grammar

More than Labor Pains

By Joshua | September 30, 2015 - 6:16 pm | general writing, grammar, style, word use

Let’s talk contractions.

First things first: If you’re working for a person or a company who insists that contractions be kept out of formal writing, don’t put them in your formal writing. This will help you avoid some problems. If the boss says no contractions, don’t use them. The funny thing is that when the boss tells you, it will probably come out as: “You can’t use contractions;” or “We don’t use contractions.” And you see the fun little issue there, right?

If you’ve been given the freedom to use contractions, or if you work for yourself and don’t have “the man” sticking false rules to you, there is no good reason not to sprinkle contractions in to even formal writing, where appropriate. Contractions can increase the readability and flow of writing. You probably don’t want to use them in every sentence, but a complete rejection of contractions leaves some sentences feeling cumbersome or unnatural. Usually you can substitute “cannot” for “can’t” without making your sentence too odd; not all contractions work like that, though. “Do not” sounds much more severe than “don’t.” And with some common contractions, the full-form of the phrase is nearly obsolete in spoken language. When was the last time you said, “Let us go to the movies tonight” instead of “Let’s go to the movies”? I’ll bet it’s been some time, unless you were trying to sound highfalutin (there’s a fun word I don’t get to use everyday).

And let me make one thing absolutely clear: if you’re writing dialogue—especially for works of fiction—please, please, PLEASE use contractions! Unless you are writing about some futuristic, purely-dystopian society where comfortably dialogue has been completely abolished, failing to use contractions will make your characters and conversations feel wooden and unnatural. We all use contractions when we speak; there’s nothing wrong with using them; and if you want your characters to read as real people, they should use contractions in conversation. Sorry about that, I’ve read a couple books where the characters spoke without contractions. You may have noticed that it bothered me a little bit.

And now for a disclaimer: I have neither performed nor read any studies on this next point, but will believe it true until proven otherwise. One of the biggest keys to persuasive writing is to get your readers to believe that your conclusion (the one you want them to reach) was their idea all along. And trust me, when they think, they probably use contractions. If you can lead your reader through to your conclusion in a way that is so natural she believes it was her own idea, you’re more likely to convince her you’re right. In doing this, it can’t hurt to write like your reader thinks; contractions and all.

That’s my two cents. And doesn’t that just read much more naturally than “That is my two cents”?

I thought so.

Clean up your language!

By Joshua | September 1, 2015 - 7:44 pm | general writing, word use

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Last post I went on a bit of a rant regarding the death of “literally.” This post is about another word. This time, the word is “clear,” or in its other commonly-used form, “clearly.” Unlike “literally,” whose unseemly demise was brought about by our fascination with hyperbole, “clearly” has just been overused to the point that it needs to be buried. The problem with overusing “clearly” is most prevalent in legal writing; and it is from legal writing that it needs to be most swiftly excised.

Legal-writing-guru Bryan Garner includes “clearly” in a list of “weasel words.” Defining “weasel words,” he quotes Theodore Roosevelt: “One of our defects as a nation is a tendency to use what have been called weasel words. When a weasel sucks eggs it sucks the meat out of the egg and leaves it an empty shell. If you use a weasel word after another there is nothing left of the other.” Bryan Garner, Garner’s Modern American Usage 853 (3rd ed. Oxford Univ. Press 2009). Garner continues, “[s]ensitive writers are aware of how supposed intensives (e.g. very) actually have the effect of weakening a statement. Many other words merely have the effect of rendering uncertain or hollow the statements in which they appear.” Id.

In legal writing, and persuasive writing in general, “clearly” has come to mean, “I want you to see it this way.” And usually it means that what you are saying isn’t clear at all, but it is your argument. If an argument’s conclusion is, in fact, clear, you won’t need to tell your reader that it is. Judges, and readers in general, do not want you to tell them how clear your argument is. At best, it’s hubris; at worst, it’s insulting. The last thing you want to do is tell any reader, especially a judge, something like, “If you were as smart as I am, you would see how inescapable this argument is. If you don’t think it is clear, you’re obviously missing something.”

When it comes to legal argument, my philosophy has always been to write like you’re just telling the reader how it is, not like you are trying to convince them how it should be. It’s more convincing (and less insulting) to say, “The grass is green and the sky is blue,” than to say, “The grass is clearly green and the sky obviously blue.” It becomes exponentially worse when you are arguing a controversial point, where the judge may not want to agree that the law says what it says. The more you tell the judge how clear it all is, the more likely the judge will see it as anything but.

