It’s National Grammar Day. How are you going to celebrate?

• Turn all the extra apostrophes you find into little winky emoticons.
• Parrot back the word “like” whenever it gets misused in sentence (“like, you know, a Valley girl).
• Carry your blue pencil with you so you can correct incorrect commas.
• Say “Whom” with your most snooty, nose-up-in-the-air kind of voice everytime someones uses “who” instead.
• Leave comments at all the blogs that incorrectly capitalize their post titles.
• Wear your “It’s/Its, Your/You’re, There/Their/They’re” t-shirt everywhere you go.
• Mentally correct all the radio and television commentators who speak badly during their broadcasts.
• Curl up in a cozy chair with your favorite grammar book
• Sing the song.
• Link back to our Mangled Monday features to help out your grammatically-needy friends.

Or, do you have some other festivities planned?

Just one more reminder why punctuation is important.

Saturday, when we were slowly, painfully inching our way out of the crowded parking area at the NY Sheep and Wool Festival in Rhinebeck … even two hours before the fair closed, it took us half an hour to get out of there … we saw this sign.

It’s not a bad sign, really. Noble in intent, well-intentioned, all that.

“Thank you for coming.

If you had a good time tell a friend.

If you didn’t tell us.”

Except … I don’t think it’s saying quite what they want it to say.

The idea is clear. “If you had fun, we hope you tell your friends, but if you didn’t, let us know at the phone number provided so we can presumably fix things for the future.”

But what it really says is, “If you had fun, tell a friend unless you’ve already told us.”

What they really need is a pair of commas.

“If you had a good time, tell a friend.

If you didn’t, tell us.”

It’s not like the average person speeding past this sign at three miles per hour can’t decipher its meaning. They’re not going to take the time to dial the number (that they’ve memorized as they’ve crept toward it) to say, “We had a great time, but since we’re telling you we don’t need to bother telling our friends.”

Most normal people will decipher it correctly.

But … like misplaced apostrophes, it just hurts to see this sort of thing. Especially when it’s a permanent sign, not something someone threw together to announce a garage sale or a lemonade stand. (In fact, misspelled lemonade stand signs are part of their innocent appeal–usually more appealing than the actual lemonade.)

Commas. They’re not just for lists any more.

It’s one of the cardinal rules for writing, though you hear it more with fiction than non-fiction. (It applies to both, though.)

Show, Don’t Tell.

Instead of saying,

“He was nice to small children and animals.”

You write,

“As he dashed out the door to put out the fire, he paused to pat the toddler on the head and scratch the dog behind the ears.”

Instead of saying,

“We’re offering great deals!”

You write,

“Buy now and we’ll pay for a European vacation for you and your dozen closest friends!”

Instead of saying,

“The teenager was bored.”

You write,

“Charlie flipped through his pile of video games, dashing them to the floor in disgust, before flinging himself to the couch in despair.”

Instead of saying,

“This is the best tool you’ll ever buy!”

You write,

“This tool not only fixes computers, it will save your marriage, create world peace, and save the environment, all for the low, low price of $19.95.”

Instead of saying,

“Her dress was tacky and cheap.”

You write,

“Her dress was avocado green polyester that had to be a leftover from the 1970s, and the way it clashed with her “Autumn Sunrise” hair made us long for the sunglasses we’d left at the rest stop.”

You get the idea, right?

Good writing is a voyage of discovery.

You want your reader to discover the man is good to children because the reader sees it, not because you told them.

Really, it’s more fun for everybody that way.

You’ve heard writers telling you to eliminate extra words, to tighten up your prose, right? It’s so easy to write with careless zeal, lassoing every word we come across, willy-nilly, just to rope it into our work. If 50 words are good, 60 must be better. There’s no such thing as too long! If we’re too strict with our word usage, our writing is going to sound prim and soulless, and who wants that?

Well, it’s true that a few extraneous words won’t hurt, but … why? Why have them around? Five extra pounds around your waistline might not hurt much, either, but it’s still better to get rid of them. (Or at least keep it to five pounds, not fifteen or fifty.) Moderation is key, even in writing.

How about a live example?

Elle was sure that Edward overestimated her ability to cope. He could know with his mind that this would be an enormous adjustment, but he was so used to being watched and criticized and judged that he did not–could not–realize how hard a transition it was for her. Maybe she was, as he insisted, suited to being “royal,” but that was very different than actually being royal. It was like the difference between being smart and being educated. She might have an instinct for this kind of life in her bones, but that did not make the living or the learning any easier.

Yes, it’s all a little flabby.

Elle thought Edward overestimated her ability to cope. He knew this was an enormous adjustment, but he was so used to being watched he did not realize how hard the transition was. He kept telling her this was in her blood, but she still felt like an imposter. Like the difference between being smart and being educated, she might have the instinct in her bones, but that did not make learning to use it any easier.

Changes:

• “Elle thought” instead of “Elle was sure that.” “Thought” may not be the best verb, but it’s still stronger than the passive “was sure that”
• Same thing with “He could know with his mind that” and “He knew.” Not only was the original unduly wordy and round-about, how else do you know things but with your mind?
• I took out the triad of “watched, criticized, and judged” because the repetition and rhythm did nothing for the sentence. Same with the “did not/could not.”
• Changed “Maybe she was, as he insisted, suited to being “royal,” but that was very different than actually being royal,” to “He kept telling her this was in her blood, but she still felt like an imposter.” The original sentence also had a round-about structure (“Maybe she was, as he insisted, suited to…”), as well as a completely unnecessary use of italics and quotations. In fact, I kept nothing from the original.
• Combined the last two sentences into one, more streamlined sentence.

Is the second variation perfect? No, but for just a couple minutes’ worth of editing, it’s stronger and more streamlined. It also went from 103 words down to 76.

Easy, right? Now you just have to apply this to everything you’ve written … piece of cake!

No, I’m not saying you can’t use the word “that” at all. It’s such a useful word. In fact, I love “that.” It’s so strong and versatile, it can do almost anything.

• It can be a pronoun. (“That‘s my cousin over there.” “I like the bigger painting better than that one.”)

