Category Archives: Grammar & style


Am I the only old bat on the planet who tires of listening to the Millenial and the Urban open a discussion with the word “So…”?

Turn on NPR and you’ll hear it almost any day. A reporter asks some ambitious and highly accomplished young expert on this, that, or the other to opine or to explain, and the interviewee will respond, “So, Apple is coming out with a new iPhone the day after tomorrow and yada yada yada…”

Does it never occur to either the interviewer or the interviewee that the word so implies that what comes next follows logically from what came before? It is a word that has meaning: therefore, thus, ergo.

But nothing has come before. So is simply offered as a kind of transitional place-holder, a way of moving from the question to the answer. There really is no “so” there.

Ugh. What can one say in the face of such an inane habit? Other, perhaps, than “We do hope this one will go away soon…”

Don’t do that, dear smart and admirable young experts. Just answer the damn question. Please.

The Fine Points of Ellipsis and Suspension

Plowing through 12,000 words of academic research, I find Author frequently using ellipsis points to shorten lengthy passages of quotation. The result looks like this, a gentle snowfall of punctuation error:

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, which…hath begotten us again unto a lively hope by the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead. … And if ye call on the Father, who without respect of persons judgeth…every man’s work, pass the time… here in fear. …

[‘Scuse the religion: it was the only thing I could think of offhand that’s in the public domain.**]

This hiding of deleted words is called ellipsis, and the little dots that indicate the hiding are called ellipsis points. You also can use three little dots to indicate that a person’s voice trails off or that a piece of dialogue is interrupted. Like this:

Well, I don’t know . . .

In that case, the dots are called suspension points.

Author understands the principle that three ellipsis points indicate words were dropped out of the middle of a sentence, and four indicate some passage with a period was elided — possibly even a whole sentence — or more But he is being foiled by the Weirdness That is Word.

When you type three ellipsis points in a row — that is, three periods, one after another — Word automatically converts them to a single character, one that looks like this: … 

These are not really ellipsis points. WordPress calls that character a “three-dot leader.” Ellipsis points have spaces between them.

When you’re preparing a manuscript for publication, you should avoid letting Microsoft arrogate this detail unto itself, and instead insert ellipsis points and suspension points the way they will appear when typeset.

How is that?

With spaces in between them, like this:

. . .

A four-dot ellipsis includes the period; that is, the first dot indicates the period. So when you’re trying to indicate that a period appeared in a passage that was elided, place the period in its normal place, right next to the final character in the sentence:

a lively hope by the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead. . . . And if ye call

A three-dot ellipsis indicates a word or three were omitted from a single sentence. In that case, you leave a space before the first ellipsis point and after the last one:

Christ, which . . . hath begotten us

Suspension points have just three dots, and they also have spaces between and around them.

I just don’t know . . .

If a comma is needed in a passage with an ellipsis, place the comma right before the ellipsis points:

Christ, . . . hath begotten us

Don’t worry if the ellipsis or suspension points break at the end of a line. Remember: what you see on a word-processed page is not what you will get when the copy is typeset. The graphic artist and the editor will make the points pull up, either by kerning the characters a bit or by deleting or inserting a word somewhere in the paragraph above them. It’s far more annoying and time-consuming for a typesetter to have to change every…single…aggravating…Word-induced…three-dot character than it is to make an occasional adjustment to pull up or push down a real ellipsis point.

So something that looks like this in your Word file:

yada yada yada. . .
. Blah blah blah

Will look like this in print:

yada yada yada. . . . Blah blah blah

It has its own internal logic. But once you see what the logic is, it’s pretty easy.

Check it out: Chicago Manual of Style, 16th Edition: 13: 48-56


**Here’s the original of the elided passage, FYI:

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, which according to his abundant mercy hath begotten us again unto a lively hope by the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead,

To an inheritance incorruptible, and undefiled, and that fadeth not away, reserved in heaven for you, [and on and on].

And if ye call on the Father, who without respect of persons judgeth according to every man’s work, pass the time of your sojourning here in fear: [and on and on]


Share that transitive ain’t the same as intransitive!

