The Tongue Untied

I was reading a recent blog entry at halfwaytonormal about the unintended confusion that comes when writers forget that their readers cannot see what they see, and it got me thinking about perspective. Which led me to think about its opposite. Which I decided was really hard to define without using words such as “one dimensional” or “limited” or “narrow.” Which all seemed to have some kind of judgment of the writer attached to them. Which led me to ponder “values” in writing and whether it is possible to offer guidance on improving writing without discussing writing values.

I decided it isn’t.

At least it isn’t when we are talking about clarity in writing. Writing clearly — which means writing in a way that our readers understand — is, at its core, a matter of empathy. And empathy is a value that writers simply must nurture if they want to excel. The more we are able to consider things from the reader’s perspective, the more successful we are at getting the message through.

Yet, empathy is the very thing that we tend to lose track of in the rush to get OUR point across. The end result is often the exact opposite of what we seek. So, rather than focusing SOLELY on our message, we writers would be well served to take a step back and consider our readers and the assumptions we are making about their perspectives.

One path to deeper reader empathy is to think of words as more than their dictionary definition. While we may all agree with Webster’s definition of a tree — a woody perennial plant having a single usually elongate main stem generally with few or no branches on its lower part — what the word “tree” evokes for each of us is entirely different.

And while the meaning we attach to “tree” is likely heavily informed by our regional perspective, it is also informed by our accumulated experiences. Trees mean something very different to someone born and raised in NYC than they do to someone born and raised in Helena, Mont. in part because trees are experienced differently in those environments.

What this means for us as writers is that the more our readers are “like” us, the more their understanding of something will intersect with ours. In other words, the more similar the writer’s and reader’s experience of a tree, the more likely it is that the reader will be able to “see” that tree from the writer’s perspective. Leaving behind the tree for the moment, consider the idea of shared meaning of words in relation to your family. If I were to write to my sister about “the barn,” a rich, emotional image would be transmitted with that single word. People with intimate bonds share a perspective that allows for vivid communication in very few words.

But readers are not your family (at least not all of them are), and evoking that same level of richness and emotion is a much tougher challenge. A person in Nova Scotia and a person in Kenya may share the same general idea when they read the word “barn,” but the image and emotional response may be very different. Now increase that potential for confusion by the hundreds if not thousands of world views you are attempting to engage when writing for publication — in particular on the Web where your readers will likely not share even your geographic perspective — and you see how the chances for unintended interpretations soar.

It’s enough to make a person crawl under the covers and wait for a new technology that translates every word for every perspective.

But the solution is the exact opposite. Instead of insulating themselves, writers must get out in the world and absorb everything they can about anything they can. Considering other people’s views and experiences offers us the chance to hone our message. As strange as it may sound, a broad perspective begets informed, precise writing.

Widening your world view will make one other thing exceedingly clear: “Show Don’t Tell” is a core writing value for a reason. If you tell me what you want me to see, I have no other choice than to insert my own meanings. If you show me what you want me to see, I may still interpret the image through my personal filters but the image itself will be the one YOU intended.

As Chekhov said, “Don’t tell me the moon is shining, show me moonlight glinting on a piece of broken glass.”

Tags: Communication, Editing, misunderstanding

Let’s face it, people get excited about beginnings. The potential in a new experience captures our imagination.  The marking of a new chapter — birth, marriage, school, fishing season — can be thrilling, momentous even, making our hearts race and nerves tingle.

But, as with so many things, writers need to maintain a certain distance from events and ask themselves whether a beginning is really all that exciting. Or, perhaps more critical, does it exist at all? Some of the “beginnings” we put into print are more imaginary than actual, making them nearly impossible for a reader to visualize.

For example in a 2007 NYT article, Alex Berenson wrote, “As the year went on, he began to give away his possessions, as he had in previous manic episodes, and became paranoid.”

This is undeniably a compelling change in a behavior, but as far as the reader is concern, imagining a man beginning to give away his possessions is much more difficult than imagining a man giving away his possessions. So’ the extra words do more than fail to add anything to the main verb, they diminish the verb’s impact. “He gave away his possessions” would have been more to the point.

Let’s look at a few more examples and consider how the sentences could be improved by rewriting without using  “began to.”

“In mid-October, Janet M. Esbenshade, 37, who had been a packer at the Archway plant, began to notice that her vision was blurred.” New York Times.

• [… noticed that her vision was blurred.]

“But, in an interview last year with The Washington Post, Chu said he began to turn his attention to energy and climate change several years ago.” Washington Post

• […he turned his attention to…]

“But then blood began to seep from four puncture wounds, said Joan Kerr, the president of the beagle group.”  Chicago Tribune

• [… blood seeped from four puncture wounds,…]

“I can’t talk about it,” Davis said as he began to explain how Riches was killed and what transpired at the hospital that night. Los Angeles Times

• [… as he explained how Riches was killed…]

Remember, first and foremost, the goal of good writing is to create a compelling narrative that captures a reader’s imagination, and nothing says, “stop reading and take a nap” like sentences padded with meaningless words.

Tags: began to, Editing, redundancy

When writers set out to produce work, they are — in some sense — entering a minefield. Each word, phrase and piece of punctuation offers the opportunity for misstep. And while writing errors won’t kill you, the real possibility exists that they will kill your credibility.

Perhaps one of the most treacherous areas for writers is in word choice. The difficulty comes in the transition from speaking to writing. Words that sound alike or somewhat alike but are spelled differently can cause significant confusion when it’s time to write them down.

The following is a list of the top ten most commonly confused words.

1) To, Too, Two:

“To” is either a preposition or part of an infinitive (a verb before it’s conjugated).

• Preposition: The writers went to the author’s reading in hopes of learning something new.
• Part of the infinitive: Choosing to write for a living could be considered insane.

“Too” is an adverb, which means it needs an adjective or another adverb to modify.

• The writer spoke too quietly to be heard.

“Two” is a number.

• The writer submitted two different articles for the magazine.

2) There, Their, They’re:

“There” is used either as an adverb indicating place or an expletive.

• Adverb: The writers who have been published are standing there by the display.

• Expletive: There is one thing every writer must remember before submitting a query to a magazine: Know the publication.

“Their” is a possessive pronoun.

• Writers know that their success depends on hard work and perseverance.

“They’re” is the contraction of “they are.”

• They’re all successful authors, but their social skills leave a lot to be desired.

3) You’re, Your:

“You’re” is the contraction of “you are.”

• You’re one of the most successful authors in the country.

“Your” is a possessive pronoun.

• Did you meet your deadline?

4) It’s, Its:

“It’s” is the contraction of “it is.”

• It’s a well-known fact that a failure to proofread will come back to haunt you.

“Its” is a possessive pronoun.

• The magazine purchases its content from an on-line clearinghouse.

5) Accept, Except:

“Accept” is a verb. (to take possession of)

• The writers in my class sometimes struggle to accept constructive criticism gracefully.

“Except” is most often a preposition, meaning excluding.

• Everyone submitted an essay to the contest except you.

“Except” is, on occasion, a verb meaning to exclude.

• Will they except those writers from the list of participants.

6) Affect, Effect:

“Affect” is a verb meaning to influence.

• Good writing affects people in profound ways.

“Effect” is usually a noun meaning result.

• The effect of bad writing is also profound, but not in a good way.

“Effect” can also be used as a verb. It means to bring about.

• Talented investigative writers can effect dramatic change in their communities.

7) Than, Then:

“Than” is a conjunction used in a comparison.

• Do you think he is a better writer than you?

“Then” is an adverb indicating time (in the past.)

• I will edit your essay, but then I will expect you to do significant rewriting.

8.) Allusion, Illusion:

An “allusion” is an indirect reference to something.

• Using allusions effectively in your writing can be tricky for inexperienced writers.

An “illusion” is false impression.

• Using overblown words does not give the illusion of genius, but arrogance.

9) Allude, Elude:

“Allude” means to make an indirect reference to something.

• The writer alluded to mistakes made by the editor when explaining his rejection letter.

“Elude” means to escape or avoid detection.

• Not even the best writer can elude making an error at some point.

10) Elicit, Illicit:

“Elicit” is a verb meaning to bring out or draw forth.

• Her essay on prison reform elicited a strong reaction.

“Illicit” is an adjective meaning illegal or unlawful.

• The author’s illicit copying of her assistant’s work led to her downfall.

As with all errors, the best protection against their making it into print is proofreading. But given how easy they are to confuse, consider using the search command in your writing program to find them and then confirm that you have used the correct option.

Tags: confused words

Editors’ pens have been bleeding red for years in an attempt to eliminate misplaced modifiers, but the problem shows little sign of improvement. Writers continue to perplex readers and torment editors with adjectives, adverbs and phrases scattered about like so much glitter at kid’s craft project. Like its sparkly craft cousin, modifiers stick heedless of design wherever they land.

While even the most crabby of editors will admit that modifier mistakes occasionally provide a chuckle, the vast majority of wayward descriptors simply confuse. Yet, perhaps more critically, they give the reader reason to pause, to momentarily lose concentration. That break can spell doom, giving easily distracted readers the room to go elsewhere or, maybe worse, use your writing as an example of what NOT to do.

Let’s look at an example:

“The gathering was a reunion for the eight puppies rescued from a hollow log where they were huddled during the snowy night of Jan. 6 by big-hearted Butte Falls area residents Anna Diehl and her husband, Rick Martin.” Medford Mail Tribune

Do you see it?

If we are to believe this sentence, the eight puppies were huddled by two Butte Falls residents. They may be big-hearted, but something tells me they didn’t spend the night in a log. The prepositional phrase “by big-hearted Butte Falls area residents Anna Diehl and her husband, Rick Martin” is supposed to tell us who rescued the pups; therefore, it needs to be next to the verb.

The key to avoiding (or removing) wayward modifiers is to attend to the meaning and purpose of EVERY word in a sentence. If the writer cannot explain what the word or phrase is doing, why is he or she using it. It’s the nutritional equivalent of eating berries off of an unidentified bush: It may work out okay, even be a tasty treat, or you may end up in the emergency room getting a tube stuck down your throat.

Here is another example of a failure to attend to just what a phrase is doing:

“Two hours later, Diffenderffer was rescued by Indian firefighters, who were under fire from the terrorists inside the hotel, using a cherry picker to bring him to safety.” Delaware Online

Is this one a little clearer?

Can you see the terrorists on the cherry picker? Well, they shouldn’t be. The firefighters are the ones who used the cherry picker. In this case, more sentences with fewer phrases might be the best solution.

Sometimes it’s a single word that slips a little too far one way or another.

“It’s important, therefore, to master the making of two or three different kinds [of dressing] that will enhance a cold dish of mixed vegetables, meat, some kind of fish, poultry or fruit.”

My guess is that the writer wants us to know that the vegetables, meat and fish should be cold, not the plate.

Even if the reader knows what the writer means, a misplaced modifier in still misplaced.

“The sight of a man dressed in a black suit, overcoat and derby, standing on a street corner eating peanuts, usually attracts little attention in Yonkers…” NYT

The corner is not eating peanuts; the man is. Move the modifier closer to the noun it modifies.

The lesson should be clear at this point: Place modifiers next to the words or phrases they modify. Distance makes for confusion.

Tags: confusing sentences, dangling modifiers, misplaced modifiers

I am a big fan of Ace of Cakes, the pseudo-reality drama on the Food Network. The folks who make up Charm City Cakes are my kind of creative geniuses.

