On Rules and Punctuation

“I love rules precisely because they make transgression possible.” ~François Camoin (“The Texture of Fiction”)

A Stickler for Punctuation Rules?

Many people have noted the contradictory nature of the two main aspects of my professional life. I am, on the one hand, a diligent technical/academic editor and proofreader who is a stickler for grammar and punctuation rules. In fact, I still hear my high school English teacher’s voice in my head when I write (and when I edit). She was a stickler for rules, a prescriptivist all the way–a turnoff for some students but not for me.

On the other hand, in my creative writing pursuits, I love to bend the rules, break them, throw them about. This experimentation is, of course, done with a firm (or sometimes intuitive) understanding of why I’m doing what I’m doing. It is, to paraphrase Camoin, the acceptance of rules that makes the twisting of them possible.

So, these two seemingly opposite poles are not really that different after all. Technical editing and experimental writing both involve the understanding and, I would argue, the manipulation of rules, including punctuation rules.

It’s All Manipulation of Rules

Manipulation generally has a negative connotation, often meaning something dishonest; but writing–communication, in general–is really all manipulation. I don’t mean that in an undesirable way, though. It’s just a fact. When you ask someone for a favor, for example, you phrase it in a way that will hopefully get you a positive response.

This is how communication works. You make rhetorical choices–which includes word choices and grammatical choices–that fit your intent. Doing so is not in and of itself dishonest. The act of writing is, in fact, a series of choices. To that end, “rules,” as in grammar and punctuation rules, are not always rules that a writer must follow but, instead, guidelines to help lead the writer to a successful end product.

But it’s, of course, not as simple as that.

I recently read the book Semicolon: The Past, Present, and Future of a Misunderstood Mark by Cecilia Watson, a book I thoroughly enjoyed. I had checked it out of the library and was amused to find that a person who had borrowed it before me had left several post-it notes within the pages, disputing some of the author’s punctuation and grammatical choices. The note-leaver was not wrong; and, in fact, I would love to know who they were so that I could talk to them because–well–prescriptivist grammar nerds unite!

Writing as a Series of Choices

Grammar, though, as I’ve noted, is about choice (regardless of what you may have been taught in school). As an editor, I make a series of choices when editing a client’s work. While some choices are more subjective than others, the ultimate goal is clarity and readability.

I generally leave a lot of comments for my clients, explaining my changes. They, then, have the choice as to whether to accept or reject my edits. True to form, the note-leaver of my borrowed copy of Semicolon did tend to leave specific reasons on their sticky notes as well (not in all cases but in quite a few). Some of the notes were detailed enough to convince me, but in most cases, Watson’s punctuation was still appropriate; it just may not have been the choice that I would have made. Or the choice that the note-leaver would have made.

I am well aware of the limitations of grammatical prescriptivism. In teaching English to nonnative speakers, which I did for quite a few years, one learns to accept or disregard errors that don’t impede meaning. Furthermore, what is or becomes acceptable is always changing. I recognized that as a student; I recognized it as a teacher; and I recognize it now as an editor and proofreader. Like in most fields, one has to keep up with changes–through conferences, regular research, etc. I’ve written before about the use of third-person singular “they,” and just the other day, a peer shared this article noting that the APA (American Psychological Association) style guide has now (or with the publication of the seventh edition) officially accepted the singular “they.”

I was not taught by my high school English teacher to use the singular “they.” I was taught, instead, to avoid it. (Incidentally, I was also taught to avoid passive voice, which I’m well aware I just used for three sentences in a row.) But the use of the singular “they” has become increasingly necessary for inclusivity. Clarity and readability are important in writing, but inclusivity is just as important. It’s a matter of recognizing your audience. Considering your audience is one of the first rules in any form of communication.

Rule Masters, Rule Lovers

In Semicolons, Watson refers to rule “Masters.” She writes: “These rule lovers possess an innate understanding of the proscriptions provided by rules; they like rules because the rules give words to, and validate, an instinctive understanding of usage that the rule lover already has” (p. 100). Like Watson, I might have considered myself this kind of “Master” at one point. I see erroneous punctuation marks on signs in public places or on menus and I break into hives [not really, of course].

But also like Watson, when I was teaching students to become better writers, I found that spewing grammar and punctuation rules at them wasn’t always helpful. People don’t learn to write well by memorizing rules. People learn to write well by understanding the basic tenets of communication and developing a sense of style–their own voice, their own way of communicating. It’s important to learn certain rules, of course, but the rhetorical application of rules is, perhaps, more important.

