This rather glorious interview with Francis Ford Coppola about, oh, everything and anything anyone should care about does, alas, exemplify a point to which more publications should divert attention.
I can't rail about such an incursion in such charming company as Mr. Coppola, but I will show you this excerpt:
"The cinema language happened by experimentation – by people not knowing what to do. But unfortunately, after 15-20 years, it became a commercial industry."
Briefly, publications have sensible standards about the way they present numbers. Fine. I posit that among those standards should always be an exclusion for numbers in quoted speech.
Why? Not just because I'm a sneering grammarian, but because it's impossible to say 15-20. What is there is "fifteen dash twenty." We say "fifteen to twenty" only because we infer the "to" from the dash.
People don't speak in text-convenient abbreviations, they speak in words. Like "fifteen" and "to". Perhaps Coppola actually said "fifteen or twenty". Perhaps he said "fifteen, twenty". Who knows? Even if he said "fifteen to twenty", it's kind of, well, irrelevant. The point is that, regrettably, his personal expression has been reduced in this case to a typesetting convention.
Written text should take its cues from spoken language (especially in speech), not the other way around.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Friday, January 28, 2011
[the cure]
[had thought things were getting better, but they weren't: all the time, the fear was simply moving deeper, embedding itself. All along, the hardness was only growing tougher, the isolation becoming more complete. The cure was the disease. I stopped understanding, and I stopped wanting answers]
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Social media paranoia
You know, sometimes (okay: all the time) I write off Twitter compliments on my work from strangers simply because I'm sure the charming-sounding complimenter is just trying to "engage", to "connect", to add "nodes" to their "ecosystem".
Immediately the initial spark of charm passes, I'm left with the thought, "Oh, but they didn't really mean it." Stupid, huh?
Or is it? Seriously, people go around laboriously tweeting to others in order to "build eminence" and "implement strategy". They do. I'm not kidding. Everyone's your friend on social media, even when it only suits them. In most cases, only because it suits them. I'm serious.
Man, this social media paranoia is really fucking with my head.
Immediately the initial spark of charm passes, I'm left with the thought, "Oh, but they didn't really mean it." Stupid, huh?
Or is it? Seriously, people go around laboriously tweeting to others in order to "build eminence" and "implement strategy". They do. I'm not kidding. Everyone's your friend on social media, even when it only suits them. In most cases, only because it suits them. I'm serious.
Man, this social media paranoia is really fucking with my head.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Colons and dashes (or: gesturing and bananas)
I know, I know. Colons and dashes. Who can work out that little contretemps? Throw a semi-colon into the mix, and you've got a contre-menage-a-trois, which is just about the worst French affliction there is.
Listen, forget about semi-colons for now. They have nothing to do with dashes and colons. That's all you need to know about them within this particular context.
So, to colons and dashes. There are plenty of high-falutin' rules that, if you wish, you can research and memorise so you can wow potential suitees at parties. As per usual, I will bypass these and give you my own humble interpretations of the usage of these two forms of punctuation. Okay? Okay.
The dash
We're not talking hyphens, people. Dashes. Whether it's a spaced n dash (blah – blah) or an unspaced m dash (blah—blah), the dash does the same thing.
The dash does for grammar what the gesture of holding your hand out, palm-side up, and moving it toward your listener does.
Imagine we're talking, you and I. It's getting a bit peevish. You want to use a semi-colon, and I'm trying to explain to you that it's just not right in this context. Then I say, "Look—it's just not right." And at "Look", I lift my hand to about waist-height, palm up, and advance it in your direction.
This gesture invites concord. It's not confrontational; instead, it almost pleads for understanding. This is what the dash does. It says, "Hey, here's what I really mean. Here's a bit more detail. Get me now?"
The colon
The colon says, "ta-daaa!"
Personally, I like to think that the colon prepares the reader for the concept precipitated by the words that appear before it, but you probably think that's a big fat bunch of bull. Fine. Just think of it as "ta-daaa!" alright?
"I had lunch: bananas on toast."
Yes, it would be far more entertaining to punctuate our sentences with "ta-daaa!", but it's unlikely to be appropriate in all cases.
If "gesture/ta-daaa!" is too obtuse for you, perhaps think of dashes and colons thus: the dash pre-empts the advancement of further elucidation for the reader's kind consideration, while the colon, like an equal sign, separates two equal parts of an equation.
