(Okay, so it probably isn’t the last word in the Grand Scheme of Things, but it is for this week, anyway…)
Thanks to Geoff Hart, whom you have encountered in these virtual pages before, you can enjoy this –– er –– humorous take on the fonts debacle.
They’re way beyond the elements of style!
Posted in Tools, About Writing on July 22nd, 2008
I was talking to a friend recently about a poet’s collection that I’d like to see put into a chapbook, when my friend said, “what’s that?” And while I’ve used the word here, there, and a little of everywhere, I had to admit that I … didn’t actually know.
So for those of you who, like me, tend to sometimes use words without knowing mch about their origins, here’s a little history lesson. Chapbooks originated in the Renaissance. Paper was fairly scarce, but a growing number of people in Europe were learning to read. Chapbooks were small printed books containing stories, poetry, songs, even sermons or essays, and were sold fairly cheaply. The men who bought them from the printers and then turned around and sold them on the street (the precursors, perhaps, of modern newsstands), were called chapmen … and the books, chapbooks.
These days, chapbooks are often used for poetry collections or essay collections, and are often given as well as being sold. They are also used by some publishers as a “teaser” of sorts for an author’s forthcoming book, a promotional/marketing tool to entice readers to purchase the book itself.
As Wikipedia would have it,
No exact definition can be applied. Chapbook can mean anything that would have formed part of the stock of chapmen, a variety of pedlar. The word chapman probably comes from the Anglo-Saxon word for barter, buy and sell. The term chapbook was formalised by bibliophiles of the nineteenth century, as a variety of ephemera (disposable printed material.) It includes many kinds of printed material, such as pamphlets, political and religious tracts, nursery rhymes, poetry, folk tales, children’s literature and almanacs. Where there were illustrations, they would be popular prints.
Want to read more? Someone at MIT did some work on chapbooks that can be found here.
And this just in: According to reader and book producer extraordinaire Dick Margulis, “Aldus Manutius commissioned the first italic types specifically to cram more words onto the pages of chapbooks, for a competitive cost advantage.”
So next time you want to mention collecting a friend’s poems into a chapbook, you’ll know whereof you speak (as will I!). And then, like me, you’ll be … beyond the elements of style!
Posted in Books, About Writing, Words on July 17th, 2008
… or aspiring ones, anyway!
My local writing group recently lost a member, and we’d been wanting to expand anyway, so the need to incorporate new members has become quite pressing. And it’s brought up a lot of questions that are probably good to consider: who are we? What are the group’s goals? Who exactly is the person we want to have join us? Is there an ideal candidate? What can we offer that person? What do we need from him or her?
And can the group come to a consensus around any of these issues?
These are valid questions, I think, to ask of any writing group, local or virtual, large or small. We happen to be asking them because we want to have some new members join us; but you might want to consider asking them even if your group isn’t looking to expand. It’s easy to lose focus, to forget the original (or even evolving) mandate, to lose track of what you’re doing. Questions like these bring you back to the center.
One of my clients is a marketing firm that recently engaged me to write an operations manual for the company. An operations manual sets out everything about the company, from where the paper for the copier is located to the policy around sick days, from the specific steps entailed in everything the company does to how it hires new employees. It forces a company to review in minute detail every aspect of its business, much of which has never been articulated or was articulated so long ago that it’s been forgotten. In essence, the operations manual tells the company’s story.
Staying in touch with one’s story isn’t just important in the corporate world: it’s important for any group. The story allows for group members to bond, to recall common goals, to feel part of something larger than any individual member. Losing a sense of history means losing part of ourselves. And any group needs that backstory, the communal equivalent of “how I met your mother.”
Groups also need the ongoing part of the story: this is what we do, this is how we do it, this is why we do it. My writing group decided early on, for example, to break with the common genre-specific considerations: we are fiction writers and poets, and have discovered that having a good mind and a willingness to take risks compensates for not being as schooled in each others’ genres. It’s a decision that has worked for us, and certainly would not work for others. It’s part of our story, and it needs to be articulated.
Think of the groups to which you belong (and if you don’t belong to a writing group, seriously consider joining or starting one). What are their stories? Is your story still aligned with theirs? A periodic refresh of this process can be enormously helpful. And then you’ll be … beyond the elements of style!
Posted in Process Matters, The Writing Life, About Writing on July 2nd, 2008
I may have addressed this already, but in the interests of both my sanity and new readers of my blog, I’m going to take it up again.
Repeat after me: it is no longer the convention to place two spaces between sentences.
