Correctly Placing Misplaced Modifiers

 Alas, I constantly edit, even when I'm not being paid for it, the author didn't ask for it, and I can't actually share it. It's just a compulsion that happens as I read, especially news stories that have presumably already been edited. 

And heck, why not share the compulsion here? Maybe someone will learn from it. I do 'revision sessions' sometimes with students, just editing on-screen and explaining as I go, and this misplaced modifier problem is one of the most common and also one of the most easily fixed mistakes.

In a sentence, a "modifier" is a word or phrase or clause which "modifies" or deepens or narrows the meaning of another part of the sentence. The most common modifiers are the one-word adjectives and adverbs which add to the meaning of a noun or verb, like: The girl's outfit proudly proclaimed her Ukrainian heritage.

But often the modifier can be an entire phrase: 

• The play took place in the old Gem Theater. 
• He was waiting for the bus to come. 
• The morning before the party, the dog got sick.

Or the modifier can be an entire clause (with a noun and verb):

• He didn't notice the shocked silence that fell across the room when he wrote his name on the board.
• The more you remember, the more you have to forget.
• --

Some modifiers are "bound"-- that is, they have to be in a particular position, like just before the noun they modify. You know-- The pink dress. (Not --  The dress pink.) These "bound" modifiers are usually single words or short phrases that modify a noun (that is, they are "adjectival," which means "modifies the noun" :). 

Usually, however, modifiers are unbound, especially the phrase and clause ones, and therein lies the problem. An unbound modifier can "legally" be moved around to different parts of the sentence, but what's possible isn't always what you mean. Sometimes being too free-range with modifiers creates the horrific crime of a dangler, where impossible and sometimes painful things happen:

One day she hunted for a moose wearing diamond earrings.

Decisively blocking the knife, her eyes narrowed with purpose.

Ouch.

I have a lot of examples of this kind of mistake, but just for now, let's fix an easy one, adapted from a sentence in a major mag article:

She admitted her enjoyment of the bullying on Facebook last year. 

Many misplaced phrases have to do with time or place-- the "where and when" of the sentence. I see this most often when there are more than one actions in the sentence, as here:

She /admitted /her enjoyment /of the bullying. (Ignore the "on Facebook" and "last year" for a moment so we can focus on the kernel sentence.)

Subject/Verb/direct object/prepositional adjectival phrase.

We usually think of action as being represented by the sentence verb (here, admitted), but actions can also be shown in nouns (participation, bullying). So here there are three actions, all of which took place but perhaps not all at once. 

Actions take place somewhere sometime, and "somewhere sometime" are often important "condition markers" to add to a sentence. (I mean, these words and phrases mark an important condition that changes or specifies something about HOW the action happens.)

But while the position of where/when modifiers might be moveable, the reality isn't: SOMETHING happened last year. SOMETHING happened on Facebook. 

Options:

1. The admission.

She admitted last year...

And/or-

She admitted on Facebook...

2. Her enjoyment.

...  her enjoyment on Facebook...

and/or-

...  her enjoyment last year...

3. The bullying.

...of the bullying on Facebook.

and/or-

...of the bullying last year.

(I know it's not a great sentence because I modified it to protect the guilty. :)

Because the author placed the where/when modifiers at the end of the sentence, right after "bullying", readers will be forced to assume that the bullying took place last year on Facebook. And that might be exactly what happened (although it's not in this case).

But... what if that's not right? What if the bullying took place last year at school, and she enjoyed viewing a video about it last week, and is only admitting it on Facebook?

What happened on Facebook?

What happened last year?

(Some of this info might have been revealed in previous sentences, though not in this case. And still, that's no excuse for imprecision in this sentence. When all it takes is a moment to get it right, make it right. :)

What's a revision which makes those very clear so that the readers won't be confused about what happened when and where?

On Facebook, she admitted her enjoyment of the bullying last year.

or

She admitted on Facebook her enjoyment of the bullying last year.

Sometimes it helps to "bind" a modifier to the modified word so that there's absolutely no question--

She admitted on Facebook her enjoyment of last year's bullying.

==

This is just one sentence and one set of facts, and one point of misplacement. Though I will try, there's no way to identify every possible opportunity for imprecision. 

There are as many options as there are possible permutations of actions and actors and conditions in any sentence. But ONLY ONE IS CORRECT. This isn't about delicate subtext or deliberate ambiguity or debated issues. This is just about placing factual information in the correct place in the sentence. You can get it right as easily as you can get it wrong. But you have to recognize when it's wrong, and then make it right.

