A Dash of Style (4 page)

One must also consider the line breaks here. The line break in poetry is the invisible pause, and might be considered stronger than a comma, yet not quite as strong as a semicolon. Sometimes poets play against this pause, breaking a line where seemingly there should be no break —but even in such case it is deliberate. The line break is an amazingly subtle device, suggesting a pause instead of demanding one. In the hands of the right poet, the line break can help to emphasize a word or idea at the end of one line before rushing to the next; it can offer a moment of reflection. Sometimes that moment will be great, while at others it will suggest only the slightest of pauses. Shakespeare, of course, wrote mostly in iambic pentameter, so for him the line breaks took on extra significance; some Shakespeare scholars insist that line breaks are also clues for actors, demanding they take a beat.

For Shakespeare, sentence length was not about a single thought: it was about the context of the paragraph (or stanza), the context of the moment in the play, the context of the scene, and the context of the thought process of the character. Shakespeare was good enough to hold an entire play in his head at once, and to consider the effect the placement of a period could have on a period he'd placed two thousand lines before. He was truly a master of context.

(Keep in mind, though, that analyzing Shakespeare's punctuation is also problematic: it is, at best, a guess. While this example comes from the authoritative Riverside edition, there is no definitive source that proves precisely what Shakespeare's original punctuation was.)

WHAT YOUR USE OF THE PERIOD REVEALS ABOUT YOU

Often it's hard for a writer to take a step back and gain true objectivity on his own work. Punctuation, though, never lies. Whether you like it or not, punctuation reveals the writer. Analyzing your punctuation forces you to take a step back, to gain a bird's-eye view of your own writing. It reveals a tremendous amount about your style, and about your approach to writing.

Let's take a step back now and gain that bird's-eye view. We will listen to the punctuation —not the content—and let it tell us its story. It always has a good story to tell.

The writer who overuses the period (creating consistently short sentences) tends to be action oriented. He is fast paced and keeps readers in mind, as he strives to grab their attention and keep the work moving. This is to his benefit. Unfortunately, he is also likely to have not yet developed a good ear for language, for the subtleties of sentence length, style, rhythm, and pitch. This writer is impatient; he is too desperate to grab the reader, and resorts to a quick-paced style to do so, rather than crafting content that is inherently dramatic. He needs confidence, and indeed is probably young in his career. He will more likely be a commercial writer, more interested in plot than characterization, and might hail from a journalistic background, or at least be an avid reader of newspapers and magazines.

The writer who underuses the period (creating consistently long sentences) falls into two categories: either he is an amateur who thinks in an uncensored, chaotic manner, or he is a seasoned writer who crafts too-long sentences deliberately. If the latter, he is likely to be literary, to take chances and aspire to create rich prose. This bodes well. Unfortunately, though, he is also too focused on word craft, likely at the expense of pacing and plot. Indeed, he writes more for himself than for readers, which can lead to self-indulgence. He is likely to be too stylized, even lean toward pretentiousness. He is also likely to use advanced words for their own sake, and to rely too heavily on colons and semicolons (more on this later).

EXERCISES

Throughout the book I will give you exercises that enable you to experiment with sentence construction. What you are really experimenting with is different approaches to writing, which in turn will spark different ways of thinking and even creative ideas. The ramifications should lead far beyond the sentence itself.

Let's grapple with the period, and see how it can influence your writing.

• Start a new novel (or short story), and let the opening sentence run at least one page long. Where does this lead you? How did you compensate? Did you find a new narration style? Did not stopping allow you more creative freedom? Can you apply this technique elsewhere in your writing?

• Start a new novel (or short story), and don't let any sentence run more than six words. Where does this lead you? How did you compensate? Did you find a new narration style? Did the constant stopping allow you more creative freedom? Can you apply this technique elsewhere in your writing?

• Imagine a character who thinks in long sentences. Who would this be? Why would he think this way? Capture his viewpoint on the page, using long sentences. Do the long sentences help bring out who he is? Do they make the text feel one and the same with the character? Can you apply this technique elsewhere in your writing?

• Imagine a character who thinks in short sentences. Who would this be? Why would he think this way? Capture his viewpoint on the page, using short sentences. Do the short sentences help bring out who he is? Do they make the text feel one and the same with the character? Can you apply this technique elsewhere in your writing?

• Choose a short sentence from your work, ideally one already in a cluster of short sentences. Find a way to make it longer without combining it with the material preceding or following it—in other words, add to the idea in the sentence. See how far you can stretch it. Could there be any more to this idea before you go on to the next sentence? Are you harvesting individual sentences for all they're worth? Can you apply this technique elsewhere in your work?

• Choose a series of short sentences from your work, possibly in an area where you feel the
action moves too
quickly. Combine two sentences, adding material to each if need be. Then combine three. How does it change the flow of the paragraph? Of the scene? What do you gain? Can you apply this technique elsewhere in your work?