Author to reader:

“As I discuss, the whole point of the argument is…”
“She shared that her experience with whole-wheat bread has been…”

Oh, God. Please, please, please don’t write like that!

Often you see verb misuse of this ilk emanated by writers for whom English is a second language. They have an excuse. If you’re a native speaker, though, you don’t: in that case, what you’re emanating is not imperfect mastery of a bizarre language but just plain old jargon. It may appear in academic writing, where jargon is imagined to be state-of-the-art.

In English, verbs may be “transitive” or “intransitive.”

A transitive verb is said to “take an object.” It means the sense of the sentence moves directly through the verb to the noun or pronoun on the other side of the verb.

She saw a bird.
She spoke several words.
She discussed a proposition.
She drove her car.

An intransitive verb does not “take an object.” The action resides within the verb, all by itself.

The truth exists.
A river runs through it.
The accident happened last night.
She appeared to be inebriated.
He laughed because he was happy.

“Shared” is transitive: it takes an object. An object is a noun or pronoun, not a relative pronoun, relative adjective, or subordinating conjunction.

She shared a fact.
She shared an opinion.
She shared her experience.
She shared her clothes.
She shared her spaghetti.

But she did not share a dependent clause! She did not share “that yada yada yada.”

Similarly, “discussed” is transitive.

They discussed the movie.
They discussed the trip they planned to make.
They discussed Donald Trump’s hair.
They discussed the use of transitive and intransitive verbs.

But unless they were given to annoying affectations, they did not just sit around and “discuss.” Nor did they “discuss that…”

Some verbs are AC/DC this way: they may be used transitively or intransitively. For example, you could confide a secret (transitive: “secret” is the direct object of “confide”) or you could confide that you’re having an affair (intransitive: “that you’re having an affair” is a dependent clause, not an object of the verb). You could even intransitively confide in your best friend.

But share is not intransitive, except maybe as a moral precept passed from a parent to a selfish kid: Share, Jennifer! 

Neither is discuss, except possibly as an instruction in an essay question: Boxankle defines the Battle of Hastings as a turning point in Anglo-Saxon history. Discuss.”

When you write like this, blithely confusing transitive with intransitive verbs — and the lovely academics whose prose I edit often do so — you do not sound intellectual or generous-hearted or like a member of some high-brow in-group. You sound like you would benefit from a little more training in the English language.

Dangling Menaces

Problems with grammar can produce unintended consequences! Here are some funny examples of dangling modifiers and other word order issues.
Dangling modifiers — and other kinds of danglers — can be very funny, indeed.

Even the best of writers occasionally commits an error of word order, wielding a descriptive word or phrase in a way that causes it to say something altogether different from what the writer meant.

Our Hero is searching for a side road: Half-covered with fallen tree branches, he almost missed the entrance.

Those darned leaves will get in your eyes every time!

Like harpoons of steel, she flashed out her claws at the last moment…

Gotta love a steely woman.

The storm’s wind rolled through her hair like a flag…

Wait, what? The wind was like a flag? Hm… “Oh, say can you see…”? Not unless there’s a fair amount of smoke blowing around, I’d guess.

Notice that this windy thing is not a true dangling modifier, at least not in the same way as the hero half-covered with tree branches and the harpoon-like heroine.

In the first two instances above, a phrase appears to refer to a word that’s simply not the word the author intended to point to. This occurs because, for a variety of reasons we won’t go into here, the English language depends largely on word order to create meaning. By and large, a modifying phrase — especially one that begins with an -ed word (a past participle) or an -ing word (a present participle) — points to the noun or pronoun closest to it.

So, where our first brave author intended to say that the side road was half-covered in branches, the story’s hero stumbles into the traffic and ends up covered in branches himself. Mention of the side road occurred in the previous sentence, and so, understandably, Author figured the reader would draw the desired inference. And yes, sooner or later the reader does get the picture…but not before enjoying a hilarious little distraction in the unintended image.

The simile in “like harpoons of steel” succumbs to the same predicament: it also points to the nearest noun or pronoun, and suddenly “she” looks like a set of steel harpoons. A prickly sort, she is.

This utterance is a mishmash of misplaced modifiers. Fix it:

At the last moment, her claws flashed out like harpoons of steel.

