Thou Shalt Remake Style Guides

Introduction:

Do not end a sentence with a preposition.

Do not start a sentence with “but” or “and”.

Do not verbify your nouns.

Or make up words.

Since the first hieroglyph was scratched on the wall of a pyramid, someone has been looking over the shoulders of writers everywhere in order to dictate the ways in which that writing could be better. The above mentioned rules are a few of the ones that I have encountered in various style guides and as angry red words on the margins of a paper. Rules that, like the English language, seem to be arbitrary and contradictory. For instance, if you are making a rebuttal to a statement, how else can you start that sentence other than, “But”? To use another, prettier word looks good on paper, but goes away from plain speaking and can turn off a reader.

And that seems to be the point: to make writing as far removed from plain speaking as possible.

Writing has been thought of as many things over time. Phaedrus thought it to be untrue and lower than oration. Shakespeare loved language and writing so much, that he made up words that are still used today. However, writing is both and neither of those things. The larger point is that writing is an extension of the spoken word. It is the physical manifestation of our thoughts. And if our thoughts are, “Fucking hell, what a shitbag asshole dumbshit.” Why is that statement considered “less” than, “I do not believe that they are a very nice person”? Some would argue it is the use of slang and coarse language. I argue it is because as a society, we would still prefer to be speaking in the flowery prose of Victorian or Edwardian times. Whatever the answer is, language and style are ever-evolving and style guides, while helpful in general, do not always address the problems that writers run into or the things they get dinged on most often. To that end, I take the five things I always seem to get slapped at for and rewrite the rules. After all, someone had to finally say, “Enough with the ‘Wouldst thou’. Let’s just say ‘Would you’.” Maybe I can do the same.

Don’t Know It? Can’t Write It. Wrong.

I work in a first grade classroom and we often do either prompted writing or freeform journal writing. For the most part, we don’t correct spelling, grammar, or content, however we do have the kids fix basic punctuation and sentence structure. One of the things I find interesting about these writing exercises is how brutally honest and factual some of the entries are. Some kids will only write about the things they have done. They include all of the salient details – the where, who, how, etc. But the ones that write fantastical stories? Hoo boy are those some stories. Details so intricate, you would think that these were seasoned writers if it weren’t for the strictly foenetical speling. These children are writing about things that they have no prior knowledge of and no practical use for, whether they are writing about a princess tea party or housing 1000 butterflies in a bedroom. As teachers, we encourage their imagination. But eventually, these kids have it drummed into their head that they should write about things they know and only things they know. If that was strictly adhered to, there would be entire genres of literature – science and speculative fiction and fantasy – that did not exist. Sure, a lot of these books and stories are allegorical in their plots and messages, but without the detailed backgrounds and imagination of the authors, there would be no back world. Imagine Lord of the Rings set in Tolkien’s London instead of the Shire and Mordor. Writing what we know is, almost always, the basis on which we base our writing. But to limit ourselves to only that which we know is a waste of the possibilities that writing can provide. To spin wild tales in order to put off our grisly demise or to entertain millions with fictional characters so real that the readers relate to and sympathize with them is not something that can always be taught. Sometimes, it is inherently there in the mangled spelling of a six year old writing about the skeletons that come out to dance on her bed on Halloween night. Why should that talent and instinct be drummed out of her because she doesn’t REALLY know about dancing skeletons? We only diminish ourselves and our existence when we look to diminish budding writers’ imaginations.

Please, if You Will, in the Name of Being Concise, Make Better Use of Language and Keep Your Writing as Free from Wordiness as You Possibly Can.

Frantic clacking on the keyboard and constant word counts are indicative of an assignment being completed. We write and write and write on the assigned topic, expecting to be closer to our word goal, only to find out that our pages of brilliant essay are only equivalent to about 1200 words and we need 1800. And so, the padding begins. The gratuitous use of adjectives, adverbs, and rhetoric start to be added to places where the point was already made and is now like the constant thrashing of an already deceased equine of undetermined age.

The problem with writing this way is that it usually doesn’t add anything to the piece being written. Sure, it adds words and verbosity, but it doesn’t always add content or depth. In most cases, it makes the writer seem like they are either trying too hard to seem smarter than they are or they just don’t care as long as they hit the requirements.

However padding can sometimes add points that the writer had not previously considered and can lead the piece in a totally different direction. Suddenly, you find yourself with a piece that only fits the requirements, but is also a good, solid piece.

So pad. Pad to your heart’s content, but pad when you have time to edit. Padding for the sake of padding just makes you look like a bad writer and that can’t possibly be true, can it?

To Purposefully Propose

 

Ah, the split infinitive. To split an infinitive, a writer takes the adverb, and instead of putting it in front of the word “to” or after the verb it is referring to, to put it smack in between. I have no idea why this rule came to be. Some sources say that it came down from the fourteenth century. It sounds like a fourteenth century rule. However, I don’t buy into it. It goes against the rules of grammar. To modify a noun, you put the adjective right in front: the yellow bus, the red flower, the crappy paper. Why wouldn’t you do the same with a verb, regardless of the word “to”? Why is that word so powerful as to be able to dictate where my adverb goes? It provides description – to boldly go – as well as emphasis – to emphatically deny – to the verb. It is a way to use these different pieces of grammar in ways that make our writing more interesting to the reader. And really, readers are why most writers write: the audience.

Example: Let’s take the phrase: “to boldly go”. This phrase, used in the opening sequence of the Star Trek television show and movies, is memorable and one of the most famous uses of a split infinitive. The “proper” phrase, “to go boldly”, is clunky and not as elegant, even though it abides by the rule.

Aggression towards the Passive

Like split infinitives, writers are advised to avoid the passive voice for fear of the focus being placed where it should not be or is not intended to be. However, if the writing itself is clear and concise, then there should not be a question as to where the focus is.

 Example: Let’s take this quote by Winston Churchill: “It has been said that democracy is the worst form of government except all the others that  have been tried.” To remove the passive voice and replace the verb, would change the sentence to “Democracy is the worst form of government except all the others.” More “correct”? Sure. But again, to use  the passive voice lends style and impact to this sentence.

But don’t sweat it out all the time, especially in non-academic writing. If you wrote it and you like it and it is getting your point across, then you should be passive. If it’s good enough for Churchill, it’s good enough for you.

Comma and Semicolon Usage is Very Important; Please, for the Love of all that is Holy, Figure This Out

 

I’m putting aside my verbosity and (bad) attempts at humor on this one. Learn your rules on comma and semicolon usage. Please. The rules, which should be considered concrete and permanent, are this:

Comma:

1.         Use a comma to join two independent thoughts WITH a conjunction. Examples of conjunctions are: and, but, for, or, nor, so, yet.

                        Example: I have written this paper, and I will now go to bed.

2.         Use a comma to separate items in a list.

                        Example: I need to buy soap, towels, and fruit.

Semicolon:

Use a semicolon to join two independent thoughts WITHOUT a conjunction.

                        Example: I have written this paper; I will now go to bed.

Capitalize the word AFTER the semicolon.

Thus endeth the lesson.

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So, there’s my draft. As for the peer review portion,  if you read this as an excerpt of a new style guide coming out, would you want to buy it? If so, why? If not, why? Does it seem as though it would be of any assitance to you for any writing you do – not just academic.

And of course, anything other pointers to make this better are always welcome. Thanks so much and have a great weekend!!