August 13, 2012

*The Unnecessary 'Both'

Here’s a word that makes me all chop-happy when I edit: “both.”

I comes up a lot in sentences like this one: “The hospital provides a supportive work environment for both doctors and nurses to provide superior patient care.”

That “both” is, technically, just fine. It’s used correctly, of course. But it has one drawback. And when you weigh that drawback against the benefits of this “both,” I see no reason to leave it.

The drawback is that “both,” when immediately followed by a plural noun, might momentarily be construed to be modifying that noun only. In other words, a someone looking at the phrase “both doctors and nurses” might first read it as “both doctors” and wonder which two doctors you’re talking about.

Granted, they wouldn’t be confused for long. It only takes a split second to realize that “both” is modifying the whole noun phrase “doctors and nurses.” But if your goal is optimum clarity, precision, and economy of words – which mine usually is when I’m editing – you have to question that “both.”

Does it really add anything that offsets its drawbacks? Not in this sentence. “The hospital provides a supportive work environment for doctors and nurses” says it all just as well with fewer words. So I would chop “both” out of the sentence without hesitation.

Writers use “both” more often than needed because, in spoken English, it can add some emphasis. It can say: Wow. Not just doctors but even nurses have a good gig here. But in print it doesn’t always have the same effect. Readers can’t always “hear” the way the word sounds in the writer’s mind. So “both” can do more harm than good.

On the other hand, “both” can sometimes achieve the desired effect in print. Used well it can drive how that “wow” point quite well – even before a plural noun it doesn’t modify alone. That’s why I weigh the merits of every “both” on a case-by-case basis.

But my simple rule of thumb is: If “both” isn’t adding anything to the sentence and it comes before a plural noun that isn’t its sole partner, “both” is an extra word we can do without.

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August 6, 2012

*When to Capitalize After a Colon

Here’s something you probably never have to worry about: whether to capitalize the first letter after a colon. It’s not the kind of thing that, if you get wrong, people will roll their eyes or giggle behind your back or pass you over for a job or even notice. Unless, of course, it’s your job to know these things.

But if, for whatever reason, you’d like to know when to capitalize after a colon and when not to, here’s all you need to know.

1.  If the stuff introduced by the colon is not a complete sentence, don’t capitalize the first letter (that is, of course, unless it’s a proper name). This is true in both AP and Chicago styles. Here’s an example: “I know what you did last summer: nothing.”

2. If the words that follow the colon form at least one sentence, AP style says to capitalize the first letter. “I know what you did last summer: You did nothing.”

3. In Chicago style, you capitalize the first letter after the colon only when the colon introduces two or more sentences. “I know what you did last summer: You did nothing. You were a couch potato.”

And in case you’re not clear on when to use a colon instead of, say, a dash or a semicolon or to start a new sentence. That's not as serious a problem as you may think. There is some overlap in these choices, which we’ll save for another day. But for now, here, in Chicago’s words, is a simple explanation of when to use a colon: “A colon introduces an element or a series of elements illustrating or amplifying what has preceded the colon.” I think of it kind of like a spotlight or a pregnant pause -- something that says, “Here it comes ...”

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July 30, 2012

Bad-sentence Overhaul

Here, slightly disguised, is a sentence from an article I had to edit some time ago. The article was about a couple, how they met, and how they made their relationship work.

Supporting each other through their education and in their career dreams has been a vein running through their 10-year relationship that continues today as Jones pursues her dreams of becoming a licensed psychiatrist.

You’d be surprised how often I see stuff like this, penned by professional writers no less. Somehow, their words just get away from them and the result is a sort of a swamp of nondescript thoughts that never take shape.

 It can happen to the best of us. And, when you find out that your clear, simple ideas turn to something like this on the page, the best thing to do is to start looking for subjects and verbs. Once you’ve identified the main doer and the main action in each sentence, you’ll be able to decide whether they’re saying what you wanted to say.

In this sentence, the subject is the gerund “supporting.” Bad call. Gerunds, which are “ing” forms of verbs functioning as nouns, turn dynamic actions into static things. Sometimes this is fine, as in “Jogging is great exercise.” But often it’s just a sort of vague abstraction that doesn't crystallize in the reader’s mind.

