Add flair to your dash!

Are too many dashes used in writing these days? I’d love to know what you think. For my part, I love dashes and I believe that their proper use can pep up a sentence and helps to emphasise parts of it that might otherwise be overlooked.

But – just as an aside – don’t you like the word ‘dash’? It has a certain freedom and quick spirit about it and runs nicely into the word ‘dashing’ which is equally cavalier, playful and charming. That’s one of the marvellous things about the English language generally, that if you take a word out and hold it up against the light it will often sparkle with meaning and might well be added to the growing box of your favourites.

Enough of such asides; my brief purpose is to look at the use of the dash – so onwards.

You might notice that modern novels are full of dashes. It has been suggested (mostly I think by cynics and pedants) that, because many modern novelists are illiterate, they use the dash to save themselves the trouble of deciding whether they should use commas, semi-colons or brackets to isolate their subordinate clauses. In fact, the dash is a very useful and perfectly legitimate punctuation mark if used sparingly – it can break up a sentence to allow you to emphasise your point without appearing too repetitious.

You can use dashes in a similar way to brackets:

e.g. After the performance – the last of the season – the ballerina retired to the country.

I think this example clearly illustrates where a dash is in fact preferable to a bracket. As a rule, if I am ever tempted to use a bracket I first ask myself, do I need this extra phrase, this additional information? When I do need it because it is useful information, adding colour to the sentence, I normally find that it reads better and is more noticeable used between dashes than cubby-holed in brackets. Many readers see bracketed material as of secondary importance, or information that might otherwise be in a footnote. And they may be right.

When used in the way exampled above, two dashes – one before and one after the extra phrase – are needed, as with brackets. When the phrase comes at the end of the sentence you only need to have the one dash – as in this ending.

Here’s another way of using a dash:

e.g. She gave a magnificent performance – no one could equal her.

In this example a colon might have been used instead of a dash but the effect would have been rather stilted and formal.

So dashes are worthy. But do be especially careful not to overuse them. Paragraphs littered with dashes look clumsy, can be hard to read and actually do tend to betray a lack of knowledge on the writer’s part of appropriate punctuation. In particular, be careful not to use more than one additional phrase, marked by a dash, in one sentence. This will seriously promote confusion because a reader will never know which parts of the sentence are supposed to relate.

e.g. He turned away – the interview was over – and walked towards the window – the light had now faded – sensing that he had failed in his efforts – he would have to try something else.

This said, the dash is sometimes legitimately used to link a series of connected phrases:

e.g. The autumn trees were a splendid sight – splashes of red – sudden glints of gold and silver – a carpet of russet brown beneath the trunks.

While this is not incorrect, it is unusual. In my thinking, it is preferable to use one initial dash and then link the other phrases together with commas.

As in all things, as writers we need to think of achieving the right balance and this is a visual as well as syntactical and also rhythmical quality. Over and under-use of punctuation trips up and spoils the balance. So enjoy your dashes but don’t spray them on your prose like confetti.

That’s it – must dash!!

Ode to the semi-colon

Who am I to try and halt the clearly unstoppable flow of changing attitudes and practices when it comes to the use of English? I sincerely believe I am not pedantic and I enjoy watching changes in English use and idiom, additions of new words and new ways of using old words. It’s part of a process that has made English such a rich and fertile, interesting and often beautiful language, used the world over.

But there are times when I look at otherwise perfectly ordinary sentences and I wonder why they are so poorly punctuated. Actually, I’m being a bit coy here. I don’t wonder so much as quietly tut under my breath. The reason for these solecisms is clear: that less emphasis is surely placed on teaching the correct use of grammar in schools today than used to be the case. It is quite possible that this, in turn, results from a diminution in numbers of people who study the classics, particularly Latin where grammatical accuracy is paramount in the construction of verbs, tenses, agreements and so forth. 

Grammatical slackness pervades a lot of our communications. Emails are often unpunctuated; sometimes to the extent that you have to read them several times before you are reasonably clear about the message. The worst offender (apart perhaps from the hair-rending annoyance of apostrophes used to signify plurals) is the lack of or the proliferation of commas. Alongside that, in easy order, is the conspicuous absence of semi-colons sometimes balanced precariously by their improper use.

Why are commas and semi-colons important?

Years ago, when conducting an effective writing course, I used an example taken from a report in the Daily Telegraph to illustrate how and why commas are needed. The piece was entitled ‘For the want of a comma’ and is short enough to quote:

“A missing comma in British Rail instructions resulted in the demolition of the waiting room at a Scottish station listed because of its Victorian elegance. Now East Lothian District Council has ordered the waiting room to be rebuilt.

