Twit-Tip: There Is a Grammar Fairy (and She Usually Travels via FedEx)

April 12, 2012 by Leave a comment

I shit you not. Granted, I’m not talking about a rosy-cheeked matron with a magic wand who will appear from nowhere and make your story perfect the way Cinderella’s rags were transformed to designer silks. What she will do is give you the tools you need to improve your writing on your own.  Where to find her? Barnes and Noble. Amazon. Pretty much anywhere that sells writing style guides.

What exactly is a style guide?

They’re not like your eight-grade grammar textbook. Simply put, it’s a book containing tips to make your writing better.  They come in all shapes and sizes and vary in purpose. Guides like The University of Chicago Press Manual of Style and The New York Times Manual of Style and Usage  provide guidelines on formatting issues such as capitalization and when to spell out numbers. Which to use depends on personal preference; just be sure to use the same one consistently.

Some style guides enable the user to find quick answers to grammar questions. I’ll let you in on a little secret—I never write or beta without at least three of these within reach. My favorite is Theodore M. Bernstein’s The Careful Writer, an alphabetically organized handbook detailing over 2,000 common grammar and usage issues and thorough explanations of how to avoid them. It’s my go-to source when both writing and editing, and I strongly encourage authors for whom I beta to use it when proofreading.

Then there are guides which aim to help you improve your writing as a whole. These cover a variety of topics varying from novel structure to query letters. Again, personal preference and writing style will play a large part in which guides will work best for you. When I write columns about form, the topics and advice given is generally compiled from several such guides. Of these, the one I use most is Self-Editing for Fiction Writers by Renni Browne and Dave King. This text gives advice on everything from crafting effective dialogue to avoiding stylistic devices that make a writer seem insecure (e.g. italics and exclamation points).

So while you can’t expect some eccentric old chick in a funny dress to wave her magic wand and make your dangling participles vanish, with the right tools you can empower yourself to craft your own masterpiece. Now there’s something even a Disney heroine would envy!

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sleepyvalentina is a style-guide devotee, an EBS beta, and a bit over-caffeinated. 

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Twit-Tip: “That’s what she said!” Sleepyvalentina Expounds on Dialogue

October 28, 2011 by 2 Comments

Since my own writing is so dialogue-heavy, it tends to be the first thing I notice when I read. It also tends to be the area in which I receive the most questions when I beta. Getting the punctuation right is easy. Ultimately, it comes down to voice.

Here are the basic rules:

Dialogue tags, also called attributions, are typically part of the same sentence as what is being spoken.

Example:
“Hello, Isabella,” he says.

If the verb within the attribution isn’t something that can be done with one’s vocal chords, it’s a beat, not a tag. Beats get their own sentences.

Examples:
“Am I?” He shakes his head.
Alice pokes my arm. “It’s your turn.”

When there’s a beat, generally a tag isn’t necessary.

Example:
Alice pokes my arm and says, “It’s your turn.”

It reads a bit awkwardly, no? Using an attribution alongside a beat provides no additional information and adds unnecessary words—something which only distracts readers from the story thus weakening the writing. Writing concisely brings focus to the words that matter. When important details are no longer in competition with superfluous ones, they stand out more.

Example:
Jesus wept.
(John 11:35)

Avoiding “said” bookisms

Remember how your teachers told you the mark of a good writer was varying word choice in dialogue tags? They lied. This is one instance in which it’s better to be redundant. Generally, one should stick with with said and asked.

“But but but!” you yell. “If I use ‘say’, readers won’t know I’m raising my voice.”

Actually, they would—the exclamation point tells them everything they need to know. Words like yell in attributions are known as said bookisms. Though using them in tags is not technically incorrect, doing so makes one’s writing seem amateurish. Again, less is more. The word said is invisible. Readers gloss over it, focusing instead on the dialogue itself—which is exactly what we want them to do. If how something is said is so important, omit the tag and use a beat.

“I know I’ll die of cancer like my mother,” she chokes out.

It reads awkwardly, and it’s a classic example of telling and not showing.

“I know I’ll die of cancer like my mother…” Her voice breaks. She takes a deep breath, then swallows with such force the muscles in her throat flex.

I’m not saying you should never use verbs other than said in dialogue tags. A well-placed said bookism can really get readers’ attention. Reserve them for when they are truly needed.

Let Us Not Forget Tom Swiftly

And no, I’m not talking about some guy I screwed who came too quickly.

The Tom Swift book series is infamous for formulaic dialogue tags involving a said bookism followed by an adverb. A Tom Swiftly (also know as a Tom Swifty) is any such attribution containing a pun.

“We must hurry,” said Tom swiftly.