The third example isn’t quite a dangling modifier. It’s just something that doesn’t make sense. Leaving aside the objection that wind doesn’t roll, exactly, we have the problem that it’s the woman’s hair the author wants to compare with a flag.

In theory, then, directly abutting “like a flag” with “hair” should work. But it doesn’t. Grotesquely, the sentence seems to say, “The wind rolled like a flag through her hair.”

Why? One reason is the position of hair as object of the preposition “through.” Through her hair is an adverbial prepositional phrase. So when we readers see “the wind rolled…through,…” we think the utterance is describing the action of rolling: thus our attention focuses on the verb, not on the hair.

But as we would see if we had the larger narrative context in front of us, Author wishes to paint a picture of the heroine posed dramatically (even melodramatically) with her hair flying in the wind.

Again, we’re distracted by a dangling monster. That critter needs to be shoved into line:

Her hair flew like a flag in the rolling wind.

I love this one:

Clutching at her torn nightgown, the woman’s breath came short and fast.

Oh, the drama! Oh, the bathos!

A couple of potential fixes come to mind:

As she clutched at her torn nightgown, the woman’s breath came short and fast.
Clutching at her torn nightgown, the woman panted.

She’s supposed to be scared half to death, so she probably could “pant in terror” or “gasp for air.” Or some such.

Moving hilariously on…

Hungry, it took me a while to fall asleep.

It’s hard for an indeterminate “it” to feel much of anything, even hunger.

Hungry, I took a while to fall asleep.

Talk about your month of Sundays:

On my twenty-sixth birthday in November 1992, I hiked…

This is a misplaced modifier.

In November 1992, on my twenty-sixth birthday, I hiked…

Moving on,

Hidden beneath fallen leaves, I wonder what the escapee thinks.

Surprisingly, the narrator is not hiding beneath a pile of leaves. Author is describing a small wildlife drama — a spider’s prey that manages to escape.

I wonder what the escapee thinks, hidden beneath fallen leaves.
Hiding beneath fallen leaves, what does the escapee think?

What think you, dear reader, of these danglers? And how would you deal with them:

Once completed, he would fill out and submit the application.
While riding the Natchez Trace, angry Choctaw Indians surrounded him.
Like a doe manipulated by a hunter, the flames drove the woman toward the building’s center.

Not quite as many dangling monsters as contributing authors. But close.

And that is why…

Every Writer Needs an Editor!

Contact us for your editing needs. We’re happy to help!

Where Words Go, What They Say…

Ever noticed that certain words and phrases change a sentence’s meaning as much by where they appear as by what the words themselves mean? Today’s case in point: The august New York Times tells us, concerning the recent attempted mass murder on a European high-speed train:

The assault was described as a terrorist attack by the Belgian prime minister…

Those darned Belgian prime ministers!

Obviously, the prime minister of Belgium did not take after a bunch of European tourists and commuters with his streetsweeper. But the misplaced modifier creates an effect that’s arresting enough to break the reader’s attention, even if briefly. Distracting readers from our story is not what we, as writers, want to accomplish.

If we were a New York Times editor, what could we do to fix this?

Well, the obvious fix is to get rid of the passive voice (another journalistic misdemeanor, BTW):

The Belgian prime minister described the assault as a terrorist attack…

Possibly the reporter wished not to lay the blame for a premature rush to judgment on Monsieur Michel and so tried to hide him at the far end of a passive construction. A paragraph later, we learn that “French officials were refusing to characterize the episode as terrorism….” Pulling these together, we might try something  like this:

Although French officials refused to characterize the episode as terrorism, the Belgian government described it as a terrorist attack.

Mealy-mouthed, but at least it doesn’t turn the prime minister of Belgium into a terrorist fanatic, nor does it draw attention to him specifically as jumping to a conclusion about the gunman.

In English, meaning is largely determined by word order. Even though native speakers intuit this basic fact, all of us commit the word order misdemeanor now and again. It’s just so easy! All those loose adverbs and participial phrases rattling around, like so many billiard balls shooting across a pool table after a break.