“The waiting room at Drem, near Haddington, was rapidly stripped of its rare fittings, windows, lavatories and roof.

“Then someone took a second look at the instructions from the British Rail management board in London and discovered the mistake.

“The crucial sentence in the board’s list of facilities to be preserved included the words “Drem station bridge”. As a result only the footbridge over the line was earmarked for preservation. Later engineers realised that a comma was missing and the requirement was to retain “Drem Station, bridge…etc.”.

That’s an extreme example of when not to forget to use a comma. Mostly, the appropriate use of commas and semi-colons helps you to understand weight and emphasis; it tells you what part of the sentence refers to what other part – and it conveys the meaning more effectively.

I asked some colleagues whether they were happy with their own use of commas and semi-colons and a common response was that they weren’t quite sure when to use one instead of the other. Just in case it is useful, here’s a simple illustration from part my own effective writing course.

The comma is a punctuation mark used to indicate a slight division between different parts of a sentence and to indicate a small break in the continuity within the sentence. The comma marks a break that is less emphatic than that shown by a full stop or semi-colon. We use commas in the following circumstances:

1. To separate items on a list:

e.g. he packed his socks, shirts, underwear…

But no comma is needed before the final item in the list if a conjunction or a linking word such as ;and’ is used:

e.g he packed his socks, shorts and underwear.

2. Between two clauses when the subjects of the clause are different:

e.g Jack found a bottle, and Jim bought some food.

But if the subject is the same, no comma is needed.

e.g. Jill walked quickly and reached the top of the hill.

3. After a subordinate clause or a participle phrase when it is followed by a main clause:

e.g. when the train arrived, it was ten minutes late. Or, having run all the way to the station, Jim found he had plenty of time.

But if the main clause comes first, no comma is needed:

e.g. the ten o clock was ten minutes late when it arrived.

4. To cut off exclamations, parentheses, etc. from the main sentence:

e.g. Oh, what a pity you didn’t catch him! Naturally, he wanted to see you. He didn’t like, or didn’t seem to like, the film.

But we’re just scratching the surface with these examples. There are so many more of them.

Let’s look briefly at a way of distinguishing between the comma, the semi-colon and the full-stop. Take these three approaches:

He went outside, it was snowing hard. (incorrect)

He went outside. It was snowing hard. (correct)

He went outside; it was snowing hard. (correct)

The most common mistake in modern writing, in my view, can be seen in the first of these examples – i.e. using a comma as a break when actually a semi-colon or full stop is needed to give the right emphasis. Out of the three examples, my preference is for the semi-colon for the simple reason that a stronger break than a comma is needed to demonstrate two activities (going outside/snowing) which are separate but related.  Semi-colons allow you to bring in some subtlety in your sentences. Just banging down commas is anything but subtle by comparison and will blunt your meaning.

Here I am gently lowering myself from the saddle of my hobby horse with apologies to all of you who already know how to use a semi-colon; how it strengthens your style.

Are you socially functional?

Business sectors are essentially tribal and use the language of their tribe. Discuss.

Well, this used to be the case in a very marked way. A lawyer spoke legalese, marketing and ad men spoke ballpark, engineers talked manufacturing application protocols. Today the corporate comms teams of one business sound very much like another. I  shyly aver that marketing and communications functions of business, largely mediated by the temporarily trapped butterfly wings of proliferating social media channels, are furring the tongue. And it's happening right across town.

Government departments, which have increasingly modelled themselves on what they consider to be business-like paradigms, have joined in at the usual chorus level. So IBM, BT, Shell, and the Department for Education in the UK, all sing about stakeholder engagement and the importance of social functionality in internal communications as relatively sacred top level strategies.

Feeding at the same trough as most, I feel a little timid to point out that while social functionality as a term is, er...open to interpretation even within the C-Suite, internal communications didn't even exist, or scarcely, about 20 years ago. Nowadays, it is art, science and another data bank of strategic insight rolled into one. Get it right and we all align our people to our business objectives and stride towards the sunny uplands of company vision. Get it wrong and we must rethink our hymn sheets. Thankfully, however, even the drivers and deliverers of internal comms strategy have decided that the complexity of this discipline, as a newly emerged meal ticket for various agencies, is such that the phrase "singing from the same hymn sheet"  no longer applies, in this space.

Meanwhile, in lookalike corridors and open plan offices across the western world, the mash and tumble of language allows businesses to adopt 'strategy refreshes' as a means of instilling a change of direction in business activities that needs to be 'cascaded' through the workforce, with a 'digital cascade' using KnowledgeVision or SharePoint platforms, usually the most effective.