To my amazement, this seems to be one of the most difficult changes to the way we produce copy for people to accept. And some simply don’t. One of my consulting clients, a marketing firm, has two very highly placed employees who refuse to believe me and continue to place the two spaces between sentences despite my constant and no doubt annoying entreaties to remove one of them. They’re both old enough to have taken typing classes on typewriters, so I’ll cut them a very little slack; but other clients, far younger, are having the same difficulty.
Yet there’s not a single usage guide today that advocates doing so. In fact, a colleague of mine tells me that when he was learning typesetting in 1954 he was told to not insert two spaces!
Typewriters use fixed-width or monosized fonts. Computer fonts (with the exception of Courier, meant to duplicate the look of a typewriter) do not. Treating computers like typewriters –– and making the assumption that rules that work with one will work with the other — is just plain silly.
There are a few resources out there that deal with this particular issue along with other transitions from fixed-font to variable-font devices: Robin Williams’ two books, The Mac is Not a Typewriter: A Style Manual for Creating Professional-Level Type on Your Macintosh (as well as an edition for PC users) are excellent if a little dated (they came out as revised editions in 1995).
A succinct summary of the convention is available in an article in Upper and Lower Case Magazine, Double Spaces Between Sentences … NOT!, in which the author, Ilene Strizver, notes,
Conversely, nearly all computer fonts (except Courier) have proportional spacing, which means that the width of the characters and the spacing surrounding them are in proportion to each other. Proportional spacing results in a more even, balanced appearance. Because of this, a single space is enough to create the necessary visual separation between sentences.
So … don’t do it. One space after punctuation (periods are most frequently abused, though some writers add double spaces after colons, semicolons, and even commas as well) is the current law of the publishing land. Don’t make your manuscript stand out because of its errors, especially one as easily fixed as this one (a global search-and-replace will take care of it nicely).
And then you’ll be … beyond the elements of style!
Posted in Doing the Right Thing, About Writing, Usage on June 29th, 2008
(It’s not just for SF fans anymore!)
It has often seemed to me that science fiction writers are the people most at home on the web, the people least surprised by its possibilities, the folks most likely to see its uses. This only makes sense: they are, after all, the ones most at ease with potential technology, spending their days writing coherent stories about complex possible worlds.
So it’s not surprising that they’ve come up with new and different ways to approach issues specific to writing and publishing.
During the early brouhaha over Publish America’s legitimacy (or lack thereof) as a publishing venue, it was a group of science fiction authors who banded together to disprove PA’s claim that it vetted manuscripts by composing a truly awful novel (that did, in fact, get accepted for publication). And it’s science fiction authors who co-host Predators and Editors, which has hopefully helped steer many unwitting authors-to-be in the right direction.
Not new, but not widely known, either, is the Turkey City Lexicon, a site meant to help science fiction writers workshop (or critique) each others’ work by giving them nice packages that say, far better than could any one individual, what might be problematic about a given passage. Named for the Austin, Texas workshop that was the cradle of cyberpunk, the lexicon has gone through a number of different editions (carefully uncopyrighted), and is as hilarious (and as thoughtful) today as it was back in 1988.
Here, for example, we can find Brenda Starr Dialogue (”long sections of talk with no physical background or description of the characters”), the Squid in the Mouth (”the failure of an author to realize that his/her own weird assumptions and personal in-jokes are simply not shared by the world-at-large. Instead of applauding the wit or insight of the author’s remarks, the world-at-large will stare in vague shock and alarm at such a writer, as if he or she had a live squid in the mouth”), and the Kudzu Plot (”Plot which weaves and curls and writhes in weedy organic profusion, smothering everything in its path”).
Much of what is offered in the Lexicon is, in fact, very good advice for anyone writing anything, and I highly recommend reading it, laughing over it, and taking it to heart. And then you’ll be … beyond the elements of style!
Posted in The Writing Life, About Writing, Fiction, Technology on June 25th, 2008
A client recently confessed to me, “I wouldn’t know the subjunctive if it bit me on the nose!” He sounded, if anything, somewhat pleased with the assertion, and part of me mourned as I heard it … just as I mourn the passing of any part of the language I love so well.
It reminded me of a conversation with Terry Bates, publisher of a wonderful series of ESL books, and I happily received Terry’s permission to reprint that conversation here:
Many people insist that English use the subjunctive mood more. This will probably never happen looking at the tendency during the last one hundred years. Other languages still heavily apply the subjunctive and this can be an essential learning experience for English speakers who usually have a weak subjunctive understanding.
First of all, you must remember that the subjunctive is not a verb tense in the sense of directly expressing time. Rather, it tries more to express attitude or manner. For that reason it is called mood.
The structure of the subjunctive in English is very easy in relation to other languages. It usually uses the root or base form and that’s it. Other languages go through very complicated conjugations of which are sometimes even difficult for native speakers. Even modern English has some complicated subjunctive structures. Many wish that the subjunctive were easier to understand.