Dashes can also be used parenthetically; colons can be used to introduce lists. But what with all this gesturing and bananas, we've probably done enough for one day, don't you think?
Listen, forget about semi-colons for now. They have nothing to do with dashes and colons. That's all you need to know about them within this particular context.
So, to colons and dashes. There are plenty of high-falutin' rules that, if you wish, you can research and memorise so you can wow potential suitees at parties. As per usual, I will bypass these and give you my own humble interpretations of the usage of these two forms of punctuation. Okay? Okay.
The dash
We're not talking hyphens, people. Dashes. Whether it's a spaced n dash (blah – blah) or an unspaced m dash (blah—blah), the dash does the same thing.
The dash does for grammar what the gesture of holding your hand out, palm-side up, and moving it toward your listener does.
Imagine we're talking, you and I. It's getting a bit peevish. You want to use a semi-colon, and I'm trying to explain to you that it's just not right in this context. Then I say, "Look—it's just not right." And at "Look", I lift my hand to about waist-height, palm up, and advance it in your direction.
This gesture invites concord. It's not confrontational; instead, it almost pleads for understanding. This is what the dash does. It says, "Hey, here's what I really mean. Here's a bit more detail. Get me now?"
The colon
The colon says, "ta-daaa!"
Personally, I like to think that the colon prepares the reader for the concept precipitated by the words that appear before it, but you probably think that's a big fat bunch of bull. Fine. Just think of it as "ta-daaa!" alright?
"I had lunch: bananas on toast."
Yes, it would be far more entertaining to punctuate our sentences with "ta-daaa!", but it's unlikely to be appropriate in all cases.
If "gesture/ta-daaa!" is too obtuse for you, perhaps think of dashes and colons thus: the dash pre-empts the advancement of further elucidation for the reader's kind consideration, while the colon, like an equal sign, separates two equal parts of an equation.
Dashes can also be used parenthetically; colons can be used to introduce lists. But what with all this gesturing and bananas, we've probably done enough for one day, don't you think?
Friday, January 21, 2011
[dawn]
[At dawn
--cock's crow--
the trees explode:
a shrapnel of birds
wheels, screaming,
then forms a broken,
flickering cloud
that turns toward water,
keening.
The raddled grasses
rill and ripple
and whisper softly of snakes
and secrets.
Yet I keep walking--
warm sun, dry wind
--and look toward water,
dreaming.]
--cock's crow--
the trees explode:
a shrapnel of birds
wheels, screaming,
then forms a broken,
flickering cloud
that turns toward water,
keening.
The raddled grasses
rill and ripple
and whisper softly of snakes
and secrets.
Yet I keep walking--
warm sun, dry wind
--and look toward water,
dreaming.]
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Sleep deprivation
This happened over the "break". I was so impressed by the fist-to-the-eye-socket-style manifestation that I thought I'd show it to you. The dim lighting is especially writer-starving-in-garret, don't you think?
If in doubt...
My sister once gave me some good driving advice. She was a terrible driver, but she advised me, from the passenger seat of her car, which I was driving at the time, "If in doubt, don't."
Good advice for driving. But for life? I've adapted her base sentence, preserving the stem and changing the verb:
If in doubt, write.
I've found that this works in almost all cases. Tired of the humdrum work day? Write something for fun. Underwhelmed by the band? Write a message to that effect on the wall of the venue's bathroom stall. Missing someone? Write them a letter.
Writing works. It works out. Explains. Expresses. Fills the gap. Perpetuates the delusion that things can be made sense of. Allows us to face what make us afraid. Tempers our moods, becalms hurt feelings, and lets us empathise with others as well as with ourselves.
My advice to you? If in doubt, write.
Good advice for driving. But for life? I've adapted her base sentence, preserving the stem and changing the verb:
If in doubt, write.
I've found that this works in almost all cases. Tired of the humdrum work day? Write something for fun. Underwhelmed by the band? Write a message to that effect on the wall of the venue's bathroom stall. Missing someone? Write them a letter.
Writing works. It works out. Explains. Expresses. Fills the gap. Perpetuates the delusion that things can be made sense of. Allows us to face what make us afraid. Tempers our moods, becalms hurt feelings, and lets us empathise with others as well as with ourselves.
My advice to you? If in doubt, write.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Word of the Day #5: comparism
comparism, n. the act of comparing two subjects in a skewed way, or without objectivity; an unequal comparison.
