a deep ditch full of fish.
Because she had seen the watery image of Elvis, Wanda, a woman with a good voice but a broken guitar, jumped into the moat, the reputed hiding place of The King.
By using a combination of short, medium, and long sentences, your writing will sound more natural. But just as sentences of the same lengths create monotonous sounds, so do details in the same position. Here's an example:
Jack, who didn't care beans about giants, climbed the beanstalk into the sky. The giant, smacking his lips and practicing his fi-fo-fumming, waited for Jack's arrival. Mrs. Giant, annoyed at the fumming, rounded up the goose.
In spite of their different lengths, these sentences sound repetitious all use details in the same position. To hear how to vary this rhythm, listen to these these two sentences:
Luanda was a merry old gent who didn't stop dancing till the cows came home.
Luanda, who didn't stop dancing till the cows came home, was a merry old gent.
Same basic sentence, same added details -- but changing the position also changes the sound.
Because paragraphs are developed and written one at a time, gaps frequently exist between their ideas. Often this is because the idea is so clear to the writer that he fails to clarify it for the reader. To bridge these gaps so readers move smoothly from one idea to the next, use either words, phrases, or ideas to hook your paragraphs together, connecting their ideas.
These transitions can be as simple as words or phrases:
To contrast ideas: but, yet, nevertheless, however, on the other hand, in spite of, even so.
To extend ideas: furthermore, moreover, consequently, therefore, as a result, in addition, for instance, as an example
To support ideas: certainly, clearly, obviously, clearly, of course.
To concede ideas: admittedly, granted, it is true that.)
Note: Although many of these transitional words fit in the front of a sentence, some sound better in the middle. (If you're unsure about the positions of a sentence, click here.) This is especially true of "however." If you ever have an uncontrollable desire to begin a sentence with it, use "nevertheless" instead.)
Transitions can also take the form of ideas. For example, here's how to use a word hook:
1. Pick a key word from the last sentence in a paragraph.
2. Use that word in the first sentence of the next paragraph.
To see how a word hook works, let's say this is the last sentence of a paragraph:
A pet turtle makes a poor pillow but a good friend.
Now pick a key word from this sentence. Nouns are often best for this -- turtle, pillow, friend -- though almost anything will do as long as it leads to the next idea. Let's say friend is the key word, so we'll use it in the first sentence of the next paragraph:
These days, a friend can be difficult, even impossible, to find.
This can help you pull together the separate parts of your writing to form a unified whole. But be careful; forcing a hook that doesn't fit can make your writing awkward instead of fluent, which means you can hook paragraphs only when their ideas fit together naturally. This is also true of idea hooks, which are more subtle. Here's how to use an idea hook:
1. Pick a key term from the last sentence in a paragraph.
2. Change the wording but keep the idea.
3. Use that idea in the first sentence of the next paragraph.
To see how an idea hook works, let's say this is the last sentence of a paragraph:
A turtle-jumping contest undermines our society's most vital achievements.
1. Key term from the sentence (making sure it leads to the next idea):
society's most vital achievements
2. Change the wording but keep the idea:
society's most vital achievements = 181 TV channels and frozen pizza.
3. That idea in the first sentence of the next paragraph:
Each jump of each turtle brings us ever closer to the end of an era, when we sat in our recliners, eating frozen pizzas and flipping through 181 TV channels.
Using transitional hooks this way to link ideas can help unify the structure and smooth the flow of any piece of writing.
If you follow a definite pattern of organization, it gives each idea-- whether the details within each paragraph or the paragraphs within the composition -- a sense of unity and order. This helps ensure that the ideas in your head remain clear when when they hit paper. Here three basic organizational patterns you can use:
1. Spatial: Organize ideas by space.
This pattern describes physical appearances by arranging details or paragraphs according to a set direction, moving from left-to-right or right-to-left, from top-to-bottom or bottom-to-top, from near-to-far or far-to-near-as long as it moves from one point to another point so you arrange your details in a consistent order.
2. Chronological: Organize ideas by time.
This pattern arranges a sequence of actions, describing one event after another, from first to last.
Note to writers of history: We at Bear Creek Press are weary of rearranging historical narratives so they appear in chronological order.Not surprisingly, READERS EXPECT HISTORY TO BE WRITTEN IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER! Therefore, in the absence of extraordinary circumstances that dictate otherwise, THIS IS HOW YOU SHOULD WRITE IT!
3. Climactic: Organize ideas by importance.
This pattern puts the least important details or paragraph first and the most important last.
Of course, you can always combine methods in a logical organization, which arranges details any way that makes sense -- as long as it holds the writing together and give the reader a sure sense of direction.