But how does one learn to use grammar rhetorically, i.e., effectively and persuasively? The “simple” answer: through study and practice, which, of course, is not simple at all but is, instead, a whole lot of work.

Punctuation as Serious Business

Those of us who do have particular tastes when it comes to punctuation generally take the placement of said punctuation quite seriously. I will debate the proper use of a comma or semicolon when needed. I have. Many times. I love punctuation discussions and enjoy learning about others’ reasoning for a particular placement. That is to say, I know my own limits (i.e., I’m not always right (*gasp*)). I’ve studied The Chicago Manual of Style at length, but I don’t have it memorized. A big part of my profession is reviewing style guide rules and keeping up with the changes (in the style guides and in language itself). As a writer and an editor, I place my punctuation with intent and thought. It’s serious business!

In my creative work, I am equally purposeful in my punctuation, even when I’m experimenting with form, structure, and syntax. In Semicolons, Cecilia Watson notes that when Henry James granted his first interview in 1915, he “spoke ‘with much consideration’ and asked that ‘his punctuation as well as his words should be noted'” (p. 151).

I feel you, Henry James.

Those of us who obsess over comma placement want our punctuation to be noted. Usually, at least. There have been times when I’ve put in a comma, taken it out, put it back in, again and again, deliberating at length. Those are the times when I hope no one will say something like, “I wouldn’t have put a comma there.”

An interesting activity for an editor is to listen to someone read their work while you follow along in the text. The use of space (especially in creative work, e.g., poetry, fiction) can be used like punctuation. That is to say, line breaks, paragraph breaks, and other space-creating methods should be purposeful. I’ve read novels without any paragraph or chapter breaks. The lack of breaks is purposeful.

Form and content should complement each other. Thus, when I’ve heard people read their work and gloss over breaks or create breaks that aren’t physically in the text, I sometimes question why. Certainly, performance can account for some of that. But it makes me wonder if they’re aware of how or why they’ve written something the way they’ve written it. This is why I absolutely love Henry James’ assertion of noting his punctuation while he spoke. Punctuation is serious business.

According to Watson, David Foster Wallace was quite cognizant of his punctuation also. Watson writes that “[Wallace] read his punctuation aloud along with the words, because he put those punctuation marks in his writing for a reason” (p. 171).

It’s About Style, Not Punctuation

With many things in life, we adjust to our shortcomings. I know people who don’t feel comfortable using semicolons; therefore, they just don’t use them. With a mark like a semicolon, though, it’s pretty easy to get by without it. The comma, though–not so much. Watson writes that she once “gave up using the dash for Lent” and “wore out [the] backspace key sticking to [her] resolution” (p. 154).

Similarly, a number of years ago, I noted how much I used the semicolon, which, in full transparency, really is one of my favorite punctuation marks. After becoming aware of this, I made a conscious effort to use it less. It wasn’t that I was using it incorrectly (trust me–I wasn’t!), but my use often created choppiness in my prose. The semicolon, after all, is more of a pause than a comma (or colon) is but less of a pause than a full stop. Using it less often created a better flow in my prose, which, in turn, created better readability.

This change–or adaptability?–is about style, not punctuation rules. One can memorize the rules and use punctuation correctly, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that they are using the punctuation most effectively. A semicolon can create pause in some instances, but it can also help with flow and movement in others. It all depends on how or why it’s being used.

Pacing in any kind of writing is important, and punctuation (and space) is a part of that pacing. Watson writes that the “semicolon represents a way to slow down, to stop [without stopping completely], and to think; it measures time more meditatively than the catchall dash, and it can’t be chucked thoughtlessly into just any sentence in place of just any other mark. Even a semicolon that creates a quickness in prose . . . requires time and thought to orchestrate” (p. 155).

Rules Schmules

“Rules” are not strictly “rules” but guidelines, a basis from which to start. Yes, it is important to know how to use punctuation properly–to understand why you’ve used a comma here or a semicolon there. Memorization of rules alone, though, will not make you a better writer. It’s the application of those rules, the understanding of them and how they affect the prose, that makes a difference. That, in my opinion, is why learning to become a better writer is so difficult. There are so many facets to writing. It’s a continual process and involves studying others’ writing as well as one’s own. The process also involves understanding the evolution and change of language itself. You might learn something (e.g., to put two spaces after end punctuation) only to wake up one day and find that that “rule” has become antiquated.