artful words

Articles

Commas around names:
Necessary or not?

Blurred background with nice purple commaDespite their demure demeanour, commas can be perplexing. They pop up where they’re not needed, and their absence can cause confusion and misreading. One source of uncertainty about commas is their use around names. Sometimes they are required and sometimes not, but once you understand the principles at play, you will find it easier to determine when to include them.

Commas are used around names in two main ways. The first is a comma of address, and it appears when a name or a noun or phrase that stands in for a name is used in a sentence. Here are a few examples.

It’s a pleasure to see you, Emily.
Dear lady, can you help me?
It is clear, Irene, that our adventures are just beginning.

As the first two examples show, only one comma is needed when the name or phrase appears at the start or end of the sentence. If it occurs elsewhere, however, it is separated from the rest of the sentence by a pair of commas.

While the comma of address might seem like a petty point of punctuation, it can be necessary to establish clarity. Compare the following two statements.

I don’t know, Dorothy.
I don’t know Dorothy.

In the first instance, the comma before ‘Dorothy’ shows that she is the person being addressed. I am telling Dorothy that I don’t know something. In the second case, where no comma appears, Dorothy is the object of the sentence. She is the thing I don’t know. The presence or absence of the comma of address alters the meaning of the sentence. That is why it is vital to understand when and how to use it. Fortunately, it is easy to learn this.

If someone or something is being addressed in a sentence, then a comma or pair of commas is necessary. But if someone or something is the object of the sentence—the thing to which an action is done—then no commas are required.

The second way that commas can appear around names is in an appositive sense. Grammatically, an appositive is a noun or phrase that gives additional information about another noun or phrase in the same sentence and serves the same function as it. The information can be essential or extra, and this is what determines whether or not commas are needed.

If the information is essential, no commas are necessary.
If it is extra, it needs commas.

Think of it like this: essential information must be part of the sentence in order for the meaning to be conveyed. Extra information can be removed from the sentence, and the meaning would remain the same. The bit that is extra, but not essential, gets framed by commas.

Let’s see how this rule relates to names.

Author Bella Li won the prize for poetry with her book Argosy.
A published poet, Bella Li, will be in attendance.
My sister Leanne loves lemurs.
My brother, Bertie, bites bananas.

The name ‘Bella Li’ is essential information in the first example. Without it, the sentence reads as ‘Author won the prize for poetry’. Not very meaningful. In the second sentence, the subject is ‘A published poet’, and the name of the poet is an extra detail. As such, it is enclosed by commas. If the name were removed, the sentence would still make sense: ‘A published poet will be in attendance.’

In the final two examples, the use of commas may seem inconsistent. Why should Bertie get them around his name when Leanne does not for hers? The answer, as before, is that ‘Leanne’ is essential information and ‘Bertie’ is extra.

The absence of commas from the phrase ‘my sister Leanne’ means that I have more than one sister, so it is essential that I use her name in the sentence to identify which of my sisters loves lemurs. In contrast, the commas around ‘Bertie’ indicate that the information being given is the same as in the noun phrase ‘My brother’ that is appositive to it. By saying ‘My brother’ and ‘Bertie’, I am repeating the same thing, and I am also signalling that I have only one brother.

Just in case this is all sounding too straightforward, let me point out that distinguishing the essential from the extra is not always simple. Returning to the first of our examples above, we may ponder whether a comma is required before the title ‘Argosy’. On the one hand, the sentence ‘Author Bella Li won the prize for poetry with her book’ is arguably meaningful. The title could be considered as extra information, thus requiring a comma to be added before it. But don’t we need to know what book won? Wouldn’t that make the title essential information?

Furthermore, using the same logic as we applied in the last two examples, the omission of the comma suggests that Argosy is not Bella Li’s only book. (It’s not, as it happens.) If it were, the terms ‘book’ and ‘Argosy’ would mean the same thing, and a comma would be required to separate them.

So is the comma before the title necessary or not?

I leave that for you to decide, my friends, with a gentle reminder that although punctuation is often prescriptive and sometimes perplexing, it is also more subjective than you might think.

Now it’s your turn…

Do you get confused about when to use commas around names? Has this article helped to clarify your understanding? Would you put the comma before ‘Argosy’ or not?

Consistency, repetition and difference: A dance with language

The feet of a dancer under a swirling, bright pink skirtArtful writing is like a dance. There’s a rhythm and a deftness to it, a blend of temptation and respect. It requires attunement to certain textual nuances, among which are consistency, repetition and difference. Achieving a balance between these seemingly contradictory but in fact complementary qualities can help enliven your writing, enabling you to engage with your readers in creative ways.

Consistency

An essential task for any copyeditor or proofreader is to achieve consistency in a document. This ranges from maintaining the same spelling for individual words to ensuring a harmonious tone of voice throughout. Both author and editor need to be clear about the direction and intention of a text so that a coherent message is shared. Consistency is also important in terms of the structure of a manuscript. The aim is to create a considered container in which your ideas can flourish.