Let's say you're sitting in a tire shop or doctor's office or beauty salon with a short wait ahead of you, so you flip open two magazines. Each is devoted to a subject in which you're interested -- plumbing parts or chrome wheels or naked mole rats -- but you have time to read only one. If the basic quality of the two magazines is relatively equal, which do you choose? The one with the most white space. Guaranteed.
Readers avoid long paragraphs for the same reason they shun prolonged lectures -- they're boring. And they're boring because they lack rhythm. Yet paragraphs need a sense of rhythm just as sentences do.
To create rhythm in sentences, we alter their beginnings or arrange their parts in a variety of different ways (see Vary Sentences on this page). After all, a steady chop of "See Dick-See Jane-See Spot" annoys us, much as a piano player plinking the same notes over and over.
Paragraphs, however, are more limited than sentences, for their parts must stay in place if their ideas are to be clear. What, then, can we do? Alter their lengths. Paragraphs of similar lengths, especially if they're long, create a sense of monotony. But if we vary those lengths, we establish a pleasing sense of rhythm.
As an example, look at the size of the paragraphs that compose this piece of writing; count the sentences or note the line lengths. You may notice that the paragraphs' lengths are short, medium and long, just as some of the sentences within those paragraphs demonstrate a similar variety. Variety in sentences creates a rhythm of intrinsic sound you can hear; variety in paragraphs, however, creates a rhythm of white space you can see. Most readers probably can't explain that this is one reason they like a particular piece of writing more than another, but it's the writer's job to create the rhythm that generates that impression. (Though editors may have to change this rhythm to fit the limitations of the layout.)
The best writers are able to do this either by intuition or design. To see it at work, go to your favorite magazine and count the sentences in a sampling of paragraphs. You'll probably find two or three, perhaps four, is the average. That's because magazine writers and editors understand that the visual rhythm of paragraphs helps capture readers.
Textbooks, on the other hand, already have a captive audience, and so they are filled with long, tedious blocks of writing. The result is often insufferable monotony.
If you compose your work on a computer, one way to see how your writing "looks" to a reader is to scroll the document down the screen, watching to see how the paragraph blocks vary. If they're too consistent, you can either combine or separate them to achieve more variety. But be careful: You can't simply apply glue or scissors to a piece of writing that lacks continuity.
Nevertheless, if your ideas are clear and your structure strong, you can arrange your paragraphs to create a visual rhythm that readers long to see.
"The most important sentence in any article is the first one. If it doesn't induce the reader to proceed to the second sentence, your article is dead." William Zinsser.
What Mr. Zinsser says about articles also applies to chapters. The first sentence or two of each -- the lead -- determines whether readers keep reading or start turning pages, looking for something to catch their interest. And because developing strong leads depends on creativity, craftsmanship, and practice, it's critical for writers to find, analyze, and emulate good models. Here's a start:
Thirty years. That's long enough for wars to rage, Scotch to age, and youngsters to grow up and find their voices. (David Stabler)
Rain drums the town, roils in the gutters, chatters over the coats and caps of souls huddled under umbrellas. (Spencer Heinz)
Some were sick. Some were scared. Some were fearful. Some had problems requiring patience and forgiveness. All reached out beyond language and made a connection. (T.L. Petersen)
And so 2002 begins with a bubbly head on the plastic champagne flute and the slow burn of an Altoid for the kisses -- and a quick, frightened glance over the shoulder at the year that was, behind you in some dark alley, with a prayer that it's lost back there or it's found someone else to pick on, someone its own size. (Michael Wilson)
They stood in Portland's misty predawn, clutching coffee cups and the hope that life will someday be the way it was, yet fearing that it never will be. (Jerry F. Boone)
If Eastern Oregon University's John Evers had a dime for every time he squinted into the sun while driving to work in the morning since 1981 -- he would not have enough money to buy a cup of coffee. (Dick Mason)
Starbucks and lunch. Those two words seemingly go together like carp and wainscoting. (Kyle O'Brien)
When she feels threatened or frightened, Maria goes -- in her mind -- to a quiet forest where a waterfall drops into a serene pool. (Alice Perry Linker)
At dawn's first blush, the city's inner east side is Portland's dead zone, the riverbank where Dumpsters go to die. The warehouses slump like aging whores, flashing a little loading dock, insisting they're available, proud that they're cheap. Old air conditioners totter on window ledges, threatening to jump, tumbling down into a thicket of razor wire and broken pallets. (Steve Duin)
We may not care to admit it, but since the beginning of time, humans have turned to fools for wisdom and enlightenment. It's been about 500 years since court jesters went out of fashion, but-presidential politics aside -- there still are idiots worth listening to. (Kyle O'Brien)
Languid and liquid as the swells it surfs, the gray whale gives a mighty blow then arcs gracefully in a dive for the bottom. (Lynda V. Mapes)
Nobody else ever said it as well as William Strunk:
"Vigorous writing is concise. A sentence should contain no unnecessary words, a paragraph no unnecessary sentences, for the same reason that a drawing should have no unnecessary lines and a machine no unnecessary parts. This requires not that the writer make all his sentences short, or that he avoid all detail and treat his subjects only in outline, but that every word tell."