The main verb of this sentence is “is,” which is a fine verb. But look what it attaches our subject to: “a vein.” So the main point of our sentence is “Supporting is a vein.” True: In context, it’s not quite so nonsensical. But it’s still abstract and borderline meaningless.

 When you start looking for other verbs, you find “continues” and “pursues.” (“Running” in this sentence isn’t functioning as a verb or even as a noun. It’s really working as an adjective  – a participial modifier describing the word “vein.”) The verb “continues” is part of the larger thought “a vein that continues through their relationship.” So that action is subordinated -- stuck in a relative clause. “Pursues” in “Jones pursues her dreams” is a decent verb, I suppose, but it’s subordinated by the conjunction “as,” which allowed the writer to sort of weld this idea on to the rest of the sentence.

And once I scrutinized these clauses individually, I found other ways to write this.

 “Supporting is a vein” had to go. I reworded the passage to convey the idea buried within: Throughout their 10-year relationship, Jones and Wilson have supported each other’s education and career goals.

 Here the subject is actual people. Supporting is now an action instead of a vague concept. And, better yet, now that we haven’t wasted a whole clause on stating the existence of a “vein,” we don’t need to say it "continues." It’s clear with just one clause that they continue to support each other.

 I still had to find a way to work in the information that Jones was pursuing her dream of becoming a therapist. But that one simple thought could now fit anywhere. I found a good spot a few sentences down after a bit about their history: Jones decided that she wanted to enter medical school and began taking pre-med courses at Princeton.

 So whenever you find yourself staring down a world-class Frankensentence, just break it up and take a cold, hard look at the parts. Usually, that’s all it takes to turn it into something real.

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July 23, 2012

Typo Defeatism (Or How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Live with the Typo)

I was about four pages deep into a very boring eight-page publication I was proofreading, struggling to keep my mind from drifting off to some balmy beach in the South Pacific, when suddenly a word seemed to leap off the page: wtith. I circled it in red, wrote “with” under it, and silently congratulated myself.

Prepositions are the sneakiest typo smugglers. We (or at least I) tend to skim over them quickly when we read, focusing instead on the nouns and verbs that give the text its substance. It’s easy to overlook an “it” that should have been an “in” or an “if” that should have been an “of,” not to mention the combos: “in if,” “on of,” and even “in in” and “on on.”

What’s more, by the proofreading stage, the articles I edit have already been through spell-check, which catches typos like “wtith” as well as duplicate prepositions. So I wasn’t exactly laser-focused on the spelling of every word in this 4,000- or 5,000-word publication. That’s why, whenever I catch stuff like this, I’m kind of proud of myself. And by “kind of” I mean “very.”

Not two hours later, in another boring 5,000ish-word publication I’d already read several times, I caught an “aboard” that should have been “abroad.” I went home that day, a Friday, feeling like an invincible Typo Terminator.

Then, on Monday, I came in to my freelance job to learn that the publication in which I had caught "wtith" had the word “stil,” misspelled, right on the cover. Fortunately, another editor caught it before it went to print. But unfortunately, that editor wasn’t me.

Typos are the bane of my existence. They’re like little demons lurking behind every paragraph just waiting for the opportunity to humiliate me. And I’m actually quite good at catching them – in other people’s writing.

My own writing is another thing entirely. I’m a messy thinker and a messy typist, which makes for some very messy writing. My skill at catching other people’s typos doesn’t apply to my own writing – ever. I can proofread something I wrote four times and not catch that I spelled my name Juen (this has happened).

In 15 years or so I’ve been writing for community newspapers, I’ve come to accept the fact that my embarrassing typos are going to end up in print. Community newspapers operate on shoestring budgets forcing underpaid and often inexperienced workers to crank out a ridiculous amount of text in a ridiculously short period of time. If I type something wrong, there is perhaps a 50% chance it will get fixed.