Anyhoo, point is: Be sensitive to the meaning you create when you put a modifier somewhere in the sentence. Stop and think about the various interpretations the readers might make of this placement, and whether moving the modifier might make more sense. Time and/or place modifiers are especially tricky.

So if I mean the ADMISSION, not the enjoyment or the bullying, took place on Facebook, I have two easy options (the first being optimal). While we're at it, let's make clear it was the bullying and not the admission that took place last year.

On Facebook, she admitted her enjoyment in the bullying last year.

She admitted on Facebook her enjoyment in last year's bullying.

I have a bunch more examples that I'll post and fix in the future. Usually in order not to shame the writers and editors (who, grumble grumble, should know better), I'll change the words and keep the construction.

This is what passes for giggly gossip in my life. :)

A blast from the past-

The columnist James Kilpatrick used to devote his first column of the year to the many ways you can place and misplace the word "only" as a modifier in a sentence, and used this example to show the difference in meaning:

1. Only John hit Peter in the nose.
2. John hit only Peter in the nose.
3. John hit Peter only in the nose.
4. John only hit Peter in the nose.

(Wouldn't you say "ON the nose"? I would. I'm not sure how deep I would want to hit IN the nose.)

"Almost" and "already" and "just" are other common modifiers that can be moved almost anywhere, but each placement means something different.

Here is a nice British professor who does a great job of showing how to determine what a modifier modifies and how it works in a sentence. 

You can find some good examples of misplaced modifiers at this Guelph University site. 

Little adverb movements make everything precise

In the previous post, I was reading it over and realized I'd (horrors!) misplaced a modifier.
 
Too late she remembered the reason for that generous gift, and how embarrassed he had been, confessing to his secret fear of windmills last year.

This is a common mistake with "time" adverbs and adjectives like "back then" and "in the past" and "on Monday."  Here, the problem is that with the modifier placed at the end of the sentence, it's not clear whether he became afraid of windmills "last year,"  or if the embarrassed confession was last year. Why make the reader wonder, when all it takes is a bit of movement?

The modifier should be placed right next to whatever element actually happened at that time. In this sentence, the gift and embarrassment and the confession happened "last  year," so the modifier can go close to either of those, whatever sounds best. So:
Too late she remembered the reason for that generous gift, and how embarrassed he had been last year, confessing to his secret fear of windmills.

We need to be sensitive to what our sentences actually say, and open to the minor fixes that make it say what we actually mean. 

Alicia

When to use modifiers

Just a minor note as I edit this chapter-- I'm a firm believer in making use of modifiers. Pace, EB White! The language wouldn't have evolved to have adjectives and adverbs if they weren't useful!

However, even I think too much is, well, too much. Sometimes a modifier is an unnecessary and distracting amplification of what's already there.  For example, I had:
Felicity slid the heavy box to the floor and used her foot to push it down the hall.

Well, obviously, if she has to push it with her foot, it's heavy. So I don't need the "heavy."

That said, I'm editing a Regency in the Georgette Heyer tradition.
The sort of stripped down style that might be fashionable now and useful for fast-paced adventure novel won't work in a more leisurely, "voice-driven" social comedy.  That's why we all (including me :) must be careful about issuing edicts about what constitutes effective writing. After all, what is effective in one kind of book might not work in another. I can't even imagine trying to write any comedy, especially social comedy, without adjectives and adverbs (which, because they "modify," carry much of the humor), but more than a couple absolutely essential modifiers will slow down an action book.  Multiple point-of-view will probably destroy the character identification needed for a psychological drama, but will add to the suspense perhaps of a thriller.  With the rise of the internet and the many niches created (knitting mysteries, Midwestern white bread family sagas :), it's more important than ever to know the type of book and what the readers above all enjoy about this sort of book.  What a non-historical saga reader might consider a distraction might be exactly what the typical historical saga reader loves most.

So whatever rules we all espouse aren't really rules-- just thought points that might not be relevant to your story, but might inspire some consideration which might help you enhance aspects of your own voice.

Alicia

Ruling please?

How about a ruling on this sentence?  My problem is the "visibly".

The tears were running visibly down his face.

Tears can BE visible, but can they RUN visibly? That is, is this an adjective (modifying tears) which is being forced into adverb (modifying run) position? 

I know it's not a felicitous sentence overall, but let's just focus on "running visibly." We know what it means-- the guy isn't trying to hide his tears. But if the narrator sees the tears, why do we need "visibly"?  Also, really, running visibly?  I don't even know why that makes my skin crawl.

What do you all think? If you were editing, would you let that sentence go by?