To make your writing concise, to say the most in the fewest words, whenever possible do the following:
Reduce a sentence to a clause:
Before: Bo has a deep affection for chickens. He bears a grudge against Colonel Sanders. (14 words)
After: Bo, who bears a grudge against Colonel Sanders, loves chickens. (10 words)
After: Because he loves chickens, Bo bears a grudge against Colonel Sanders. (11 words)
Reduce a clause to a phrase:
Before: Before he sat down to eat his dinner, Leon got stuck in the chimney. (14 words)
After: Before dinner, Leon got stuck in the chimney. (8 words)
Reduce a phrase to a word:
Before: Harl's German shepherd, a black dog that has a mean streak, has stolen several children from the neighborhood. (18 words)
After: Harl's mean, black German shepherd has stolen several neighborhood children. (11 words)
Avoid the academic practice of emphasizing a source of information at the expense of the information itself; instead, keep the reference subordinate.
NO: According to Dr. Frederick Philistine, a Senior Scatologist at the Bear Institute in New Brunswick, www.bearscat_r_us.com, we should have a relatively calm winter unless more polar bears escape from the zoo.
Yes: Unless more polar bears escape from the zoo, some experts say, we should have a relatively calm winter.
Yes: Unless more polar bears escape from the zoo, we should have a relatively calm winter.
This practice seems to stem from a fear that some information needs expert authority to back it up, that the writer himself is unqualified to make such a statement on his own. But readers care not a whit. If you're knowledgeable about the subject through either research or experience, say what you have to say, and save specific sources for the bibliography.
Quote tags or attributes (the "he said" or "she said" phrase in dialogue) fit in in one of three places:
1. The FRONT of the quotation:
He said, "Get me a pair parrots for me shoulders and some rattling sabers for me fists and make it snappy."
2. The BACK of the quotation:
"Get me a pair parrots for me shoulders and some rattling sabers for me fists and make it snappy," he said.
3. The MIDDLE of the quotation:
"Get me a pair parrots for me shoulders," he said, "and some rattling sabers for me fists and make it snappy."
Or
"Get me a pair parrots for me shoulders and some rattling sabers for me fists," he said, "and make it snappy."
The MIDDLE position offers two advantages: a melodic rhythm to the sentence and a dramatic pause in the meaning. Once you develop an ear for it, the other two positions sound blunted or abrupt. The middle can be employed in even short sentences:
"You are," she said, "a cad."
If, however, after careful thought and listening you decide that YOUR work sounds better with tags in the front or back, then that's where you should put them. Nevertheless, consider the alternative, and make sure you have a definite reason for your final choice.
You keep the elements of your sentences parallel by matching or repeating parts within the sentence. This parallel pattern has two purposes: to create a fluid rhythm, and to build a dramatic emphasis. Look at these parallel parts from the last sentence:
to/create/a/fluid/rhythm
to/build/a/dramatic/emphasis
See how the words fit a pattern? (You can apply a grammatical formula to show it (to + verb + a + adjective + noun), but you don't have to be a grammatical wizard to learn the technique.) The result of parallel construction is smoothness and clarity. To achieve it, just remember to use two or three of the same kind of words, or phrases, or clauses in your sentence.
Parallel words:
Bruised but determined, Louie stumbled into the opera and yelped for help.
Parallel phrases:
Zorro wasted his evenings dunking stale doughnuts and guzzling rancid swill.
Parallel clauses:
If his warts healed and his croaking stopped, Oswald knew he could disguise the fact that he was a frog.
This creates a sense of unity and balance in your sentences, for parallel parts usually sound better than mixed parts. In the following example, listen to the difference:
Because he loved to dance, Fenwick practiced ballet before he went fishing.
Fenwick, who went fishing afterwards, practiced ballet because he loved to dance.
Keeping the phrasing parallel creates a balanced rhythm and a clear image in your writing.