Consider the word only, for example. Where you choose to place it in an utterance subtly determines your meaning:

Only he said he dented the fender. [No one else said that.]
He only said he dented the fender. [He said nothing more than that.]
He said only he dented the fender. [No one else did it.]
He said he only dented the fender. [That was all he did.]
He said he dented only the fender. [Nothing else was damaged.]

A dangling modifier (a phrase or clause that doesn’t logically relate to the main part of the sentence) can create some unintentionally funny effects.

Walking on the ceiling, he noticed a very large insect.

Although our hero might have been walking on the ceiling (if he’s Spiderman), it’s not likely.  This makes better sense:

He noticed a very large insect walking on the ceiling.

What’s the take-away message here? Because English relies on word order for meaning, place modifiers as close as possible to the word or phrase they refer to. 



w00t! ESCAPED from yesterday’s miasma

Managed to break free from yesterday’s craziness and finally finish Chapter 2 for the Boob Book. Not gonna rehearse today’s little triumph because it’s described in detail over here.

More of interest to the writerly set: The word count for the introduction, two chapters, and two appendices is right at 10,600.

The chapters plus the intro average 2800 words apiece. The appendices (all two of them): 1090 words each.

So, if those numbers stay consistent throughout, the 11 chapters and 5 appendices should add up to a total word count of just under 40,000 words.

That’s not very long; one would like to be closer to 80,000, for a book-length work. However, there’s a glossary — heaven only knows how long that will run. I found a large cache of definitions at a government site; ergo in the public domain. I’ll probably use most or all of those, which will inflate the word count significantly. And as we speak, I have 21 pages of references, single-spaced, set up in Chicago style. That stands at 4874 words just now.

So the references alone push the word count to around 45,000 words. If the glossary comes in at around 3,000 words (???), that would make it 48,000. Add an index, maybe another thousand words (counting numbers as words…). Hm.

Well, they say shorter is better these days, moderns not being much on reading. We shall see.

Spent this afternoon studying and outlining downloads from Kindle Unlimited, by way of building the new racy-novel enterprise.

My goodness, there’s some bad writing out there! These things are awful. Full of dangling modifiers (some of them truly hilarious), typos, unidiomatic language (“grinded”; “withering” for “writhing”; and on and on), lapses in point of view, characters dissolving pointlessly in laughter, eye-glazing clichés…

Oh, well. Clearly literature is not what people are buying the things for. 😀

A few of them do display fairly workmanlike writing, and some are even done with style and humor. But even those self-consciously deploy tried-and-true tropes. There’s quite a sameness to these things, especially where the female characters are concerned:

The female character almost invariably is said to be lonely: either she describes herself as lonely, explicitly, or some other character observes or speculates that she’s lonely.

As the story unwinds, the woman is “rescued” in some way from an unhappy relationship with a former husband/boyfriend. Male lover(s) sex is better, kinder, hotter, more positive all the way around.

Female character yearns for change or sometimes simply for an outrageous spree.

She often is described as feeling self-conscious or insecure about herself.

Attraction is immediate, as you’d expect in such short pieces – the characters lust after each other at first glance.

Men are described as “gods”

Men are often described as cooking or doing some other domestic activity; this seems to be part of his appeal or at least a repeating trope.

Hm. We’ll redact some of these other observations, lest the young, the impressionable, or the tender be reading. Suffice it to say that all the way across the board, a kind of monotony reigns.

It explains why some very, very silly things rise to the top in this genre. Like the series about the woman who gets it on with Bigfoot.

Heee! Yes. That one is said to be authored by a SAHM who home-schools the kiddies.

And that factoid also explains something. I suppose.

Write Tight! Part III: Techniques of Economical Composition and Style

Yesterday we discussed a few mechanical tricks to achieve “tight writing“: economical, readable, non-time-sucking style.

Some devices require a little more thought than the knee-jerk devices we just reviewed. These are compositional principles that you should internalize as you internalize the spelling of your own name.

Avoid the passive voice.

Verbs are words that express action, and they come in two voices, “active” and “passive.”

In the active voice, the action moves directly from the subject to the object of the action (the thing that is receiving the action). In our examples, we’ll color subjects red, verbs blue, and (when they exist) objects green:

 Joe shot the bear.