Alicia

Another minor sentence edit

I'm writing The World's Most Boring Paper, that is, a paper formatted perfectly to fit APA guidelines. I mean, I have a Table of Contents, and then a section of the paper explaining how to format the table of contents.  No, I don't think any student is actually going to read this all the way through, but this is the sort of thing I get paid for. :)

Anyway, I wrote this sentence, and yes, it's boring, but that's not why I'm copying it here.  It's a good example of a "misplaced modifier."  See if you can tell what I mean.
  

Don't forget documentation of the works cited on the final page.

The modifier is that prepositional phrase in bold above. Positioned there at the end, it sounds like documentation is only required for those works cited on the last page (that is, not all the way through the paper).

Easy fix, once I sensed there was something wrong. And you know, when you make a minor mistake like that, there's always some very earnest student who actually did read the whole paper and meticulously followed directions and documented only the works cited on the final page.

So here's the easy fix, and you figured that out too, I bet. (The hard part is sensing instinctively that something is wrong.)
Don't forget documentation on the final page of the works cited.


So what's on the final page? Documentation!

You'd be surprised, I hope, that there are actually writers (and we've come across them) who are so defensive they argue they MEANT it that way and won't change the misplaced modifier.  (These are the writers editors refuse to work with again.)

Don't be one of those.

And don't all clamor for a glimpse of this fascinating essay. :)


Alicia

Purple

We were talking about "tone" recently, and I'm thinking that tone of most kinds has to do both with sentence and scene/passage design.  "Purple prose" is an insult hurled at fiction writers, and it's a really bad insult, sort of the equivalent of "you slut," and perhaps especially damaging to popular fiction writers. Literary fiction writers get purple too, goodness knows, but in literary fiction, where innovative and incisive prose is in itself a value, purple prose is usually the result of trying too hard to be descriptive and maybe not having the right vocabulary to do it afresh. (I mean, the purple litfic writer might be trying to be incisive without the innovation.)

In popular fiction, prose can be innovative and incisive, but that's not really the point.  The point of prose in popular fiction is usually to most effectively convey the story (with all its parts), whether that is deeply or swiftly or thrillingly or dramatically or humorously.  Prose is "purple" in popular fiction when it calls too much attention to itself, thus taking the emphasis off the experience of the story for the reader.

(I'm always amused/appalled when I read reviews -- I see these frequently in the NYTimes Book Review!-- which highlight certain sentences for marvelling.
1) The sentences are almost always early in the book, which makes me suspect that the reviewer might not have really read much further than that.
2) Often the sentences are ornate, prolix, and constructed more for, well, marvel than meaning. I do marvel at them, set proudly in italics in the middle of the review, because often these sentences feature glaring (to me, anyway) dangling modifiers.  The greatest danger of intricate sentence construction is the inadvertent dangler. Yes. The danger is the dangler. You heard it here first.
3) What about the plot? What about the character development? Sentences are great, but they're supposed to be in service to something greater.
4) Sometimes the sentence highlighted seems to come from nowhere-- an ostentatiously pithy observation no character in the book would have the objectivity to observe. Omniscient POV is all well and good, but smug omniscient always makes me mutter resentfully, "You think you're all that, don't you."
Ahem. Anyway, if a reviewer can excerpt a single sentence to marvel at, I would worry that the actual story didn't capture his/her attention.)

A major aspect of purple prose is overmodification.  (I love modifiers, so I'm not dissing them, just OVER.) What constitutes overmodification?  The most apparent purpling comes when you add an adjective or adverb to an already strong word, especially if the modifier merely amplifies and doesn't deepen or contradict. "She shouted furiously" is purple, but "she whispered furiously" is not.

However, I have spoken loudly-- declared declaratively, as it were-- about the occasional brilliance of overmodification. Cf. Faulkner's garrulous outraged baffled ghosts.  I think the distinction is novelty, that is, the modifier should add something new or deeper.

So if you're worried about your prose being purple, I'd suggest the first revision review should be for modifiers. Can you make the verb or noun stronger so you don't need the modifier, say?  ("He drove a sporty car." vs. "He drove a Corvette.")

 There are some modifiers that, almost by definition, are purple. "Delicate," say.  "Sparkling." "Magnificent." They are in themselves excessive, and when they're applied directly to another word, well, purple ensues. But what if the (noun) really is magnificent? Think about kind of dampening down by separating modifier from modified, like "The view was magnificent," or "He stopped at the canyon edge to take in the view. It was magnificent." I'd still think about trying to find a more interesting way to say that, but at least it's back to merely being trite and isn't so twee.