• It can be an adjective. (“I like that color, don’t you?”)

• It can be an adverb. (“My question’s not that important.”

• It comes included with a wide range of handy idioms. (“That is, I meant to call, but…” “I said no, and that’s that!”)

• But, it can also be a conjunction, introducing subordinate clauses, and that’s where “that” gets into trouble. (“I can’t believe that you liked that movie.” “Then I told her that I loved her, and she just stood there.”)

You’re thinking, “Why is that a problem? What’s wrong with that?” (ahem, see? Using “that” is handy.)

The problem is that “that” as a conjunction is often completely unnecessary. Take another look at those two examples, only, remove the word “that.”

• “I can’t believe you liked that movie.”

• “Then I told her I loved her, and she just stood there.”

You don’t even miss it, do you? The sentence is just as clear, just as good … it’s just that much stronger for the lack of “that.”

Why does this matter? It matters because “that” can change from being a strong, useful word to a lazy, flabby filler in a heartbeat.

Let’s look at this random paragraph, shall we?

I didn’t have a chance to say goodbye, either. Not really.” I fumbled with my explanation. “Everything happened so fast, and neither of us expected that the ship would actually go down. It just wasn’t possible, was it? We thought that they were just taking rather extraordinary precautions—not that it was real.” I could not look at their faces, but focused intently on the hall carpet, concentrating on how the blues and reds wove together. “If I had realized that I would never see him again, I would have . . . I don’t know. Said something more? Acted differently? Told him that I loved him one more time?”

“That” makes five appearances in this paragraph, and so far as I’m concerned, only one of them is at all necessary. Do you see which one?

I didn’t have a chance to say goodbye, either. Not really.” I fumbled with my explanation. “Everything happened so fast, and neither of us expected the ship would actually go down. It just wasn’t possible, was it? We thought they were just taking rather extraordinary precautions—not that it was real.” I could not look at their faces, but focused intently on the hall carpet, concentrating on how the blues and reds wove together. “If I had realized I would never see him again, I would have . . . I don’t know. Said something more? Acted differently? Told him I loved him one more time?”

This is my new hobby. That-hunting. I find that, now that I am looking for it, I use it way more often than is necessary. It isn’t incorrect, mind you, just … unnecessary. And since good writing is tight, lean, flab-free writing … why would you use words you don’t need?

It’s a favorite theme, stressing the importance of proof-reading, and here’s another example:

See this paper towel? All covered with kitchen-related words, all connected to cooking?

Do you see something wrong?

Look closer.

Granted, the word “beet” describes a root vegetable that is often found in kitchens, but when it’s surrounded by words like season, roast, cut, and mash–with nary another food mentioned–you can be pretty sure that the paper towel company meant to say “beAt,” huh?

You’ve seen the milk ads, right? “Got Milk?

Have you noticed that there’s no “subject” to that sentence?

Two words– a verb “Got” and a noun which is the object of the sentence, “Milk”–but neither of which is the subject of the sentence.

That, of course is “You.” As in, “Have you got milk?”

The very simple explanation for this is that the subject is understood, even though it’s not directly stated.

If somebody shouts “Run!” you can more or less assume that they’re talking to anybody in earshot, rather than taking the time to say “You in the yellow necktie, run!” It doesn’t make the sentence any less clear, really. It gets its point across.

If you are struggling with three bags of groceries and a kind person asks, “Need help?” you needn’t criticize him for his bad grammar–in reality, it’s just as good as his manners. The “You” is understood.

Of course, you can’t do this for every sentence that has “You” as the subject.

That last sentence, for example, would make no sense if I left out the “you.”

“Can’t do this for every sentence” simply doesn’t make sense. Who can’t? The cat? People under the age of 21? North Dakotans?

As rules of thumb go, never leave off the actual Subject of your sentence unless it’s quite clear who and what the sentence is about. But if the time and circumstances allow?

Go for it!

(Anything obvious I missed? Leave a comment and let’s talk!)

(And, in case you missed it, the last three sentences were all object lessons, just for you.)

Bullet lists are all the rage these days, so let’s give a very quick overview about correct usage, shall we?

• Each bullet should begin a new idea, or a new item
• Unless every bullet is a complete sentence, you do not need periods at the end of each item
• If at all possible, the bullets should be “parallel.”
• That is, the grammatical structure should match:
  • Orange ball (Adjective noun)
  • Yellow sun (Adjective noun)
  • Blue sky (Adjective noun)
•  Not random, unparallel construction:
  • Clear sky (Adjective noun)
  • Happily running (Adverb verb)
  • He laughs (Noun verb)

What obvious things did I miss? Thoughts? Questions? (I’m kind of tired, so really, anything is possible.)

Does the thought of talking about sentence clauses make your eye twitch? Well, let’s see if we can’t make this a little simpler for you.

We have talked about basic sentence structure over the last two weeks, and how all a sentence really needs is a subject and a predicate–either simple ones, or compound ones..

This is quite simple, really, but does help explain why clauses can seem confusing … because that’s what a clause is, too. Any group of words with a subject and a predicate.

Um, right. So, if a simple sentence and a clause have the same definition, why isn’t a clause a sentence?

The quick answer is because we don’t talk in simple sentences. At least, not past the age of three. If you look at the nearest book, you’re not going to see many (if any) sentences that are made up of a simple subject/predicate combination. Most of them will be just a little more complex than that. Words combine to become clauses; clauses (can) combine to become sentences.

There are two types of clauses: main and subordinate.

A Main Clause can stand on its own. Put a period at the end of it, and you have a complete sentence, no confusion.

• My dog is really tired.
• We took lots of great pictures.
• We have lots of storage space.

A Subordinate Clause, however, depends on the main clause to make sense.

• My dog is really tired and I am, too.
• We took lots of great pictures, then the battery died.
• We have lots of storage space, but it’s filled with books.

In each of these examples, the first clause is a complete thought–it works on its own, or with a subordinate–but there’s no confusion either way. That’s why it’s the Main clause.