Notice that the receiver of the action here appears as the object of the verb, and the thing that is doing the action is the verb’s subject.

In the passive voice, the action moves in the opposite direction: the thing that receives the action suddenly appears as the verb’s subject, and the doer of the action is hidden in a prepositional phrase starting with “by,” which may or may not be explicitly stated. Let’s color prepositional phrases purple.

 The bear was shot [by Joe].

Because the passive voice always contains a past participle (a verbal that looks like it’s in the past tense, such as “shot”), many writers confuse it with the past tense. Remember, the way to tell whether a verb is in the passive voice is asking whether you can say the action was done by someone or something. If the phrase by xxxmakes sense, then the verb is in the passive voice.

Fix it by converting it to the active voice, unless you’re using the passive voice for a specific reason. In most circumstances, the passive voice is indirect and verbose—that’s why it’s a classic feature of bureaucratese.

 Use verbs conveying action, instead of verbs of being.

These are the verbs of being:

 am is are was were be being been

They’re perfectly fine words, and you can’t get around using them now and again. But they lack punch. Good writers make their verbs carry the weight of their sentences—and a verb of being doesn’t carry much weight. Instead of having the subject of a sentence just “be,” have it “do.”

Here’s a sentence by a real journalist:

Energetic and stimulating, Ríos is a favorite among students.

It conveys a little meaning, but overall, it’s a big Z, dull as white rice. What on earth does “stimulating” mean, anyway? And that fellow Ríos is buried in the middle of the sentence.

We could rewrite it:

 Students love the energetic and stimulating Ríos.

A little better—though insipid. The word “love” sounds too strong; it’s one of those words that have lost meaning from overuse. And the sentence still doesn’t show Ríos in action; it doesn’t show how the words “energetic” and “stimulating” define him.

My edited version—and I was perhaps guilty of going after this scribe with a heavy hand—read like this when it finally went to print:

 Ríos projects a sense of excitement and energy that charms his students.

Does it improve on the original? Maybe so; maybe not. As you can see, though, an insipid sentence inspires an insipid response in the reader, something you decidedly do not want to inspire.

Write in complete sentences. . .most of the time.

A complete sentence has a subject and a verb. It will not harm your style or bore your reader if you include a subject and a verb in every sentence.

Beginning writers seem to think it’s arty to cast their thoughts in fragments. Maybe they think it sounds dramatic.

In fact, though, sentence fragments have a function: they’re like exclamation points. They’re emphatic. Too many exclamation points make your copy sound like you’re panting.

Good writers use sentence fragments in the same way the use exclamation points: sparingly. To pepper a piece of writing with either fragments or exclamation points is bad style.

Want to be a better writer? Internalize these principles and tricks for tighter writing.Use Anglo-Saxon instead of Latinate words.

Prefer the short word to the long one. Some folks apparently believe that the more syllables a word has, the more important it sounds. Not so. Think about the most common mouth-fillers, and consider their plain-English alternatives:

numerous (many)
donation (gift)
illustrate (show)
accountability (duty)
merchandise (stock)
acquiesce (agree)
communicate (say)
conference (meeting)
indicate (say, imply)
knowledgeable (trained)
optimal (best)
restructure (change)
institute (start)

This is what happens when you lard your language with important-sounding, Latinate words:

Members of the species homo sapiens who maintain an abode within a permanent or semipermanent structure composed at least partially or wholly of vitreous, transparent material would find it sagacious to refrain from hurling projectiles of natural material.

 Figured out what this means yet?

 People who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones. top

 Cut the jargon.

Of AIDS, a high-ranking bureaucrat once said, “The disease has heterosexualized, proletarianized, and ruralized.” So has the plague of gobbledygook.

Jargon is mishmash language. It obscures meaning while it implies that the speaker is an insider. Don’t confuse this term with “shop talk.” Some terms that are current in specific trades and industries have real meaning and need not be translated into verbose alternatives. Doctors and nurses, for example, know what an “EMT” is, and they know what has happened when someone has administered CPR. No—we’re talking about phony shop talk, fake insider language, ersatz sophistication.