In the examples that you give (”If she finish the day without company,” “unless she be blonde,” and “whether he do it or not”), they all express condition. If, unless, and whether communicate a sense of condition. Put into their historical context, they are put into a subjunctive mood.
Modal auxiliaries are related to mood. Notice that the word modal comes from the word mood. With the modal auxiliaries we express requests, possibilities, necessities, intentions, ability, etc. The English language has developed a very complicated and intricate use of modals for daily expression. This could be a answer to the slow loss of the subjunctive mood.
Mood and modals expose a very interesting aspect of language. They go beyond the superficial act of simple communication and begin to reveal the human condition. They reflect a people, their culture and the way they deal with each other. By fully understanding mood and modals, you begin to be more aware of the language and life of a society whether it be in the historical past or in the present.
The use of mood and modals is in constant change reflecting the change of society and the communication it demands. Even though many people feel that it is necessary that language stay static, changes within the English language reflect modifications that have taken place with the cultural demands of its speakers. Language changes just don’t happen illogically. They are due to cultural and historical reasons which in many cases are deeply hidden within tradition and trends of a society.
May the subjunctive live forever!
Terry Bates
terrybates@andeanwinds.com
www.terrybates.andeanwinds.com
And I think you’ll agree that Terry Bates (and Andean Winds!) is far … beyond the elements of style!
Posted in About Writing, Grammar, Words, Language on June 11th, 2008
I was going through some old bookmarks in my web browser and came across an article published last year in HR World, a super compilation of why it makes sense to do what some of us do: 101 Reasons to Freelance.
Freelancing isn’t for everyone. If you need some sort of external discipline and structure in order to get things done efficiently, then it’s probably not a good thing to consider. If you’re just starting out as a writer or editor, it’s probably not a good idea, either: there’s something to be said for an apprenticeship, for learning one’s craft in a place where there are others to consult, to guide you, to show you how it’s done.
But if you read the article and it seems attractive, then it’s perhaps something you might want to explore. There are a number of books and websites available to help you with the nuts and bolts of freelancing, but you also need to consider the emotional side of the work.
I work best in silence and solitude. At the end of the day — literally — it’s nice to “go down the pub” and have a Guinness and talk to people; it’s good to have a writing group, as I do, and friends I can contact; but the core of my work happens in silence and solitude. And to me that’s really the best and the worst part of freelancing.
If that thought scares you, then it’s probably not for you. If you’re smiling at the thought, though, take a look at the article and see if it speaks to you. Either way, take a moment and consider what your life might be like if you made that choice, challenge yourself to see your life taking a different turn. No matter what you choose, as long as you’re always challenging yourself, you’ll be … beyond the elements of style!
Posted in Process Matters, About Writing, Words on June 5th, 2008
It’s been a lovely Sunday here in Provincetown, center of (my) universe: just warm enough, a breeze coming from the harbor, the Cape Cod Times consumed with lunch at an outdoor café. Sitting there I perused a brochure from a yoga studio that I’m considering attending — a great brochure, nicely designed, and it noted that the studio features an “alter.”
Was it me, or did a cloud just pass in front of the sun?
Now my family, of course, was quick to point out that no-one else in their right mind would have noticed, much less cared that altar is not spelled with an “e.” My spouse quickly envisioned a world in which I’d be the Spelling Queen, sitting on a throne of semicolons and exclamation marks, sentencing to die those who make sloppy mistakes such as those. We all had a good laugh about it.
But the reality is that I’m probably not going to go do yoga at that particular studio, and, yeah, it’s because of the brochure. If someone’s that sloppy about writing/proofing, they may well be sloppy about other things as well. Probably not; but I’m not taking that chance.
When I approach companies about doing marketing communications for them, most people’s first reaction is along the lines of, “I can write; anybody can write; we don’t need you to write.” Well, respectfully, no: many of us have been taught to write (though I’ve seen some of the grammar used by my stepchildren’s teachers and hold out no hope that schools are doing anything to increase correct spelling, usage, and grammar); but that doesn’t mean that we can all do it well. Or even correctly.
That yoga studio just lost a potential client. Can all businesses afford that kind of loss? Paying someone like me to write — or even simply edit — marketing communications is, at the end of the day, a bargain at any price. Those saavy enough to know their limits are the ones who will continue to prosper, even in a recession. And they’ll be … beyond the elements of style!
(Oh, and if you hurry, you can probably still get that brochure out of the rubbish …)
Posted in Frustration, The Writing Life, About Writing, Words, copywriting on June 1st, 2008
There was a time when printers lamented:
The typographical error is a slippery thing and sly
You can hunt til you are dizzy, but it somehow will get by.