Okay, so that one is indeed ridiculous. But if we avoid said bookisms, don’t we need adverbs to indicate how the dialogue was said?

You don’t.

Any of the writers for whom I beta will tell you I mark up almost every dialogue tag containing an adverb. It’s a huge pet peeve of mine—not because they read as formulaic (though they do) but because they tell without showing. Oh, I admit I did this all over Art After 5—it’s a huge part of why reading my early fic makes me cringe.

He was so obviously nervous, I couldn’t help but tease him.
“So, come here often?” I asked playfully.

The current edit looks like this:

His nervousness was endearing.
The next thing I knew, I was teasing him. “Come here often?”

Fewer words, yes. But they read a little more easily and say a little bit more.

Again, I’m not saying all adverbs are evil. But like said bookisms and my five-inch-high stilettos that crunch my baby toes, they’re best left for special occasions.

Trust me on this. I learned it the hard way.

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Twit-Tip: “I Wish They May, and I Wish I They Might…”

October 10, 2011 by Leave a comment

“I wish they may, and I wish they might…”

Is the above song lyric redundant?

I think so, but then again, I had to sing it a few times each day for something like  three months. Oh wait—we’re talking grammar, not theater. In that case, my answer is no. Despite what being forms of the same verb would imply, may and might  cannot always be used interchangeably. The difference may be nuanced, but it’s there nonetheless. It all comes down to likelihood.

These are the rules:

Use may when something is probable.

Example: I may go down on him.

Use might when something is a bit of a stretch. Sarcasm generally uses might.

Example: I might go down on all of his friends and put the video on YouTube. 

Always use might when speaking in the past tense.

Example: I may try on the shoes, but I won’t buy them. I might have maxed out my Neiman’s card.

Here’s where it gets tricky. 

Regardless of tense or likelihood, sometimes it’s better to use might so your audience doesn’t confuse possibility with permission.

Example: “I may let myself into his apartment,” she said. 

We don’t know if there’s a possibility she will do this or if she’s saying she has permission.  In this instance, one should always use might—even if the action in question is a foregone conclusion.

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Have a grammar question you’d like to see covered in a future column?  Let sleepyvalentina know. You may reach her at val@sleepyvalentina.com or on twitter @sleepyvalentina. 

“Goodnight, My Someone” copyright 1957 by Meredith Berlin. 

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The Most Abused Sub in Fic Doesn’t Have a Safe Word: Using the Subjunctive Mood

October 6, 2011 by Leave a comment

It’s the least understood verb mood in the English language.  Generally speaking, the subjunctive is most often employed in subordinate clauses to express something that isn’t real—hypotheticals, wishes, possibilities, actions that have yet to occur—all of these require the subjunctive. So what does this mean for you as a writer?

These are the rules:

The present subjunctive (used to express present or past irrealities) takes the form of the bare infinitive.

 Example:  The college recommends all first-year students attend this seminar. 

The future subjunctive is used in if clauses of doubtful possibility with future reference.  Regardless of person and number, it uses the plural verb conjugation.

Example: If I were to attend the seminar, I’d have a few drinks beforehand. 

The past subjunctive is used to refer counter-factually to the present.

Example: I wish I weren’t at this boring-ass seminar. 

Confused? That’s okay. Just remember if and that clauses do something funky and that the verb therein should be past-tense plural. More often than not, you’ll get it right.

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Twit-Tip: A blonde walks into a bar. Wait…Is that right?

August 30, 2011 by 1 Comment

I’m not talking about whether or not the drapes match the carpet.  One of the most frequently asked questions we receive as betas is how to refer to a fair-haired individual. Blonde results in spellcheck’s red line of death, but blond doesn’t look right either. Though both are technically correct, they can’t be used interchangeably.

The word English word blond comes from French, a language which employs grammatical gender. Though English does not, blond has retained its gender distinction in modern American usage.

These are the rules:

Blond is an adjective meaning light or fair.
Blond can also be used as noun referring to a male with fair coloring.
Blonde is a noun referring to a female with light hair.
The plural form is blonds regardless of gender.

Carlisle is a blond; Rosalie is a blonde. Both characters have blond hair; therefore they are blonds. 

Here’s where it gets tricky:

While it’s not technically incorrect to use to blonde as an adjective describing a female, this is more commonly spelled blond. When used as an adjective preceding the word hair, it’s almost always spelled blond.

Rosalie was blonde as a human. After she was changed, she retained her blond hair. 

Some related trivia:

Blond isn’t the only French noun we use to identify persons by their coloring that has retained its grammatical gender in English. Ever notice how we refer to a woman with brown hair as a brunette but we almost never refer to a man that way?  The masculine form is brunet, but for whatever reason it isn’t a word we commonly use in English.

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