You can learn to recognize jargon, which, like computer viruses, evolves constantly. For example, suspect any word that ends in -ize or -ate:

…even concertize!

Nouns and adjectives usually convert to jargon when they surface as brand-new verbs. Thus, the word “conference” becomes jargon when it’s used as a verb: “They conferenced about the computer program.” We’ve all heard these words several times too often:

to parent
to office
to network
to obsolete

Some jargon slithers into the language from baleful sources like admanese, educationese, political doublethink, and shop talk. They buzz interestingly but don’t mean much:

fast track
dog and pony show
world class
meaningful dialogue
revolution (as in “a marketing revolution”)
experience (as in “a dining experience”)

 The word “multiple”—meaning “many” or “more than one”—has suddenly cropped up like chicken pox on a six-year-old’s belly. There is nothing wrong with the word “many.” And “more than one” is far preferable to the mumbly “multiple.”

Avoid clichés like the plague. . . .

Clichés are aging quips that have worn thin with overuse. You can usually tell if a golden phrase is hackneyed by saying the first few words aloud. If the last few follow automatically, you’ve got a cliché.

Raining cats and…
Filled to the…
Fit as a…
Sell like…

 Use specific terms, not mush words.

Everyday language is awash in words devoid of solid meaning—such as “area” and “field.” That’s not my area; he’s an expert in the field. What do these things mean? Discipline? Concern? Meadow? Say what you mean!

Watch out for words like thing, idea, situation, experience, and group, which may mean anything from the Boy Scouts to a witches’ coven.

Use the right word.

Some words sound as though they mean something other than what they do mean.

fortuitous does not mean fortunate
appraised is not apprised
revenge is not to avenge
award is not to reward
verbal is not quite the same as oral

 Shun euphemisms.

Euphemism is prettified speech that supposedly softens blunt reality (“she passed away”) or replaces frank words with allegedly acceptable language (“little girls’ room”). Don’t be crude, but don’t be nicey-nice, either. A task force is a committee, a recreation facility is a gym, and an environmental engineer in education is a school janitor. top

Cut redundancies.Any unnecessary word is redundant. In the patter of every day speech, we repeat ourselves all the time. For example:

hot water heater
close proximity
one and only
more and more
single most
free gift
sworn affidavit
completely surrounded
future plans
return again
completely unable

 This may be O.K. when you’re talking, but don’t do it in writing. You can edit the written word—and you should.

Sometimes writers indulge in larger kinds of redundancy. We may accidentally repeat a phrase, sentence, or paragraph that appeared earlier in the document. Or we may have been taught a particularly pernicious method of composition, the “Tell them what you’re going to say; say it; and tell them what you said” approach. This is plain bad writing—don’t do it. In writing (as opposed to public speaking), you need say it just once.

Avoid portmanteau sentences.

This term was coined by James Kilpatrick, after Lewis Carroll. It compares an overburdened sentence to a stuffed suitcase. Consider, for example, this astonishing example from Editor & Publisher, the trade journal of the newspaper industry—and ironically, a repository of bad writing:

Achorn suggested that women set the ground rules early and stick to them, not underestimate themselves or set their goals too low, be prepared for a certain amount of loneliness as they get to the top (it goes with the job), not carry a chip on their shoulders, take advantage of every educational and training opportunity, make sure their company has a sound policy against sexual harassment, not assume all women working with them are for them, be optimistic and not expect the workplace to solve all the problems and change cultural attitudes that have built up over the centuries.

Amazing. There was no need to recite every hackneyed aphorism the speaker uttered. But even if the advice were not trite, the sentence would still be overstuffed.

Use correct punctuation.

It’s does not mean its, and there’s no such thing as its’. Sentences slopped together with a comma instead of a conjunction or a semicolon just look…well, sloppy. Learn the difference between the plural and the possessive, and distinguish between the plural possessive and the singular possessive. You can learn these things. Get a second-hand freshman comp handbook to teach yourself details of punctuation and grammar that you might have missed in grade school, high school, or freshman composition. top


Remember to run the spellchecker as the second-to-last step in revising your work. But after that, always proofread with the brain! We’re still smarter than our computers.

