Editrix

Why Editrix Has Disappeared

Two reasons:

1) I've run out of things to say about editing.

2) I'm pregnant, and it's hard to come up with new things to say about editing when you spend all of your free time sleeping or trying to keep from throwing up.

What, Pray Tell, Is a New Novel Flu Case?

One of my readers, Dawn, wrote me last week to complain about swine flu's new name -- and I'm not talking about "H1N1." She writes:

I happen to work at [a] state health department . . . and was puzzled when I received a press release sent to my work email with the title 'New Novel H1N1 Flu Cases Confirmed.' I'm sure you can see the source of my puzzlement - "new novel" - wtf?

As I told Dawn, "new novel" is definitely "wtf"-worthy. It's like saying, "I found an old, ancient turnip in the back of my fridge." I mean, why?

Frankly, I was annoyed enough when the CDC tried to change swine flu to H1N1, because at that point, all anyone had been hearing about was swine flu, swine flu, SWINE FLU for days on end, so it seemed a little late for rebranding. (Plus, swine flu is eight thousand times more memorable than H1N1, which has always sounded like a Star Wars character to me.) I didn't realize people were saying "novel H1N1 flu," though, much less "new novel H1N1 flu."

Dawn goes on to say:

Having been on something of the front lines of this over-hyped event, I know that it didn't take long before the "swine" in swine flu became a detriment to the pork industry. After that, our esteemed government officials began changing the name - Influenza A (oops, already have one of those), North American flu (too wordy), Mexican flu (bad for foreign relations), Spanish flu (already used in 1918) - clearly this is one aspect of the next pandemic for which there was no plan.

So, now they call it the "novel" flu virus. But, seeing as the word "novel" actually means "new," would you agree with me that then announcing to the world "new novel flu cases confirmed" sounds more like an actual new virus? I'm really just curious to get your take on this.

So, the problem may go deeper than (a) redundancy and (b) closing-the-barn-door-after-the-horse-ran-out branding. What we may have on our hands in an ambiguous phrase. "New novel flu cases confirmed" (or "new novel H1N1 flu cases confirmed") could be taken to mean that more people have come down with swine flu, but it could also mean that a new mutation of the swine-flu virus has been discovered.

No matter how you look at it, "new novel flu cases" is sickening.

P.S.: It occurs to me only now that the key may lie in the absence of a comma between "new" and "novel," which indicates that the two words could not have and put between them, and that the word novel is too closely tied to flu to ever be separated. Still, "new novel flu"? That can't be right.

"Grammar Nerds, Say 'What! What!' "

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Erin McKean on the Ham-Butt Problem

Lexicographer Erin McKean discusses the dictionary and, yes, the "ham-butt problem." 

P.S. Allow me to femme-out for a moment: Love her glasses, love her shoes, and love, love, love her dress.

"The Em-Dash Is Eating Semicolons for Breakfast"

In Standpoint magazine, Lionel Shriver laments that the em dash is usurping the semicolon. Does she hate the em dash? Not at all. In fact, she admits to using it "like many of [her] peers, often to excess." But she thinks: 

the abundance of em-dashes scoring - modern - writing - like - Morse - Code should surely be curtailed, if only to relieve the monotony. Since you can bung*  them in any old place, em-dashes are the resort of the lazy.

"Nevertheless," she writes, "can we resurrect the semicolon once in a while? . . . We writers stash few enough nuts and bolts in our toolbox; surely we can't afford to fling such an elegant punctuation mark in the bin."

I too used to think em dashes were the mark of lazy writing -- just as being overdressed for work is often the mark of being behind on your laundry ("It was either my wedding-and-funeral suit or my graduation gown") -- but I've since warmed up to them, partly because I grow slightly more descriptivist with every passing year, and partly because I can't stop using them myself (even in this sentence). Besides, so many people who've done "5 Questions with . . ." have called the em dash their favorite punctuation mark that I refuse to believe it is "the resort of the lazy." (On the other hand, Frank McCourt said, "I don't like dashes. They should be abolished," and he's Frank fucking McCourt. Who's going to argue with him?)

That being said, I've got nothing but love for the semicolon, and I'd hate for it to wind up in the punctuation ICU, where the en dash is already being zapped with a defibrillator. And there is something off about the examples Ms. Shriver provides of em-dash abuse:

"Other, more sane [sic] women would see this as a reason to get lost - I just view it as a challenge" . . . "Browsing for a book is not the same as going into a clothes shop - it is often a highly personal experience."