Applying this same kind of parallel construction to your titles can help promote a sense of symmetry. Take, for example, the titles of Mary Stewart's four books about Merlin and King Arthur:
The Crystal Cave
The Hollow Hills
The Last Enchantment
The Wicked Day
She uses the same parallel patterns in her chapter titles. The Hollow Hills, for example, contains the following four chapters:
The Waiting
The Search
The Sword
The King
Passive-NO! |
Active-YES! |
Naked frogs were seen dancing in the wheatfields. |
Naked frogs danced in the wheatfields. |
The sound of trumpeting could be heard as elephants flew past. |
Elephants trumpeted as they flew past. |
The phrases were seen, could be seen, were heard, could be heard are dead giveaways to passive voice.
This is a matter of style rather than correctness, for almost any sentence that begins with "there" uses too many words and not enough detail. For example:
Before: There were four trolls in the boat. (7 words)
After: Four trolls were in the boat. (6 words)
Better: Four trolls sat (or lounged or lolled) in the boat. (In each case, the verb is more specific than "were.")
Although the specific is always preferable to the general in effective writing--unless you're trying to conceal or confuse, such as in political speeches--you might well ask, "What's the big deal about saving one word?" Well, it's not the ONE word that's a big deal, but that that one word makes up almost 9 percent of the sentence, a habit that can infuse any piece of writing throughout. Carry that habit through a paragraph, a chapter, a book, and any writer can find himself bogged down in a muddle of empty words. A 100,000-word novel, for example, could be cut 9,000 words, or almost 26 pages of emptiness that we expect readers to wade through on their way to the end. Frequently, the cut is far more significant than this; let's take something from the proof as an example:
Before: There never has been a court challenge of the measure. (10 words and two weak verbs -- "has been")
After: A court never challenged the measure. (6 words with the verb strengthened to "challenged")
We have now cut the sentence by 40 percent; carried across our 100,000-word novel, that amounts to 40,000 words, or 114 pages the reader no longer has to wade through to find the story. Granted, this is a matter of extreme fussiness, but someone has to watch out for the pot holes -- even the smallest -- along the journey from book's beginning to its end.
For some peculiar reason unbeknownst to those amongst us who reside evermore amidst modern English, some writers insist on using Middle English terms dating to the days of Chaucer. The most common are the following:
Amidst instead of amid or surrounded by
Amongst instead of among
Unbeknownst instead of unknown
(And if you use "betwixt" instead of "between," you will probably be mistaken for a twelfth-century friar.)
We beseech thee, o' ye varlets guilty of such transgressions, to change thy ways and succumb not to the lure of such vagaries; yay verily, we pray you, authors, make thy prose worthy of goodly peoples from both hither and yon.
I is the puniest, wobbliest word in the English language, and it annoys both listeners and readers with the bloated tedium of its ego. "I-I-I-I-I," howls the coyote to the moon. "Me-me-me-me-me," wails the soprano from the stage. "I-me-I-me-I-me," scribbles the self-indulgent writer who believes in his inestimable self-importance.
Now the coyote and the soprano are just doing their jobs. But the writer is making the mistake of believing readers care about the person behind the pen. Well, here it is, writers, the awful truth: Nobody cares but your mother -- and only if she's not a critical reader. So if you have I-problems, it's time to see things in a new light.
"Yes, but I love myself," says a character in Stephen Crane's story, "The Open Boat." But I love myself -- these could be the lyrics to the self-centered writer's anthem, sung over and over between the lines of personal pronoun-riddled prose such as this:
I-Problem: As I was driving myself down the road, I saw a roadrunner cross the road in front of my car and scamper into the desert where I wasn't surprised to find that I had lost sight of him.
To make room for the writer's love affair with himself, that sentence swells to 38 words, including 6 personal pronouns --16 percent of the word count! But strip the sentence of those pronouns to shift the focus away from the writer and back to the writing, and this happens:
I-Solution: A roadrunner crossed in front of the car and disappeared into the desert.
Thirteen words -- about one-third of the original. And the writer's departure from the scene sweeps away the clutter. Think of what that means to an I-plagued essay or article, much less a book: a dozen pages shrinking to a few, thousands of words withering to hundreds -- and the prose itself growing sharper and stronger from all that lost flab.