Over the  years, I’ve learned to try harder to catch my own typos. The best trick I’ve discovered is to write something the day before deadline then read it again the next day with fresh eyes. Actually, this mostly helps to find problems with the writing itself – clunkiness, unclear explanations, etc. – but I do catch a few more of my own typos.

The best way to catch your typos is to recruit someone else to. Ask a word-savvy friend or family member to carefully proofread your work. Reading aloud also helps – it forces you to pay attention to every word, assuring you won’t gloss over any.

But, to me, the only way to shield myself against typo-induced embarrassment is to accept, in advance, that my next public humiliation is just around the corner.

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July 16, 2012

Everything You'll Ever Need to Know About Language

My last couple posts were about a woman named Barbara who pounced on my "errors" of using a so-called split infinitive and a sentence-ending preposition in a column. The posts elicited this comment from Leslie:

<<I am a professional editor who has a great ear for the language and can turn anyone's writing into gold. My gift is not precise knowledge of grammar but flow, aliveness and clarity and assuring that the reader will not put it down. I have no formal training and don't know a split infinitive from a split log. My authors rave about my work, but I live in terror of people like the one who emailed you... any advice?>>

Oh, yes. I have some advice. It's not just for professional editors but for anyone aspiring to use the language better while fending off uninformed attacks from people like Barbara. Here it is, long form.

1. You know who has formal training in grammar, syntax, usage issues like split infinitives, punctuation, and all other matters language-related? Almost no one. There are a couple of copy editing programs (including a great one I teach for at UC San Diego Extension) that teach this stuff. Linguistics majors learn a lot about these matters, too. But they're a tiny minority of folks in the writing and editing professions. Most professional wordsmiths, including a lot of editors and copy editors, started with an innate flair for language and picked up their knowledge in bits and pieces - much of it on the job. Tragically, pretty much every writer or editor I've ever met felt he or she was at a disadvantage because they didn't "learn" such things in school. So they all feel like the lone dunce in the class, not realizing that everyone else in class feels the same way! The innate ability to make poor writing sing can't be taught. But facts about prepositions and infinitives can be easily looked up. Which brings us to ...

 2. My second piece of advice for Leslie and anyone who shares her desire to get a better handle on language can be summed up in two words: usage guide. Merriam Webster's Dictionary of English Usage, Garner's Modern American Usage, Fowler's Modern English Usage -- these books look like dictionaries, but they're not. They're goldmines. They list, alphabetically, answers to every language question their authors could anticipate, including whether it's okay to start a sentence with "and," which you'll find listed right under the letter A, and the truth about "split infinitives," listed right under S or I. Thumb through one of these for an afternoon and most of your grammar insecurities will melt away.

 3. Get a copy of either the Chicago Manual of Style or the Associated Press Stylebook. They are essentially playbooks offering guidelines to help you consistently write numbers, hyphenate prefixes, use words, and on and on. The Chicago Manual focuses on book and magazine writing. The AP guide reflects popular standards in news media. But be warned: neither is an absolute authority. If Chicago says you can't use "nauseous" to mean "nauseated" that just means you can't do so according to their style. It doesn't mean it's wrong to, as any modern dictionary will tell you.

4. You know that little section in the front of your dictionary that explains how to use the dictionary? Read it. Really read it. There's a lot more help in there than most people realize. This section can actually solve mysteries like how to choose between "indexes" and "indices," whether "propertywide" should be one word or hyphenated, why the entry for "smart" mentions the comparative form "smarter" but "intelligent" doesn't mention "intelligenter," why after the entry for "think" you'll see "thought" but after "walk" you won't see "walked," and why the following is correct: "Today I lie on the bed, yesterday I lay on the bed, and in the past I have lain on the bed." Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary (not to be confused with Merriam-Webster's usage guide) even posts its guide online here.

 5. In the more than 10 years that I've been getting e-mails about grammar, I've never once plugged one of my own books -- not even when people ask me to recommend books for their reference library. But for anyone who wants a basic primer on sentence structure, phrases and clauses, and the parts of speech, I recommend Appendix 1 of my book It Was the Best of Sentences, It Was the Worst of Sentences.

 6. Know this: Those grammar snobs -- the people who leap to tell you some usage or construction is "wrong" -- they're full of it. Most of what they say is pure superstition that they never bothered to fact-check. Most grammar "rules" that begin with "you can't" or "it's wrong to" are myths. There is no enormous tome called the Grammar Penal Code on a shelf of some hallowed archive of the Grammar Legislature. Anyone who tells you something is "wrong" and can't provide at least two credible sources doesn't have a leg to stand on.

 And that, in a nutshell, is most of what you need to know to write clean, edit well, and take down those bullying grammar snobs.

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July 9, 2012

Reader Wail Part 3: And what about that preposition ...?

Last week I talked about a reader’s complaint that I had broken a rule by splitting an infinitive in my column. This week, we’ll look at the same reader’s allegation that, in the same sentence, I committed another error. Here’s the sentence that bothered her: “Even professionals have to look these things up.”

And here’s her complaint.

“You committed that old rule about ending a sentence with a preposition,” the reader, whose name is Barbara, wrote.

Assuming she meant that I had committed an error, let’s consider her charge.

Years ago, it was popular to teach schoolchildren that it’s grammatically incorrect to end a sentence with a preposition like “to,” “at,”  “with” or “for.” But that was just bad information that, unfortunately, spread like wildfire. (I’m not sure why messages that “you can’t” do something and “it’s wrong” to do something make such a powerful impression on people. But many misinformed teachers passed this
bad information on to students and, with a lot of them, it really stuck.)

Underlying all this is a valid idea: Prepositions are supposed to be partnered with objects: “to him,” “at noon,” “with cheese.” When
the preposition comes at the end, it’s split from its partner: “The cheese you top your burger with.” But that doesn’t mean it’s wrong.

As I’ve written here before, the experts are unanimous:

“The preposition at the end has always been an idiomatic feature of English. It would be pointless to worry about the few who believe it is a mistake.” – Merriam-Webster’s Dictionary of English Usage

“Not only is the preposition acceptable at the end, sometimes it is more effective in that spot than anywhere else.” – “The Elements of Style”

“Good writers don’t hesitate to end their sentences with prepositions if doing so results in phrasing that seems natural.” “Garner’s Modern American Usage” calls it.

“Superstition.” -- H.W. Fowler

But that’s just part of Barbara’s mistake. In my sentence, "up" was part of something called a phrasal verb: “to look up.” A phrasal verb, also sometimes called a multi-word verb, is usually a verb plus preposition combo in which the preposition actually changes the meaning of verb and so is integral to it. "Don't give up!" Even the people who object to sentence-ending prepositions would have no trouble with that because it's a different animal.

The bad news for Barbara is that there's no rule against ending a sentence with a preposition. But the worse news is that I didn't.

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July 2, 2012

*Reader Wail Part 2: My 'Split Infinitive'

Last week I shared an e-mail I got from a reader about an “error” in my weekly column.  Here’s the sentence that drove her nuts.

“Even professionals have to look these things up.’”

And here’s what the reader, Barbara, had to say about it: “You do that thing that raises the hair on the back of  my neck -- you split an infinitive! Excuse me just a minute while I walk out to the patio just off my office space and scream!”

The split infinitive is the term used to describe constructions like “to boldly go,” in which a word intercedes between a particle “to” introducing a base form of a verb like “go.”

Here’s how “Fowler’s Modern English Usage” explains it: “The base form of an infinitive is shown in ‘to love,’ in which the verbal part is preceded by the particle ‘to.’ When such a combination is severed for ‘split’ by the insertion of an adverb or adverbial phrase (e.g. ‘to madly love,’ ‘to really and truly love,’) or other word or words the construction is called a split infinitive.”

That’s not what I did. There’s nothing between my particle “to” and my verb “look.” So the only thing Barbara could have been talking about was my insertion of “these things” between “look” and “up.”