While I personally (because I work for industries which are all happy to use these and plenty of other terms) do not shout "but where are the emperor's clothes", and while I quite enjoy discovering the meaning of some of these terms and even start to see their niche relevance, I still baulk at the trait where a business adopts a truly everyday term, a perfectly ordinary, well-used English word, and all but puts a trademark on it. (Please note, that last sentence was purposefully longer than usual). It's so numbingly dull to do this, and a bit rude.

Suddenly, for example, the word 'segment' means a socio-economic/demographic depiction of a type of customer; it's not even a segment of the market, and it's certainly not a bit of an orange, or part of a plot of land. In the corridors of customer segmentation you would use these other meanings of the word at your peril.  

We used to have business jargon that had a clubbish purpose only, or mostly, like a mutually self-recognising set of passwords: manufacturers would be proudly incomprehensible to lawyers; lawyers to scientists; scientists to thespians. The media and the markets floated along between the barriers picking up, promoting and discarding words as and when they captured or dissolved a business or social meme.

But times change and this is essentially a fun time for changing language. I suppose I'm merely spilling a bit of water here on the corporate table; this is the tongue-in-cheek bijou whingette of someone tentatively putting his hand up to aks what it all means and whether there is any real value in some of the rhetoric. 

Consistency and hobgoblins....

Consistency and hobgoblins

Here’s a thought: if, as Ralph Waldo Emerson once said ,“a foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of small minds adored by little statesmen, philosophers and divines,” then how do we measure “foolish” and when does one step over the line into little-mindedness?

I’ve often argued that consistency in grammar, punctuation, capitalisation, spelling and so on makes writing of any kind more readable. (Content helps too, of course.) I think this is partly because I’ve slaved for years to dig out a clear message or two from business texts too often lacking any consistent elements except cliché and jargon.

I favour consistency in any kind of writing, not just in texts aimed at readers but for words written for speakers too. Take away punctuation, clarity, balance in sentence length, a bit of rhythm to allow ideas to make links and breaths to be taken, and you’ll find the speech is unreadable, unspeakable and generally insufferable. Hough! Hough! Clipperty clop! I’m now a little statesman on his hobbyhorse.

Am I little-minded by advocating consistency in these ways? Perhaps. But I think that Emerson was referring to consistency as a kind of beast which inhibited exploration, change, creative or even coruscating thoughts and ideas, rather than to elements of style. I, by comparison, am referring to consistency as the sort of beaky, dutiful cousin of style. You can see I'm in two minds one of which is wondering whether the other is a dullard.

Nevertheless, even when you’re trying to keep the reins on a workable narrative flow or style by being consistent, it’s good to bust out occasionally – if you can get away with it. It’s like the clown on skis. He knows his art so well that he can do astonishing acrobatics while appearing to be completely out of control.

My contention is that if you want to write really well you need to know your art first and it really helps if you know what the rules are before you  break them. 

Actually most writing, particular in my hobgoblin sphere of work, is not so much devoid of consistency making it unreadable but of content which makes it unpalatable. 

Hough, puff, clopperty clip.

Earl Littman sent me a book…

It’s his first book and he’s 87 years old. He’s American and very proud of being so; he’s a busy, happy man who loves his wife of more than 65 years (“Once I started [writing] I found the bedrock of my existence is the romance with my wife and my family”).

He’s also a patriot. To prove the point and make another, every time you download the book (which is nicely produced by Outskirts Press, in Denver, Colorado), $5.00 of the paperback and ether-sourced cover price goes towards the UK’s equivalent of Help the Heroes. In the US this is the hard-working charity called Back Our Vets. Sixty-five million vets is a lot.

I’m already looking forward to Littman’s next book but let’s deal with this one. As an opener for ten I’d say that Monsieur Littman sits easy in his skin, has vim in his vigour and vice versa, likes himself, loves other people and has written a book that not only demonstrates this but shows others how, without trying too much, they can live happily too. And contribute to make a better world.

I’m not going to tell you the name of the book because it’s going to go viral and soon you’ll know it well enough. And doubtless like it, and often pick it up again (so try for a paperback if you can get one). And you’ll wonder at the ease with which this “FRICTIONal” memoire (not non-fiction and not fiction but carrying a little of the right flick with a non-safety match to light a useful fire built of common sense, passion and a love of sharing) seems to have been written.

I know for a fact, as some ghost clients also know, that when the project is a good one and the purpose is sound, a book can almost write itself. That’s to say that as a ghostwriter I have found the voice, shaped the material and finished the job reasonably quickly; and real character springs from the pages. I think it takes a speedy eye, a stout heart, a flexible mind, plus belief in the subject.

I suspect Earl Littman’s own writing which is fluid and clever, pepped with good imagery (“clouds floated… like eagles”) comes easily enough to him, but he edits his thoughts with care. He uses long sentences sometimes but they flow with their own music. He has a natural ear which suggests he’s a good listener.

   

I’d like to tell you more but I’ve not finished the book yet – this is an enthusiastic outburst until I can give Earl Littman more time. Meanwhile, thank you very much, Earl, for supplying my next read. 

Apologies to webbed feet 

I wish formally to apologise to my friend with the excellent river webcams for referring to his site (See Pea in the Banquet Hall below) and stating that he has approaching 50,000 visitors a year. The actual figure is nearer 500,000 unique visitors.

On the subject of apologies, I'd like to say sorry to all those whom I might ever have misleadingly informed that digital media is for the ducks. I've never thought that. Rather, I see it as a kind of universal brain, teaching us, as we learn to use, to remember and to think and then in turn to realise that this might be how we remember and think. I feel sure the analogy could be a help to neuroscientists trying to work out how we act, store and create as a species.

What's so interesting about this is the way the web can produce, at the touch of a button, data galore, direct and applicable information and the freedom to soar in our way of working and communicating. Fortunately the entire web doesn't amount in value to a single human life. Nor do we get near the speed and brilliance of a single mind, nor as an analogy will it be more than a fantastic and immediate tool to entertain new thinking. But that's not bad. Our big thanks once again to Tim Berners-Lee and to all those who co-devised the original systems. Radio in the head with perfect all- round sound at the push of a button is next I think. But perhaps we have that already.

How to price your work as a writer

I see this as an open letter; if other writers would like to add to the list in comments, bellow, I’d be most interested.

Thirty years on – almost – and I still have to think extremely carefully about how to price new work. I can’t say that at this juncture I have completely come up with a solution. These are some of my thoughts:

If I have a really great client – one who has stayed with me for many years and whom I know extremely well (perhaps the CEO and owner of a large company) – he and I will both know that his loyalty deserves recompense. If I am really busy with very well paid work, I will make time to serve him with the words he needs at the best possible price. If it is a job that I can do happily and well in just an hour or two, including our conversation about what is needed, I’ll sometimes ‘forget on purpose’ to invoice. In this way, I hope I am doing him a service, giving him something back in an unstructured way because he is both a client and a professional friend.

If I have contracted (i.e. signed contracts) arrangement with a large corporation, I generally stick resolutely and clearly to the agreed price per day which is detailed in the contract. In exceptions, when we both know approximately how long a piece of work will take and there are five or more days’ work involved, I will happily discount a percentage (perhaps 10, sometimes more depending on the length of the project) with the purpose of providing value that can be measured as such by the money men, should the commissioner of the work be asked about costs.

If a former ad hoc client returns for new work, I will evaluate the cost, charges, effort, client relationship etc that we have formerly enjoyed and charge accordingly. Depending on my own needs, tax allowances, overheads, time availability, and the ‘burden’ my charges might appear to place on the client for the new project, I will offer a price. I will never buy work when I'm hungry for the next project by dropping below my market value.

Which brings me to the point in another way. How do you assess, measure, understand have insight into your value in the marketplace? This is to do with your confidence and your knowledge of how skilled and clever you are as a writer. If you rate yourself highly and have all the testimonials to prove that your clients do too, this doesn’t mean that you charge a higher price. It could well mean you charge less than your full daily rate; which ought mostly to be a yardstick for your purposes of estimation. You are after all, for the most part, a person who works, thinks, lives for much of the day at least on your own, earning your livelihood as best you can, dependent on the goodwill of others as they depend on yours. Every job, year in year out, has to be the best you can do for your client. When someone pays you, for example, £500 plus per day for your work, what you do for them has to be First Class, the agreement about expectations has to be tight and you must feel sure that the client will have a return on his investment. You do not want to leave a job done, an invoice properly paid in good time, feeling uncomfortable.

Finally, of course, we have maths. Every professional has to spend a lot of his time on new business, quotes, travel expenses, office and other overheads, accountants and much besides. This takes time out of your year. Are you going to work 365 days per year. No? Then how many are you going to work? How much reasonable time of each actual day can you properly charge to your client? Do the math. Then work out what you need as a disposable income plus profits for ill days and all the unpaid holidays you either need or have to suffer while big clients are away with the friends and families. Divide the number of days you can – with your experience – actually be productive writing by the gross income you require each year. That is a helpful indication of your daily rate. 

Bear in mind that, doing what you do for a living, professionally, takes its toll. You need some simple recovery time. Add 25% at least to your eventual figure. This analysis might help or might be nonsense. Discuss?