• Choose a long sentence from your manuscript, ideally one already in a cluster of long sentences. To decide if it needs shortening, consider the following: Does it comprise several ideas? Is it hard to grasp? Is it hard to catch one's breath? Does its length match other sentence lengths? Find a way to shorten it, without combining it with the material in the sentence preceding or following it. How much can you shorten it? Was there any extraneous material here? Can you apply this technique elsewhere in your work?

• Choose a series of long sentences from your manuscript, ideally in a place where the pace slows. Choose two sentences with similar ideas and find a way to combine them, shortening each in the process. Now try it with three sentences. What did you have to sacrifice in order to combine them? How does it change the flow of the paragraph? Of the scene? What do you gain? Can you apply this technique elsewhere in your work?

• Choose a paragraph where all of the sentences are of drastically varying length. Adjust the sentences (by either shortening or lengthening) to make them all of uniform length. How does it read now? What do you gain by this? What do you lose? Can you apply this technique elsewhere in your work?

• Choose a paragraph where all of the sentences are of uniform length. Adjust the sentences (by either shortening or lengthening) to make the sentence lengths radically contrast with one another. How does it read now? What do you gain by this? What do you lose? Can you apply this technique elsewhere in your work?

• Take all the principles you've just learned, and apply them to any page in your manuscript. First read it aloud, focusing on how the sentences read individually and on whether any feel too long or short. Use the principles you've learned to identify sentences that will need shortening or lengthening. If you can fix them by simply using a period, great. If you'll also need to employ a comma, semicolon, colon, or other marks, then read on.

THE COMMA
IS the speed bump of the punctuation world. With its power to pause, the comma controls the ebb and flow of a sentence, its rhythm, its speed. Based on frequency alone, the comma wields tremendous influence, outnumbering the period by at least three to one, and outnumbering other punctuation marks by at least five to one. And yet, paradoxically, it is also the mark most open to interpretation. The comma has few hard rules, and as a result is the mark most often misused.

The comma can be used to divide. "The word comma is derived from Greek
komma
(clause), which came from
koptein
(to cut off). Indeed, a comma normally does 'cut off' one part of a sentence from another," says Harry Shaw says in
Punctuate It Right!
In this sense, the comma can control meaning itself, since the same sentence cut in different ways takes on entirely new meaning.

Yet the comma can also connect. Two sentences can become one by virtue of a comma, and a sentence can be made longer in its own

right by tacking on a comma. In this capacity, the comma is a people person, a middleman. It likes to be connected, and to make connections. Both divider and connector, the comma is schizophrenic.

The comma is supremely important if for no other reason than its relationship to the period. Without the comma, the period is often left in the cold, waiting at the end of a long sentence without a rest stop. To grasp the comma's influence, imagine a long sentence without any commas:

A sentence like this without any commas makes it nearly impossible for the reader to know when to pause if not when to stop and also makes him feel as if the period cannot come soon enough indeed should have come several moments ago.

You have to reread it several times just to figure out its natural rhythm and grasp its meaning. Why would you, as a writer, want to make the reader work twice as hard? With the proper use of the comma, you won't have to.

HOW TO
USE
IT

The comma is probably the hardest of all punctuation marks to master. Not only is it the most flexible, not only are its uses the most varied, but it also carries few rules and has been used (and not used) by great authors in many different ways.

That said, you can learn to master the comma. Its creative uses are many, and they must each be examined carefully:

• To connect. The comma can connect several half ideas (or clauses) into one grand idea (the sentence). It is the glue that holds a sentence together. If a short sentence is lacking in fullness of

meaning, a comma can step in to connect it to the sentences that follow:

I sat on a bench. I opened my book. I removed the bookmark.

I sat on a bench, opened my book, and removed the bookmark.

The commas here have connected three infantile sentences into one more elegant sentence.

• To provide clarity. If a sentence conveys several ideas, a comma can help distinguish them. Without a comma, you risk readers reading from one clause to the other without grasping where one idea ends and another begins. Subsequently, each idea won't have the impact it could otherwise, won't have the proper time and space to be digested. Consider:

She told me I looked like an old boyfriend of hers then turned and walked away.

Here we feel no pause between the first clause and the second, no time to digest. One comma, though, can make all the difference:

She told me I looked like an old boyfriend of hers, then turned and walked away.

Now we feel the proper pause, can fully process each of these clauses. In this capacity, commas act like buoys in the sea, letting us know when we're leaving one zone and entering another.

•To pause. This is what the comma was built for, where it really shines. A comma allows the reader to catch his breath (as he would if reading aloud), and prevents a long sentence from reading like stream of consciousness. For example, read the following sentence aloud:

He raised his rifle cocked it adjusted his neck and had the deer in his sights but when he went to pull the trigger his hand started shaking again just like it had every day for the last two weeks or maybe three he couldn't be sure.

With no chance to pause, the reader hopelessly builds momentum until he crashes into the period. It is the equivalent of taking one huge breath and seeing how much you can say before you burst. Sentences were not meant to be read that way, and should not be written that way. A few commas, though, can transform the reading experience: