Pakistan told India on Saturday [12/27/2008] it [Pakistan] did not want war and was committed to fighting terrorism — a move apparently aimed at reducing tensions after Pakistan moved troops toward their shared border.
I’m thankful for the specificity of the last two words there, because so many countries have unshared borders. Maybe the writer thought that the Pakistanis were playing “6 Degrees of Kevin Bacon Geography.” Pakistan has a border with Afghanistan, which has a border with HardyOliverandLaurelStan, who starred in Sons of the Desert, which is often misspelled as dessert, which is often served at Thanksgiving, a celebration at which families usually serve turkey, a country that has a city named Isparta, which is the place that first grew organic iPods, which were subsequently made in China, which has a border (likely shared) with India.
“I don’t know what to do!” cried Scrooge, laughing and crying in the same breath; and making a perfect Laocoon of himself with his stockings. “I am as light as a feather, I am as happy as an angel, I am as merry as a schoolboy. I am as giddy as a drunken man. A merry Christmas to everybody! A happy New Year to all the world! Hallo here! Whoop! Hallo!”
He had frisked into the sitting-room, and was now standing there: perfectly winded.
“There’s the saucepan that the gruel was in!” cried Scrooge, starting off again, and frisking round the fireplace. “There’s the door, by which the Ghost of Jacob Marley entered. There’s the corner where the Ghost of Christmas Present, sat. There’s the window where I saw the wandering Spirits. It’s all right, it’s all true, it all happened. Ha ha ha!”
Really, for a man who had been out of practice for so many years, it was a splendid laugh, a most illustrious laugh. The father of a long, long line of brilliant laughs.
“I don’t know what day of the month it is,” said Scrooge. “I don’t know how long I’ve been among the Spirits. I don’t know anything. I’m quite a baby. Never mind. I don’t care. I’d rather be a baby. Hallo! Whoop! Hallo here!”
He was checked in his transports by the churches ringing out the lustiest peals he had ever heard. Clash, clang, hammer; ding, dong, bell! Bell, dong, ding; hammer, clang, clash! Oh, glorious, glorious!
Celebrate the season, and celebrate the joy of Dickens’s wording in A Christmas Carol: Laocoon, a legendary Trojan priest famously depicted (unclad) in a Vatican statue; frisk in a largely abandoned verb use; sentences jamming onomatopoeia against nouns, and boisterous boisterous boisterous repetition.
“A merry Christmas to you.” And Scrooge said often afterwards, that of all the blithe sounds he had ever heard, those were the blithest in his ears.
Whoop! Hallo! Whoop! May blithe sounds ring in your ears this day, and all days.
On this glorious eve, I’m going to play the Ghost of Christmas Past to the Scrooges who would penuriously deny us the gift of gifting.
I’m talking about the the Scroogely denial of English’s gifted ability to bestow life to nouns, creating verbs in the process. Gift-noun begats gift-verb begats whining from the persnickitorial language Scrooges, who have real misgiftings about such conversion.
Do these people challenge the word gifted as applied, for instance, to prodigies? Should those endowed with special abilities instead be givended? Or something? Should the relay-baton present be regifted or regave? In each case, I believe I’ll stick with the former.
The American Heritage Book of English Usage notes:
Unfortunately, the use of gift as a verb in Modern English is tainted by its association with the language of advertising and publicity (as in Gift her with this copper warming plate).
Fair enough, particularly when commercialism has tainted the strings-attached noun gift so often that the phrase “free gift” is an almost required redundancy. But the real tragedy of the above example is the possibility of someone thinking a copper warming plate might be a romantic gift.
The language Scrooges are a bit more pointed than American Heritage. For example: “Using gift as a verb is a sign of stupidity, laziness, and verbal sloppiness.” And denying its use as a verb is a sign of not just persnickitorial intolerance but also of denying a basic writing principle: The right word is the right word. Certainly, using the lightning-rod gift when give is the right word is frown-upon-able. “Don’t gift in! I’ll gift you a call later!” But there are instances when gift, with its almost legal nuance, can be a more precise and powerful word than its suggested synonyms. Consider:
Smith will gift the deed to the university. Formal, with implications of recorded transactions and tax benefits.
Smith will give the deed to the university. “Here ya are. Don’t need it anymore.”
Smith will bestow the deed to (upon?) the university. With puffed-up chest and “Pomp and Circumstance” playing in the background.
Smith will bequeathe the deed to the university. Hinting of magnanimity, but without quite the formality of the first instance.
Smith will donate the deed to the university. Comments similar to that of bequeathe.
Smith will make a gift of the deed to the university. Only if Smith is trying to compensate for failing the writing course that instructed students to avoid passive, wordy and, yes, verbally sloppy phrasings.
And so this Ghost of Christmas Past turns back a page or two to quote not Dickens but Henry Fielding in Tom Jones, A Foundling (Book 1, Chapter 5): “As this is one of those deep observations which very few readers can be supposed capable of making themselves, I have thought proper to lend them my assistance; but this is a favour rarely to be expected in the course of my work. Indeed, I shall seldom or never so indulge him, unless in such instances as this, where nothing but the inspiration with which we writers are gifted, can possibly enable any one to make the discovery.”
Sure, there are plenty of ways to abuse gift. But sometimes, like the noun at Christmas, it’s best to accept it with grace and gratitude.
My friend JohnnyB over at the Late for the Sky blog was un-dumbstruck by a headline he alerted me to yesterday. (Note: Just as JB introduced his email, “First off, everyone involved is alive.” Even the poor afflicted witnesses!)
Quick recap: Kid darts into traffic. Grandfather dashes to the rescue and picks the kid up, when both are hit by a car. The headline:
Child, Grandfather Struck By Car As Witnesses Look On
JohnnyB Struck By Headline As Witness (Me) Reads On: “Isn’t that what witness means?,” JB writes. “‘Witnesses see nothing’ would be contradictory (though it would be what happens in most Cincinnati crimes).” Indeed, witnesses witness. Or give witness. But JB was also raising a larger concern—that of effective writing. The subject line of his email was a snarked “A fine piece of writing.”
JB says, “The fact that there were witnesses doesn’t even have anything to do with the story. I guess the headline writer thought it added drama.” The phrase also adds a bit of misdirection. Doing something in front of witnesses implies not accident but, as JB notes, dramatic intention. Compare “Dog bites man in front of witnesses” and “Man bites dog in front of witnesses,” the former being somewhat natural and the latter being an act of “I don’t care if you think I’m crazy.”
A couple of side notes before I mention what really frustrates me about the headline: First, the story reports, “Michael Benjamin [one of the witnesses] was there when it happened.” Because witnesses witness, being there “when it happened” is implied. Second, the story wastes the opportunity for precision and drama by beginning “A young boy and his grandfather . . . .” Boy implies “young,” but it turns out that the kid was just two. Beginning “A two-year-old boy and his grandfather” would have delivered additionally appropriate gravity to this incident.
Finally, what’s further frustrating about this story is the headlinese style of “Child, Grandfather Struck by Car”—perhaps deleting that bloated, space-hoarding word and to make room for the ever-so-needed nonsensical redundancy of “As Witnesses Look On.” Now there’s concision for you. Except. The cramped-newspaper-style headline introduces a transcript of an audio TV report—and it appears on the web, the realm of infinite space to express thoughts clearly, and in natural English.
Susan over at the I’m Just Saying blog recently gave some “Advice for the Day.” It’s good social advice, but it’s also good writing advice. Susan counsels:
If an email you’re sending to me includes the phrase, “I’m not trying to be provocative,” then you should rethink what you’re writing to me; 1)You probably are being provocative, 2)You probably know it and 3)You come across as a total jerk.
In the context of writing, Susan has identified a counterproductive technique we can call “telegraphing your punches.” Verbally. “Excuse me, Mr. Raging Bull—I’m not trying to be aggressive, but I believe I’ll next try an uppercut. You ready?”
In Susan’s case, the writer is a correspondent signaling attack at some level. When threatened with attack, we tighten up, put up our shields, and prepare for, at best, strong defense and, at worst, pre-emptive counter-attack. Bring it on! If the attack comes, we react and likely even overreact. On the other hand, what if what follows that phrase is not provocative? “I’m not trying to be provocative, but the sky is blue.” Dashed expectations, confusion and maybe even frustration ensue.
Such telegraphed punches are far too common in communications. “This joke is hilarious,” crows the party socialite. With audience expectations and skepticism raised, the joke faces increased chances of falling flat on the teller’s face, like egg. The joke might be very funny, but if it isn’t hilarious, the speaker has failed in rising to his own self-inflated standard.
Or take the banal cliche delivery of the TV newscaster: “The numbers will astound you!” Hearing such intoned pronouncements, I don’t lean in toward the idiot box with bated-soon-to-be-astounded-breath. Instead, I lean back and think, Prove it, and almost always, they don’t.
Never apologize for what you’re about to write; never hype it. Just deliver it in as carefully crafted phrasing as you can, and let the words and not the “previews of coming attractions” do the talking. Accusations, attacks, jokes, pranks, mystery-novel endings, compliments, and demonstrations of love are at their most powerful when delivered without forecast, but with a modified level of surprise you have prepared with the consistent foundations laid by your previous actions in real life and your story-telling in writing.
With Black Friday looming, I today offer unhumble suggestions for your holiday shopping list. (It’s a commercial, dammit! I admit it! And I’m not kidding about the headline.)
I’ve just received the good news that Writer’s Digest Books will publish my Unfortunate English in paperback in Fall of 2009. The hardcover remains available, and I humbly suggest it for the word lovers on your Christmas list. And other lists, as well. The subtitle of the book is “The Gloomy Truth Behind the Words You Use,” which is so appropriate for the upcoming festive season, don’t you agree? Classy cloth binding, nicely creepy illustrations, and the same snarky sense of humor you’ve come to expect in this blog (for better or worse).
Other vaguely humble suggestions for my books that are possibly enjoyable by people other than my mom (see the headline):
Write Tight: Say Exactly What You Mean With Precision and Power
> ”These days, most creative-writing courses teach self-indulgence. Write Tight counsels discipline. It is worth more than a university education. Its advice is gold.” — Dean Koontz, #1 New York Times bestselling author
> ”If you read Write Tight, and if you apply its lessons, you will be a better writer.” — Lawrence Block, Mystery Writers of America Grand Master > ”Write Tight is a supremely valuable ‘must-have’ for aspiring writers in all fields.” — Midwest Book Review
Everything You Know About English Is Wrong > ”If you love language and the unvarnished truth, you’ll love Everything You Know About English Is Wrong. You’ll have fun because his lively, comedic, skeptical voice will speak to you from the pages of his word-bethumped book.” — Richard Lederer, author of Anguished English and other popular word books > ”The book provides a good counterpoint to Lynne Truss’s anxiety-inducing Eats, Shoots & Leaves and will be enjoyed by everyone who can’t quite admit to being amused by William Safire because they can’t get past his politics. In other words, Brohaugh is funner.” — FeatureBook.com
The Grill of Victory: Hot Competition on the Barbecue Circuit > ”It’s not about words, but it uses them.” — Bill Brohaugh, author of The Grill of Victory” > ”Thank you, William Brohaugh. Thank you for writing this book. Barbecue is the better for it.” — Doug Mosley in The National Barbecue News > ”A must read for aspiring pit masters and great for armchair cooks, too.” — Steven Raichlen, author of The Barbecue Bible > ”The blend of travel, social and culinary history is exceptional and fun in this highly recommended pick.” — Midwest Book Review
When I speak to writers’ groups about Write Tight, I usually talk about the power of three in writing. Three examples to make a point; three items in a row to establish a rhythm; the beginning-middle-end core of storytelling. To emphasize the first of those, yes, three ways to apply three to writing, I note that when providing examples, one is a fluke; two, a coincidence; three, a pattern; four, a bore.
For an excellent analysis of a modernday example of the power of three in communication, I give you three links related to Barack Obama’s election night speech:
And given things Washingtonian, the unsurprisingly named DC Blog
Please note that the three links go to the same place. The “DC” in DC Blog is David Crystal and his blog entry is titled “On Obama’s victory style.” But what better way to get you to go there than to invoke the power of three?
I can add no greater praise to Paul Newman than what fans, critics and colleagues have already eloquently delivered. I have rarely used the phrase “American treasure.” I heartily apply that phrase to Newman.
Two thoughts related to both Paul Newman movies and language use come to mind:
The movie was one of the biggest hits of 1967 and included a tagline, delivered one time by Newman and one time by prison warden Strother Martin, that helped define the generation gap, “What we’ve got here is (a) failure to communicate.”
At first, not remembering the movie precisely, I thought the insertion of “(a)” was some sort of quibbling, but the writer was actually aggregating two versions of the quote. Strother Martin, the chain-gang Captain, first says “What we’ve got here is failure to communicate.” Paul Newman as Luke, far later in the film, says “What we’ve got here is a failure to communicate.” I don’t know if the placement/nonplacement of the indefinite article was intentional, but I like to think that it is—transforming the general, euphemistic failure to communicate early in the film to a specific, climactic failure. (Based on the novel by Donn Pearce, by the by.)
Second, the powerful writing of Nobody’s Fool. Here I’m talking about both the Paul Newman film and the Richard Russo novel it’s based on. For an exercise in artful condensation, compare the novel with the film product, which artfully compresses incidents and characters to fit a movie timeframe. Treat yourself to the novel; treat yourself to the film. Both are excellent. I’ve not had the pleasure of enjoying another Russo-Newman pairing in the the novel and the video versions of Empire Falls, but I believe I shall now stop this little bit of blog-writing to engage in that pleasure.