In these examples, the em dash makes me expect not a new independent clause but . . . well, something else:

Other, saner women would see this as a reason to get lost -- but not Sherri.

Other, saner women would see this as a reason to get lost -- to fake their own death and start a new life in Costa Rica.

So, that's a problem. 

What's more, the em dashes don't specify the relationship between the two independent clauses as well as other punctuation marks would:

Other, saner women would see this as a reason to get lost; I just view it as a challenge. (The semicolon gives you the contrasting power of "but" without the bulk of an unnecessary conjunction. It also lets you know that each half of the sentence carries the same weight.)

Other, saner women would see this as a reason to get lost: I just view it as a challenge. (The colon promises that more is to come, like a successful appetizer, or an exotic dancer who's unbuttoning her blouse.)

Other, saner women would see this as a reason to get lost. I just view it as a challenge. (The period is, like, thud. It's like, peace out, bitches; this sentence is done. Got a problem with that? Didn't think so.) 

Then again, maybe I'd think differently if I tended to connect independent clauses with em dashes. I mean, I use em dashes to set off inessential information all the time, and if somebody told me that was lazy, I'd tell them they needed to get laid.

* To my readers in the UK: Is "bung" as lewd as it sounds, or does it just mean "put"?

The colon can intimate what the em dash cannot.

5 Things I Learned from "The Subversive Copy Editor"

Every month, when Chicago e-mails me to let me know that its Q&A page has been updated, I gobble up the new info faster than the Redoubtable Mr. L— can eat a pan of brownies. (It won’t be long before we’re on a first-name basis with the people at the pet emergency room.) So, when I found out that Carol Fisher Saller, the woman behind the Q&A, had written a book, I knew I had to get it—immediately. It didn’t disappoint.

Here are five things her book, The Subversive Copy Editor, taught me:

1. I shouldn’t be so quick to change “dispositioning” to “disposing” or “precipitation event” to “rain” when I’m editing technical documents. Saller writes, “[M]ost writers are likely to be better acquainted than you are with the special readership of their work, and you would do well to think before you mess with their choices.” However, if I come across a newsletter article that says the company picnic was ruined by a precipitation event, I’m going to say instead that it was rained out, and I’m going to feel really, really smug about it.
2. Some changes are best made silently. If, for example, your author has used double spaces between sentences, you might consider turning off Word’s “track changes” feature, doing a global search and replace to change all double spaces to single spaces, and subtly pointing out what you’ve done (by, say, inserting a comment like this in the margin: “Changed double spaces to single throughout”). It’s been my experience that tracked changes can freak authors out. They see the markup, and they go to a shame-filled elementary-school place, a place with the smell of chalk dust and the creak of floorboards and the feel of sweat rolling down your back as you stand at the blackboard, trying to remember the past tense of “drag,” while your teacher stands behind you, tapping her palm with a ruler. (Just remember to turn track changes back on, of course. Trust me. That’s not an amusing mistake to make.)
3. Every editor makes mistakes, even Saller: “The only time I was able to make a mess of a manuscript without annoying the author was the time a severely dyslexic writer reviewed the editing and page proofs himself. Did I get away with murder? Not a chance. To my humiliation a reviewer wrote, “ ‘Finally, I must mention that this volume is poorly edited for a product from a major university press. Typographical errors and redundancies abound.’ ”
4. If you place your cursor on a lowercase word and hit SHIFT + F3, Word will put it into initial caps. Hit SHIFT + F3 again, and Word will put it in all caps. Hit SHIFT + F3 one more time, and the word will go back to lowercase. By highlighting a block of text before hitting SHIFT + F3, you can adjust the capitalization throughout. (Unfortunately, this trick doesn’t work in Word 2007, just older versions, which means I can do it at work but not at home. Lame!)
5. “Sleight of hand is the editor’s best tool.”

Good Punctuation Transcends Politics

Since Mr. K-- is busy grading finals tonight and doesn't have time to watch Dexter on Chinese YouTube with me, I've been keeping myself entertained by toodling around Slate. I came across this (admittedly old) article in which Bruce Reed mentions Supreme Court Judge John Roberts's passion for punctuation.

As proof, Yale professor Akhil Amar points to one line from a recent Roberts opinion: "The state did—nothing." Amar tells Greenhouse, "That little dash is brilliant."

I have to agree with Mr. Amar. Although I might have gone for ellipses instead, that's still a damn good em dash.