These issues of consistency matter not only because they are pleasing in themselves, but also because they afford a more assured experience. By smoothing away any potential concerns about errant spelling or uneven pacing, you allow your readers to give their full attention to the meaning you are seeking to convey. They can absorb the information, enjoy the artistry of your words and appreciate the care you have taken, rather than being distracted by needless niggles.

Instilling consistency in your work is a way of demonstrating respect, both for your reader and for your work, and it is a vital part of being an artful writer.

Repetition

Repetition can be effective. Repetition lends emphasis. Repetition gives rhythm and form to your writing. But employed without thought, repetition risks becoming rather dull. Using the same word or phrase again and again and again may end up sounding insipid. Likewise, a sequence of sentences that have a similar beginning may indicate a lack of imagination at play. Even echoing the same pattern or length in sentence after sentence can make your writing seem clumsy.

The trick is to distinguish between repetition as a deliberate device and the less conscious habit of relying on familiar—if somewhat dusty—utterances. In this regard, it is wise to become aware of the terms and sayings that you frequently use. You may want to search for them in your document and try an alternative form of expression instead.

It is important to note here that repetition and consistency are not the same. Although alike in some ways, they serve different purposes and accomplish different ends. Consideration of both is necessary, and the two need to tango to let your words flow.

Difference

While the distinctions between consistency and repetition may be subtle, difference is outright contrary. That’s why it can be so striking. It shows up in writing in various ways: from the sudden, short sentence that interrupts a run of longer ones, to the unexpected flip in perspective that sparks in your second last paragraph.

An astute use of difference can be your mark as a writer, whether in your choice of vocabulary and themes, or through the unique voice you espouse. It adds interest, piquancy and depth to your texts, but it too must be applied with care. Too radical a departure from your tone or argument can disorientate your readers. Instead, be selective and implement difference to indicate significance.

Dancing with language

Consistency, repetition and difference are qualities that can either enhance or detract from your writing. They are features I search for and sense in a text, and I encourage you to do the same—in your own work as well as that of other authors. As you become more aware of the effects they confer, you can use them with greater sophistication.

Circling back to the idea of the dance, your role as a writer is to tune in to the essence of each, to feel into the patterns they present, and to bring all three into harmony to entice your readers to glide, sway and whirl with you and your artful words.

Now it’s your turn…

Are you conscious of consistency, repetition and difference in your own work? Do you use each of these thoughtfully? Which of the three do you believe presents the greatest challenge or opportunity in your writing?

Photo by Saksham Gangwar on Unsplash

The question you will ask yourself

Wooden bridge over riverSo here we are, at the beginning of a fresh new year. Let’s start it artfully with a bit of poetry. I found this poem in Cate Kennedy’s collection The Taste of River Water (Scribe, 2011), and it has lingered in my mind. It’s called ‘Makeover’.

The one certainty is that whatever you want to reveal
will be covered in lead-based paint.
When you apply the heat gun
it smells like the fumes could kill you.

Sometimes you find your eyes fill with tears,
your head spinning with nauseating stars;
after a while your hand aches
just with scraping.

Re-entering the room,
you stop in your tracks
think: is this it?

Occasionally your hand (the muscles remembering)
will sweep over it gently
and there will be a residue, flakes of paint.
You’ll have to live with it now.

So step back and get it in perspective
get a hammer and nail and hang a picture there
or just keep banging until
you knock your way into another room.

Is there natural light?
Could you make a home here?
That’s the question you will ask yourself,
standing ghostly with plaster dust
absently swinging your hammer, a great new idea
suddenly occurring to you.

Much of the beauty of poetry lies in its inspired use of language, but its potency also resides in its capacity to offer us a slantwise insight into the world both around and within us. That’s how this poem is for me. While it is ostensibly about the process of home renovation, I read it as an analogy for writing.

It begins with the idea of what we want to reveal. This is sometimes clear to us when we write, but it might be buried in convoluted expression. At other times, we know what we hope to disclose, but we’re terrified of sharing it. And then there are times when it is only by burning away the “lead-based paint” that we can discover what our writing is truly about.

Whichever version of this may be present for you, working through it could cause your eyes to “fill with tears” and your head to spin with “nauseating stars”. Your hand—and sometimes also your heart—will ache with the scraping.

Later, when reading back over your writing, you may well wonder “is this it?”, and of course, you will still feel under your fingertips the slightly gritty bits where your words are not as poetic or precise as you’d like. But if you’ve taken the adventurous step of sharing what you have written, then perhaps you’ll just “have to live with it now”.

It’s this next part of the poem that I like the most: the advice to “step back and get it in perspective”.

Whether in our writing or our lives, it is through dedication to details that we are able to create works of artistry and delight. However, keeping our attention fixed on minutiae can cause us to miss the broader context. In this case, it could be that some deft decoration will improve your outlook. Or, as the poem suggests, the composition that currently leaves you feeling less than inspired might be the starting point for something new.

The question at the crux of this—of the poem, of your writing, and maybe even of this year—is “Could you make a home here?” Could you, after pursuing the exacting and exhilarating journey of creation, regardless of your satisfaction with the outcome, go through it again?

Of course you could.

How else can you honour that “great new idea / suddenly occurring to you”?