For the Subordinate clause, though, even though there is a subject and a verb, it’s incomplete without the clarification of the main clause. The “I am, too” in the first example works just fine–you know that my dog is tired and that I am too (possibly from a busy weekend for both of us), but without knowing what I had to say about my dog, you would have no way of what “I am, too” meant.

Similarly, “the battery died,” could mean almost anything. The battery in a clock? Radio? MP3 player? Computer? Pace-maker? But with the main clause mentioning taking pictures, you can narrow down the options to, say, the batteries in a camera, or maybe a flash or a light. And if I walk up to you, tap you on the shoulder and say, “It’s filled with books,” you’re going to be a little confused, aren’t you? It’s okay, you can admit it, because there’s no way you could know what was filled with books. A desk? A bookcase? A closet? A box? All of the above? (In my house, yes, all of them, and more.)

That’s the beauty of Main and Subordinate clauses. They work together, but one of them always takes the lead, becomes more important. As long as the leader is there, everything works smoothly, but without the leader to point the way, the subordinates are just random bits and pieces without anything to give them clarity or a sense of purpose.

Last week we talked about Subjects and Predicates–the very basis of sentence structure.

Today, let’s talk about Compound Subjects and Predicates.

Basically, if there are two or more subjects to the sentence, you have a Compound Subject:

• Running laps, doing push-ups, and eating well are all good for your health.
• Boykin Spaniels and American Water Spaniels are similar dog breeds.
• Reading, Writing, and Arithmetic are known as the Three Rs.

If there are two or more predicates, you have a Compound Predicate:

• Exercise is good for the heart and helpful for weight control.
• Dog breeds can be very different and still have similar characteristics.
• Education is best when it is varied and wide-ranging.

Naturally, you can combine these to have compound subject and predicates in the same sentence! (Oooh! Advanced sentence-assembly. Please be sure to have your protective helmet in place to make sure your brain doesn’t explode.)

• Jogging and dieting have done wonders for my waistline and improved my cholesterol counts.
• Boykin Spaniels and American Water Spaniels may be similiar, but for me there’s no comparison.
• Reading and writing are fundamental to a good education and vital for communication.

Okay, who remembers hearing their seventh grade English teacher blathering on (and on) about sentence subjects and predicates?

Anyone?

Hmm. Only mine, then? Then, in honor of Mrs. Babyock, allow me to remind you:

• The Subject of a sentence is the person, place, or thing that the sentence is talking about.

• The Predicate of the sentence is the action being done by, to, or about the subject.

Every sentence has to have both of these elements in order to be a sentence.

I suppose some examples would be handy about now, huh?

• I knit.
• My dog ate.
• My sister drove.
• My parents smiled.

Short and sweet, but we are talking basics, here.

In each of these very basic sentences, the subject is the person (or dog) being talked about. I. My dog. My parents. My sister.

The predicate is the verb demonstrating the action. Knit. Ate. Smiled. Drove.

Most sentences (I don’t know if you’ve noticed?), usually have just a little more complexity than this.

The subject, for example, might be more complex.

• My friends and I knit.
• My hungry, happy dog ate.
• My good sister drove.
• My loving parents smiled.

The predicate can also be more complex.

• I knit happily away at my new sweater.
• My dog ate his breakfast with a gusto that made me laugh.
• My sister drove for over an hour just to deliver an anniversary present.
• My parents smiled when they answered the door.

Did you know that yesterday was National Punctuation Day?

Um, yeah. Neither did I. With all the writing blogs I read, you’d think that I would have heard of this from somebody other than one of my knit-blog friends, huh?

Well, let’s recap:

• Aside from That
• Comma, Comma, Comma Chameleon
• Colonoscopy
• Exclamation
• Hyphenation
• Period
• Question
• Semi-Colon
• May I Quote You?

You know what a Pronoun is, right?

Right–a noun that has lost its amateur status.

But seriously, folks…

A pronoun is a word used to replace a noun. According to Michael Strumpf and Auriel Douglas,

All ears crave variety. A varied array of words and sentences is candy for our brains. Repetition and overuse are chopped livers and spoons full of castor oil. … The discriminating listener cringes at hearing one noun used twice in the same sentence or even twice in consecutive sentences.

The pronoun has no identity in and of itself. Instead, it takes meaning from the context in which it is found. The meaning usually comes from the word for which the pronoun stands, called its antecedent. … Since pronouns take the place of nouns, the can fill any role that nouns might fill.

Pretty much says it all, right? So I’ll just be going … What? You want more infomation? Happy to! We’ve talked about “person” as regards verbs. We’ve even discussed the Objective case. So today, we’ll talk about pronouns’ gender.

It is only in the third person that gender really comes up. You can say, “Hey you, over there, in the high heels,” and presumably be talking to a person of the feminine persuasion, but the pronoun itself is entirely neutral. Similiarly, when you say, “I buttoned my shirt,” it might matter to you whether you are male or female (if only because it affects the side of the shirt the buttons are on), but it has no bearing on the actual sentence whatsoever.

But when using the third-person pronouns … well, then gender does matter.

• He and His refer to a man.

• She and Hers refer to a woman.

• It, They, and Them are neutral.

This opens up another can of worms, though. You know the one I’m talking about, right?

What do you do when you need to refer to a singular third person pronoun, but you don’t know the gender? 

•  If anyone finds the letter in this bottle, ____ should contact the police.
• I saw a cat being chased by a squirrel and ____ looked so embarrassed!
• When teaching your dog to sit, make sure that ____ is paying attention.

Yeah. It gets kind of awkward.

You can sometimes work around this by using “It.” Chances are you don’t know the embarassed cat’s gender, so you could say “It looked” with perfect justification. The tricky part, though, is that animals aren’t likely to be offended by being referred to as an “it.” People are a little more sensitive. You wouldn’t refer to your mother as an “it,” would you? Of course not. But you can’t assume that all permission slips going home from school are going to be signed by a mother. “Make sure she signs your permission slip” is not going to be an acceptible directive for a teacher in today’s politically-sensitive age.

You can use the “He or She” thing, where you use both options with an “or” or a slash in between. “If anyone finds this letter, he or she should contact the police.” For a single statement, this works fine, but gets unwieldy when writing anything more than 1 or 2 sentences.