Write Tight! Part II: Mechanical Tricks

So yesterday I started chatting about economical writing and how to achieve it. One strategy is by applying a few simple tricks, easily memorized and requiring no more than a basic understanding of English grammar. Though these little strategies are no substitute for thoughtful composition, they’re good habits to adapt.

Cut adverbs and adjectives.

Be brief. Writing habits that will help improve your writing. (Cut adverbs and adjectives, watch for wordy habits, and more.)The words very, quite, a little, a lot, a bit, somewhat, rather, and really can usually go. So can many—perhaps even most—words ending in -ly. Ask yourself if you need that adverb, or if you can find a verb that carries the meaning of two words.

For example, what does “talk very fast” mean? We can list a half-dozen single words that may mean this without even thinking about it: chatter, jabber, babble, blurt, prattle, chit-chat, gab. Each of these is a verb that encompasses within its meaning “talk” and “very fast.”

A little thought will certainly lead to more and maybe better terms. But notice that each of these verbs adds meaning and vividness to the idea of fast talk—they all have slightly different senses. The strong verb, when preferred to a weaker verb plus an adverb or two, gives strength and meaning to your language.

 Watch for wordy habits.

I nearly said, “Keep your eye out for. . . .” Verbose constructions are everywhere, and we can always find one or two words to take their place:

has the capability to (can)
is capable of (can)
is able to (can)
was able to (could)
can be compared to (resembles)
are forced to (must)
is a product of Japan (comes from Japan)

Never use two or three words when one or two will do the job.

Look for the hidden verb.

Some verbosities are long constructions that hide a verb that, when uncovered, can be made to pull the sentences entire weight.

has a great influence on (influences)
has a lack of (lacks)

Look for verbs hidden inside thickets of verbosity, and whenever you find one, set it free.

Beware the “there is/there are” construction.

This idiom is a blot upon our language, because it is so universally overused. Consider, for example, the following:

 There has been an increasing number of court cases about. . .

If you take the thing that “there has been” (in this case, number) and make it the subject of the sentence, and then come up with a verb that has some meaning, such as concern or address, you create a decent sentence that gets straight to the point:

 An increasing number of court cases concern….

 Delete relative pronouns, where possible.

Sometimes you can delete certain subordinators, such as that, who, and which, creating tighter phrasing:

the foods that people eat. . . .
the foods people eat. . . .

Sgt. Preston, who is a Vietnam veteran, said. . . .
Sgt. Preston, a Vietnam veteran, said. . . .

The canyon, which is a wildlife sanctuary, runs north and south.
The canyon, a wildlife sanctuary, runs north and south.

 Get rid of as many prepositional phrases as you can.

You can often replace prepositional phrases with possessives (my aunt’s pen, not the pen of my aunt) or with noun phrases (a coffee cup, not a cup for coffee):

The laughter of children
Children’s laughter

A spokeswoman for Honeywell
A Honeywell spokeswoman

 But be careful not to get tangled up in noun phrases: A phrase like “victims of violent crime” ceases to make sense when it’s put as “violent crime victims.”

This is all tight writing lite. Tomorrow we’ll talk about more sophisticated compositional strategies to achieve economical style.

Write Tight! Part I

Write Tight!

–E. B. White

Kinda doubt that E. B. White ever put it quite that way, but the message is the gist of William Strunk and E. B. White’s Elements of Style, the bible of journalistic and business writers. Write tight! is a marginal note I paste into student papers, over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and o…

Well, to be fair, few of my students have ever heard of Strunk and White. And even they did, it wouldn’t do them much good. Creatures of an earlier era, when children learned basic English grammar in grade school (yeah: back in the day, grade school was actually called “grammar school”!) , Bill Strunk and E. B. White wrote their indispensable guide under the assumption that readers understood what was meant by terms like “subject” and “predicate,” and that they could tell the difference between an independent and a dependent clause. That, alas, is no longer true.

If you’ve found your way here because you want to be a Writer with a Capital W, or because you are already such a creature, you probably own a copy of Strunk and White. If you don’t, buy it: you can get a paperback copy for something between five and seven dollars. It’s short and it’s just not that hard to figure out. You need it.