Some modifier/modified combinations have become over, well, over over.  (I was just thinking, goodness knows why, maybe I read that one of the participants had died, of the whole Tidal Basin scandal, back in those innocent days when the "powerful head of the House Ways and Means Committee" was found splashing with "The Argentine Firecracker" -- shortly to become, natch, "The Tidal Basin Bombshell"-- in the Washington Tidal Basin. And I remembered the funniest modifier consequence of this. Wilbur Mills had been "powerful head of the House Ways and Means Committee," but after his disgrace, the post he had to vacate was invariably called "the  head of the powerful House Ways and Means Committee". That is, the power was in the position after that, not the person. BTW, the firecracker's name was Annabella Battistella, which deserves a place in history and not just my memory. :)

What was I saying? Oh, yes. Purple AND cliche.  "Sparkling brew." "Babbling brook." "Majestic peaks." "Glowing orbs." I always chortle (meanly) when I read about a "single tear" coursing (yes, it usually courses, that lonely tear) down a (usually weathered) cheek. And then there's "one smooth motion." I don't know why that always amuses me. What are some others? With these pairings, well, don't use them. They end up meaning virtually nothing because I don't think they even make it past the eye into the brain. They have no resonance because they don't even in the most elementary way make the reader think. I'd suggest being utterly ruthless with this sort of purple prose. First, think about whether this glass of lemonade or beer or whatever needs to be described at all, or just mentioned:
He quaffed the sparkling brew.
vs.
He drank off his beer, and said, "..."
That is, it could be that you need some minor action or setting detail on the way to the important element (what he says) but don't need MUCH.  So don't give much.

Second, if you decide that this magnificent vista really is important enough for whatever reason (I don't know, maybe while he's gazing at the magnificent vista, he sees the cavalry coming over the ridge), don't settle for an empty cliche. Go with something really descriptive, something that distinguishes this magnificent vista (desert) from that other magnificent vista (ocean beach), like "He stopped at the cliff and gazed down at the desert floor, purple and orange as the sun set."  I'm no good at description, and I always opt for clear and plain rather than pretty, because I don't do pretty well.  But if you can do pretty, go for it, but try not to use any of the terms in the cliche.

Sometimes the individual modifier-modified term is fine, but a superfluity of them sends the passage into the purple territory. This is especially true if the term combinations are mostly about the same thing, as here, where they're all sort of about dirtiness and decrepitude:
With ink-stained fingers, he raised the blotched shade and gazed out the fly-specked window at the junk-strewn expanse of broken asphalt.

What's important there? What's superfluous?  (I'd get rid of the ink-stained fingers first. The only reason they're there is to let us know he's been writing, right? I mean, what would he use to raise the shade but his fingers? His teeth? His tobacco-stained teeth? :) 

What would I keep? I like the asphalt. I'd probably -- after I got rid of all the other terms-- feel like I could find a more fun word than "broken," though nothing comes to mind. It's hard this month, when chasm-sized potholes appear violently in front of my car every day, to be restrained and judicious about broken asphalt.  "The EXPLODED asphalt." "The axel-shattering, smashed, volcanically ruined asphalt." Okay, overdone, yes, but true. Just ask my axel.

Anyway, be ruthless. But pruning the purple doesn't mean you can't have any fun words or descriptive terms. Just strive for the new, the interesting, the insightful. And don't overdo.

Now purple also happens in the action of the scene. This is maybe a bit harder to explain, but the most common manifestation of it is "sentimentality." Supposedly JD Salinger said (I mean, supposedly it was him who said it, though it doesn't really sound like him-- good observation though, so JD can take credit :), "Sentimentality is giving a thing more tenderness than God would."  It's -lavishing- with tenderness, rather than letting the whatever just be there and inspire tenderness.  When something is sentimental, we sometimes respond with cringing (like when our parents would use each other's petnames in public), or sometimes with a perverse antagonism: "If they don't quit making googly eyes at each other, I'm going to shoot them both."

I'm reading a book now where the romance (it's not a romance-- the romance is just a subplot, fortunately, or I'd stop reading because it's a truly treacly romance) scenes have no conflict. That I think is key. No conflict. Everything is just fulfillment without any prepwork. 
"You're so wonderful. "
"You're wonderful too."
"I thought you were wonderful the first time I laid eyes on you."
"I remember that first time! Remember how we slow-danced all night?"
"I remember how your actual date got so mad and stormed out. But we didn't care. We'd fallen in love at first sight."
"We're still in love. Because you're so wonderful."
"You're wonderful too."
Now come on. Admit it. You skimmed, didn't you?  That's because there's no conflict.  Imagine how much more interesting it would be with some conflict:
"You're so wonderful. "

"You're wonderful too."
"I thought you were wonderful the first time I laid eyes on you."
"I remember that first time! Remember how we slow-danced all night?"
"I remember how your actual date got so mad and stormed out. But we didn't care. We'd fallen in love at first sight."
"She kind of forgave me. I married her, you know. We have three kids now."
"You're-- you're married? But wait! What are you doing in a dark booth holding my hand if you're married?"
"Really. I never forgot you. Even as I was speaking my vows to her, I imagined she was you."
"That's sick. Give me my hand back, or I'll shoot you."

