Bloody Well Write

Back in the day when typesetters actually “set” type and fonts and weights, and back when such design capabilities were not just a quick keystroke away, old-school headlines were written with initial caps on every word — or at least every major word:

• John Doe Bought The Farm, Never Looked Back

That sort of stylized formatting helped readers know for sure that the line of text was, indeed, separate and definitely not equal to whatever followed. It was a way to draw readers in, hopefully to become engaged with whatever followed. And it let readers know that it was the headline simply because every first letter of every (or nearly every) word was uppercase.

In these days of modernity and quick-as-lightning type adjusters, headlines have evolved — so says the AP Stylebook. For some time now, the go-to writer’s guide has mandated initial caps only for the first word in the headline, as well as any proper nouns:

• John Doe bought the farm, never looked back

That’s it.

I Think I Know What You're Saying (Initial caps are for the birds, yes?) (image: http://www.flickr.com/photos/catnipstudio/3852732117/)

No more do the tiny articles (e.g., a, an, the) or prepositions (e.g., to, of, for) get themselves pumped up. No more does the size of the initial letters imply greater meaning of phrase. Now, it’s up to the writers to truly provide compelling copy that draws in casual passers-by, sucking them into their world of journalism, advertising and intrigue.

Long live the down-style headline. If nothing else, it’s easier on the eye. It invites readers instead of coercing them. It implies a (slightly) higher level of understanding rather than speaking to the audience as if it’s the teacher reading from a held-up book to first-graders. That alone has to count for something.

Happy trails!

SAK

It’s a crapshoot, I tell you.

I had just started in a new position at a new agency and was excited to start things off right with an updated AP Stylebook. Makes sense, I thought, since my own copy of the veritable writer’s bible was the 2007 version. Staying current with the 2010 version (even though it’s already 2011, thank you very much) seemed like a grand idea, especially since the 2011 version wasn’t going to be published for a few months yet.

The 2010 version, for those with inquiring minds, is the first book put out by the AP folks with website spelled as one word and all lowercase. That, my dear readers, was a monumental advancement. Ask any writer or editor you know (hell, you can even ask an opinionated designer or two — they’ll freely offer their belief system on the now-antiquated two-word Web site); he or she will probably be able to explain in four-part harmony the beneficial or detrimental nuances of using one word or two, depending on his or her preference.

So — back to the crapshoot.

As a writer and editor in my new digs at Armstrong|Shank Advertising, I thought it appropriate to get my hands on the latest AP Stylebook. The office manager said, “Hey! No problem. We’ll order one of those suckers right away.”

Cool!

It arrived lickety-split and I set to work, prepared for whatever odd grammar question could arise.

Those progressive heart candy makers must've known that the AP Stylebook editors would cave sooner or later (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/trmarch/3240265590/)

Then, just a few short days ago, the AP Stylebook folks threw a grammar wrench in my well-laid plans. They decided to cave under the pressure of the masses and allow email to take the place of e-mail.

And that, my friends, is huge. Even bigger news than Web site to website. It’s so huge because, in the history of the English language, no compound noun that starts with a single letter has lost its hyphen. For example:

• A-frame
• G-string
• S-curve
• T-ball
• T-shirt
• U-turn
• X-ray

It seems odd to me that the hyphen isn’t there, too, because for the two people who don’t yet know what electronic mail is, reading the word sans hyphen could theoretically make it sound like ehMAIL. And that, as the rest of us electronic whiz kids know, isn’t how it’s supposed to sound.

Why should e-mail lose its hyphen? My best guess is because the masses, in all their texting and tweeting and e-mailing (er, emailing) glory, decided that it’s just too darn difficult to add the hyphen to a word that gets typed or written on such a frequent basis, and those masses revolted to the point of forcing the hand of the AP Stylebook editors.

So — lazy wins.

And you know what? I’m sort of OK with that. I don’t really think it’s the wisest decision based on correctness, but I’ll be a much happier — and faster — tweeter with this new rule in place.

For the record: Email is correct to start a sentence; email is correct in all other sentence locations. Fun times.

Happy trails!

SAK

So today is Monday, March 14, 2011. This means that yesterday was the day we all changed our clocks to account for daylight saving time. We “sprang forward” since it’s spring, and we’ll “fall back” an hour next autumn.

According to the AP Stylebook folks (and they know their stuff), daylight saving time  occurs “from 2 a.m. on the second Sunday in March through 2 a.m. on the first Sunday in November in areas that do not specifically exempt themselves.”

A few details to remember when writing about daylight saving time:

• Daylight saving time is also known as daylight time.
• Do not use a hyphen.
• Do not use an ending “s” in saving.
• Unless it begins a sentence or is associated with a specific time zone, all letters are lowercase (the exception would be the “D” in daylight).
• Saving is dropped when the concept is used with the name of a time zone (e.g., Mountain Daylight Time, Central Daylight Time).

Daylight saving time's autumnal nemesis (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/alancleaver/4293345633/)

A little history
George Vernon Hudson, an English entomologist and astronomer who lived in New Zealand, proposed the idea of daylight saving time in order to enjoy the benefits of added daylight in the hours after work. He had initially suggested a two-hour jump. (Can you imagine?)

Who benefits from daylight saving time? In particular, retailers (more time for shopping after work) and outdoor sports (more time spent making points and defending goals). Who suffers from the time shift? Farmers and those with other sun-based jobs, as well as nighttime entertainment.

Me? I’m OK with falling back in the autumn, because hey — I enjoy an extra hour of sleep in the a.m. The whole spring-forward thing really ain’t my bag. But, of course, no one asked me.

So — I hope that you all remembered to set your alarms and actually got up when they went off this morning. Only eight months until we can fall back in time.

Happy trails!

SAK

When I don’t have quick inspiration for a new blog entry, I do what any decent writer needing a boost would do: I flip through my AP Stylebook for ideas.

Today, I came across a little snippet of information that had slipped right on by me.

Hey, cows — home's that-a-way! (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/chelseagirlphotos/242492087/)

Did you have any idea that the AP Stylebook folks frown on using the abbreviated ’til in place of until? I surely did not. They do write that the non-apostrophed till is a perfectly acceptable substitution. But not ’til (no sirree, Bob). You write ’til and you’ll look a fool in front of all your cohorts — a fool, I tell you.

I’ve been doing it all wrong for a very long time. Poo. Fool me once ….

So — Until is good. Till is OK, too.

Happy trails!

SAK

Ice cold and not so sweet — that’s how I like my tea. Apparently, that’s how the AP Stylebook folks like referring to the political tea party, as well.

OK, fine — I’ll try to keep my political views out of this.

The 2011 AP Stylebook succinctly explains the tea party as a “populist movement opposing [the] Washington political establishment.” That’s a short and not-so-sweet account of what the tea party is for those who may not have yet heard of the movement. All two of them.

Please note the lowercase “T” and “P” in the name. That’s really the reason for this post. I’ve seen Tea Party just about everywhere. The AP Stylebook — the ultimate writer’s guide (or should that be “the ultimate guide for writers? See? This writing gig is no cakewalk, folks) — lowercases the phrase, and so I intend to do the same. I wish the same for you.

Now this is a tea party! (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/preppybyday/5076312167/)

Iced tea, by the way, is a fantastic drink to sip all day long if you’re looking for some flavor without calories or weird sweeteners. Regular tea has caffeine, so try non-caffeinated teas if you’re worried about being too wired. Either way, drinking tea keeps you hydrated, which (in my opinion) is a quick cure for a lot of what ails us.

Look at that — not a thing to do with grammar. Oy!

Happy trails!

SAK

Oh, the difference one little letter can make.

Gibe, my friends, means to taunt. To sneer. To give someone grief (The Jayhawk fans gibed the fill-in-the-blank fans about their team’s multiple air balls). And you, my friends, don’t tend to gibe others, correct? Unless it’s in fun, yes? Or unless KU has just torn your buddy’s team up on the basketball court, right? Which doesn’t always happen, true? True. But it does happen quite frequently, and you — my honest, friendly, kind-hearted friends — don’t gibe others when their team gets it handed to them by the Jayhawks. Right? Hello? Anyone? Anyone?

To gibe or not to gibe — Jayhawkers waving the crimson and blue wheat (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/ishane/2036834651/sizes/m/in/photostream/)

Jibe means to change direction (the AP Stylebook’s example: They jibed their ship across the wind) or, as the locals would say, to agree about a certain something (Their account of what happened at the Stop-n-Go before the big game didn’t jibe).

That’s it. Easy enough, right? One letter, big shift in meaning.

Happy trails!

SAK

We sent 2010 on its merry way into the annals of tricky years last night, and we woke up to a brand-spanking-new year: 2011. Well, hello there, friend! Do unto me as you’d like me to do unto you, yes?

(I’m sorry about that last bit. I really don’t like writing to a day or year or whatever as if it’s going to respond, but I’m working on very little sleep at the moment, so my judgment may not be up to snuff.)

So — I am thinking this morning that I haven’t written a Bloody Well Write entry for a few weeks due to familial adventures and holiday revelry, and I am wondering what the heck I should write about since my brain is still slightly fuzzy from last night’s don’t-let-the-door-hit-you-on-the-way-out 2010 sendoff. (A full round of Liverpool Rummy ended sometime around 3 a.m. Oof.)

How about the whole uppercase vs. lowercase issue concerning the new year? OK, let’s do it.

Happy 2011!

The AP Stylebook folks have it plainly written out in their fabulous printed guide and website; they’ve even presented the answer via Twitter (I highly recommend following @APStylebook). So here it is:

It’s New Year’s, New Year’s Day and New Year’s Eve. But lowercase references to the year: See you in the new year.

Those guidelines make complete sense to me.

New Year’s, New Year’s Day and New Year’s Eve should be initial-capped (i.e., the first letter of each word is uppercase) because they are concerning a specific day or night that is recognized as a holiday the world over. And if we get a day or so off of work because of them, by golly, I think that they should get some extra respect.

