Bloody Well Write

So I’m now a tried-and-true 40-something (which, btw, reminds me of “Thirtysomething,” which was one of the best TV shows ever) and, in my entire life and career as a student, teacher, proofreader, editor, copywriter and marketer, I’ve never had to use a particular key on the keyboard — until now.

Why now, you ask? Because, dear readers, I have recently accepted a new position at a way-cool advertising agency in Haysville, Kan. That agency is Armstrong|Shank. And Armstrong|Shank has this quirky little stroke in its name: |.

I’d seen that stroke before at some point in my life. Surely (don’t call me Shirley) I had. At some point, right? But I’d never needed to use it. Again, until recently. So here’s the story.

I was corresponding with the higher-ups at the agency and wanted to use the agency name in an e-mail back to them. But where the heck was that mark? I searched throughout the Symbols field in Microsoft Word. Nope, not there. Perhaps next to the ampersand or plus sign along the top of the keyboard? Not there, either. Sheesh. So I copied and pasted the agency’s name — funny little line and all — from one of their e-mails to me back into an e-mail to send to them. Sneaky, huh?

Then I happened to see that same little sign on some new business cards being produced for work and asked a co-worker how the heck he made that little vertical line. Imagine my surprise/dismay/embarrassment when he showed me where it was — smack-dab on the right side of the keyboard. All I had to do was hold the Shift key and tap the Backward Slash key (granted, that’s another key I don’t use but once in a very blue moon).

So I recounted this story to my husband, and he said,” Well, sure. That’s the pipe.”

And then I mentioned it to a another writer who immediately said, “Yeah, that’s the pipe.”

What? I am the only adult around who’s never heard of this name? Good grief.

I’m guessing that I’m not alone in not knowing. But as with every situation in life, there’s always more to learn, so I’m passing along this little bit of keyboard wisdom to you — just in case you’re in my boat and not in the I-already-knew-that boat.

So — the vertical bar. It’s also widely known as “the pipe” (from Unix origins). It has a variety of applications, most of which are mathematical, computing and related to physics (thus three powerful reasons why I’m not familiar, if you get my drift). Since this is a grammar site rather than a mathematical one, I’m going to leave it at this: The vertical bar is a great tool to divide space or thought in a graphic, visual way. It can also be used as the symbol in the International Phonetic Alphabet to represent the place of articulation of dental clicks.

The more I learn ….

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

Nearing the end of the weekend and still plenty to do around the house, I thought you lovers of all things wordy would like this quick post. Or maybe not, depending on what I’m about to write. Either way, here goes.

You know that modern convenience at nearly every fast-food joint in town? That window — or two windows — that you zoom around a building to get to in order to pay dollars and cents in exchange for hot, often-fried, not-all-that-healthy food? Or the line that you wait in at the bank, trying to extract some cash from a tube that zips from you to a smiling attendant? Or the short line with a long wait at the local pharmacy?

Yeah, that thing that saves you time but wastes gas — that thing. That thing that offered me solace and at the same time gave me a sense of responsibility in my very first job at McDonald’s. That thing is technically called a drive-through window. Or a drive-up window.

Not a drive-thru window.

Only in Cali: This two-lane drive-through pulls double-duty for a Bank of America ATM and Starbucks window (photo: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Starbucks_and_
Bank_of_America_Drive_Through.jpg

Check out Merriam-Webster or Webster’s New World College dictionaries and you’ll see that I’m not just making it up to be difficult. I wouldn’t mind too much if thru were adopted as street-legal by either of these dictionaries. But alas, that day has yet to come, and so I stick to my guns and say to you: “Drive through the drive-through!”

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

OK, so my kids went as Dorothy and a witch (not The Witch) for Halloween, so I still have “Wizard of Oz” on the brain. But I think the title of the post works, so I’m going with it.

Widows and orphans — what are they in the world of writing? They are pesky little devils that rear their ugly little heads at the tail end of a writing project involving any amount of design thought. So what exactly do they mean?

A widow is a single word on the last line of a paragraph. It’s been hanging in there with all the other words, but it outlasted the rest. That’s how I remember it. It lived longer that all those other words that went before it. Clear as mud? Here’s a little graphic to explain:

__________________
__________________
__________________
_.

To some folks, that little word on its own line doesn’t mean anything more than whatever that word means. But to others (especially designer types), that lone word makes the overall impression of the paragraph a little lackluster. A little unkempt. A little sloppy. A little ewww.

An orphan is a single word on the first line of a second (or third or fourth or…) column. Some folks would consider an entire line of text shoved up to that second (or third or fourth or …) column an orphan. The point is that the lone word — or line — is hanging up there all by its lonesome. Again, a nonissue to some folks but a travesty to designer-types. Here’s another clarifying graphic:

_________________    _.
_________________
_________________   ______________
_________________   ______________.

In the second column, that little line with an ending period represents the orphan. And, like the widow, the orphan is the one left out in the cold, waiting for someone to keep it company.