I’m confused. Perplexed. Flummoxed. Bemused. Discombobulated. Kerfluffled. Well, those aren’t quite the words I want. Let me turn to my thesaurus . . .
Stop!
PLEASE don’t use a thesaurus. It does terrible things to your writing. Yes, that’s right. Do yourself a favour and forget about thesauruses. They’re harmful unless used correctly.
Thanks for saving me from myself. That’s from an article by Grant Barrett in the Malaysia Star. Barrett contends that a thesaurus leads you to selecting haughty or imprecise words, or flashy words you haven’t used before and have that new-car smell. These are all dangers, I agree. All tools have dangers. But using a razor doesn’t force you to shave off your eyebrows; using a thesaurus doesn’t force you to select the wrong word.
Barrett’s cautions aren’t (what’s the word I’m looking for? oh—here’s a good one) hidebound. And in fact he makes a superb point that individual words do not substitute for clear, precise writing. The right reasons to use a thesaurus are many:
Discover nuance. The parenthetical above wasn’t me being a smartass. I indeed went to a thesaurus to find hidebound to communicate inflexibility. I liked the tight-skinned implications of the word I found in my search.
Enrich your vocabulary. Perhaps you’ll find a word or two you’d not encountered before. Barrett dismisses the thesaurus in part because “no thesaurus that I know—I own more than a dozen—has definitions in the thesaurus entries.” Granted. But a tome that included a definition for each word would be monstrous and unpublishable. So turn to the tool dedicated to that purpose. Look up new words in the dictionary. (And the smartass in me wants to ask why someone who finds thesauruses potentially harmful owns more than a dozen of them—wants to, but I’ll resist. Sort of.)
Enrich your understanding of the range of the language. Perhaps you’ll encounter words you know, but hadn’t realized were related to the word you’re looking up. As a hypothetical, imagine someone looking up atrocity and discovering the expected abomination and the unexpected enormity. “That means ‘real big,’ doesn’t it?” our hypothetical writer might think. No, it doesn’t.
Increase your humility. Sometimes the word you know is perfect is not perfect at all. Return to our hypothetical thesaurus consultation, and this time picture the writer looking up enormity to begin with.
Become practiced with writing tools. Use a razor but once in a while, and you’re apt to cut yourself. Use it daily, and shaving becomes efficient; the results cleaner, more acceptable. The thesaurus, the dictionary, the rhyming dictionary, the grammar guide, the etymological dictionary—use all regularly (and not just one of each—a dozen or more sometimes suffices) to learn their strengths, deficiencies, goals and assistances, and you can use each tool like a fine razor to pare down to the most precise words and wordings—a hallmark goal of concise writing.
In fact, a danger far greater than using a thesaurus is not using it enough.
Over at StorefrontBacktalk, Eric Athas and Evan Schuman write that “J.Crew Apologizes For ‘Too Many’ Mistakes During Launch, Then Redesigns Its Apology.” Athas and Schuman compare the apology posted on July 30, 2008, and its July 31 version. “By Thursday morning, the apology had sharply shrunk—to less than one-fourth of Wednesday’s size. . . . Wednesday’s apology told customers, ‘We know we’ve let you down.’ That knowledge was apparently erased overnight, as Thursday morning had J.Crew knowing no such thing.”
Then Athas and Schuman write:
A more nitpicky change: On Wednesday, the retailer said: “We want to say that we’re sorry for any issues you have experienced.” On Thursday, the J.Crew team thought about it and decided to be more honest, having concluded that they really did not want to say any such thing. Thursday’s version became “We are truly sorry for any issues you have experienced.”
The Write Tight editor in me disagrees that such a change is in any way nitpicky, and if it is, J.Crew certainly chose a nit that needed picking. I want to commend them for getting to the point. Rather, “I commend them.”
On the other hand, maybe such truncation was just a way of marketing “fleece cut-offs.”
I’ve just received the good news that Writer’s Digest Books will publish my 
. 
, by the by.)
and 
it’s based on. For an exercise in artful condensation, compare the novel with the film product, which artfully compresses incidents and characters to fit a movie timeframe. Treat yourself to the novel; treat yourself to the film. Both are excellent. I’ve not had the pleasure of enjoying another Russo-Newman pairing in the 
and the 
versions of Empire Falls, but I believe I shall now stop this little bit of blog-writing to engage in that pleasure.