Of course, this doesn't mean the personal viewpoint is evil. Some of the finest essays in the language use it, for a writer's involvement in an experience is often inseparable from the experience itself. (Try writing a memoir without it.) Even in these cases, however, the writer is secondary to the writing, with the experience stepping into the spotlight and the writer remaining in the shadows, serving as an integral, not a dominant, part of the action. And because this skill for subtlety takes time to develop, most I-problems emerge from the excesses of less experienced writers. Yet this is not always the case. The road runner example above, for instance, was adapted from an article appearing in one of the country's most prestigious magazines. As another example, the following excerpt from an editorial appeared in what was once one of the best writing magazines in the country (before the current editor and publisher bought it):
"After a while I realized that I would be a much happier freelancer if I was writing about subjects that I really liked and I knew something about."
Before she's done with the first two paragraphs, the editor devotes 10 percent of the words to "I." Some of her columnists, however, beat her to the I-punch. For example, the following appears in the same issue:
"I have to confess that I rarely work with editors I don't know. I had a bad experience once and ever since stick with editors I know and work well with."
This columnist devotes 17 percent of her prose to "I." If this pattern carried over to a 100,000-word book, you would have to read approximately 17,000 personal pronouns, almost 50 pages.
Granted, some writers may need the comfort that comes from using the personal viewpoint, while others may never be able to follow Shakespeare's advice to "love thyself last." Furthermore, some editors and publishers--as shown by the examples above -- encourage such ego excursions. Nevertheless, try to keep yourself in the background as much as possible, and be aware that when you step up to the next level of writing, you'll often leave yourself behind.
(More on this at Correct miscellaneous problems and Clean up language.)
Fad words come and fad words go, and the clutter they leave behind obscures the language, infusing it with a sense of the pompous, the pretentious, the ridiculous. For writers, using these words is roughly the same as shoveling muck onto their sentences. But because questioning people's use of the language can stir strong feelings, Bear Creek Press is avoiding the dirty work by interviewing Mr. Language Expert Guy, who doesn't have any friends anyway.
Bear Creek Press: Please, Mr. Language Expert Guy, give us some examples of fad words to avoid.
Mr. Language Expert Guy: Fad words come in three basic disguises. The first is long words that mean the same as short words. Examples include eventuality (event), facilitate (assist), utilize (use), cognizant (understand), implement (execute or accomplish). The list is long, the syllables longer.
The second is vague words that mean less than their specific equivalents. For instance, quantify (determine or explain), paradigm (example or model), and parameter (limit or boundary). Even more troublesome are the "ize" words that stretch the parameters and provide the paradigms (just kidding) of clutter: optimize, maximize, minimize, prioritize, potentialize, personalize, actualize, concretize, catastrophize. All these words have clear and concise equivalents.
The third is misunderstood words that mean something different from what is intended. For example, some people use "decimate" (to kill or destroy one-in-ten) to mean obliterate, eradicate, or another more accurate synonym. But perhaps the biggest problem is the habit of converting nouns to verbs (verbing, some call it). Target, transition, impact --these are three big ones. We continually hear that tobacco companies target (select, pursue, or aim for) teenagers, that schools are transitioning (changing or adapting) to higher standards, or that hog futures impact (affect or influence) the stock market.
BCP: Then why do we utilize -- oops -- why do we use fad words?
Mr. LEG: They're difficult to avoid because we imitate what we hear. As William Zinsser says, "New varieties sprout overnight, and by noon they're part of American speech." This flexibility to change, however, is also one of the strengths of English, which is receptive to both the junk and the jewels of language. Just be sure to scrap the junk.
Another reason is that some of the professionals who once took the best care of our language-editors, educators, journalists, and commentators-unintentionally sprinkle their prose with clutter, so it's difficult to read newspapers or watch TV without reinforcing the problem. On the other hand, some writers and speakers intentionally use long words to sound more knowledgeable, while others depend on obscure words to hide gaps in their knowledge, flaws in their logic, or truth in their motives.
BCP: Thank you, Mr. Language Expert Guy. Maybe next time we can discuss semicolons.
Mr. LEG: Can't wait.
Perhaps the best writing book ever to make its way into a classroom was The Lively Art of Writing by Lucile Vaughan Payne, who makes writing seem as though it belongs in the real world, not just in schools. Among her most effective lessons are "The Terrible Three" and "The Troublesome Twenty-Seven." A summary of these vital lessons in the use and misuse of language are available online as "The Dirty Thirty.
(More on this at Shun fan words and Correct miscellaneous problems.)
If you're serious about writing, buy a copy of this book, the bible of style. Study it. Repeatedly. Give particular attention to sections III ("Elementary Principles of Composition") and IV ("A Few Matters of Form"). Nothing else in print has ever matched it for clear, reasonable, wise advise about the craft.
(More on this at Shun fan words and Clean up language.)
Although some of the following is included in other sections of House Style, gathering some common stylistic "flaws" here makes it easier to point them out to authors. Similar problems will be added as they occur with more frequency, but for now we'll begin with three BIG ones.