The admonition to write tight means that a good writer tries to express ideas in as few words as possible without sounding like she or he is texting. Write economically. Always write as economically as possible.

Readers in general are happy to find prose of any kind written clearly, in concise, interesting, easy-to-follow language. This applies across the board, to all kinds of writing. It applies to technical writing, for example, where you may write a manual that explains how a computer program or a technical device works. It applies to business writing, from daily correspondence to the annual report. It applies to journalistic nonfiction. It applies to fiction (think Hemingway!).

To make every word count is to “write tight.” The principles of tight writing are described in brief in William Strunk and E.B. White’s short and famous book, The Elements of Style. You should read it and come to know it well. If you plan on a career that requires a lot of writing—or if you’d just like to write for the fun of it—you should memorize this book. In particular, check out “Rule 17,” which says:

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 details and treat his subjects only in outline, but that every word tell.

Over time, two strategies for developing a “tight,” economical writing style have coalesced in my schemes to communicate the whole idea to grammar-blind, style-innocent classmates. One consists of a few very simple mechanical tricks, things anyone can easily memorize and apply. The other: techniques of what I call “composition and style.” The second does require you to understand a little bit of how language works, and to engage your brain to make your language work the way you want it to work.

Tomorrow I’ll offer a few mechanical devices to help build economy into your writing style. And later this week, we can look at techniques of composition and style that, once internalized, you can apply to make your writing more effective and engaging.

Watch this space!    


Plurals & Possessives…PLEASE!

Oh, dear. This is making me nuts. Some of my  poor li’l students are so flummoxed by the complications of the English plural and the English possessive, they can barely crank out a sentence that isn’t unwittingly hilarious. So even though most of the thousand or so of you who follow this blog NO DOUBT know all about the plural and the possessive, please let’s review the basic principles here, for the sake of future generations.

How to form PLURALS

Form a plural simply by adding -s. If the word ends in -y, change the y to -ies. If it ends in -s or-x, add -es.

one dog
two dogs
one kitty
two kitties

one Xerox
two Xeroxes

one business
two businesses

The only time you need an apostrophe to form a plural is when you want to express plurals of numbers, letters, and strange sounds used as words:

Mind your p’s and q’s.
Count off by 3’s.
His speech is riddled with well’s and uh’s.

Surprising Exception

1980s, 1990s, the 20s
No apostrophe for decades!

Proper names work just like regular nouns, except that if the proper name ends in -y, you keep the -y in the plural (don’t change a proper name to -ies).

How many Smiths can there be in the world?
How many Kennedys can run for public office?
How many Adamses can perform on television?
Here come the Joneses in their new Mazarati!

 Remember: one medium; two or more media

The entertainment media are fun.
Radio is a medium; television is a medium; radio and television are media
. The term news media is plural, despite the commonplace use of it as singular


Use an apostrophe to show possession (that is, “belonging”).

To form a singular possessive (one person or thing owns something):

First write the word in its singular form

the dog
the house
the woman
the child

Then add an apostrophe and an s

the dog’s bowl
the house’s shingles
the woman’s car
the child’s toy
Maria Jones’s Mazarati

To form a plural possessive (more than one person or thing owns something):

First write the word in its plural form

the dogs
the houses
the women
the children

Then, if the plural ends in -s or a z sound, just add an apostrophe

the dogs’ bowls
the houses’ shingles
the Valdezes’ family car
Yes, that is the Joneses’ Mazarati.

 If the plural ends in something other than -s, add an apostrophe and an s:

the women’s cars
the children’s toys

What if the singular ends in s or a z sound?

Then add an apostrophe and an s, unless the extra s creates an awkward pronunciation:

The car of John Jones
John Jones’s car

The Mazarati of Maria Valdez
Maria Valdez’s Mazarati

The poetry of Keats
Keats’s poetry

Moses’ word
Euripedes’ plays


it’s = it is
its = possessive of it (belonging to “it”)

THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS its’ !!!!!!!!!!!

And while we’re remembering things, don’t forget to buy my book, Slave Labor: The  New State of American Higher Education! And kindly leave a review at Amazon. 🙂