Some people just use “They” or “Their”–figuring that going gender-neutral is more important than matching a singular verb. “When teaching your dog to sit, make sure that they are paying attention.”

Or, you can just use “He.” This was the default pronoun for centuries. Unless the writer was specifically speaking about something that women did (“When experiencing labor contractions, she should….”), it was more or less assumed that it would either be a man, or that women–being the “lesser” sex–would just quietly accept second place. This worked fine for centuries, before Women’s Lib.

See? I told you this wasn’t for amateurs.

What do YOU do for this tricky, tangled web of a grammatical issue??

Here’s the grammatical equivalent of a trick question:

“How are you?”

The instinctive answer–here in the U.S., at least–is to say, “I’m good.”

Except, of course, that “good” is an adjective, not an adverb, and this inspires lots of debate.

Because when you say “I am good,” the word “good” is an adjective modifying the word “I” so that you’re more or less saying that you are good as opposed to naughty, rather, like Eliza Doolittle affirming, “I’m a good girl, I am.” This can be correct, just like you can say, “I am tall,” or “I am late.”

The problem arises because scores of English teachers insist that what you should be saying is “I am well,” because you are describing how you ARE, so that an adverb is the correct semantic choice, not an adjective, which puts “good” out of the running.

But, really, how can you say for sure, when somebody tells you “I’m good,” that they are defining their actual state (in which case an adjective would work), or their sense of well-being?

And then, if you look “Good” up in the dictionary, there are a whole slew of meanings for it as an adjective, and as noun … but there’s also an informal definition as an adverb, meaning “well.” This more or less implies that, at least when speaking, it is now acceptible to say, “I’m good!”

Or, is it?

What do you think? Can of worms?

“Mom, can I have a cookie?”
“May I.”
“Oh, right. Mom, may I have a cookie?

Does this sound familiar to anyone?

How about this one?

“It’s been really nice meeting you. So, er, can I call you later?”
“I don’t know, can you?”

There’s nothing quite like using grammar usage to put someone in their place, huh? (You know, once you’ve gotten past the somewhat small-minded, school-yardish intention.)

The distinction is really quite simple.

“Can” is used to describe ability. Is it physically possible for you to eat one more cookie? Are you able to dial a telephone?

“May” implies permission. If I take another cookie, will you yell at me? Will you hang up on me if I venture to call you?

What do you think? Does that cover everything? Or is there more nuance involved?

And, Happy Labor Day for those of you in the U.S.–it’s so very nice NOT to have to go to the office today! Especially considering that our weather here in NJ is just gorgeous today. Though our prayers are with the folks on the Gulf Coast, facing Hurricane Gustav.

This one has to be a quickie, today, so I’m just going to give you a list of some commonly misspelled words to remind you what they should be. (American spellings, just in case.)

• Absence
• Accommodate
• Commitment
• Completely
• Definitely (My favorite memory-device for this word? It’s got “finite” right in the middle, and there’s no “a” in finite.)
• Environment
• Exaggerate
• Government
• Indispensable
• Misspell (ironic, that!)
• Parallel
• Privilege
• Separately
• Vacuum

There is an article in the current issue of Time Magazine that talks about spelling reform, and discusses the proposal that we offer official, variantions for spellings of some of the most commonly-misspelled words.

The senior lecturer in criminology at Bucks New University in Buckinghamshire, England sees so many misspellings in papers submitted by first-year students that he says we’d be better off letting the perpetrators off the hook and doing away with certain spelling rules altogether. Good spellers, Smith says, should be able to go on writing as usual; those who find the current rules of English too hard to learn should have their spelling labeled variant, not wrong.

The rationale seems to be that since there are so many words that are frequently misspelled, we should just accept the fact that people usually forget the “r” in “February” and move on–allowing teachers to save their valuable time for more important things that correcting spelling.

The article goes on to say:

Word nerds aren’t the only ones with a stake in the proposal. People who have trouble with spelling are punished when it comes to applying for jobs or even filling out forms, even though their mistakes are far from unusual.

Now, our next-door neighbor is an elementary school principal and was saying just last night that she’s been reviewing resumes for some teaching positions, and that the applicants are using “Texting” abbreviations on their resumes. These are people applying for teaching positions! Would you want someone who considers “text” jargon to be acceptable on a resume to teach your children to read? I know I wouldn’t.

This is not because I’m am stuck in the past and still believe the paper book is one of the best inventions under the sun (right along with the Internet, thank you very much). I’m willing to accept that teenagers text each other all the time, and that abbreviations are key, and that a certain amount of that may well flow over into more traditional kinds of communication. But there’s a difference between using creative spelling in a letter or an email, and using it on a formal resume.

And there’s a huge difference between misspelling “definite” because it’s confusing, and misspelling it because you just don’t care.

But some language purists insist that there is value to the top-down rules of English. “People who spell a lot of words incorrectly either aren’t paying attention or don’t care,” says Barbara Wallraff, who writes the Wordcourt column on language and writing problems for the Atlantic and King Features Syndicate. “Why are we changing our language to accommodate — with two m’s — them?”

This is pretty much the way I feel. To me, this is the “Lowest-Common Denominator” kind of decision making. It’s pandering. We don’t want to make spelling too hard for everyone, so let’s just drop the standards so everyone can do it. But this is like raising the speed limit because every one speeds when they drive; or lowering the legal drinking age because, well, everyone knows teenagers sneak a drink now and again. Instead of trying to achieve a certain standard, we’re just giving up. It just lowers the bar for everybody.

Does that mean that I am henceforth dedicating my life to keeping the “r” in February? No. Language evolves, and that includes spelling. Even Ken Smith, quoted in the Time article, isn’t looking for sweeping reform. “I’m just saying, let’s have a few more variant spellings.” Personally, I’m not opposed to updating spelling parameters, and hey, there are words I get confused on, too. (I only just finally “got” Separate-with-an-A by reminding myself that it’s describing something separate, like it was pared away like apple peel. And yes, I know that has nothing to do with it, but darn it, pare is spelled with an “a” just like the middle of “separate” and it’s working for me.)

It worries me that so many people–especially the ones who are educating the children of the world–are giving in to the “If you can’t beat it, join it” mentality of simply accepting that kids don’t want to learn to spell, and would rather change the rules than try to teach differently.

What do you think? Do you think that teaching spelling is a losing battle? Do you think it’s one that we should try to win anyway? Or just hoist the white flag up the flagpole now and take a long lunch?

Last week, we briefly discussed the different verb “persons,” but this is important in writing and warrants some extra attention.

Because, you see, it comes down to “voice,” and voice is extraordinarily important in narrative.

First Person, when the speaker uses “I”. That is, I, We, Me, Us

So far as narrative goes, you would use this when you are telling a story about your own experiences.  When writing a diary. When telling your spouse about your day. When making a speech.

Where fiction is concerned, you would use First Person when the story is being told by a character, or a specific individual–one who only knows what he or she can know. If you write a story told by, say, the butler, he may certainly know who the murderer is (“I did it.”) but he is not going to be able to tell you what the lead detective is thinking, or when he is going to be caught–because that character could not know those things. When you write in first person, you can describe immediate experiences of a character. (“Toto and I opened the door and couldn’t believe our eyes. Everything was so bright and colorful. We could tell right away we weren’t in Kansas any more.”) You can explain how they feel, what they are thinking, but they can’t know what’s happening in the next room.

Second Person, is all about You

You would use this voice when writing a how-to guide. (“Insert screw A in hole B and tighten.”) You would use this when giving direction or guidance (“You need to go about a mile and then turn left onto Maple Avenue.”) You would use this for an inspirational speech. (“The only one who can change the world is you. You are the hopes of tomorrow.“)

So far as fiction goes, second person narrative is a rare, rare thing outside of dialogue. This is mostly because, well, it’s hard to maintain this “voice” over the entire course of a book. It’s similar to breaking the “fourth wall” in video–when an actor speaks directly to the watching audience–to be most effective, it should be used in very small doses. Remember Ferris Bueller? Matthew Broderick’s character addressed the audience a few times, exchanged knowing glances with the camera from time to time, but throughout most of the movie, he and the other characters were supremely unaware of the audience’s existance. When writing fiction, you can similarly address the reader during a narrative, but maintaining the “You” voice throughout? It’s almost impossible to do it well. That’s not to say it’s never been done, but it’s so rare, it’s like a swimmer winning eight Olympic gold medals in a week. It takes an incredible amount of talent and a perfect concatenation of circumstances for it to work just write … er … right.

Third Person, the gossip’s favorite: He, She, They, Him, Her, Them

Third Person is all about talking about other people. “He did this,” “She did that.” Used for anecdotes. Gossip. Newscasts.

For fiction? Third Person is king. A huge proportion of the fiction you read is written in third person. Spoken, usually, by an omniscient narrator who can tell the entire story from a vast, all-seeing vantage point. “He crept to the doorway and leaned his ear carefully against the wood, straining with every breath to hear the voices on the other side.” In a situation like that, chances are the person is in the room alone–the only one who can know what he is doing (other than himself) is this all-knowing narrator. Really, they are very helpful.

One other note about Voice and Narrator:

Be careful not to get confused while you are writing.

I don’t mean that I think you are going to start mixing up the difference between I, You and Him. What I mean is that sometimes while you’re writing, your voice can “slip.” It’s possible to accidentally switch from one paragraph, one sentence to the next, without meaning to.  If you’ve been paying attention, you’ll see that I’ve switched a few times in this post–I’ve spoken as myself, and I’ve addressed you directly. The difference, though is that this IS a blog post, so I can speak about my own experiences and also give you guidance–using both first and second person, very naturally.

As a rule, you want to be aware of this. Especially if you’re writing fiction. Do you need me to tell you about the time I wrote half of a novel in first person and then somehow switched over to third person for the second half? Going back to make ALL the changes in Voice to make it consistent was NOT fun. Don’t let this happen to you!

So, the last two weeks, we’ve talked about verb tenses and moods. Today, we’ll talk about their person. In their simplest form…

First Person: I, We

A verb uses first person when the speaker is talking about himself.

• I love typing.
• We watched the race.
• I am going to go to the movies tonight.

Second Person: You

Second person is the verb form for direct address–that is, when I’m talking to you.

• You heard me, I’m talking to you!
• You did what?
• You need to call the doctor.

Third Person: He, She, They

This is used for describing things that happen, or telling stories about other people.

• And then, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a jewelry box.
• She squealed and leaned forward to kiss him.
• They live in Paris, now.

Last week, we spoke about verb tenses; today, let’s talk about their moods. Well, not their moods, exactly, but rather, our moods when using the verbs.

Indicative Mood

This is the most common, and is used to make a statement or ask a question.

• The dog played with the ball.
• Are you reading that newspaper?
• The cook added a dash of pepper to the stew.

Imperative Mood

As imperious as the name implies, this mood is all about giving commands and making requests. Imperative verbs are always in the second person because, of course, requests or commands are always directed at someone else–if the word “you” isn’t used, it is always implied.

• Give me that note!
• Tell me what happened.
• Please hold the door for me.

Subjunctive Mood

This is the verb mood you choose when you’re feeling wistful, wishful, or just floating ideas around, because Subjunctive verbs are used for expressing wishes, making hypothetical statements that aren’t true, or for expressing something that must or should happen. The words if, though. unless, lest, that are often used to demonstrate the subjunctive mood, as are the verbs be and were.

• If wishes were horses, we would all ride.
• If Mom had been in the room, I never would have cut off my ponytails.
• I wish you were here.
• I suggest you put down that knife before you hurt yourself.
• You must be present for the deposition at court.

Clear enough? Questions? (I know, the Subjunctive mood could almost be an entire post by itself.)

Let’s take a quick look at verb tenses, shall we? In their simplest form, they’re quite, well, simple.