Now it’s your turn…

What is your interpretation of Cate Kennedy’s poem? What other poems speak to you of the pleasures and difficulties of writing? What great idea—old or new—will guide and inspire your work and your words this year?

Owning your writing

Cup of tea on a windowsillWhat does it mean to achieve mastery? What are its qualities, and what responsibilities does it bring? When do you get to call yourself an artist? Does the affirmation—and indeed declaration—of this come from without or within?

These are some of the questions I pondered with a friend over a late breakfast one rainy day. It was a deep conversation, rich in digressions and connections, but one point she raised lit the spark for this article.

Do you own your writing?

Interestingly, my friend and I had different interpretations of this question. While notions of ownership often relate to intellectual property and copyright, our discussion did not venture in those directions, and neither does this article.

Rather, my friend recalled that she first heard the query in a writing course, where she understood it to refer to the language and stance that are present in a text. “Owning”, in this sense, means constructing clear, definitive sentences with no vacillation or equivocation, no might or may or could or should.

This is certainly a valid reading of the idea, and it may, if adopted, result in a more robust approach to writing. But as the preceding sentence shows, sometimes allowing a hint of doubt can be effective and even necessary.

Unusually, perhaps, for an editor, my perspective on the idea of owning one’s writing is less about the words themselves and more about an attitude of assurance and authority.

It’s how you feel about your writing and your identity as a writer.

To own your writing, in this view, means taking care in its formation and feeling pride in its creation—regardless of how it is received. It implies a readiness to express your truth, a respect for your contribution, and a recognition of your unique vision.

Threading back to the exchange my friend and I shared, another aspect of owning your writing may be a desire to seek mastery, when you know your work is good but believe it can be better. Conversely, mastery may also be at play if you discern your words could be improved yet feel content with how they are.

Either way, owning your writing and having integrity as a writer may well be the marks of an artist.

This all sounds grand, but how can you purposely own your writing?

As with many things, it comes with practice. You start by writing badly, and then you write better. You learn to use your voice and discover what you want and need to say. You figure out when to seek feedback and how to receive it, listening judiciously to others and knowing that ‘yes’, ‘no’, ‘maybe’ and ‘thanks’ are all appropriate responses. It is by reflecting on your writing and defending your choices as an author that you take greater ownership of your work.

Most importantly, you need to know yourself as a writer and become (if only a little) more comfortable using that title. Some of you might already be at ease with this while others are still exploring their way towards it.

Regardless of your position, I invite you to consider what owning your writing means to you and how it applies in your life. It can be a powerful concept to adopt, affording you more certainty and confidence.

And it’s definitely worthwhile discussing it with an insightful friend over breakfast.

Now it’s your turn…

Do you own your writing? What is your interpretation of this question? How do you enact this idea?

Artists need editors too

Sticks of coloured chalk pastelsI have such admiration for artists. Painters, illustrators, photographers, sculptors, musicians, designers, dancers, and more: they all reflect and refract the world through their work, providing us with insight, delight and occasionally a new perspective on life.

Yet, like writers, artists sometimes need editors too.

A large—and sometimes unwelcome—part of being an artist today is the necessity to promote oneself and one’s work. In addition to dedicating themselves to their practice, artists must also compose copy for their websites, engage with social media, apply for grants and residencies, craft clever statements about their inspirations and intentions, summarise their lives into pithy bios, and explain themselves and their work in essays, articles and interviews.

Most of these activities involve writing of some kind and all require a proficiency with language.

For some creative people, writing is simply another form of art, as enjoyable and innate as their primary practice. For others, however, it is far from their preferred medium, and the process of translating thoughts into words can be daunting.

Artists impart their vision through their art,
but sometimes they need help with their written expression.

Often in their writing, artists are trying to turn the cryptic into the concrete. It doesn’t always succeed.

Sometimes what is written about art—by artists and critics alike—is so convoluted and abstruse that it is almost incomprehensible. This may, on occasion, be a deliberate device to demonstrate the complexity of the concept or the erudition of the author, but it is of little use if the meaning is rendered unintelligible.

At other times, the difficulty lies in simply framing a clear statement. Ungainly phrases struggle to convey intangible ideas and elusive truths, and again the meaning is lost. This is especially problematic when artists seek to convince judging panels through written submissions that their art is worthy of recognition or funding. If the panel members can’t make sense of what they are reading, they are unlikely to view the application favourably, regardless of how much merit it might have.

The key for artists, and for all astute writers, is to use words that are considered, creative, precise and persuasive, which of course is easier said than done.

It takes effort to achieve such artful writing, and it’s not a skill every artist wishes to develop. Nor do they need to.

If you are an artist, then rather than worrying about where the full stops go or doubting your chance to get that grant because you are not confident with your written expression, a better approach is to find a sympathetic editor who can help you communicate your intention clearly and effectively. It won’t relieve you of the need to wrangle your tangled thinking into words, but it will mean that ones you produce are more purposeful and professional.

That way, you can go back to doing what you love, and we can enjoy your wonderful creations.

Now it’s your turn…

Do you struggle with writing as an artist? Have you ever asked a language expert for help? What do you wish you understood better, in order to improve your written expression?