By all means, make your point, support your point, and summarize your point. But don’t tell me your point is clearly the only conclusion. If you have prepared a well-written, well-reasoned argument, everything in it should draw me to the conclusion that you want. You won’t need to tell me your point is clear. If you have to tell me how clear the conclusion is, you’re telling me that you’re point isn’t strong enough to stand on it’s own and needs you to stand behind it, constantly asking me why I can’t just see it the way you do.

And that, my friends, is clearly a bad idea.

The day a word literally died.

By Joshua | August 27, 2015 - 3:34 pm | general writing, grammar, word use

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Rest in peace, literally. It’s not the first time, but it is one of the most recent. The misuse of the word “literally” as a substitute for “figuratively” has become an accepted definition. Many major dictionaries, including perhaps the most-used modern dictionary, dictionary.com, now include some version of “figuratively” as an accepted use of the word “literally.”

I don’t consider myself a pedant (well, about most things), and I’m all for creating and creatively using words, but I think this one went too far. Not only are the definitions of “literally” inconsistent, the new definition is the exact opposite of the other accepted definitions. Dictionary.com gives us four definitions for “literally:”

1. in the literal or strict sense: She failed to grasp the metaphor and interpreted the poem literally.
What does the word mean literally?

2. in a literal manner; word for word:
to translate literally.

3. actually; without exaggeration or inaccuracy:
The city was literally destroyed.

4. in effect; in substance; very nearly; virtually:
I literally died when she walked out on stage in that costume.

(Definition from dictionary.com.)

In the immortal words of Sesame Street: “One of these things is not like the others; one of these things just doesn’t belong.”

My problem here is not that words cannot be used to express new concepts or meanings. And we’re not playing Scrabble with our everyday language; to a large extent, as my 13-year-old son says, “If you understood what I meant, then it was a real enough word.” (Note: this is not a good practice to use in any official, academic, or business writing, but works in normal, everyday conversation. Also, try to do it without the eye roll that has been perfected by 13-year-olds throughout the ages.)

No, the problem is that instead of helping someone understand a concept, this use of the word “literally” makes the concept less precise, it leads to unnecessary ambiguity. Sure, contextual clues will usually let us know which whether the speaker or writer using “literally” really means “literally” or “figuratively,” but with all of the other good words out there, why misuse a perfectly good word like “literally” as its exact opposite? Yes, I’m pretty sure the speaker did not “literally die” when so-and-so walked out on stage in that costume, but couldn’t the speaker have expressed the same feelings with “I almost died” or some similar phrase?

Don’t worry, my rant is almost over.

Writers should strive for clarity; there’s seldom a good reason for purposeful ambiguity. Unless you’re writing dialogue for a specific character, you should avoid using “literally” to mean “figuratively.” Feel free to use “virtually” or “almost” or just about anything other than “literally” unless you mean it, well, literally.

And for those who truly care about words and want to avoid their needless slaughter, please stop using “literally” as “figuratively” in conversation. Please, it literally makes my head hurt.

You were a good word, literally. I’m sorry this had to happen to you. You will be missed.

Serial: Killers bad, commas good.

By Joshua | August 21, 2015 - 8:19 pm | general writing, grammar, punctuation

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Everyone who likes to read about writing has read something about the serial, or Oxford, comma. The band Vampire Weekend even has a song about it, but I disagree with their take: “Who gives a **** about an Oxford comma…” I, for one, have strong feelings about the serial comma. And I think you should. For anyone who doesn’t know, the serial comma refers to the last comma before a conjunction when you’re dealing with a list. A classic example:

I’d like you to meet my parents, Mother Teresa, and the Pope.

The serial comma refers to the comma right after “Teresa” in the example. This is a classic example for a simple reason; in it, removing the serial comma changes the meaning of the sentence.

With the serial comma there is only one way to read the sentence. I’d like you to meet my parents, Mother Teresa, and the Pope:

Without the serial comma it is ambiguous. I’d like you to meet my parents, Mother Teresa and the Pope, could mean:

You see the difference.

The Associated Press’s style guide advises against the serial comma, but we have to take that opinion with a grain of salt, because the AP is just as (or more) interested in saving space where it can than it is about specificity. Virtually all other writing authorities recommend using the serial comma, to avoid the ambiguities shown above. Although context can sometimes make it obvious what the writer means—most readers probably will not assume that Mother Teresa and the Pope are your parents—why take the chance? If you are dead-set on avoiding the serial comma, changing the order on your list can make all the difference. There is little confusion to be had if the sentence reads: I’d like you to meet Mother Teresa, the Pope and my parents. But the problem is completely avoided by adding one little punctuation mark.

My vote, as you can see by my title, has been cast. When it comes to the comma, serial is good.

What are your thoughts? Does anyone have examples of the serial comma causing problems? I’d also like to hear your favorite, preferably humorous, ambiguities that could have been avoided by using a serial comma.