“To look up,” in this sentence, is something called a phrasal verb. A phrasal verb is a group of two or more words, usually a verb and a preposition, that together combine to make a unique verb with a distinct meaning. Compare “to chalk” with “to chalk up.” The former means to write something in chalk, the latter has a completely different meaning: to attribute. So this is a phrasal verb: to put up, to storm out, to warm over, to throw up, to give up -- these are just some of the many combos we call phrasal verbs.

“To look up” is not a phrasal verb in the sentence “If you hear a noise in the sky, look up.” In this sentence, “to look” means “to look” and the preposition just adds extra information (a direction). But in “I have to look up the spelling of a word,” the phrase “to look up” means something different from “to look.” So it’s a phrasal verb.

And never, in all the years I’ve been reading and talking about grammar, have I heard of a rule against breaking up elements of a phrasal verb. If any such rule existed, you wouldn’t be able to say “to chalk it up” or “to give it up.”

But even if I had split an infinitive, would Barbara be right? Nope. There is no rule against the so-called split infinitive. Here are some experts.

“No absolute taboo should be placed on the use of simple adverbs between the particle ‘to’ and the verbal part of the infinitive.” -- Fowler’s Modern English Usage

The idea that you should never split an infinitive is “superstition.” -- Garner’s Modern American Usage

“Some infinitives seem to improve on being split, just as a stick of round stovewood does. ‘I cannot bring myself to really like the fellow.’” -- Strunk and White’s The Elements of Style

Some experts go further, saying there’s no such thing as a split infinitive.: “The term is actually a misnomer, as ‘to’ is only an appurtenance of the infinitive, which is the uninflected form of the verb.” --  Merriam-Webster’s Dictionary of English Usage

Next week we’ll talk about reader Barbara's other allegation: that I ended a sentence with a preposition.

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June 25, 2012

Reader Wail

A few years after discontinuing my weekly grammar column, the Daily Pilot newspaper in Newport Beach, California, started running it again. Not long after, I got this e-mail from a reader, which is reprinted here exactly as it was written.

“When I first read that you are back I was briefly excited about your column because I weep for the lack of the proper use of our language. Then, as I read your column my excitement that at last, someone was going to do something about the horrible use and abuse of our language I read your phrase ‘Even professionals have to look these things up.’”

The reader, whose name is Barbara, didn’t like that one bit: “You do that thing that raises the  hair on the back of  my neck -- you split an infinitive! Excuse me just a minute while I walk out to the patio just off my office space and scream!

“It's done all  the time and I really should get used to it, but I can't. Somehow I thought that a column about English usage might help a little to perfect the language we use every day. If professional writers can not be correct then who in the world can be.

“So, be aware that I will continue to read your column and we may become fast friends because I am going to sent a message to you every time I read something awful that you  have written. Someone has to do it and it is apparent that the newspaper doesn't have an editor for such stuff although one might expect that someone edit a column about language usage so that it doesn't begin with two huge errors at first printing. That would be terribly offensive not to say embarasing to the person who hired you.

“In case you can not find the second error ---- look above when I quote your offense of splitting the infinitive and you will see that you committed that old rule about ending a sentence with a preposition. The funny thing about all this is that if you hadn't split the infinitive you might not have gotten yourself in the position of ending the sentence with a preposition.”

There are a number of mistakes in Barbara’s e-mail:

There’s no rule against splitting an infinitive.

Even if there were, I didn’t split one.

There’s no rule against ending a sentence with a preposition.

Even if there were, it wouldn’t apply to the sentence Barbara took issue with.

She says I committed a rule.

And, some mistakes I believe should be overlooked in an e-mail: Her second sentence was ungrammatical, “embarrassed” is misspelled, and she uses “to sent” instead of “to send.” (Those are typos anyone can make, even a sane person.)

I’ll cover, in several installments here, her charges that I split an infinitive and ended a sentence with a preposition. But this week I wanted to point out what, to me, is the biggest problem with her e-mail. Her “excitement that at last, someone  was going to do something about the horrible use and abuse of our language.”

Tell people you’re interested in grammar and a lot of them will jump to the conclusion that you, like them, bemoan the horrible demise of our language and you consider yourself part of the resistance against the tragic erosion of language standards.

