How to Not Write Bad: The Most Common Writing Problems and the Best Ways to Avoidthem (18 page)
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Authors: Ben Yagoda
Tags: #Non-Fiction, #Writing
Interestingly, the confusions in the above examples all stem from the same basic problem. A noun (A) is followed and modified by a relative clause or prepositional phrase (B) and then by another element (C). This appears to be a particular calamity in English, in which nouns are largely uninflected (that is, they take the same
form whether they are subjects or objects) and modifying or descriptive phrases
have
to come after the noun. Friends who’re more knowledgeable than I tell me that in German and ancient Greek, you can create a construction along the lines of “about-blogging panel” or “wily, with-a-wicked-curveball veteran” or “in-my-pajamas I.”
In English, you have to move stuff. In the first three examples, the problem is the placement of the time (1 and 2) and place (3) elements. By shifting them around, I came up with:
Last week, I visited the house I grew up in.
Ashley put up a new garage door yesterday; she has to paint it by tonight.
Gannett is sponsoring a panel about blogging, to be held in the Perkins Auditorium.
In example 4, the trouble stems from breaking up a noun phrase, rarely a good idea:
Lincoln University has dropped a controversial three-year-old rule requiring students with a Body Mass Index of 30 or more to take an exercise class.
And in 5, the problem is confusion over which of two nouns—
we
or
the film
—belongs with the verb
went.
We saw the Oscar-winning film, then went home.
Number 6 becomes
a wily veteran, known for his wicked curveball, who was finishing a twenty-two-year career
…Wait! I just found another misleading thing about the sentence! Blyleven played for five different teams, not just the Angels. So let’s make it…
a wily veteran, known for his wicked curveball, who was pitching for the Angels, the last stop in his twenty-two-year career.
The last one I almost hate to fix, because it so brutally drains the humor out of a classic line, but that’s why they pay me the medium bucks. So apologies to Groucho, and here goes:
Last night, while I was wearing my pajamas, I shot an elephant.
6.
WHAT IS THE WHAT? OR, THE TROUBLE WITH VAGUE PRONOUNS
a. Who He?
A mindful writer tracks his or her antecedents and tidies up the campsite to make sure there isn’t any ambiguity.
[
Raymond met Chris Bruce while he was attending the boot camp as YouDee in 1998.
]
I can’t correct it because I don’t know if Raymond or Chris was attending the camp as YouDee (which, or who, is the mascot of the University of Delaware). If R., then it could be,
Raymond met Chris Bruce while attending the boot camp as YouDee
. If C.B., then I would write,
Raymond met Chris Bruce while Bruce was attending
…
b. There Is/There Are
We all are fond of the expressions
there is
and
there are
because they come naturally and often seem to fit whatever bill needs fitting, but they lead to limp sentences. Following the logic of item III.C.2., if a sentence with a weak subject is bad, a sentence starting with
There are
is even worse—it doesn’t even
have
a subject.
Fortunately, a fix is usually pretty easy. A lot of the time, you just get rid of the
There are
and a relative pronoun (
who, that
), and voilà. For example,
There are five poets who have given readings at the school this year
becomes
Five poets have given readings at the school this year.
My rule of thumb is that
there-are
constructions are okay if you can replace the
is
or
are
with
exists
or
exist
. E.g.:
There are twenty-five three-star restaurants in Rome.
Not only does that work, but trying to change it forces you to use verbs that come off as trying much too hard, e.g.,
Twenty-five three-star restaurants grace Rome
or
Rome is host to twenty-five three-star restaurants.
It takes just a little bit more work when, as is often the case,
there
is a blanket thrown over some unsightly vagueness.
[
In terms of this coming year for entering freshman there has been a question of difficulty of entry for out-of-state students.
]
Compared to last year, the Admissions Office selected a lower percentage of out-of-state applicants for admission in the fall.
[
Lieutenant Brian Henry explained that there are specific jurisdictional agreements associated with the Newark Police Department and campus police.
]
I can’t fix that one because I don’t know what the “specific jurisdictional agreements” are. And without knowing that, you cannot write a not-bad sentence on the subject.
c. It
The eighteenth-century English writer William Cobbett called
it
“the greatest troubler that I know of in language. It is so small, and so convenient, that few are careful enough in using it.” One of the troubles is ambiguity, as in these examples:
[
When it comes down to it, students enjoy spending a little time at home, with
little
being the key word.