• Present Tense: This is the easy one. If it’s happening right now, taking place in the present, the verb is in present tense. Repeat after me: “I am reading Deb’s blog.” See? It’s happening right now.
• Past Tense: If the sentence is describing something from the past, you need past tense. “Deb wrote many excellent posts last month.” It doesn’t matter how far in the past the event of the sentence occurred.
• Future Tense: If it’s going to happen in the future, you need a future tense. “I will come back tomorrow to see what else she has to say.” Future-tense verbs always need to be expressed with a verb phrase, since no verb has a built-in future tense format. Will and Shall are the auxiliaries you will need to use to express a future tense.

Once you get past the simple versions, though, things get interesting.

Perfect Verbs:

The Perfect tense of a verb are “completed” (perfected), and have fixed ending points. They use have or has along with the past participle.

• Present Perfect: I have written many posts. (A statement about the present.)
• Past Perfect: I had written many posts. (I wrote them in the past but am not writing them now.)
• Future Perfect: I will have written many posts. (By the time we get to the future, I will have written even more posts.)

Progressive Verbs:

Progressive verbs describe an action that is ongoing. They use a form of the verb to be plus the verb’s present participle (ending with -ing).

• Present Progressive: I am writing. (Really, I’m doing it right now.)
• Past Progressive: I was writing. (Yes, I’ve been doing this a while now.)
• Future Progressive: I will be writing. (Forever and ever and ever!)

Perfect-Progressive:

It’s even possible to combine the progressive and the perfect forms, though I admit it sounds counterintuitive. It describes an action that will be completed at some specific point in time, and uses both “have” and “be” to determine its tense (present, past, or future).

• Present Perfect Progressive: I have been writing for an hour. (…And I still am.)
  
• Past Perfect Progressive: I had been writing for an hour. (At the time I stopped.)
  
• Future Perfect Progressive: I will have been writing for an hour. (If I keep going and stop after 60 minutes have elapsed.)

Confusing? Clear? Questions? Thoughts? Did I answer all your questions, or are you suddenly thinking of examples that you’re not sure of? (Is “I will have you know that I think you’re a wonderful person,” a future perfect-progressive verb, or future progressive?) Did I just enlighten you or completely confuse you?

Well, you blink, and suddenly a week has gone by!

So, continuing in the line started by my series of “linguist vs. grammarian,” let me pose this question:

Why do so many so-called grammar books actually focus more on punctuation than on actual grammar?

They tell you the correct way to use commas, where the period should go in a quotation (inside the quotes in the U.S., outside in Britain). When to use an apostrophe. The proper use of an exclamation point. All things that are good, worthy, and useful. No complaints at all. In fact, I’ve talked about all of these things myself at some point or another.

The thing is, though, that these things aren’t actually grammar.

When I think of “grammar,” I think of things like nouns and verbs being in agreement with each other (plural-plural or single-single). I think of the distinction between adverbs and adjectives. Clauses, both dependent and independent. Prepositional phrases. The nuances of various verb tenses. The cogs and wheels that make a sentence a sentence and not just a jumble of words.

I’m not saying that these elements are never touched on by the assorted grammar “experts” who are out there, but as a rule, they get left out in the cold while we explore the complicated lives of hyphens and dashes.

Who else remembers diagramming sentences in school? Anyone?

Looks pretty complicated, doesn’t it? (Image borrowed from here.)

That’s the point–this grammar thing gets tricky!

It’s too complicated for us normal people (i.e., not linguists), and it’s a lot to expect a person who just wants to sound reasonably intelligent to be able to interpret. How often do you hear someone say something like “Between you and I” because they think it sounds “right”? And, while you might be able to explain to them why it’s not, well, it gets complicated. You have to go into the whole Subject/Object thing, and explain prepositions … who has the time?

At least half the books I find shelved under “Grammar” at the local bookstore are really usage guides rather than grammar books.  But, if you’re going to write a book to help people write more clearly, shouldn’t you be addressing the foundations as well as the window dressing? Because, as helpful as punctuation is, it’s not as vital as the actual words–it just helps to keep them well-behaved.

Why do you think so many “Writing” books skip past the Grammar issue?

Laziness? An attempt to simply help people to write more better without worrying about the reasons why? (And yes, “more better” was on purpose.) Lack of space?

Or maybe it’s because the writers of these books are as shaky on the difference between a past present participle and an adjectival preposition as the rest of us?

What do you think?

We said last time that we should examine some of the more far-fetched traditions of hidebound grammatical rules and march bravely into the future. But, there is one more thing about ignoring traditional grammar rules you need to be aware of before you go striding off into the unfettered future.

You have to be prepared for fallout.

If you decide, using linguistic history as your guide, that some of these rules are obsolete, you need to expect to hear protests from the people who insist that they are anaethema.

Which, to be fair, is understandable. If you’ve lived your whole life believing that split infinitives are evil, you’re not going to just casually shrug it off when some young whippersnapper starts splitting them left and right. It’s reasonable for you to rail at the younger generation for carelessly ignoring the grammatical values you’ve devoted your life to upholding.

Case in point: My first job out of college, when the ink on my Bachelor of the Arts degree was still damp, was working in the advertising/sales department of a local map publisher. I was walking down the castle hallway … (No, really, the company really was housed in what had been a mansion built to look like a medieval castle. Gothic doorways, stained glass, armor on the walls. They even had a secret passageway, but it was a publishing company. You can’t make this stuff up.) … Anyway, I was walking down the hallway and I heard the Sales Manager complaining to my boss about the draft of a letter I’d written for him.

“Look at this,” I remember him saying, “She ended this sentence with a preposition. Even I know better than that. I thought she was supposed to know how to write?“

I wasn’t in the habit of eavesdropping, so I didn’t lurk in the hallway to hear what my boss told him, but it wouldn’t have mattered. The Sales Manager had been in the business for decades and, even though he hadn’t gone to college himself, was able to put together a good sales letter. But he was self-taught on The Rules, and believed that when they said not to put a preposition at the end of a sentence, by God, that meant you never put one at the end!

I could have brought in leftover books from writing classes in college to show him evidence to the contrary. “See? Not necessary anymore.” But there’s no way I would have been able to convince him that he was wrong and that that rule was flexible.