Although a favorite of British royalty, the use of "one" smacks not only of snootiness--sorry, Queen Elizabeth--but also imposes a vague sense of a writer's audience. An example:
One must travel to China if one is to experience authentic egg foo young.
So who the heck is the writer addressing--who is this mysterious ONE? Two ways to improve this:
1. Address the reader directly with you:
You must travel to China to experience authentic egg fu yung.
Only in China can you get authentic egg fu yung.
2. Revise the sentence to avoid direct address:
Traveling to China is the only way to experience authentic egg fu yung.
Only Chinese restaurants serve authentic egg fu yung.
|
The mysterious Mr. One sits alone in a Beijing cafe, awaiting his order of authentic egg fu yung. |
Use that--not which--in restrictive clauses. (Refer to Punctuation Guide below.)
No: The tree which bends the least is more likely to break.
Yes: The tree that bends the least is more likely to break.
Which witch is which when that which is the witch weareth not that hat which doth sayeth not that which is? Obviously, this is a question that greatly perplexes these two women.
Use "because" for a reason. Do not use "since" or "due to" or "as."
No: Since I shaved my head, my hat won't stay on. (This gives the time.)
Yes: Because I shaved my head, I now wear a toupee. (This gives the reason.)
Mixing these can cause confusion. For example:
Since the 3:10 train arrived from Yuma, I've had second thoughts about joining the posse.
This could mean that the train's arrival is the reason for the second thoughts, or that it precedes those thoughts but does not contribute to them.
Similar problems are encountered with the use of "due to" and "as" to show reasons. "Due to," however, implies an expectation, such as The train is due to arrive in an hour.
No: He wore his hair long due to his empathy with the tail-end of a horse.
Yes: He wore his hair long because of his empathy with the tail-end of a horse.
"As" is either an adverb used to signal a comparison (chicken eggs as big as baseballs) or a conjunction that shows a time relationship: As she grew older, her tattoos began to fade.
No: He did over ten pushups to win the Manly Man contest.
Yes: He did more than ten pushups to win the Manly Man contest
No: The price of tomatoes impacts the cost of ketchup.
Yes: The price of tomatoes affects the cost of ketchup.
No: The boss wants to talk with you regarding your nose hairs.
Yes: The boss wants to talk with you about your nose hairs.
If you mean "before," say it; avoid "prior to."
No: Prior to leaving, he donned his pantaloons and cod piece.
Yes: Before leaving, he donned his pantaloons and cod piece.
Avoid the following words and terms at all costs until life is discovered on another planet whose inhabitants might find them amusing. Until then, these are used incorrectly so often that they create unintentional comedy.
Implement
Target
Utilize (and anything else ending in "ize": finalize, maximize, etc.)
Transition
Literally
At the end of the day
Step up to the plate (or even "step up")
Because stage plays take place on a three-walled set, the "fourth wall" is -- according to Vincent Canby, the drama critic who coined the term in 1987 -- the "invisible screen that forever separates the audience from the stage." Therefore, we pretend the "fourth wall" is there, even though its absence is what helps perpetuate the play's sense of reality by permitting us to see through this boundary and into the lives of others. "Breaking the fourth wall" occurs when a character on stage -- or in film or on TV -- addresses the audience directly (as some Shakespearean characters do in their soliloquies) to produce a dramatic effect, pulling the audience into the action on the other side of the wall. In writing nonfiction, this "breaking" occurs when the author mentions to readers that he is, in fact, writing. This often takes the form of a seemingly offhand remark, such as, "While I was writing this chapter..." Skillfully handled, no matter what the medium, this can produce the desired dramatic effect or an innovative shift in perspective. A more common result, however, is a sense of clumsiness that can be avoided by always maintaining the fourth wall in your writing.
The only note necessary about end marks is this:
Use exclamation marks only when your hair is on fire!
Before we begin, here's the most important thing to learn about commas:
WHEN IN DOUBT
LEAVE IT OUT!
This means if you do not have a specific reason to use a comma, do not use a comma.
What follows, then, are six specific reasons.
Reason 1: Separate parenthetical words in a sentence.
Parenthetical words are extra words that add no meaning to a basic sentence. (For more about basic sentences, click here.) Think of them as the fillers people use in conversation -- names, expressions, comments. They can show up in the front, middle, or back of any sentence, or in any combination. (If you're unsure about the positions of a sentence, click here.)
Front: Yes, the world will go on without him.
Front: By the way, have you seen the neighbor's goat?
Middle: If I want your advice, Fred, I'll ask for it.