How do I keep them straight? I think of the widow as the one outlasting all the other words that came before it in that column (or paragraph) of text; the orphan is alone but has its whole life in front of it (the following paragraph is full of words to keep it company).

And then there’s the rag: the ends of lines that constitute a paragraph. A rag is the ragged edge on the right side of the paragraph. If the paragraph formatting is right-justified or fully aligned, no rag is evident; but if the copy is left- or center-justified, that right edge will look as rough and ragged as can be (blurring your eyes can bring out the raggedness if you’re not used to looking for it). You want a graphic? You got it:

________________
____________
______________
_________________
__________
_____________

Those with an eye for design or readability (i.e., how easy it is to read the copy) will adjust the ragged edge by including either hard or soft returns, thereby bumping a word or words down to the next line. A lot of variables come into play, but the main goal is to keep the right edge looking relatively straight vertically, without big gaps between lines. To enhance the flow — the readability — of the copy, short words, such as I, a, it, is and to, numbers and symbols (e.g., @ and &) tend to be bumped down to the next line.

Adjusting the rag is often left up to designers, as most copywriters aren’t as interested in the function of the page as they are in the form of the words. What the words mean means more to them than how the words are read. However, copywriters worth their salt know that the easier it is for the reader to read the words, the more likely those words will get read. And more people reading those words makes copywriters happy campers, indeed.

Happy trails!

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

For all you lovers of all things short (and I’m referring to language, not to those under 5′3″, such as yours truly), here’s a short-but-oh-so-sweet entry about two abbreviations that are often confused with each other.

i.e., = in other words. OK, really it means id est (which roughly translates to that is) in Latin. Always (always!) use a comma after the second period and, yes, always use both periods (i.e.,). Use i.e., for anything that may need to be expanded upon in a slightly different way in order for your meaning to be clear:

• My dog (i.e., the fur ball who sleeps in the crook of my knee) needs a bath.
• That chocolate cake (i.e., the one to the left — not to the right — of the cookies) tastes great with raspberry sauce drizzled on it.
• Your friend (i.e., the flight attendant with the bouffant hairdo) gave me two bags of peanuts.

The words following i.e., are alternate descriptions of the thing that comes before i.e., and are not simply examples of the early word(s). In the third example, I specify which friend of yours I am referring to; I am not assuming that you only have one friend but that you have this one particular friend to whom I am referring.

We loved eating the fresh gelato (e.g., tiramisu, white chocolate, blueberry swirl) in Italy (i.e., Venice and Rome) (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/cote/4163592189/sizes/m/in/photostream/)

e.g., = for example. In Latin, that’s exempli gratia. Use e.g., (again, always with the periods and always with the comma) when you’re expanding your explanation with an example, rather than an alternate or more-defined description:

• I love just about every kind of ice cream (e.g., chocolate peanut butter, coffee, vanilla bean, banana chocolate, raspberry, mocha) that has ever been created.
• Do you like Italian food (e.g., Insalata Caprese, rigatoni, gelato)?
• Running can be difficult (e.g., going into the wind, running with blisters, jogging in high humidity).

The words following e.g., are examples of the thing that comes before e.g., and are not suggesting any sort of limitation. For example (oy!), there are many Italian dishes, but I mentioned only three foods as examples of Italian food.

One way to remember the difference between the two is that e.g., sounds like example, and i.e., and in other words both start with the letter i.

Or you could just memorize which is which and be done with it. Good times.

Happy trails!

SAK

I went to a Dave Matthews Band concert (my fourth) last night and, yes, they were as fantastic live as ever. So what does it have to do with language? Ooh, so glad you want to know.

Going to the show, I was thinking about different songs that I hoped the band would play. (”Long Black Veil” was on my list but didn’t make the lineup.) “One Sweet World” popped into my head. (But, alas, it didn’t get any stage time, either.)

Say “One Sweet World” without thinking about a yummy scoop — or bowl — of Ben & Jerry’s “One Sweet Whirled” ice cream; it can’t be done, at least not by me.

And then I thought, “Hey, that would make a great topic for a Bloody Well Write entry.” And so it begins.

So what’s this thing called wherein two words, such as world and whirled, sound alike but have different meanings, origins and (usually) spellings? They’re called homophones, my friends.

In a perfect world (and I use the term perfect extraordinarily rarely, as it’s the unicorn of language — it pretty much doesn’t exist), world and whirled would be pronounced slightly differently, with world having a deeper, rounder sound and whirled sounding a bit more forward in the mouth, sort of tinny. As I mentioned, though, this world is far from perfect and the vast majority of folks would agree that world and whirled sound alike.

Homophones are, in the English language, words that confuse English as a second language (ESL) folks and everyone else trying to expand vocabulary. You may have a particular homophone or two that still haunt you to this day. Have no fear that you’re alone in this matter, because you’re absolutely not. Here are just a few that I usually have to look up to be doubly sure that I’m using the correct word:

• Awful (not good)
• Aweful (full of awe)
• Cord (rope)
• Chord (musical tones)
• Disc (as in CD-ROM disc, videodisc, disc brakes)
• Disk (as in floppy disk, slipped disk)
• Forgo (to do without)
• Forego (to precede)
• Verses (paragraphs)
• Versus (against)

You get the idea, right? Homophones: fun with the confounding English language!