So, keep that in mind. You and I might know that certain of these rules are optional these days, but other people may NOT. Some of these people might be of the old-fogey variety that you can kindly pat on the arm with a “There, there” while going about your business. But some of these people might be the people who pay your bills. The people who hire you. The people you are trying to impress. If they think that you don’t know what you’re doing, it’s going to reflect badly on you.

To go back to that clothing analogy–not everyone is going to understand the latest fashion trends. If you’re hanging out with friends and family, be as trendy as you like, but if you’re going on a job interview, or visiting your grandparents, remember that there are certain standards they are going to expect. You can choose to ignore them (“Grandma, you can wear jeans anywhere these days.”), but that doesn’t mean they are going to be happy about it. So, be warned!

In the comments to last week’s Mangled Monday about the structure of a letter, Melissa asked: “What do you think about emails that don’t have a salutation? I always try to start mine with a greeting unless I get into a really fast-paced conversation with short emails flying back and forth at a rapid rate. Then it’s more like an IM discussion. I notice many people forgo salutations on emails, especially after the first pass.”

So, let’s explore that.

As I mentioned last week, letters have dates, addresses, salutations, bodies, and closings.

Memos, on the other hand, are much simpler, and laid out in a very different format. They have:

To:
From:
Date:
Subject:
…followed by the text of the memo.

Call me crazy, but that pretty much looks like every email I’ve ever sent. Different programs have different options, of course, but there’s almost always a field to put your To address, and one for a Subject, and there’s always a Date and a From (which may or may not be determined by the person sending the email).

That said, emails seems to be right at the cusp between “letter” and “memo.” There’s no defined, formal format to them (that I’m aware of), and so people kind of feel their way. I have sent and received emails that have salutations and signatures and that basically felt like a letter, but I’ve also gotten emails that were exactly like a memo–short, direct, to the point.

So, let’s open this one up to discussion. What do you folks think? Do you put a salutation at the top of your emails? Do you sign them? Always? Never? Some of the time? Do you treat personal emails differently than business emails?

People don’t write letters as often as they used to–emails, yes; text messages, yes; the occasional hand-written note, even, yes … but actual letters? Not so much. Especially outside of normal business hours.

So, let’s review the essential elements of a basic letter, shall we?

• Return Address: On both personal and business letters, the very top of the page should be the address of the letter’s sender. It can be on the left or the right margin, it just needs to be at the top. Naturally, if you’re using some kind of letterhead paper, this is already covered (even if it’s just a logo at the top, with the address in the footer).
• Recipient’s Address: This is more for business letters, but in formal letters, it’s usually a good idea to put the address of where the letter is going, as well. This is particularly important if you’re using a window-envelope to mail it in (grin), but also helpful for future reference. You can skim through your old letters and see exactly where they went, without consulting your address book.
• Date: The date of the letter–definitely important. My personal feeling is that this is essential, even on personal notes where I might skip the addresses at the top. The bare minimum for the header, is the date.
• Salutation: “Dear _____,” This is where the real action of the letter starts–addressing the recipient by name. The word “Dear” is almost always included, but for personal notes, can be left out and just the name be used (“Dave,”). I honestly can’t think of a substitute for “Dear,” although there certainly might be one, but it IS the standard. As to the punctuation, personal letters usually end the salutation with a comma; business letters with a colon. At least, that’s the traditional format, though those rules have gotten “squishy” and these days it seems like either is acceptible.
• Body: The actual text of the letter.
• Closing: This is your chance to say, “Sincerely,” “With love,” “Cordially,” “Yours truly,” “Waiting with bells on,” or any other phrase you choose, but the one thing to remember is that only the first word of the Closing should be capitalized. Never write “With Love,” it should always be “With love,”. And, of course, the closing’s closing punctuation is the comma.
• Signature: In a handwritten letter, this literally is just your signature, but in a formal, or typed letter, there is space left (traditionally 3 carriage returns) for the actual signature, followed by the written name, and titles if any. (“John Smith, Lead Adventurer”)

That’s essentially it. Granted, there can be other pieces–things like “cc” annotations for carbon copies, or whatever–but this is just about everything you need.

Again, a personal note to a friend isn’t going to be as formal as a business letter, and so might not need all these pieces. You can scrawl a note with just three pieces: “Dave, Got your note. Looking forward to seeing you on the 12th. John.” It certainly gets the job done, but then, it’s a note, not an actual letter. What’s the difference? Length, maybe? Structure, perhaps? Something like that (grin).

Incidentally, I did this post out of my memory of “Writing Classes Past”–did I miss anything??

Two famous, latin abbreviations that so many people seem to get wrong.

i.e. is short for “id est” and should be used for “that is.”

• I strongly recommend the driver of the automobile cease their forward movement at this time, i.e, STOP!
• This weekend, I played with my kids, ran errands, baked bread, cleaned the house, washed the dog, updated my blog, balanced my checkbook, and painted the garage; i.e., I’m tired.
• My child is a natural at sports (i.e., baseball, football, and tennis).
• When the little hand and the big hand are both pointing to 12 (i.e., straight up), it will be noon.

e.g. is short for “exempli gratia” and should be used for “for example.”

• I carry a lot of things in my purse, e.g., my cell phone, wallet, MP3 player, and my glasses.
• A prime number is one that can only be evenly divided by itself and the number one, e.g., one, two, three, five, seven…

The trick is that they often seem interchangeable, as in the following sentences.

• I love vegetables, i.e., things like carrots and celery.
• I love vegetables, e.g., carrots, celery, corn, and so on.

The difference is that the first one (with the “i.e.”) is clarifying exactly what is meant by “vegetables,” whereas the second one is giving actual examples of the loved vegetables.

Still having trouble remembering? Here’s a handy mnemonic device I saw over at Grammar Girl‘s:

A few listeners have also written in to say that they remember the difference between i.e. and e.g. by imagining that i.e. means “in essence,” and e.g. sounds like “egg sample,” and those are good memory tricks too.

As to punctuation, the correct way to write these is with a period after both letters (“i.e.” and “e.g.”), followed by a comma.