Middle: It is, however, a mistake to sleep under a cow.
Back: The radio falling into the tub was my fault, I'm afraid.
Back: If Elvis were alive, he'd wear blue suede shoes, right?
Combination: As I see it, the problem is that Nancy, bless her heart, has blue hair, if you can believe such a thing.
A compound sentence is made up of two main clauses -- two basic sentences -- put together. (For more about basic sentences, click here.) These clauses must be kept apart with a comma and one of these conjunctions: and, but, or, so, yet, for. Just make sure you have two distinct simple (or basic) sentences that cry out to be joined into a compound sentence. So don't write something like this: The cat was black, and the cat was big. True, technically this is a compound sentence. But it stinks. The sentence is better like this: The cat was big and black.
Compound sentence: Forp picked up the truck, but it was too late for the cat.
Compound sentence: Nardia spit between her teeth, and a filling dropped out.
Items in a series is a list of words or phrases or clauses.
Words in a series: Sam likes to hide in fish bowls, laundry chutes, and compost piles.
Phrases in a series: Zwo is a master of disguise, a genius at chess, and a singer of songs.
Clauses in a series: Kirby said he would go home if he got over his headache, if he found his hip boots, and if we untied him.
Phrases are distinct elements that add details or information to a basic sentence. (For more about basic sentences, click here.) The sound and clarity of the sentence are better if these elements are kept separate. The examples below use both noun phrases and verb phrases in different positions. (If you're unsure about the positions of a sentence, click here.)
Front: In a long-ago time before frogs, no amphibians croaked.
Middle: Lady Macbeth, muttering to herself, plucked another grape.
Back: Farly silently watched the film, a troubling tale of love between fish.
Combination: Staring at the sun, Porf, a gargoyle fixed to the side of a bus, longed for sleep, the only thing that would bring him peace.
Reason 5: Separate adverb clauses in a sentence.
Like phrases, clauses add details or information to a basic sentence, though usually in bigger or more complete chunks. (For more about basic sentences, click here.)
Adverb clause: Before he entered the saloon, the cowboy bowed to Mecca.
Note: You might not need the comma if the clause is in the back of the sentence. This is because the meaning of the sentence is clear before the reader encounters it, and the tendency is to roll right over it without slowing down, like this:
Unky Nork was famous because he lived in a shoe box.
But if the clause is in the front, then we are unsure of the sentence's meaning until we get to the end of it. We seem to reflect this sense of suspense or apprehension in our voices when we speak -- and when we write -- by slowing down just a bit when we're about to hit upon the sentence, which holds the key to the meaning of the clause, like this:
Because he lived in a shoe box, Uncle Nork was famous.
These, too, are separated from the sentence with commas.
Fredricko, who snored for years, was cured yesterday.
Lazt stared at his wife, who had slipped a frog into his soup.
Note: Sometimes an adjective clause is necessary to the meaning of the sentence. Because its information restricts the meaning of that sentence, it is called a restrictive clause, which is not separated with commas. Examples of restrictive clauses:
The boy whose hair was on fire used an exclamation mark.
Mr. Comma is a critter who is not as mean as he looks.
The ugly contest is usually entered by people who lack self-confidence.
It is people who don't wear clothes who get the coldest in winter.
As you can see, the meaning of an entire sentence will be ruined if a restrictive clause is removed from it.
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The semi-colon is often misunderstood. Many people think of it as half-comma, half-period; but they're only half-right. Following are two reasons to use them.
Yes, a period and a comma (with a conjunction) can do the same thing. But while a period designates a full stop and a comma a brief one, a semi-colon shows that two main clauses contain separate but connected ideas -- statements that should be standing together, maybe even holding hands.
Helix stumbled once; he knew he would regret it later.
The sun went down; the moon came up.
Here's a variation of the same thing (note the connecting word in front of the second main clause):
Ruff was awkward; therefore, he was always chosen last.
This one sounds worse than it really is. It's kind of a combination between separating items and separating phrases or clauses in a series. You already know to use commas to separate phrases inside sentences, like this:
Wolporp, the goose that laid the golden egg, thought about retiring.
But what happens when you get phrases or clauses in a series? It might look like this:
Wolporp, the goose that laid the golden egg, Jack, the Giant Killer who stole the goose, and Jersey Joe, the ex-heavyweight champion of the world, all sat down to dinner.
See how confusing it is with all those commas? The semi-colon can fix it:
Wolporp, the goose that laid the golden egg; Jack, the Giant Killer who stole the goose; and Jersey Joe, the ex-heavyweight champion of the world, all sat down to dinner.