From the Latin comparationem, "make equal" and prisma, "something sawed".
The word comparism is today heard mainly in legal and academic circles, where archaic language still has its place. But perhaps the most famous account of comparism was that which culminated in the drafting of the Scottish Advertising Act of 1924.
The Act's drafting was prompted by the much-documented Haggis Debacle, which saw thousands of Scots riot when they discovered that Fat Sporran, the most popular brand of haggis available at the time, was not, in fact, "the best on the market", as advertised. In fact, it was only the best Aberdeen-made haggis on the market, Black's Haggis from Perth having been, in an unbiased taste test, deemed far superior by the Scots Haggis Appreciation Society that year.
Fat Sporran advertising entailed blatant comparism, and the shopping public were not impressed. The ensuing riots lasted three days and ended only when the Fat Sporran executives recalled all their stock to the factory and burned it in a ceremonial bonfire, as demanded by their hapless customers.
The legislation that resulted reads:
"1.3.23 Comparism: no advertisement may use comparism to attempt either to present a product's or service's benefits as being greater than they are, or to downplay or otherwise misrepresent the benefits of competitors' offerings."
Said Fergus Fergus, QC, at the Act's release in a press conference at which samples of Fat Sporran were analysed under microscope and, memorably, fed alternately with Black's Haggis to reporters,
"This was a clear attempt to mislead the Scottish public through comparism! We will not stand for the desecration of haggis through such baldfaced deceits!"
From the Latin comparationem, "make equal" and prisma, "something sawed".
The word comparism is today heard mainly in legal and academic circles, where archaic language still has its place. But perhaps the most famous account of comparism was that which culminated in the drafting of the Scottish Advertising Act of 1924.
The Act's drafting was prompted by the much-documented Haggis Debacle, which saw thousands of Scots riot when they discovered that Fat Sporran, the most popular brand of haggis available at the time, was not, in fact, "the best on the market", as advertised. In fact, it was only the best Aberdeen-made haggis on the market, Black's Haggis from Perth having been, in an unbiased taste test, deemed far superior by the Scots Haggis Appreciation Society that year.
Fat Sporran advertising entailed blatant comparism, and the shopping public were not impressed. The ensuing riots lasted three days and ended only when the Fat Sporran executives recalled all their stock to the factory and burned it in a ceremonial bonfire, as demanded by their hapless customers.
The legislation that resulted reads:
"1.3.23 Comparism: no advertisement may use comparism to attempt either to present a product's or service's benefits as being greater than they are, or to downplay or otherwise misrepresent the benefits of competitors' offerings."
Said Fergus Fergus, QC, at the Act's release in a press conference at which samples of Fat Sporran were analysed under microscope and, memorably, fed alternately with Black's Haggis to reporters,
"This was a clear attempt to mislead the Scottish public through comparism! We will not stand for the desecration of haggis through such baldfaced deceits!"
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Dumb breeds dumb
It's stupid, it's insidious, it's .... publication-sanctioned typos that fuck with the common vernacular!Okay, so New Scientist decided to leave the full stop off that big, black, bold sentence right there.
Let's just pretend that they did this on purpose, because some weirdo copywriter convinced the web team that no stop would lead the eye of the reader to the login button, while a stop would, well, stop them in their tracks. Let's ignore what we know to be the raw facts of the matter, which are that coders all-too-frequently write the copy for these pages, and coders are rarely grammarians.
Miraculously, that's not my problem. My problem is the button text, which erroneously uses the noun "login" instead of the correct verb form "log in".
Who cares? You should, because "login to your account" is nonsensical, yet appears everywhere. The reason errors like this still abound is because of the confusion caused by errors like this abounding -- even on big-deal sites like New Scientist.
Dumb breeds dumb, people. Smarten up, New Scientist.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Elementary steps to entry
You may think this article pitching advice elementary, but it was born of frustration at the tsunami of drivelous pitches I am forced to swim for my life through many days of the week. Many of them are from professional authors, too. I don't know what's happening in the world.
Pitchers, take note.
1. Don't assume the person reviewing your pitch is the person you met at a conference last March. Frequently, the content people are chained to a desk in the back room and never see the light of day, let alone the bright lights of a glitzy industry event.
2. Don't expect the reviewer to visit your website. All we care about is what you're sending us, not three hundred other articles you've written on topic x. If you must direct us to an online repertoire of your work, for god's sakes, include a working link.