]
Students enjoy spending a little time at home, with
little
being the key word.
[
While it seems like a good idea in theory, many students are concerned about the future possibility of not having a car on campus if it becomes too expensive.
]
Having a car on campus seems like a good idea in theory, but it often ends up being just too expensive.
[
In his speech about the first year of his administration, President Harker said it is no longer acceptable to go it alone.
]
In his speech, President Harker said the university could no longer afford to act alone.
Even when the meaning is clear,
it
spawns limp writing and wordiness.
[
It is hard to play the guitar as fast as Clapton.
]
Playing guitar as fast as Clapton is hard.
[
It is true that the Democrats lost many House seats in 2010, but it’s also true that they still control the Senate.
]
Although the Democrats lost many House seats in 2010, they still control the Senate.
d. This, That, and the Other
This
is an indispensable word in movie titles (what would the Billy Crystal–Robert De Niro movie series do without it?) and in conversation, where, to me, it gives the impression of the speaker brandishing something held in his or her hands. However, most writing books recommend extreme caution when using
this
in print, especially naked. For the most part, I agree. In writing, you
don’t have the use of your hands, and the word just sits there, often raising more questions than it resolves. A student wrote:
[
In 1827, following a furious debate in Parliament, in which each party made an eloquent case and the Prime Minister resigned, slavery was outlawed. This had an immediate effect on the country’s politics.
]
I circled the word
This,
drew a line to the margin, and wrote in big letters, “WHAT?” That is, was the writer referring to the debate, the cases made by the parties, the resignation, or the new law? My hunch is that she didn’t really know, and used
this
to mean, basically, “all the stuff I just said.” That is not not-bad writing.
Here’s a reliable tip. As in the previous sentence,
that
often comes off as a little more precise and forceful than
this,
so it can be slipped in without doing any damage. You didn’t hear it from me.
e. What
Starting a sentence or dependent clause with
what
is usually a form of throat clearing and ersatz suspense that really just creates wordiness and an unnecessary use of the verb
to be.
Moreover,
what
is singular, and so in cases where it stands for a plural (as in the first example below), awkward conjugation choices ensue.
[
What this university needs
are
is better professors.
]
This university needs better professors.
[
What he wanted to stress was that credit cards are dangerous.
]
He stressed that credit cards are dangerous.
7.
WHEN YOU CATCH A PREPOSITION, KILL IT
Pardon me for paraphrasing the title of one of my books, which I stole from Mark Twain: “When you catch an adjective, kill it.” Adjectives can indeed be a problem. They are the prime culprits of telling-not-showing, which I feel is the single biggest general prose misstep. They can be wordy and sleep inducing, especially when mashed together in pairs or triplets.
But in my experience, prepositions are worse. Prepositions, of course, are the part of speech indicating relationship:
in, of, to, with, from, under, over
, and so on. They are absolutely necessary, but they are inherently weak and often imprecise. Calling someone
a person with plans
or
a man of his word
leaves so much open to speculation! Moreover, after a certain point, prepositions turn a sentence into a drawn-out blah. They actually do bring a sort of rhythm with them, but it’s an unfortunate, numbing rhythm, the anapest. This is the duh-duh-DUM-duh-duh-DUM of limericks and “’Twas the
night
before
Christ
mas and
all
through the
house.
” Lastly, prepositions are also often the perpetrators of the sorts of ambiguities and confusion described previously in the book.
My general rule is to allow one preposition per sentence, or two at the most. Any more than that and you have to cast an extremely cold eye.
The problem is, prepositions flow so naturally out of one’s fingers! As proof that they happen to the best of us, I give you a sentence—part of a review of a reality show called
Sweet Home Alabama
—by Ginia Bellafante, a TV critic for the
New York Times
and one of the top writers at the paper. (I’ve underlined the prepositions.)
[
Here Devin, a pretty, blond student
in
a cowboy hat
at
the University
of
Alabama, is made to select
from
20 bachelors, 10
of
them “country,” and the rest mostly
from
the Northeast or Los Angeles.
]
How to fix? Well, of the six prepositions, the real culprits are the first two,
in
and
at;
they, and the unfortunate prepositional phrases they initiate, trail behind Devin like a pair of tired, shambling dogs. The last three are innocuous, though the repetition of
from
isn’t ideal. I’m also struck that the sentence is pretty long. So…