Mother's Little Helper

Note: I originally published this post in March of last year, but since today is Mother's Day (or, if Wendalyn Nichols had her way, "Mothers Day"), I thought it would be appropriate to dig it up, especially since the inventor of Mother's Day (Anna Jarvis, pictured at left) was a West Virginian, as am I. It's not often that a West Virginian is known for doing something good. More than likely, they're known for doing douchy stuff like this.

In the most recent issue of Copyediting magazine, Wendalyn Nichols takes as her subject the genitive case. (Don’t worry. I couldn’t remember what it meant either.) You can find explanations of the genitive case here or in Ms. Nichols’s article, “For Clarity's Sake” (subscription required), but for the purposes of this post, all you have to remember is this: a genitive ends in ’s or s’. For example, in the sentence My grandmother’s tattoo shocks everyone who sees it (i.e., my grandmother has a tattoo, and boy, is it shocking), grandmother’s is genitive. But in the sentence My grandmothers tattoo shocks everyone who sees it (i.e., I have a tattoo of various grandmothers, and boy oh boy, is it ever shocking), grandmothers is not genitive; it’s attributive.

So: Apostrophe = genitive. No apostrophe = attributive.

What’s intriguing about Nichols’s article isn’t just that she’s discussing the genitive case. What’s intriguing is that she takes issue with where the apostrophe is placed (or, in some cases, where it is not placed) in such widely used terms as Mother’s Day and (brace yourselves) the American Copy Editors Society. She posits that they should be Mothers Day (or Mothers’ Day) and American Copy Editors’ Society. I bring up her argument not because she agreed to do my “5 Questions with . . .” (though she did; thank you, Ms. Nichols!) but because I robustly agree with her. Only for me, it isn’t Mother’s Day that brings out my inner mommie dearest. It’s farmer’s market.

Every Saturday throughout much of the summer, a bunch of local farmers set up booths in the parking lot across from my town’s public library and sell fruits and vegetables. A few weeks before these gatherings start to take place, some City employee, I presume, hangs professionally printed banners on all of the streetlights downtown, to let people know what’s coming. Last year, they said, “FARMER’S MARKET.” The year before that, they said, “FARMERS MARKET” (more on that later).

Farmer’s market? You’ve got to be kidding me. A farmer’s market would consist of (A) one farmer selling fruits and vegetables in the parking lot, or (B) many people selling many things at an event run by one farmer (possibly a megalomaniacal farmer, one who runs the whole town and makes its citified, soft-handed inhabitants pay fealty to him—the universe’s answer to Old Man Potter).

At least you can make a strong case for farmers market. It has a precedent (e.g., Veterans Day, the aforementioned American Copy Editors Society, the commonly used visitors center, and—God help me—women fiddlers). Farmers market is not likely to confuse readers. Chicago admits that the line between the genitive and attributive forms is “sometimes fuzzy” and dispenses with the apostrophe only “in proper names (often corporate names) or where there is clearly no possessive meaning” (¶7.27). And, I suppose the farmers don't really possess the market.

In her article, Ms. Nichols justifies her championing of the genitive case this way:

Carefully observing the difference between an attributive and a genitive can help us make useful distinctions, subtly communicating a speaker’s stance toward a noun: the “cat hair” on my dress could have come from anywhere and distances me from the source of the hair, whereas “The cat’s hair gets everywhere” refers to a specific cat—my cat.

I agree. But if I were hard-pressed—and feeling particularly loquacious—I would justify my championing of the genitive case this way (which, I should point out, Ms. Nichols does, too): The genitive case shouldn’t be limited to expressions of ownership (the farmers’ tools = the tools of the farmers). It can also be used in such expressions as the farmers’ union (the union for farmers), the farmers’ pleas (the pleas put forth by farmers), and the farmers’ market (a market made up of farmers).

But the real, dig-down-deep, Judgment Day reason I agree with Ms. Nichols’s championing of the genitive case is this: kicking it attributive-school when the genitive school would work just as well makes my stomach feel as if I’ve just heard two cars collide in front of my apartment building; as if I’ve cleaned up my stack of unread New Yorkers only to discover that beneath them is a utility bill, now weeks past due; or as if I’ve forgotten to put a period after M.F.A., even though missing that kind of period isn’t nearly as alarming as missing the other kind of period, and even though missing either kind of period won’t precipitate the unraveling of the universe.

But, come to think of it, even Nichols green-lights Mothers Day in addition to Mothers’ Day, so maybe I’m being too stringent.

Ah, well. At any rate, surely we can all agree that men’s and women’s restrooms should not be labeled thusly, as they are in a building on my university’s campus. Nothing draws a bunch of grammar-types together like an editorial decision that is so crappy on so many levels (pun intended).