Hey, that's likely to inspire some plot action at least!  The "we're both so wonderful" scenes are not just treacly, they're usually extraneous, with little plot propulsion. 

Gratuitous scenes meant to display or inspire emotion often are purple.  I don't just mean the unhooked romance scenes, but also scenes of violence or grimness which don't arise out of or propel plot action. Anything that isn't part of the plot action is likely to seem gratuitous, as an excuse for emotion rather than a scene of emotional change to the characters. 

What is "purple" to you? What do you do to keep your prose un-purple? What in revision helps?
Alicia

Danglers again

Came across a great dangler:

Twenty-five years after his death, essayist Paul Baron analyzes the seminal research of astronomer Rich Lewis.

That's an impressive feat, after-death analysis. Most of us plan on just lying in our graves and playing the harp, but this Paul Baron is spending his afterlife analyzing....

Oh! It's the astronomer who has been dead 25 years! Gee, in that case, you'd think the modifier (Twenty-five years after his death) would go right next to the identification of the dead person! Like:

Essayist Paul Baron analyzes the seminal research of astronomer Rich Lewis twenty-five years after his death.
or
Twenty-five years after his death, the research of astronomer Rich Lewis is still considered seminal by essayist Paul Baron.
Or what?

And I do NOT want to hear that "the reader will figure it out." It's not the reader's job to fix the writer's mistakes and make sense where the writer has written nonsense. If the reader pauses for a moment to figure out what we really meant to say, not only have we lost the "meaning momentum," but we've also lost credibility-- the reader can't trust what we're writing.

Write, but then read. Read as a reader.

Alicia

Squinting Modifiers

A couple of weeks ago, in the course of another post, I used the term squinting modifier. This drew several comments, and I thought it made sense to explore this concept a little more thoroughly.

To begin (as we always begin posts about modifiers and sentence structure), let's review the Golden Rule of Modifiers. Say it with me now after the chorus of angels sings its fanfare.

*chorus of angels sings fanfare*

The Golden Rule of Modifiers
Modifiers go next to the words they modify.


Over the years, we've talked pretty extensively about dangling modifiers, which are words or phrases that modify no word in the sentence, such as my perennial favorite:

Relaxing on the patio, the pizza tasted great.

Pizzas might taste great, but they don't relax on patios. Who is relaxing? Presumably the person or people eating the pizza, but there's no noun in that sentence that relates to the pizza eaters.

We've also talked pretty extensively about misplaced modifiers, primarily in the context of the dreaded PPP.

The inmate tried to escape when he saw the doctor, slipping into the nurse's station.

Who slipped into the nurse's station? The doctor or the inmate? Placement suggests it's the doctor, but logic suggests it might have been part of the inmate's escape attempt. Changing the placement clarifies the meaning:

When he saw the doctor, the inmate tried to escape, slipping into the nurse's station.

Still not a great sentence, but now it's clear which character is doing what. All we had to do was move the adverb clause, which contained a noun (doctor) that intruded between the modifier (slipping etc.) and the noun it modified (inmate).

When you're checking your sentences for clarity, try this trick. Isolate the modifying phrase, and then pick the word you mean for it to modify. We used to use the umbrella trick in grammar school. We would circle the modifier and the word it modified, and draw an umbrella arc connecting them, like so:








If another noun is under the umbrella (hello, doctor!), then you've got the potential for confusion. Try moving the phrase or clause with that under-the-umbrella noun out from under the umbrella, and the sentence is instantly clearer.


There's a third strain of this placement issue in which there are two possible modified words bracketing the modifier. In that case, the phrase can lean on either noun and create two totally different meanings:

Mary said at the prom Greg embarrassed her.

What happened at the prom? Did Mary say this, or did Greg embarrass her?

In this example, at the prom is the modifier. If it leans on the preceding clause, then we have two units of thought as so--
Mary said at the prom
Greg embarrassed her.

But if it leans on the following clause, our units of thought are--
Mary said
at the prom Greg embarrassed her.

This placement issue is known as a two-way modifier or a squinting modifier. Fixing it is easy. Figure out which way the phrase leans, and then move it in that direction. So if it leans toward Mary said, move it to the other side of that clause --

At the prom, Mary said Greg embarrassed her.