The new year is a generic statement and doesn’t refer directly to any particular event or well-celebrated holiday, so it deserves its lowercase status: What I’m looking for in the new year is just around the bend — I don’t want to miss the opportunity.

Hey, that wasn’t so difficult, was it? Nope. So all that’s left to finish this post is this: Thanks a heap for reading my fun little grammar blog, and happy, healthy, humorous days to you in the year ahead.

Happy trails!

SAK

What’s in a name? Depending on whom you’re talking to, everything or not so much.

When we were trying to pick out baby names, you’d think we were naming the Taj Mahal or Grand Canyon — something that would be around for eons and would have movies made about it. The meaning of the name, the number of syllables, the words it could possibly rhyme with, the ways it could be abbreviated — every little nuance was considered.

Many companies do the same thing when forming their names. And many add the tag Inc. to the name for legal reasons. But, concerning commas, how should those names be referenced in writing if it’s not for legal purposes?

My assumption would be to do as the company does. If ABC, Inc. wants a comma there legally, why not put it there all the time?

Crazy little assumption, but according to the AP Stylebook, that’s an assumption that can drive an editor nuts. The AP Stylebook folks have this to say:

Abbreviate and capitalize as Inc. when used as a part of a corporate name. It usually is not needed, but when it is used, do not set off with commas: “Time Warner Inc. announced ….”

And you know me. I’m not one to ruffle the feathers of the AP Stylebook gods — at least not on a regular basis.

In legal writing, I would absolutely follow the style of the legal company name. But in journalistic, advertising, marketing or PR writing, I’d eliminate the comma. It’s a space-taker-upper, and it separates the Inc. from the main body of the name, which in my mind goes against the purpose of having it there at all. If you’re going to separate the Inc. with a comma, that implies it’s not a mandatory phrase. And if it’s not mandatory, I can think of a graphic designer or two who would think that it’s fluff and that the space could be better used, so take that sucker out.

Happy trails!

SAK

Indeed, that is apparently the question that never gets answered.

As an editor, time and again I delete extra spaces after periods, much to the chagrin of the writer.

“Two!” they moan. “I was taught that two spaces follow a period.”

I feel for them. I really do. I was taught that same rule in school. The education system follows the Modern Language Association (MLA) guidelines, which stipulate two spaces after every period. Frankly, I’m not sure why two spaces are required. My guess is that those who made the rules back in the day thought that it helped the readability of the piece.

Once I graduated, though, the real world insisted that two spaces after any ending punctuation (period, question mark, exclamation point) was too much real estate. Space is, after all, at a premium across such mediums as newspapers and magazines, so that second space was a luxury that bit the proverbial dust.

And it was a hard habit to break — at least for me. But break it I did. So, while I understand the frustration of those who haven’t yet been influenced by the almighty AP Stylebook — the grammar bible of journalists, advertising agencies and professional writers — I also know that they can kick the second space to the curb as well as I did.

So when my writer friends hand me an article or ad or whatnot and ask me to edit it, I write “universal change” at the top of the page with “only one space after each ending punctuation mark.”

Aren’t ex-two-spaces-after-periods people the worst?

Happy trails!

SAK

You say to-MAY-to, I say to-MAH-to.

OK, I say to-MAY-to, too. But that’s the apparent difference between pronouncing the long form of P.J.’s (or jammies, if you ask my husband). The subject came up about the correct pronunciation of pajamas, so I  followed my M.O.: I looked it up online. Merriam-Webster’s Online Dictionary has two (count ‘em, two)  sound buttons that play the preferred and secondary pronunciations of the word. But when I looked it up, the sound wouldn’t work.

That was last night.

So I checked out a few other sites that also have sound buttons. Webster’s New World College Dictionary, which the AP Stylebook prefers, has one button. And to my horror and my husband’s delight, it pronounced it pa-JAA-mas (the middle syllable sounds like the a in jam).

Ugh. My loving but woohoo-I’m-right husband thought the case was closed.

Today during a break at work, I polled co-workers about their pronunciation preference. Most agreed with my husband; one agreed with me. So I vowed to check out Merriam-Webster’s one more time, and it worked — on several levels.

P.J.'s, jammies, pajamas — Oh, my! (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/erix/4161088394/)

The first, most prominent sound button confirmed my suspicion: pa-JAH-ma (singular construction, mind you — the middle syllable sounds like the a in saw). The second, less-preferred sound button put forth pa-JAA-ma (again, sounds like jam).

One other tidbit I learned while researching the pajama dilemma: It can be a regional thing. My way (and the correct way, according to Merriam-Webster’s) is the Southeastern United States way to pronounce it. On the flip side, my husband’s pajama preference is popular in the Northeast U.S. and Great Lakes area, as well as the West Coast.

And that’s news to me, for sure. I wouldn’t have guessed that my preference is a Southern thing. Heck, lots of folks have mistaken me for an East Coaster, and I lived in sunny Cali for a spell. But after thinking about it, pa-JAA-mas does have a Southern ring to it. Interesting stuff.

Happy trails!

SAK