I’ve been racking my brain, trying to think of a punctuation mark we haven’t discussed yet. We’ve covered periods, commas, exclamation points, quotation marks, colons, semi-colons, and hyphens, not to mention parentheses, ellipses, and dashes. What else is there?

Then the light dawned. The answer was right there in front of me.

The question mark.

This one is pretty straight-forward, though. A question mark (?) is used in place of the period at the end of an interogatory sentence. In other words, at the end of a question.

Obviously, this is easy to remember, what with it being part of the name of the punction mark, after all. Some of the extra niceties:

• It should only be used after a direct question (“Are you done reading that newspaper?”), not after indirect ones (“I asked him what time the movie started.”).
• Rhetorical questions do merit a question mark. (“So, class, we can see that inventing the guillotine had a lot of unforeseen repercussions, didn’t it?”)
• A polite request–since it’s not really a question–does not merit a question mark. (“Would you please step this way.”)
• If your question ends with an abbreviation, finish the abbreviation–that is, you should use a period followed by a question mark. (“You think you’ll become a movie star just by moving to L.A.?”)
• Generally speaking, though, you should not mix question marks with other punctuation. (“He said what!?” with both an exclamation point and a question mark is incorrect. Using multiple question marks is also frowned upon.)

The primary use of a semi-colon is to link two sentences together.

Now, obviously, sentences are usually kept separate and distinct. Sometimes, however, they are very involved with each other, and like to keep close. Like twins, or mirror images, they’re more connected to each other than to the sentences next door. Usher in the semi-colon.

• My mother was a terrible cook; we ate out a lot.
• Cable television is expensive; renting movies is cheap.

It is important to remember, however, that the sentences connected by the semi-colon be complete sentences, and if you’re using a conjunction (and, but, or), you don’t need the semi-colon. Like, for example, that last sentence. I could have stopped after “complete sentences,” added a period, and then started up the next sentence with “If you’re using.” I could also have put a semi-colon there and dropped the “and.” It’s your choice. As a writer, you have options, but like at certain restaurants, no substitutions are allowed.

Semi-colons can also be used to break apart the items in a series, when a comma isn’t quite enough to do the job.

Usually, when writing a list, you use commas to keep items separate. (“My favorite ice cream flavors are vanilla, peppermint, and pistachio.”) When the items start getting more complicated, though, commas can become unclear. (“I have travelled to Boston, Massachusetts, Madison, Wisconsin, and San Franciso, California.”) This is where the semi-colon comes into its own.

• I have travelled to Boston, Massachusetts; Madison, Wisconsin; and San Francisco, California.
• My dogs’ ages are Katy, 9; Chappy, 7.

And, that’s it. Clear? Unclear? Anything I left confused? Further questions?

Have you ever given any thought to how you write the date? 365 (or 366) days, broken out into 12 months, of 28, 29, 3o, or 31 days, all sequentially counted in groups called years.

Now, the months themselves may be spelled out, so that this month is written as “June” or as its number in the monthly sequence (06). In this computer age, even four-letter months are also sometimes abbreviated by the first three characters (“JUN” or “JUL”).

Here in the U.S., we write the month first, followed by the date. (June 9), and if specifying the year, they are separated by a comma (June 9, 2008). Some other countries, though, prefer to put the day first (9 June) which conveniently makes that comma no longer necessary (9 June 2008 or even sometimes 9th June 2008). I admit that, American though I am, I often prefer to write the date that way.

Years, of course, are counted these days in what is known as the “Common Era,” formerly known as “Anno Domini.” The calendar most of us work with is the Gregorian calendar, and started with year number 1 at (supposedly) the birth of Jesus Christ. Other nations, other cultures, have their own calendars, of course, and many of them prefer not to be saddled with such a “Christian” dating system, yet with the world getting smaller and the Internet getting bigger, we needed a non-offensive alternative, and so the “A.D.” was switched to “C.E.”

We are also, of course, in the 21st century, even though our year starts with “20″ and not “21.” (The “first” century, of course, was years 1-100. The second century was 101-200, and so on. There was never a year “zero.” This is why, incidentally, that the 21st century did not start in 2000, but not until 2001, but that’s an old argument.) We had gotten into the habit for years or writing the dates just by the last two digits (“98″ for “1998″, for example) but the shock of switching into a brand new century threw us off, so that about half the time, we’re still writing the 4-digit year rather than just 2-digits, just to remind ourselves of where, exactly, we are in this space/time continuum.

Now, why bring all of this up today? Because a couple days ago, on Saturday, if you write dates as we do here in the U.S., it was June 7th, 2008 and for a brief moment, 06/07/08 9:10. How cool is that, huh?

For those of you using the British way of writing dates, though? You get another chance at it next month, on 6 July 2008.

I’ve covered many of the other punctuation marks, but not yet the Colon, otherwise known as the pair of eyes (:) in a classic emoticon smiley<:)>. Other than looking at you, though, it has other uses:

Primarily, it alerts the reader to the fact that a list or explanation is following.

• “We need from the store: milk, bread, eggs.”
• “Here is a list of primary colors: red, blue, yellow.”
• “Please choose one: paper or plastic?“
• “My greatest wish for the world: peace.”

It has other uses too, of course. It divides subtitles from main titles, “The West Wing: Season One.” It is used in telling time (1:45) or in separating chapters and verses in religious writings or epic poems (John 3:14–16). It is used after the salutation in a business letter (“Dear sir:“) It’s also used for notting ratios and such in mathematics. But, mostly, its primary use is to introduce something.

One thing that is important to note, though, is that you never put a colon after a verb. You would not write, for example, “My favorite foods are: chocolate, pie, and brussels sprouts.” The colon is redundant because it’s more or less filling the same function as the verb “are.” However, you could write, “The teacher asked me to list my favorite foods: chocolate, pie, and brussels sprouts.”

There is some debate as to whether or not use a capital letter following the colon. British English says no (unless it’s a word that would normally be capitalized), and American English seems to waffle a bit, saying it depends on context, but the general rule of thumb seems to be that if the colon is introducing an independent clause, the first word should be capitalized.