The fight started when Mum, the pitcher; Wif, the catcher; and Zog, the coach, got stuck in the elevator.
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Contrary to what some writers believe, a colon is not the same thing as a semi-colon and is not interchangeable; the colon works at completely different jobs.
When you want to tell the reader a list is coming up inside the sentence, you say so and mark it with a colon. So a colon does work in this sentence:
Ferth wanted these three things in life: love, soup, and money.
But it does not work in this sentence:
Ferth wanted: shoes and socks and storks for Christmas.
What's the difference? The first sentence tells the reader that the list is coming; the second one doesn't. The second sentence includes the list as part of the sentence. So make sure when you use a colon to introduce a list, you tell the reader that the list is coming.
If you are going to be successful in life, you must understand the following rule: neither a swordfish nor a tuna fish be.
When one idea in a sentence must be clarified with another idea, you can introduce the second idea with a colon.
This sentence is hard to write: Ideas are hard to come by.
You can see in this example that the second idea clarifies the first by answering this question:Why is the sentence hard to write? (And if the second idea is a complete sentence, capitalize the first letter.)
If you're going to make chipmunk stew, don't forget the most important ingredients: a chipmunk and some water.
He opened his mouth at the very worst time: Flies had begun swarming everywhere, looking for a place to call home.
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(Note: Because Web pages do not show the typographical mark of an em dash, double hyphens are used instead; to learn about em dashes, see Manuscript Mechanics.)
Sometimes -- either for the sound or for the drama it creates -- you'll want to abruptly shift the flow of a sentence. This shift usually entails adding -- suddenly -- some details of explanation or imagery to the sentence. The dash gives these details an emphasis that other punctuation marks can't, and it works in the middle or the back of the sentence. (If you're unsure about the positions of a sentence, click here.)
Middle: Possums -- though they try to avoid it -- seem destined forever to waddle too slowly across busy roads.
Back: Horatio the bell-ringer set his cat in the chair and spoke the secret words -- but it was too late.
Reason 2: Set off a long explanation.
This works especially well when the explanation contains commas. The explanation can be in the front, the middle, or the back of the sentence. (If you're unsure about the positions of a sentence, click here.)
Front: Shucking the corn, slopping the hogs, milking the cows -- Farmer Fred hated all these jobs, though he smiled as he did them.
Middle: The stereotyped English teacher -- pot-bellied and balding, speaking with a lisp and prancing around the room -- is often an accurate portrayal.
Back: Wobblie poked his head into the wig -- the desperate act of a desperate man, who only that morning had realized his hair was no longer his own.
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Once upon a time, but not that long ago, our editor, Perry White, received an email from a writer searching for someone to edit his novel-in-progress. The following is taken directly from that correspondence:
Writer: I need an editor, an excellent editor, someone to bring the story up to a new dimension, by adding feeling and depth.
Editor: "Adding feeling and depth" is the writer's job. No editor on the planet can do this for you. If you're serious about writing a novel, then consider doing these four things:
1. Study James N. Frey's How to Write a Damn Good Novel. Don't just read it -- STUDY it.
2. Do the same with Jack Bickham's Scene and Structure.
3. Memorize Strunk and White's The Elements of Style.
4. For every line of dialogue you write, do a word count, then cut it at least in half. Not roughly half, but AT LEAST HALF. When you think you have your final draft, do this again.
If you work at these four things, you'll be on your way to becoming your own best editor; if not, then you don't really need an editor at all.
Writer: I'm too old to start reading. I just don't have time, and I don't want to take the time. I'm pushed to finish the projects I've set out for myself. So I plan to just keep writing.
Editor: This is like a pianist on his way to his own recital saying, "I just don't have time to learn to play the piano, so I plan to just keep playing." Or a ballerina just showing up to dance, unburdened by either the knowledge or the practice of her art. Heck, if a plumber or an electrician showed up at your house to install the plumbing or wiring, you'd expect him to know something about what he was doing, wouldn't you? Oh, well. Good luck.
Bear Creek Press
With its World Headquarters located at the old Abbie Riggle Place on Bear Creek Road just one mile from downtown Wallowa, Oregon, Bear Creek Press is the largest publishing house on the southwest bank of the Wallowa River.
"Well-designed and well-printed books."
Statesman-Journal (Salem, Oregon)
"There could be nothing so important as a book can be."
Editor Max Perkins in a letter to author Thomas Wolfe
Bear Creek Press produces only organic, free-range books containing no pesticides, herbicides, preservatives, or growth hormones. Ask your bookseller if Bear Creek Press books are right for you.