3. Write your pitch in coherent sentences. Avoid terms like:
A personal note on this: I assess all authors' capabilities on the basis of their email, first and foremost, rather than their published works. Published works are frequently edited; the author's email rarely is. Your email shows me what I can expect in the way of raw content; the more work I have to do to get your work to a publishable standard, the less likely I am to accept it. It's a time/cost benefit thing. Sorry, Joe.
4. Do not, under any circumstances, fail to pitch an article idea. Writing to me to say "I don't know what you need, but I'd love to write for you" is a waste of my freaking time. Read the publication! Come up with your own exciting ideas! Pitch them, fucker!
5. Explain what your article will tell or give the reader. What's the benefit? And how will the piece differ from any others on the topic? Explain why my readers need to read your article. That's pretty much all I want to know.
6. Don't be intimidated. I don't have time to convince you that I'm not the devil, but am just an ordinary person who needs content.
7. Don't grovel. Seriously, I don't have time for the fawning.
Pitchers, take note.
1. Don't assume the person reviewing your pitch is the person you met at a conference last March. Frequently, the content people are chained to a desk in the back room and never see the light of day, let alone the bright lights of a glitzy industry event.
2. Don't expect the reviewer to visit your website. All we care about is what you're sending us, not three hundred other articles you've written on topic x. If you must direct us to an online repertoire of your work, for god's sakes, include a working link.
3. Write your pitch in coherent sentences. Avoid terms like:
- 2nd
- thru
- IMO
A personal note on this: I assess all authors' capabilities on the basis of their email, first and foremost, rather than their published works. Published works are frequently edited; the author's email rarely is. Your email shows me what I can expect in the way of raw content; the more work I have to do to get your work to a publishable standard, the less likely I am to accept it. It's a time/cost benefit thing. Sorry, Joe.
4. Do not, under any circumstances, fail to pitch an article idea. Writing to me to say "I don't know what you need, but I'd love to write for you" is a waste of my freaking time. Read the publication! Come up with your own exciting ideas! Pitch them, fucker!
5. Explain what your article will tell or give the reader. What's the benefit? And how will the piece differ from any others on the topic? Explain why my readers need to read your article. That's pretty much all I want to know.
6. Don't be intimidated. I don't have time to convince you that I'm not the devil, but am just an ordinary person who needs content.
7. Don't grovel. Seriously, I don't have time for the fawning.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Are we in agreement?
A few points on agreement, for writers and other people who want to sound like they can string a coherent sentence together.
1. Make your verb and object agree.
The cat ate the fish I'd caught.
Not: The cat eats the fish I'd caught.
2. Make your nouns and pronouns agree in number:
The clown who has her hat on backwards is the funniest.
Not: The clown who has their hat on backwards is the funniest.*
Google's a freaking behemoth; it's too big to be true.
Not: Google's a freaking behemoth; they're too big to be true.
3. In all cases, whether or not you know sentence objects or subjects from holes in the ground, remember: make your tense consistent (or, to be, ahem, consistent with the theme of this post, make your tenses, awkward haha, agree):
The show blew my bobby-socks skyward. I'd not seen any similar performances at that time.
Not: The show blew my bobby-socks skyward. I've not seen any similar performances at that time.
*Feel free to debate the correctness of this approach in different contexts and cultures. I merely present this as a widely accepted rule of thumb.
1. Make your verb and object agree.
The cat ate the fish I'd caught.
Not: The cat eats the fish I'd caught.
2. Make your nouns and pronouns agree in number:
The clown who has her hat on backwards is the funniest.
Not: The clown who has their hat on backwards is the funniest.*
Google's a freaking behemoth; it's too big to be true.
Not: Google's a freaking behemoth; they're too big to be true.
3. In all cases, whether or not you know sentence objects or subjects from holes in the ground, remember: make your tense consistent (or, to be, ahem, consistent with the theme of this post, make your tenses, awkward haha, agree):
The show blew my bobby-socks skyward. I'd not seen any similar performances at that time.
Not: The show blew my bobby-socks skyward. I've not seen any similar performances at that time.
*Feel free to debate the correctness of this approach in different contexts and cultures. I merely present this as a widely accepted rule of thumb.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
[the boots]
[She didn't get to show him the boots until they were getting ready to leave for the cinema.
'What do you think?' Clara asked, sitting beside him on the sofa as he held the left boot up in his hand.
'They're nice...' Jake said, noncommittally. 'But aren't they women's boots?'
'Do you think so?' asked Clara. 'I think they're okay either way. Look, there's no heel, and the square toe could suit anyone.'
Jake pulled down the corners of his mouth.
'I think they're definitely women's boots,' he said, and handed the boot back to her. 'You should offer them to one of your friends.'
Clara nodded, sliding the boot back into the plastic bag she'd brought them in.
'Are you ready to go?' asked Jake. 'We don't want to be late.'
Clara stood up, smoothed her dress, and exhaled.
'Yes,' she said. 'Let's go.']
'What do you think?' Clara asked, sitting beside him on the sofa as he held the left boot up in his hand.
'They're nice...' Jake said, noncommittally. 'But aren't they women's boots?'
'Do you think so?' asked Clara. 'I think they're okay either way. Look, there's no heel, and the square toe could suit anyone.'
Jake pulled down the corners of his mouth.
'I think they're definitely women's boots,' he said, and handed the boot back to her. 'You should offer them to one of your friends.'
Clara nodded, sliding the boot back into the plastic bag she'd brought them in.
'Are you ready to go?' asked Jake. 'We don't want to be late.'
Clara stood up, smoothed her dress, and exhaled.
'Yes,' she said. 'Let's go.']
Monday, January 3, 2011
Word of the Day #4: auruption
auruption, n. an unsettling sound; a loud, displeasing noise. auruptic, adj.
From the Latin, auris, ear, and rupt, break.
Auruption was originally the final element of a treatment used by apothecaries in the late middle ages to correct melancholy and phlegmatic dispositions. The subject of treatment would be administered a tincture, predominantly made of pepper, before being sent home. The apothecary would then set about surprising the subject at unpredictable intervals using loud noises: gunshots, schreeching cats, womens' screams, and so on.
Noted medieval historian Sir Horace Morris, in his book Apothecary Lore, published in 1791, "From what scanty records remain, the results of auruptic treatment appear to have been variable, though it proved a reliable cure for hiccoughs."
Gradually auruption moved from medical terminology into colloquy, as can be seen in this excerpt from the original, unedited manuscript of Conan Doyle's Hound of the Baskervilles:
"Really," I admonished Holmes as the terrible wail faded over the moor's eerie wastes. "'Unusual' is hardly an apt description for that horrendous auruption!"
Despite archaic roots, the term auruption was last used in print in a 1996 letter to the editor of NME entitled "Ban the Power Ballad":
"The ejaculation of orchestral string arrangements over guitar frenzies bolstered by a singer's violent, multi-octave auruptions typefies this genre, and has in the process damaged eardrums and psyches from New York to New Zealand. Let it end."
From the Latin, auris, ear, and rupt, break.
Auruption was originally the final element of a treatment used by apothecaries in the late middle ages to correct melancholy and phlegmatic dispositions. The subject of treatment would be administered a tincture, predominantly made of pepper, before being sent home. The apothecary would then set about surprising the subject at unpredictable intervals using loud noises: gunshots, schreeching cats, womens' screams, and so on.
Noted medieval historian Sir Horace Morris, in his book Apothecary Lore, published in 1791, "From what scanty records remain, the results of auruptic treatment appear to have been variable, though it proved a reliable cure for hiccoughs."
Gradually auruption moved from medical terminology into colloquy, as can be seen in this excerpt from the original, unedited manuscript of Conan Doyle's Hound of the Baskervilles:
"Really," I admonished Holmes as the terrible wail faded over the moor's eerie wastes. "'Unusual' is hardly an apt description for that horrendous auruption!"
Despite archaic roots, the term auruption was last used in print in a 1996 letter to the editor of NME entitled "Ban the Power Ballad":
"The ejaculation of orchestral string arrangements over guitar frenzies bolstered by a singer's violent, multi-octave auruptions typefies this genre, and has in the process damaged eardrums and psyches from New York to New Zealand. Let it end."
Saturday, January 1, 2011
2011 reading agenda
It's official: I'm fucked. I can't even work out where to begin. This is a selection of the new books I have been given or loaned in the last 12 months. All of which I want to read.Of course, I forgot to add The Death of Bunny Munro to the pile, plus countless others. Looks like 2011 will be the year of unproductivity.
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