And if it leans toward Greg embarrassed her, move it to the other side of that clause--

Mary said Greg embarrassed her at the prom.

This is very easy to see when you only have three units in the sentence, as here, where we have two clauses and one modifying phrase. It gets trickier with more elaborate sentences, but only because you have to be more careful about identifying the actual direction and length of the lean. Make sure you isolate the phrases and clauses so that you move the squinter to the right place, and you'll be fine.

Theresa

Quick Tip for Hyphens and Adjectives

This just came up in correspondence with an author, and I thought I would share it here.

There's a quick and dirty test for knowing whether you need to hyphenate adjectives. Let's say, for example, you're pondering the phrase,

mind blowing images

and debating the hyphen between mind and blowing. In order to decide, just split apart the pieces and see if it still makes sense:

mind images
blowing images

Er, not so much. You really need to link mind and blowing because these two words form one conceptual unit, so you need a hyphen. Contrast this with,

tall cold beer

which can be split into

tall beer
cold beer

and still make sense. In that case, no hyphen is needed.

This isn't an all-purpose rule. There are exceptions, such as

beautifully made gown

because the -ly adverb used in this compound way never requires a hyphen. And then there are borderline cases, such as

ruby red gown

in which ruby modifies red, but can also be said to modify gown. These are sometimes called squinting modifiers -- modifiers which can be read to modify two different pieces -- and are held by purists to be evidence of imprecise writing. If you want to eliminate the squint, hyphenate ruby and red. Alternately, choose either ruby or red to modify gown. But, honestly, this is one of those areas of style and grammar in which reasonable minds can differ. You might choose one method and find that your copy editor changes it on you.

Theresa

Leading and Trailing Modifiers

Someone asked if we're as skeptical of trailing participial phrases (those after the main clause) as leading ones (those before the main clause). Good question. The main answer is-- I'm skeptical of almost any modifier (participial or no) before the main clause. That doesn't mean I think they're all bad, because they're not-- often we need some essential bit of information (time or place, say) to get the full impact of the sentence. Additionally (just like that, in fact:), a transition (like "additionally," I mean) can serve to link this sentence with previous ones, smoothing the bump there to the new thought.

And sometimes what are called "phatic phrases" (relatively meaningless turns of speech) can add the necessary few beats for cadence, or make a polite deferral ("Needless to say"), or invite some ritualistic bonding ("As we all know").

That is, leading modifiers can have functions beyond actually modifying the subject (or the whole sentence, as many of them do). And of course, some of them legitimately modify the subject and fit well there, letting the reader know something needed to be known before she gets to the main clause.

However (another transition :), placement of modifiers ends up being more important at the beginning of the sentence. For reasons I'm not clear on, usually intro modifiers are "bound" in some way to the immediately following words. Well, you know, if you think about how readers figure out what a sentence is saying, they are accumulating meaning as they read, and in the beginning of the sentence, they need everything to go together in order to get the right meaning. So it is more important to have the modifiers modify the nearby words when those first six words are all there are so far. Bound modifiers are usually "restrictive," required for the meaning of the sentence because they restrict the modified word in some important way. ("The woman who had been waiting for him"-- the subject is not any woman, but the one who had been waiting for him.) So it's important if you have a modifier that restricts the modified word to keep those close together so they are read and understood together.

By the end of the main clause, the readers have a lot more context and perhaps don't need as much connection. (This is why, btw, dependent clauses at the -start- of a sentence are followed by a comma, but when they're at the end of a sentence, they're usually not preceded by a comma-- Because I failed algebra, I couldn't take calculus vs. I couldn't take calculus because I failed algebra.)

Modifiers after the main clause are more likely to be considered "free," and they aren't likely to annoy as much if they don't modify the nearest noun or if they're adverbial and modify the predicate instead of (as many adverbs do at the start) the whole sentence.

Now I'm kind of coming at this backwards. The issue is not actually whether a particular modifier goes at the beginning or end. The issue is that the start of the sentence is an important position, and that's why the reader is going to interpret what comes at the start as important. And if you start with something inessential, something that is "free" and unrestrictive and could go elsewhere in the sentence, you might be wasting that valuable real estate, that chance to set context or focus the reader's attention. Many of the modifiers that get edited out seem to have one reason for being at the start of the sentence, and that's not "context-setting" or "transition-making" or anything that helps create meaning for the reader. The reason often seems to be "varying the opening construction", and that is seldom sufficient reason to "bind" a modifier that might be better elsewhere.

