writing techniques
Citing Your Work: AP Stylebook vs Chicago Manual of Style
March 12, 2008
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by GreenleafBookGroup
Is it disloyal to admit that I admire, sympathize with, even like AP style? It's true that Chicago will always be my first love. And 80 percent of the AP Stylebook is just alphabetized terms in loose chapters. To those of us with wandering eyes and a shaky grasp of the alphabet, that's just cruel. Sure, it's straightforward, but if I want to know about commas, it's pretty well guaranteed I'll get stuck reading about colloquialisms, the Commonwealth of Independent States, and commodities before I discover I'm to look up the entry under punctuation. Where, of course, I'll find Purim, Pulitzer Prizes, and a direction to the punctuation chapter. Well, why didn't you just send me there in the first place? (On the other hand, ask me about Lithuanian independence!)
But AP is great for the applications it's designed for—fitting a lot of information in not a lot of space, and making sure pretty much anyone will understand. It's not a collection of literary tradition and best practices like Chicago. It's a living manual to getting everything right and getting it to press, quickly. No copyeditor with a deadline breathing down her neck gets tempted into reading about colloquialisms when she's looking for commodities. It's fast and it's practical.
A lot of AP guidelines are elegant, too, like the rules for numbers. Numbers always mean a compromise between consistency and common sense, so there are a lot of exceptions in any guide. But the AP's basic concepts can be stated in three sentences: Spell out a single digit (one, eight, 10). Use figures for measurements, scores, and years (6 feet, a 5-year-old girl, 1986, a 3-6 decision). And don't be an idiot (a thousand times thank you, a quarter mile, fourscore and seven years ago). See? Easy!
It almost makes up for that ridiculousness about plurals.*
*A good writer would leave it there. A grammar geek would say "Apostrophe only for proper nouns ending in S? For appearance' sake? You've gotta be freakin' kidding me." I guess we know which I am today.
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Type in Motion: Writing Out Loud
December 7, 2007
by Matthew Patin
Fact: Helvetica turned 50 this year. Yeah, people celebrated and everything. Okay, that may be an overstatement, but when there's actually a feature film named after and about a font, there must be something interesting going on, right?
And there is. But it doesn't really have to do with Helvetica---or even fonts, per se. No, it's the entire study of and love affair with typography. And it's nothing new: technology has effectively democratized the use and development of powerful, elegant, strange, and creative word design, but professional manipulators of text---each imbued with a vehement passion for how language is communicated---have existed since long before the computer and long before Gutenberg.
What can we learn from designers about writing and about communication? This: Visionary typographers understand one thing above all else---one thing that transcends the technicalities of kern, x-heights, serifs, and baselines. They understand that typography is writing out loud.
So when you're writing, evaluate what you've developed, and imagine it in type. That is, imagine what it would look like if it were alive and animated. This may help you to choose better words, create better sentences, and establish better flow. Here's an elementary example. Try to imagine how different both sentences would look.
She walked slowly. vs. She crept.
Can you see the difference? No? Still don't know what I mean? It's hard to explain. Check out these videos instead to get a better idea and to hopefully get inspired.
And after the videos, there's a list of great typography resources to visit.
A simple little introduction to typography:
[youtube width="325" height="335"]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ki6rcXvUWP0
Some animated text from Pulp Fiction dialogue. Warning: It's Samuel L. Jackson, which means there's cursing. A lot if it:
[youtube width="325" height="335"]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3IJ6b3E5HYE
A classic Abbott and Costello moment:
[youtube width="325" height="335"]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ejweI0EQpX8
Lowell Fulson's "Tramp":
[youtube width="325" height="335"]http://youtube.com/watch?v=Z3vaxlJ86vk
Trainspotting dialogue:
[youtube width="325" height="335"]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N8X9BtNmSig&NR=1
Have a better idea yet? As promised, some further resources:
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Keep It Clear: Nonfiction Writing for Clarity, Not Condescension
August 2, 2007
by GreenleafBookGroup
Anytime you’re writing nonfiction, it’s nice if you know a lot more about your topic than your audience does. That isn’t usually a problem—most of us write what we know. But how do you know your audience will get the point? And how do you avoid explaining too much and losing their attention? There’s a fine line between clarity and condescension—but you need to know where it is.
The best way to be sure that you haven’t over- or underexplained your topic is to find a couple of members of your target audience and have them read the part of your work in question. After they’ve read it, ask them a few questions—how long did it take? Did they ever lose interest or get lost? Is there any part that needs more explanation? Ask them to explain the concept back to you, then rework the piece to correct any problems.
This method is almost foolproof. But unfortunately, often a deadline doesn’t allow for focus groups and three rounds of revisions. When that’s the case, you still need to make sure your point is clear. Read the piece over yourself and imagine you have the same level of knowledge as your audience. Look at these specific areas:
Are there passages with heavy use of buzzwords or specialized vocabulary? Try to break up or rephrase them. Even readers familiar with the material can get lost in too much specialized language, and one misunderstanding on what the particular word of the moment means can unravel your entire argument for that reader.
Take a sample paragraph completely out of context and read through it. Does it still make sense? Is it clear why this information is being presented? If not, revise it, and do a few more spot-checks on other paragraphs. Readers who get lost need to be able to find firm ground to stand on soon after to help them work out what they don’t understand, and an argument that depends on immediate knowledge of pages and pages of information isn’t going to get your point across.
If the argument is complicated, try to keep your prose simple. There’s no reason to complicate it more with involved language. If you’re making a particularly crucial point, rephrase it or give an example of what you mean in the sentence immediately following to reinforce it.
To avoid sounding condescending, don’t define words or terms more than once. Give the explanation, then reinforce the meaning by using the word in context soon after and using synonyms in the surrounding text if you haven’t used it for a while. Repeat your key principles, but keep your reader engaged by using different words or making the key point a sort of “punchline” at the end of an example. The idea is to present the same information with enough variation that a reader who got it the first time won’t be bored, but a reader who didn’t has another chance to catch on. As a test, read the piece yourself. Do you find yourself skipping over certain passages? Condense them.
Finally, there’s really no substitute for a fresh pair of eyes. If you can’t get a member of your audience or a real live editor, ask someone you trust to tell you the truth. (This should not be Microsoft Word’s spellcheck function.) Don’t get upset if your pages come back covered in suggestions. You don’t have to take them all—you just have to think about them. Your reader stopped to tell you she had a problem. In the interests of clarity and respect for your audience, you owe your piece a second look.
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When Stylistic Devices Attack!: How to Inject Your Manuscript With Style Without Bogging it Down
June 7, 2007
by GreenleafBookGroup
Sometimes, when I read a manuscript, one particular stylistic element seems poised to bring down the whole book—impossible-to-read dialect; verbose, long-winded exposition; trite or “symbolic” imagery; scenes so mysterious you don’t quite know what’s going on; or some other literary device that simply doesn’t fit. But when I tactfully mention the offending device to the author, the response is “I meant to do that.” Uh-oh.
The impulse toward unconventional techniques is easy to understand. To write memorable, stylish prose, great authors often break the rules and incorporate uncomfortable elements into their writing. When a nontraditional method works, it garners attention for the book and adds to a writer’s reputation for creativity, judgment, observation, and skill.
It’s most noticeable in fiction, but it’s true of nonfiction too. Think of Jeffrey Gitomer’s books—no paragraph too short, no punctuation too exciting, and over a million copies sold to date. A signature style or signature stylistic device can make an author a legend in his own time.
But that’s when it works. More often than not, a brazen stylistic device will detract from the work in question. By “detract,” I mean “make to appear amateurish and overwrought, annoy the reader, and increase the chances the reader will abandon the book somewhere around page 89.” Self-conscious stylistic devices jolt the reader out of the world the writer is building, or make it hard to settle in to begin with. It’s the in-print version of breaking the fourth wall. If you’re going to do it, you’d better do it right.
With that in mind, here are three handy tests to help you decide whether a device works or not. (If you’ve got better ones, I’d love to see them.)
1. Less is more. Like loud fabrics, loud literary devices are hard to mix and match. If you’re going to narrate in stream-of-consciousness, do not also use screenplay-style stage directions and scene breaks. Pick the device that means the most to you. Once you’ve chosen your gimmick, don’t overdo it. Think of that guy you saw last weekend wearing all hot pink plaid. Did you say, “Wow, I admire his consistency to his theme”?
2. Make sure someone gets it. Kurt Vonnegut recommended writing with an audience of one in mind. Whoever you’re writing for, test it out. If your audience doesn’t like your device, you may want to consider toning it down. Even if you’re not thinking of a specific person as you compose, a suitably sympathetic, unbiased reader ought to be able to get through the device without trouble. I’m thinking your editor here.
3. Most important, make sure it’s crucial and authentic to the work, not just something you’re doing to show off. Christopher Bachelder’s Bear v. Shark uses stream-of-consciousness narration with two-page chapters and commercial breaks as its main style—a highly disruptive format. But the book is a satire about a near future in which television screens have taken over all four walls of the room and no longer turn off, where advertising invades our thoughts and the attention span is a thing of the past. The method is the message—so Bachelder’s outré style doesn’t distract from his point. (Also, the book is short—the author doesn’t expect us to get through three hundred pages of this bizarre prose.) If your device isn’t integral to your work, you’re probably better off without it.