Til the forms are off the presses, it is strange how still it keeps.
It shrinks down in a corner and it never stirs or peeps.
That typographical error, too small for human eyes.
Til the ink is on the paper, when it grows to mountain size.
The boss, he stares with horror, then he grabs his hair and groans.
The copyreader drops his head upon his hands and moans.
The remainder of the issue may be clean as clean can be,
But the typographical error is the only thing you see.
Printers used to set every word by hand: they picked metal letters out of a box of two cases (upper case and lower case — get it?); and typographical errors (we call them typos today) crept in, some said at the behest of a creature known as the “printer’s devil.” I rather like the idea of a small horned form coming in at night and moving those metal letters around at will, but then, I’m not a printer.
Typos are everywhere, and aren’t new to the modern world of computers, though they’ve certainly multiplied since the advent of rapid typing and even more rapid sending. In 1631, some print versions of the Old Testament showed up without the fairly vital word “not” in this injunction: “Thou shalt commit adultery.” The devils were having a fine time for themselves that night!
You do it. I do it. Anyone who has ever set keyboard to paper, so to speak, has done it: and we can’t all blame the printer’s devil. Take a few minutes next time your finger hovers over the “send” button and make sure that what you wanted to say is, in fact, what you did say. And then you’ll be … beyond the elements of style!
Posted in About Writing, Words on May 29th, 2008
Google anything, and chances are the first page of results will come up with a Wikipedia article. And it’s an incredibly quick and convenient way to look things up, there’s no question about that. I was reading an article that referenced Langrangian points, and the Wikipedia article (first in Google’s search returns) explained them in language that was accessible to a non-scientist like me. So far, so good.
There’s a catch, of course. As you probably know, anyone can write or edit a Wikipedia entry. That leaves a lot of room for erroneous and/or biased information to be included in any of the thousands of entries. And, yes, readers are encouraged to edit entries, either to correct mistakes or to add information not already there, the hope being that slanted material and inaccurate material will eventually get sifted out.
Sometimes it is. Sometimes it isn’t. And we tend to get seduced by the former, and ignore the latter.
Besides all that, thinking about Wikipedia raises the perennial issue of web anonymity. It’s been observed that, when shielded by anonymity, people will say and do things that they’d probably never dream of doing were their real name associated with the statement or act. We see this all over the web: some anonymous users are trolls, some are hateful, some are probably dangerous (as we saw with the horrible threats made to a female IT blogger last year). None are very nice. Just as people seem to morph into the lowest common denominator when in groups, so too do they seem to lose all civility and accountability when posting anonymously on the web.
What does this have to do with Wikipedia? Plenty, when you stop to realize that edits can be made anonymously there. Imagine the individual with an axe to grind and plenty of time on his hands, and you can imagine what havoc can be wreaked … and we’re not talking chatrooms here, we’re talking about a site that is perceived by many (including Google) as an authority site.
CIT graduate student Virgil Griffith did us all a service, I think, when he coded and released a tool called Wikiscanner; it allows one to see who has been editing Wikipedia entries anonymously. When Wikiscanner first came out, the expectation around the net was that the annymous posters who were furtively changing articles were what journalist Annalee Newitz has referred to as “some blogger writing in his basement in his pajamas.” Not so, as it turned out: Big Names were involved. As Newitz noted in a 2007 article on AlterNet:
“Turns out that all the anonymous propagansa nad lies on Wikipedia aren’t coming from basement dwellers at all––they’re coming from Congress, the CIA, the New York Times, the Washington Post, and the ACLU. Somebody at Halliburton deleted key information from an entry on war crimes; Diebold, an electronic-voting machine manufacturer, deleted sections of its entry about a lawsuit filed against it. Someone at Pepsi deleted information about health problems caused by the soft drink. (…) And of course, the CIA has been editing the entry on the Iraq war.”
So there it is. The political ramifications of this discovery can be discussed ad infinitum, ad nauseaum, but the point for this particular blog (which is, after all, about words) is this: check out biases before you’re quick to see a source as authoritative. I recently edited two books that relied on Wikipedia for their source material, and had to have very long, very candid discussions with the authors over the wisdom of using something that is in many ways a moving target, to back up one’s points.
Don’t trust the net. It’s a fabulous tool but it can take over one’s thinking very quickly and very insidiously. When you receive a chain email, check Snopes before forwarding it to 346 of your closest friends. And use Wikipedia as a beginning for your research … but never as an end.
And then you’ll be … beyond the elements of style!
Posted in Tools, Process Matters, About Writing, Words on May 15th, 2008