What to do if you have four sentences beginning with "he"? First, determine if that's truly a problem here (sometimes it's good for rhythm or emphasis or alliteration or balance to start a group of sentences the same way). If it is-- if the repetition is annoying or distracting-- think about using what might be essential introductory material, like a time-marker (In 1816,) or a transition (However,) or a necessary bit of information about this subject (The president of Switzerland,) or what they used to call a "sentence modifier," a word (usually just a word-- not sure why) that is meant to affect the whole sentence (like "Frankly," or "Regardless,"). That is, find something introductory that adds to the meaning of the sentence, that starts the meaning, in some essential way. (Sometimes, yes, this can be a participial phrase-- just not all that often. Why? I think probably it's because a participle is supposed to be an action, and if it's an important action, it might be better in the main clause, and if it's not that important, it shouldn't be starting the sentence.)

Notice that most of these important introductory things are short-- a few words or less. (Intro dependent clauses, especially "If" clauses, tend to be longer, and often I end up making them independent clauses, or transferring the conditional-- if-- to the second position. But dependent clauses-- because they're clauses with their own subject and predicate-- can be longer even at the beginning... easier to understand and accumulate the meaning when there's a subject/verb.) Shorter intros will "hide" the repetitive opening ("he"), while offering some essential piece of information ("In 1816") without burying the lede (main clause) too deep.

Okay, that was as clear as mud. But do be thinking of the start of the sentence as a place where you want something important, even essential, to the understanding of what is to come. This usually just isn't a good place for a mere place-holder, though paradoxically it's often a good place for that "phatic" phrasing. So much of "polite speech" (which phatic speech usually is) is meant to beat around the bush, to blunt the sharp point of the sentence, and in that case, burying the lede (there I go with the mixed metaphors again) is actually sort of the point. Needless to say, in point of fact, as we all know :), in that case, go ahead, put soothing filler at the start of the sentence-- just don't dull the point so much the reader doesn't get it.
Alicia

Alicia

Over-modification that's really cool

Just want to point to one of my favorite over-modified phrases, just to show I'm not a fuddy-duddy:
...the deep South dead since 1865 and peopled with garrulous outraged baffled ghosts...

That's Faulkner -- Absalom, Absalom. I have always loved that "garrulous outraged baffled ghosts," and loved how he did it without commas to create that propulsive effect.

Why is that okay and "towering high mountains" isn't?

1) It's not redundant. None of those adjectives are synonyms, and none of them are obvious connections to "ghosts".

2) Each modifier adds something new and surprising. Garrulous ghosts? Outraged ghosts? Baffled ghosts? Those are some cool ghosts.

3) "Ghosts" itself is a modifier, or at least a descriptor, a metaphor (the people in the south aren't actually dead) for the lost and angry white Southerners who just couldn't believe they could lose the war, or especially that they SHOULD lose the war.

4) The modifiers are interesting words, and well-chosen (though when I recite it, I often reverse the last two because the rhythm sounds better to me). None of them clearly lead to each other, but together they resonate-- garrulous but baffled, and of course they'd be outraged if they are garrulous (expressive, loud) and baffled, and especially if they find themselves to be ghosts.

5) The phrase expresses something interesting, something meaningful. There's no triteness there in that phrase, no slackness. It's taut and thoughtful; it expresses the anguish and fury that powered the vicious actions of the post-war century.

6) It sounds good. I'm not sure why. I like the garrulous/ghosts alliteration. Also there are several a-sounds, but notice each is a different a-- gAHr, rAYged, bAAff. And several O sounds, also each different -US, OU, OH. I think it has all those sound links, but also profoundly different sounds, hard-g and fricative f and the plosive B. I'm a sound slut. If it sounds good, I don't care about sense or meaning or depth.

But there is meaning and sense and depth. This is over-modified with purpose, as so many of Faulkner's great sentences are-- piling on the power and the meaning with each word. Can't you just hear one of those ghosts? "I'm garrulous! And I'm outraged! And I'm baffled, goddamnit!"

That's voice. That's taut and meaningful and reflective of the situation. The over-modification forces an accumulation of emotion and theme that adds great depth.

You have control over your sentences. You can make meaning by combining words. And you can break the rules whenever you like-- as long as it adds to the meaning-- and the reader gets it. (So often, frankly, writers say, "Oh, I did that comma splice or sentence fragment to convey XYZ," but if the reader doesn't immediately get it or feel it, you haven't done it right.)

I just love that. Garrulous outraged baffled ghosts. They're still there. I was just in Richmond (my family is there), and those ghosts are roaming Monument Ave., still grumbling because Arthur Ashe was given a monument on the boulevard of Confederate generals. I just hope Arthur is a triumphant happy serene ghost. :)

Alicia

Sequencing again

Just doing some sentence editing, and came across one where the sequence sounded okay but wasn't:

I'm going to teach this guy a lesson, gullible fool that he is.