 

5 Questions with Kate Harding

Kate Harding writes for the Salon column “Broadsheet” and for the blog Shapely Prose. Her new book is Lessons from the Fat-o-Sphere.

 

Q: What is your preferred environment for writing?

 

A: Today is the first day in 2009 it’s been warm enough for me to write in my preferred environment: on my back porch. I really need a more comfortable chair out here, if not a proper desk, but I love sitting outside with my laptop. During the winter (which in Chicago, of course, is roughly October–May), I usually sit on the living room couch. I have a home office with a door and a desk and everything, but that’s become a repository for crap I can’t find space for anywhere else in the apartment, so it’s not the most welcoming environment. In the living room, I can sit in front of the fireplace and be slightly less miserable about being stuck inside, at least—even though I’m probably doing terrible things to my body by writing on the couch. 

 

Q: What punctuation mark are you fondest of?

 

A: Oh, lordy, the em-dash. I am a crazy em-dash enthusiast—or abuser, depending on how you look at it. (See what I did there?) When I started using WordPress as my blogging platform, I was bereft because the only way to type an em-dash in its WYSIWYG editor is to put two hyphens together, and the only way to do that is to leave spaces around them. (Otherwise, they’re automatically turned into a single hyphen.) The spaces drove me nuts at first, but now I’m used to them. I still want any purists reading to know I don’t actually believe they belong there, though. 

 

I will occasionally make use of a semicolon or parentheses instead, and I often find it’s good to remove a few gratuitous em-dashes before publishing, in the manner of removing a piece of jewelry before one leaves the house. But as someone who writes in a very conversational style and is prone to interrupting myself, I make em-dashes do a whole lot of work.

 

Q: What punctuation, spelling, grammar, style, or usage error annoys you the most?

 

A: You know, I do have an answer to this (or a few), but in recent years, I’ve been actively trying to be less of a jerk about other people’s writing issues. It finally dawned on me that all of it—grammar, spelling, punctuation—came so naturally to me, I can’t even take credit for whatever skills I may have. (And I should note that I just deleted a comment on my author blog that said something to the effect of, “For someone who talks so much about writing, your punctuation is terrible!” I have indeed gone a bit soft since I stopped copy editing for a living, but also, eff you, Jack. Knowing all the rules means you get to break ’em.) Also, we all make mistakes. I’m still mortified by the memory of getting back a paper (about 14 years ago, mind you) with a snotty comment from the prof, exhorting me to “look up the difference between ‘affect’ and ‘effect.’” BUT I DID KNOW THE DIFFERENCE! IT WAS A TYPO! YOU HAVE TO BELIEVE ME! WAAAAAH!

 

So, between my own fallibility as a grammarian and my recognition that I completely suck at basic skills other people take for granted—notably arithmetic—I finally decided to quit judging other people’s writing mistakes. Sure, seeing “definately” still elicits an involuntary cringe, but I am trying to be a bit more zen about it these days. (“FINITE!” Think “FINITE!”) 

 

Q: If you weren’t in your current line of work, what would you be doing instead?

 

A: Probably editing. I have never been good at a damned thing that didn’t involve words, and I’ve been quite lousy at a few things that did (e.g., public relations). I loved substantive editing, but I gave it up because it taxed the same parts of my brain I needed for my own writing, and I wasn’t yet ready to abandon the dream of being an author. Now that I am one, it remains to be seen whether I can continue to be one, let alone make a living at it. There might yet be more editing in my future—but as long as I can still sit on my porch wearing yoga pants and play with words all day, that would be just fine. (Please note that I do recognize how ludicrous it would be to cast editing as a stable and adequately remunerative alternative to pretty much any other profession. It’s all relative.) 

 

Q: Why do you write?

A: Because I don’t know how to stop. 

Read more "5 Questions with . . ."

Sounds Like a 1950s Horror Flick

In Copyediting magazine's "Dictionary Update," Grant Barrett writes:

zombie bank, noun. A bank that is continually near failure, especially one propped up by government assistance.

Zombie banks are being kept alive by Fed advances.

--American Banker, May 13, 1991

Zombie banks struggling with billions of bad assets could continue to exist, but do very little business for a long time.

--The Boston Globe, January 30, 2009

I find this zombie-as-adjective thing catchy. Since I finished reading this edition of "Dictionary Update," I've been zombifying everything: imagining zombie Facebook accounts, zombie girlfriends (which is totally what Julie turns into in the beginning of the second season of Friday Night Lights), and -- ahem -- zombie offices.