I get this all the time from readers of my column. They’ll say straight up stuff like, “I, like you, am appalled at the demise of proper English.” Yet I’ve never said any  such thing. I’ve never implied it, either. My columns often debunk the myths to which these people are victim.

I don’t believe the language is eroding and I don’t believe in telling people how they should speak or write. Yet so many people assume that, if I have any interest whatsoever in grammar, surely I’m part of some prescriptivist crusade.

It boggles the mind.

Next week: my “split infinitive.”

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June 18, 2012

Romney Camp's Hyphen in 'Sneak-Peak'

Recently, I and about six million other schadenfreude-fueled  bloggers snickered at the Mitt Romney camp’s publishing a Facebook promo with  the term “sneak-peak” instead of “sneak peek.” I warn careful writers about this peak-vs.-peek danger a lot, so the campaign’s error was a good reminder  that, unless you’re talking about stolen hallucinogenic drugs, the thing you’re  sneaking is probably a “peek.”

But another interesting fact about the typo got less  attention is that hyphen. Even if they had gotten the peek part right, why did they think it contained a hyphen?

We may never know, but the one thing we can be sure of is that a lot of people – even people who know how to hyphenate compound modifiers like “smooth-running” or “well-paying” – have no idea when to put a hyphen in  terms functioning as nouns or verbs. That’s because no one ever tells us that  the answer is right at our fingertips, no farther than your nearest dictionary or dictionary site.

My favorite example: type “water ski” into Webster’s New World College Dictionary online at yourdictionary.com and you’ll see that the piece of equipment is called a water ski, but the verb is water-ski. The person  doing the water-skiing is a water-skier.

Two out of three are hyphenated, but one isn’t. No formula will help you figure out which. You just have to look it up.

So did the Romney team confirm their hyphen in “sneak-peak”?
Considering they got peek wrong, it won’t surprise you that they were none too meticulous in researching that hyphen, either. Webster’s New World doesn’t have a listing for “sneak peek” or “sneak-peek,” which means there is no such  hyphenated word. Instead, “sneak peek” is a combo you form yourself with two distinct words. And because hyphenation rules don’t apply to noun phrases, this takes no hyphen.

Merriam-Webster’s and American Heritage agree. Hopefully next time, one of the professional communicators on the Romney team will sneak a peek at a dictionary before embarrassing the candidate and themselves.

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June 11, 2012

'Sneak Peak' Strikes Again

I bet that, from time to time, everyone indulges in this thought: The people at the top should listen to me. The president, Congress, the Fed, whoever -- if only they'd do as I think they should, everything would be fine.

I, for one, could probably save the world and wow the Pulitzer committee with my groundbreaking economic theory (our concept of inflation is obsolete due to our highly responsive luxury goods market) -- if only I had a clue what to do with that dazzling insight.

It takes a few days to realize how silly I'm being in thinking that bigwigs should listen to me.

But this month, something amazing happened: actual confirmation that, yes, world leaders should listen to me. That realization came in the form of a Facebook posting by the Mitt Romney campaign that made it all too clear someone there could have benefited from my recent podcast on the common typo "sneak peak."

In a flub-filled couple of weeks that also served as a national advertisement for quality copyediting, the Romney campaign posted an offer of a "sneak-peak" of a campaign video. That "peak," of course, should have been "peek" -- meaning a glimpse or a look. The embarrassing mistake made headlines, along with two other Romney team typos. A week before, a campaign app misspelled America as Amercia. Not long after, the Romney camp took a bold stance against spell-checker by offering Web surfers a chance to get "official gar."

As I've said, most of the people who make the "sneak peak" typo probably know the difference between "peak" and "peek." But as this astoundingly common typo proves, knowing the difference isn't enough. This is a typo looking for a place to happen. If your mind hears an "eek" sound in "sneak" and as you type it with an "eak," it's only natural that that you'd be tempted to give "peek" the same treatment.

The only way to avoid the "sneak peak" error is to make it a point to pay attention every time you use this term. And, I would add, the only way to run a media campaign for national office is under the watchful eye of a skilled proofreader or copy editor.

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