The connection with Ben & Jerry’s is that the Dave Matthews Band partnered with them back in 2002 to create a caramel and coffee ice cream concoction with marshmallows and caramel swirls, complete with coffee-flavored fudge chips in the shape of guitars. The bad news is that, as far as I can tell, this particular ice cream has been discontinued. Sniff.

The good news is that Ben & Jerry’s and the Dave Matthews Band are both, as ever, concerned with improving the environment and people’s lives. If you’d like to contribute to a cause near and dear to the band’s heart, visit The Bama Works Fund of Dave Matthews Band. Or keep eating Ben & Jerry’s other crazy-fantastic flavors and visit the company website to learn more about how the company works toward environmental health and peace and justice for all.

Happy trails!

SAK

Leave it to one-time vice-presidential-hopeful Sarah Palin to continually provide grammar fodder for the media, as well as for bloggers (such as yours truly), Facebook addicts and Twitter hounds alike.

This past Sunday, Palin tweeted the following:

“Ground Zero Mosque supporters, doesn’t it stab you in the heart as it does ours throughout the heartland? Peaceful Muslims, please refudiate.”

The popular assumption running around the Internet is that someone pointed the fact that “refudiate” isn’t a dictionary-recognized word out to Palin, who then deleted the first tweet and entered a new, presumably more-correct version:

“Peaceful New Yorkers, pls refute the Ground Zero mosque plan if you believe catastrophic pain caused @ Twin Towers site is too raw, too real.”

But the second version isn’t much better than the first — and that’s without even getting into the politics of what she’s trying, very unsuccessfully, to get across.

Palin was probably trying to use “repudiate” but may have been thinking about the word “refute” and, not fully comprehending (ahem) the distinction between the two, instead blended them into “refudiate.” Whether by accident or on purpose, the tweeted goof made far-reaching news and comedy gold.

Anyone taking wagers that Shakespeare is turning over in his grave right about now? (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/mrs_logic/3597539711/)

Let’s look at the three words:

Refudiate = Not a recognized word. (If you don’t believe me, check with Merriam-Webster or your favorite dictionary. It ain’t in there.)

Refute = According to Merriam-Webster’s online dictionary, the transitive verb means “to prove wrong by argument or evidence (show to be false or erroneous).” A secondary definition means “to deny the truth or accuracy of” something.

Repudiate = Also a transitive verb, “repudiate” has several meanings according to Merriam-Webster: “1) to divorce or separate formally from (a woman); 2) to refuse to have anything to do with; 3a) to refuse to accept; especially : to reject as unauthorized or as having no binding force; 3b) to reject as untrue or unjust; and 4) to refuse to acknowledge or pay.”

Take a look at the second tweet. Really, Palin should have chosen “repudiate” instead of “refute” because she’s urging New Yorkers to refuse to have anything to do with the possibility of a new cultural center (see the second “repudiate” reference).

OK, fine. So she screwed up and tried to fix it. That shows somewhat of a conscience, I suppose (but don’t quote me on that; it’s all I can do to refrain from saying what I really think of this tweeter). But then Palin tweeted yet a third time about the mistake:

“‘Refudiate,’ ‘misunderestimate,’ ‘wee-wee’d up.’ English is a living language. Shakespeare liked to coin new words too. Got to celebrate it!”

That hurt just copying and pasting.

I must say — and I quote the Bard himself — “the lady doth protest too much.” Good grief! Palin should not try to align herself with a master writer such as William Shakespeare. It’s just not believable, not on any account. She, like he? I think not. In the making-up-words category, Shakespeare can’t hold a candle to Palin.

If Palin wants to be a future presidential hopeful, she needs to ramp up her writing skills in a big, bad way because, as Bill wrote, “nothing can come of nothing.” And that’s saying something.

Happy trails!

SAK

Even though I’ve had my three packets of seeds for nearly two months, today was the day for me to finally decide to get them planted. So I did the momlike thing and showed my kids how to plant seeds in pots. I had chosen green onions, basil and cilantro.

While double-checking the back of the packets to ensure proper planting (and thus proper teaching), I read the description of cilantro and learned the difference between it and coriander. And I can admit that the packet’s definition didn’t line up with what I had thought the difference was.

I was under the apparently false assumption (and you know what that means) that cilantro is the name given to the herb when used in Mexican dishes and coriander is what it is called in Mediterranean dishes.

Nope.

Cilantro, according to the packet’s text, is the name given to the leaves of the plant.

Cilantro (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/dasqfamily/2648343226/)

Coriander is the name given to the seeds.

Coriander (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/spilt-milk/554209128/)

How’s that for a straightforward answer? Love it.

Happy trails!