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Parallelism and Justice for All: Balance as a Part of Good Writing
February 15, 2007
by Jay Hodges
What do we want? Syntactic equality. When do we want it? Now! Parallel syntactic elements—words that serve the same function in a sentence—must be treated equally to foster peace, love, and (most importantly) understanding. The key is creating balance among similar words, phrases, and clauses in each sentence you write.
In the following sentence, for instance, the meaning is clear, but the sentence is clunky and stumbles to an end: Bernice likes eating cake, drinking coffee, and to read the Big Bad Book Blog. When the syntactic elements are treated equally, however, the sentence has much more poise: Bernice likes eating cake, drinking coffee, and reading the Big Bad Book Blog. A less concise but no less balanced version of the sentence could be the following: Bernice likes to eat cake, to drink coffee, and to read the Big Bad Book Blog. With a slight change in syntax to make the gerund or infinitive phrases parallel, the sentence now has a more refined demeanor. Plus, it’s more reader friendly.
Enforcing parallelism is a surefire way to guarantee readers will pick up what you put down. In the following sentence, for example, it is unclear what Martha actually likes: Martha likes saving whales and people. Does Martha like people and also saving whales, or does she like saving whales and saving people? Recasting the sentence with a parallel structure would clarify what Martha likes to do: Martha likes saving whales and spending time with people.
Parallelism is also effective in lists. I have several goals this year: to write a book; to publish my book; and to sell lots of copies of my book. The equal treatment of these elements effectively shows how they roll together under the banner of “goals for the year.”
Now that you’re aware of parallel structure, putting it into practice will become second nature and your writing will be better for it. Activists have never had it so good!
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Three Tips to Get 'Em to Listen: The Art of Credible Writing
November 3, 2006
by GreenleafBookGroup
Want people to believe what you write? Persuade them. It’s not complicated, but there’s a lot of competition out there fighting for your audience’s trust and attention. You can’t afford to sound unsure or unqualified. Here are three techniques guaranteed to get more people listening:
1. Use clear, strong language. As The Elements of Style so famously declares, "Vigorous writing is concise." Avoid clutter. Structure sentences with active verbs. Use the right word, not the longest or most "impressive" word. (Often this means the Anglo-Saxon instead of the Latinate: not utilization, but use; not prevaricate, but lie.) Reduce clauses, trim sentences, clarify meaning. You don't want to bore your reader with inert vocabulary and flaccid structure.
2. Give evidence. Readers may be taken with your bold style, but they appreciate substance as well. Support your argument with your reasoning or your proof. A reader who can follow your logic is much more likely to agree.
3. Use your own voice. If what you write sounds forced or uncharacteristic, you lose credibility. Don't ignore etiquette or grammar, but don't affect any styles or mannerisms that aren't natural unless you do so for a reason.
Listen to the responses you get, and try to tailor your message to address the obvious complaints. The art of persuasion is a powerful one—just try not to use your power for evil.
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Lies Your English Teacher Told You: Grammar Rules You Can Break in Your Writing
July 13, 2006
by GreenleafBookGroup
Picture the worst English teacher you ever had. The one who made you diagram sentences and say "May I" instead of "Can I" and never, ever laughed, even if you packed five vocabulary words into one demonstration sentence. The one who made you read The Scarlet Letter. The one who told you that everything you wrote from that moment forward had to have an introduction, three body paragraphs, and a conclusion to sum up your claims, preferably beginning, “In conclusion . . .”
How would you like to break some rules you learned in that class? What if it turned out that you never really needed to follow them in the first place?
Here are some of the lies your English teacher may have told you—grammar “rules” that are simply myths perpetuated through hearsay and folklore and transmitted to generations of students. Let the deception stop with you.
- You can begin a sentence with “and” or “but.” There’s no reason not to. You shouldn’t begin all of your sentences with “and” or “but,” but if it sounds right, don’t fight it.
- You can end a sentence with a preposition—“with,” “to,” “for,” “against,” any of them. The idea that you shouldn’t end a sentence with a preposition comes from the fact that you shouldn’t in Latin. English is not Latin. In many of the most natural and simple constructions in English, a preposition falls at the end of the sentence. Don’t let a dead language complicate what’s not complicated.
- You can split an infinitive. Some poor misguided souls try to follow this rule, even to the point of phrases like “to go boldly where no one has gone before,” or “to reach home finally,” instead of “to boldly go” and “to finally reach.” Don’t let this so-called correct construction make your sentences weak and awkward.
Now that you know the truth, one quick reminder: these techniques are best used in moderation, just like other constructions. But don’t let misinformation from your youth stilt your prose and cripple your sentences. For invigorating, natural writing, unlearn these silly superstitions and rediscover how to write what sounds right. It’s a freeing experience—and with no Gorgon of Grammar breathing down your neck, it’ll be much easier this time around.
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