Each episode, the quirky band of decorators is faced with the cake world’s version of a story to be told. After carefully crafting the base of the cake, (think outline), they begin the work of making its message come alive. First they apply a smooth, perfectly rolled fondant. Then other precise colors and accents are added, and the concept begins to emerge. A bit more theme-specific (and critical) detail work, and their vision in cake — the likes of which most of us could only dream of attaining — emerges.

Now contrast this to the average home baker who flails about the kitchen with inadequate equipment, hoping that a single icing tip and a spatula will suffice. Even if the cake is shaped correctly, the finish work is likely to brand the completed product as “homemade” — heartwarming for the intended recipients, but not likely to get the baker a place in the culinary spotlight.

Skilled writers shape their stories with the precision and detail of a skilled cake decorator. But writers who fail to craft their sentences with care are destined to overdecorate like an amateur with a butter knife. And like their baking cohort, they will no doubt create something, but when it is all said and done, audience appreciation will be limited to good friends and family who know how hard they tried. Not exactly the criteria for marketable success.

One of the most common (and easily improved) problem areas that leads to sloppy writing is redundancy, in particular the slathering on of adjectives and adverbs when the meaning is clear without them.

Consider these common examples:

joined together
“In 1998, a group of individuals with a love for the mountain joined together to form the Laurel Mountain Ski Company.”

• Have you every seen anyone “joined apart”? “Joined” implies “together.” No need for both words.

broad array
“RIM technology also enables a broad array of third party developers and manufacturers to enhance their products and services with wireless connectivity to data.”

• Ever been offered a “narrow array”? Websters defines an “array” as “an imposing group : large number.” Clearly, adding the modifier “broad” is redundant.

reason why
“Higgins says it’s clear profit is the sole reason why prices here are so high.”

• Sherry’s Grammar List offers a wonderfully poetic explanation for why this is a redundancy: “The reason is already the why, and the why already means the reason. When you ask why, you’re asking for the reason, and when you ask for the reason, you’re asking for the why.”

final destination/final resolution/final outcome

“If the airline arranges substitute transportation that gets you to your final destination within an hour of your original scheduled arrival time, you won’t be compensated.”

“Mr. Sidorsky said he would fly to Moscow for more talks on Wednesday, an indication that a final resolution had not been found. “We hope to solve all other questions in the coming days,” he said”

“Oustimovitch said it’s clear his group won’t have a vote on the final outcome.”

• If a word implies “the end,” as in destination, solution and outcome, then it’s final. No need to final-ize it.
• A note: The use of “final” with destination makes sense in the following sentence about “The Amazing Race,” where contestants race from one destination to another on the way to the end of the competition: “At the airport each team bought tickets for their flight to their final destination of Portland.

share a common

“We’ve brought together two outstanding teams that share a common passion for innovation and commitment to customer success.”

“The two restaurants share a common kitchen between them, but The Loft is open only for the dinner-and-later crowd and leans toward a lounge atmosphere.”

• I think we can assume that sharing implies having something in common.

mutually agreed

“FC Dallas announced that the club and defender Duilio Davino have mutually agreed to end his contract with FC Dallas”

• They either agreed, which is by definition mutual, or they didn’t, which is neither an agreement or mutual.

And the list goes on:

merged together

gathered together

completely destroyed

packed to capacity

random chance

You get the idea.

The solution to the problem of redundancy is the same solution to every writing problem: pay attention. Pay attention to what each word is doing in the sentence. But when it comes to redundancy in particular, be on the lookout for phrases that have become so common place, we read right over them without thinking.

Tags: conciseness, redundancy, repetition

I have decided to begin a new series of posts entirely dedicated to the little BUT IMPORTANT elements of English writing that seemed to have disappeared from the K-12 system.

I am starting with “if” and “whether” not because I think it is the most important, but because I read yet another article in the New York Times today where “if” was used incorrectly and writing about it seemed better than having my head explode.

First, the basics:
Use “if” to express a condition.

CORRECT: Comments are moderated and generally will be posted if they are on-topic and not abusive.

WRONG: I don’t know if he’s ready for my New York game.

Use “whether” to express alternatives.

CORRECT: Many of the assembled are questioning whether he is conservative enough.

CORRECT: Their six-month truce comes to an end today, and neither is sure whether to renew it.

WRONG: The officer told the investigator he was not sure if he fired his weapon.

Use either “if” or “whether” with:

1) Indirect questions.

No one knows for sure whether/if Iran has the rest of the components needed for a bomb.

He’s not sure whether/if he’s scored enough points with Santa to be getting one of those in his stocking.

2) Yes / No questions.

He wasn’t even sure if/whether he did any good.

She could not remember if/whether he brought his coat.

Clearly, it is not simply a matter of knowing the rules or more people would get it right. So, let’s get geeky and try to tattoo this on the grammar sections of our brains.

Be advised! We are heading into grammar term territory.

1) After a preposition, use “whether.”

If you don’t know what a preposition is, hop over to our grammar site and have yourself a bit of study. If you have a general sense of the little buggers, then you are ready to follow the rule: preposition + choice of  “if” or “whether” = “whether”

CORRECT: For actions on a site that might be considered private, shouldn’t users have the choice about whether to make them public?

CORRECT: The test for whether such internal loans make economic sense is exactly the same as the test for external loans.

WRONG: “Batman is Batman, regardless of if Bush is in the White House or not,” he said.

2) Before infinitives, use “whether.”

Same first step, if you don’t know what infinitive are, study on them here.

CORRECT: The clinic workers, who have been detained for two months while authorities decide whether to charge them, deny that they did anything wrong.

But don’t be misled into using “whether” rather than “if” preceding an infinitive if the “if” is part of the conjunction “as if.”

EXAMPLE: As if to ward off the mayhem outside, the soldiers have held to some military rituals.

You would have gotten that on your own, right? Really, how incoherent would the sentence be? “As whether to ward off the mayhem outside, the soldiers have held to some military rituals.”

3) When the sentence contains a two-part option with “or,” use “whether.”

CORRECT: The captain said he could not remember whether they had asked for the money or demanded it.

CORRECT: They were asked whether they had modified their views as a result of their visit to the Soviet Union

WRONG: It’s not clear if they simply failed to consider the privacy implications or thought about it and decided it didn’t matter.

4). If the “alternatives” lead the sentence, use “whether.” In other words, if instead of being connected by “or” the two-part option begins the sentence, you still use “whether.”

CORRECT: Whether they spoke for Progressive or reactionary candidates, they took the view that the incumbent was out of it.

WRONG: Asked if the rabbit in cream sauce could be split in half or must the kept whole, the waiter shrugged.

5) When the clause containing the “option” is a subject or a predicate nominative, it’s best to use “whether.” (”If” is acceptable in some circumstances but not preferred so why risk it?)

CORRECT: Henry is certainly a capable chef, but whether he can master the intricacies of Vietnamese soup is another question.

(”Whether” is the subject of the verb “is.”)

CORRECT: The question is whether I buy a TV or something more important.”

(”[W]hether I buy a TV” is the question and the question is “whether I buy a TV.” They are connected by a linking verb, making the “whether” clause a complement/predicate nominative. Do I need to tell you again to go the Web site if you don’t know the parts of a sentence?

WRONG: The question is if the lingering bitterness from the port deal is going to outweigh the stretched hand of needy institutions.

Okay. That’s enough of that. Best of luck out there.

Tags: if, whether, word confusion

Almost no one eats the same for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Most of us pick up the remote when we realize we have already seen the episode on the screen. And we can probably all agree that if the local department store only carried socks, we would not be regular visitors (even if we like socks).

We are no different when it comes to what we read. Words are a reader’s sustenance, entertainment and shelter. And one of the forces that compels us to engage with a writer’s work is the same impulse that compels us to stare into the refrigerator and wander the aisles of the grocery store: We want to be stimulated, AND we also want to satisfy a desire.

Give us stimulation alone and we are overwhelmed and retreat. Satisfaction alone and we begin to feel like we do after way too much mac and cheese. Sure it was good, but was it good for us?

Yet, when we can get just the right amount of the perfect food, complete with complex flavors and ingredients, it’s heaven. We remember that experience. We want to return. We want that feeling again. We keep going back.

Our challenge as writers is to offer our readers that perfect balance in our creations. The words we use must be complex but not overwhelming, comforting but not empty of mental nutrition. How long do you think your readers will hang around if your writing is sprinkled with the literary equivalent of  “Weapons of Mass Destruction”? You know the ones I mean — meaningless but repeated to the point of annoyance.

When we write, we must consider each word — from the largest to the smallest — and ask, What does this word add? What might it take away?  Why am I using it? And perhaps most importantly, Have I used this word so often that my readers are being forced to retreat in defense of their mental health?

The following examples are taken from daily newspapers. Although few writers on the Web write regularly for newspapers, the precision and directness required of daily journalism offers every writer an opportunity to consider how to make each word count. Sadly, these writers (and their absent editors) are offered as cautionary tales rather than examples of writing success.

Staff suggested a $100 annual permit fee, but two council members said they thought a higher initial permit fee, such as $200, might be appropriate, with the fee then dropping to $50 annually thereafter.

• In case you were wondering, this sentence is about a fee. The first clause tells us that so the repetition of “fee” is unnecessarily mind numbing. Using a variety of words, beyond making the sentence more likely to hold the reader’s attention, would also allow us to tighten.

Consider this rewrite: Staff suggested a $100 annual permit, but two council members said they thought a higher initial cost, such as $200, might be appropriate, with a $50 annual renewal fee thereafter.

Later in the meeting, Superintendent Collins presented a special report on the on-going investigations at Helix High School. Collins reminded everyone that these investigations were not completed yet, and that they are expecting a report in December. He said that Helix has been cooperating with the investigation. He said that no one should leap to conclusions or speculate about the outcome of these investigations.

• Did you get that there is an investigation going on? The problem here is not simply the repetition of “investigation,” which is somewhat akin to pencil tapping during an exam, but the chronological feel of the sentences. And then he did this. And then he said this. And then he said this. For nonfiction writers, remember, it is okay to compress what happened if you are not altering facts or time line.

Consider this rewrite: Superintendent Collins discussed the on-going investigations at Helix High School, which he said the school was cooperating with. A full report is expected in December.

NOTE: This paragraph needs a single sentence to explain the nature of the investigation, which is missing in the story. (This would be true for any writer. Don’t leave your reader wondering what the heck you are talking about.) It also needs to include Collins’ first name and needs to use quotes if he/she said “leap to conclusions” or “speculate.” (This is more an issue for journalists, but every writer can take a lesson: If people’s words are compelling, USE THEM!)

Jennifer Freeman’s family always makes a point of getting together for Thanksgiving each year.

“It’s a family tradition,” said the Hart County resident.

There have been very few times the family has missed being together for Thanksgiving. The times they didn’t get together were due to illnesses.

• Did we happen to mention that these folks get together? Every year, together. Except when they don’t, together. At this point, you should have a good idea of how to fix this, but one quick point: Thanksgiving is every year so “every year” is unnecessary in the sentence.

Tags: conciseness, redunancy

Almost every writer, in one way or another, asks the question, “What do I want to say?” Unfortunately, too many nonfiction writers do so without giving a second thought to how they are going to say it.

Instead, when it comes time to create, they pound out what they think is a pithy beginning and follow with a few relevant examples. At that point, lacking a clear plan of attack, the structure-free writers tack on an ending that restates what they wanted to say and call it good.

Other writers, somewhat more aware that nonfiction writing has a structure, attempt to follow the logic of a newspaper’s inverted pyramid: Put the most important point first and descend into the unimportant. Be advised! The inverted pyramid is dangerous territory for the non-journalist.

The average narrative writer will find it challenging if not impossible to decide what “important” means. And if the writer defines “important” as “the order that seems to go best” — as so many I have worked with have — that ambiguity combined with the inverted pyramid style can lead to a muddled mess.

But all is not lost. Writers can easily identify their failures of organization by being on the lookout for common symptoms:

1) Buried Beginnings — Is the focus or main idea of the piece lost somewhere beyond the second graf? Let me go on and on about my love of the topic without getting to the point: THE TOPIC.

2) Post-Example Disorder — After the introduction and a couple of examples, does the piece read like a high school speech stuck on replay? Here’s what I am going to tell you. Here is what I am telling you. Here’s what I told you?

3) March of Time: Does your “event” story progress in strict chronological order, reading like a first grader’s tale at the dinner table? And then… And then. And then. And then….

4) Block by Block. Does the story consist of blocks of related paragraphs that have no relation to the other blocks of paragraphs, reminiscent of taking a Labrador puppy for a walk? Look! What’s that squirrel doing? Oh, Wait! Smell that bush! Wow! Here’s something buried in the leaves!

Writers who detect these symptoms in their writing should consider a few questions that may reveal the source of the problem.

Ask yourself, “ What did I do from the time I finished gathering information until I started writing?” [Here’s a hint: “Nothing” is the wrong answer, but a clear indicator of the problem.]

Experience tells me that if you are struggling with organizational problems and I say, “Tell me how you organize your sources and research.” your answer would be some variation of “Well, uhm… I have it all right here.”

And if you are one of the stubbornly disorganized whose work I have edited, chances are that if I ask you, “How did you decide on how you were going to start?” your answer would be, “It seemed like the right place.”

Or you may be of those writers who when I ask, “How you decided what your piece was about?” insist that writing the beginning “told” you the rest of the story.

If you recognize yourself in these responses and want to move your writing from groups of words gathered under a title to tightly organized work that grabs the reader’s attention and holds on, you might want to reconsider your approach.

We call writing a craft for a reason. It is not a freefall, but a carefully considered journey to an end goal. Each step is necessary and precise: Think. Gather Information. Think. Organize. Think. Write. Think. Edit. Think. Proofread. Get the point? Before every step: THINK!

Tags: Organization, Writing

The confusion between the subjunctive and the conditional form of the verb in “if” clauses is long-lived and not likely to be relieved any time soon. And to add insult to injury, there is the endless disagreement over just when it is required and when it is not.

In order to examine the use of the subjunctive mood, we must first understand just exactly what it is. Consider the sentence “”People treat reason as if it were the most minor and harmful aspect of a whole human being.” The “were” is in the subjunctive mood, which is often used after “if” in a clause. BUT, not always.

This is where things get tricky. If the “condition” that the verb is referencing is desired or wished for or hoped for or contrary to fact, use the subjunctive. Even if that wish has the possibility of coming true, if it hasn’t yet, use the subjunctive. Completely confused? You are not alone.

Let’s start with a few easy examples.

If Lucy were queen (but she’s not), she would have you arrested.

Max wishes he were somewhere warm. (but he’s not)

But what if there is no wishing or hoping involved and the possibility exists that the condition will be met? Use the conditional for situations that don’t exist but might very well exist.

In each of the following examples, the writer confuses the conditional mood with the subjunctive mood. Writers should reserve the subjunctive form of the verb “to be” for describing things that not only don’t exist but probably will not exist.

“The S.E.C., if it were given supervision of these securities, might hope to use the new authority to improve its reputation as a vigilant market watchdog.” DealBook, New York Times October 21, 2008

The S.E.C. might be given supervision of the securities. The proper form of the verb is was given.

“It was as if he were so determined not to pander, he left any good ideas he might have had in his briefcase.” Opinion, LA Times March 28, 2008

He might challenge Obama on those policy issues. So the sentence should have read Imagine if he was challenging Obama on those policy differences.

The possibility exist that he be determined not to pander. So the proper form is it was as if he was.

“Imagine if he were challenging Obama on those policy differences.” Fred Hiatt, Washington Post, October 13, 2008

Here is the subjunctive used correctly:

“And if I were him, I would ask Al Gore to serve as his vice president, his energy czar, in his administration to reduce our consumption and reliance on foreign energy sources.” Top of theTicket James Carville, Los Angeles Times, June 11, 2008

Of course, Carville should have used the nominative form the the pronoun “he” rather than “him,” but let’s at least give him credit for assuring us with the use of the subjunctive that he is not now and never will be Al Gore.

“The most maddening part for Texas might be that if it were in one of the other five conferences with split divisions — the Atlantic Coast, Conference USA, the Mid-American and the Southeastern Conference - it would have advanced ahead of the Sooners.” New York Times

Texas is not in one of the other five conferences. The condition is contrary to fact and not likely to be fact; therefore, we use the subjunctive.

As should be clear by now, proper use of the subjunctive and conditional tenses is no easy feat. The key, as with all things in writing, is to know exactly what the words being used are doing in the sentence.

Tags: Conditional, subjunctive, verbs

If there isn’t enough to worry about in creating a decent piece of writing, the twisted gods of grammar give us gerunds and possessives to deal with.

Wait! I know you probably have no idea what a gerund is. You are not alone. But don’t give up. You need to know this. Stick with me. You can handle it.

Let’s start at the beginning: A gerund is the form of a verb ending in “ing” that acts as a noun. For example, consider the following sentence:

Calling someone you do not know after 9:00 p.m. is not the best choice.

“Calling” is not a verb; it is a form of the verb acting as a noun (a gerund) - in this case the subject of the verb “is.”

For most writers that particular bit of knowledge is useless UNTIL it comes time to using them correctly in a sentence so let’s get to it.

Gerunds and Possessive Nouns

When a gerund is modified by another noun, that noun must be possessive. In effect, making it possessive makes it a modifier rather than a stand alone noun.

Don’t worry if you are starting to hear a high-pitched buzzing in your ears. That happens when grammar terms start flying around. But, the hang in there. The only way to understand this is to do a little bit if grammar slogging.

First Stop: Gerunds and Proper Nouns:

Consider this sentence:

Larry thinks Tim arguing all of the time is annoying.

Subject: Larry

Verb: thinks

Object: ?

Now take a deep breath and think: Does Larry think Tim is annoying or does he think arguing is annoying? He thinks a particular action (arguing) is annoying. But, it’s not just the action that annoys him. It is a particular person’s action.

Ooh… there it is: a person’s action. Tim’s action.

So, the sentence should read: Larry thinks Tim’s arguing all of the time is annoying.

Okay, back to the slog.

Second Stop: Gerunds and Common Nouns:

Consider this sentence:

Do you enjoy politicians discussing the economy?

Subject: You

Verb: do enjoy

Object: ?

Think now… The question is not, do you enjoy politicians? (does anyone?), but do you enjoy a thing they do? This “thing” they are doing is “discussing the economy.”

Once again, the gerund (discussing) needs to be modified by, not simply accompanied by, a noun. And the way we make that noun modify it is, you guessed it, make it possessive! So, politicians becomes politicians’ (assuming you are talking about more than one.)

The sentence should read:

Do you enjoy politicians’ discussing the economy?

Okay. Last stop.

Gerunds and Pronouns:

You making the correct choice is the best your parents can hope for.

Subject: Making

Verb: is

This one is actually pretty easy. Think about it. The thing/action is “making the best choice.” The question is whose action is it? It’s yours. Not you, yours.

Got it?

Tags: Gerunds, Parts of Speech, Possessives