The reader will get the meaning--- the guy is the gullible fool-- but because modifiers are usually placed against the word they modify, there'll be maybe an instant of confusion. This is actually amplified because "gullible fool that he is" is an appositive -- something that tells more about a noun-- and the word it's placed by (lesson) is indeed a noun. So it's actually a bit more confusing than if the appositive was against a verb or preposition (the reader then would automatically cast back for the nearest noun).

So recasting is made possible by the near-infinite flexibility offered by English syntax:
I'm going to teach a lesson to this guy, gullible fool that he is.

That is not quite as colloquial as "teach this guy a lesson", but perfectly fluent, as it's just reversing the order of the objects ("this guy" is the indirect object-- to whom-- and "a lesson" is the direct object -- what). That puts the noun modified (guy) next to the modifier then.

I know this is picky, and I know that readers can figure out most sentences. After all, we speak English, and seldom have the chance to edit our spoken sentence order. So our listeners have to have learned how to pick the meaning out of imperfect sentences.

But one of the comforts of READING rather than listening is that we can relax with a good author's prose and know that we won't have to work to understand the meaning. The author really ought to be doing the hard work of honing the sentence and making sure it says precisely what it's supposed to mean.

In fact, one of the weird attributes of a good editor is the ability to override that automatic mental fixing of imperfect sentences and stop and recognize that there's something wrong. I think writers should override that useful skill, if only while they're writing and revising.

So as you revise, read your sentences as if you're a fluent but clueless alien, who doesn't have decades of experience parsing conversation. Make the sentence say exactly what you mean it to say.

Modifiers = Change

Let's build off the ideas in my last post about present participial phrases and how to use them. In that post, we were mostly talking about placement issues. (Modifiers go next to the words they modify, right? Right.)

This time, let's take a look at a common mistake made with present participial phrases that signify an underlying weakness in the main clause rather than a technical problem with the participial phrase. Take a look at this sample sentence.

She danced alone in the empty ballroom, twirling and jumping as if nobody could see her.


What Is a Modifier?

We've already made the point that present participial phrases are modifiers which either function as adjectives (modifying a single noun) or as cumulative modifiers (modifying a clause in its entirety). But what about the present participial phrase in our sample sentence above? What, exactly does it modify?

Modify
verb, transitive
1. to restrict the meaning of a grammatical construction
2. to make minor changes in
3. to make basic or fundamental changes in, often to give a new orientation to or to serve a new end

Modifiers change the meaning of existing words or groups of words. Those changes can be big or small, but they are still changes.

So here's where we run into our problem. Sometimes a main clause is so inherently weak that a writer instinctively knows it needs more oomph, but instead of fixing the weak main clause, they tack on a present participial phrase that restates the main clause without really modifying it.

alone in the ballroom = as if nobody could see her

If she's alone in the ballroom, presumably nobody can see her. Unless they can see through walls? Or have some kind of hidden cameras? But then the sentence should be altered to reflect that.

She danced alone in the ballroom, heedless of the tiny security cameras mounted along the musicians' gallery.

Or, preferably,

Heedless of the tiny security cameras mounted along the musicians' gallery, she danced alone in the ballroom.

Now the modifying phrase adds a new dimension to the sentence rather than just restating the main clause.

For that matter, twirling and jumping really just restate danced. They're more specific and vibrant than danced, but danced is a perfectly respectable verb. I'm not sure that it needs that kind of restatement. Isn't twirling and jumping more or less implied in the act of dancing? Hmm.

In any event, we see sentences like that all the time, and the usual fix is to cut ruthlessly to eliminate the repetitions. Pick the action word that has more precision and the noun with more built-in description, and dump the rest.

She fell to the ground, dropping suddenly onto the hard earth

becomes

She dropped suddenly onto the hard earth.

(And we might cut the adverb while we're at it.)

Theresa

Adjective query

I am puzzling over a phrase, just contemplating which alternative would sound best or be best, I guess.

Anyway, here it is. Just an example to see what you value when you assemble a sentence (no right answer, that is, or no wrong answer anyway!):

He lounged around, elegant and drunk.
He lounged around, drunk and elegant.

Not a great line, but what I am squinting at is those two adjectives-- which order would you put them?
You can swap them for other words, if you think it will help. For example, I think "drunk" might be too short a sound -- one syllable -- for the end of a sentence, so I might say, elegant and inebriated (if I were going to be obnoxious), or elegant and hungover, or....??

So justify. For example, I tend to want "elegant" first because that's setting up the expectation of something aesthetic, which "drunk" or equivalent will then undercut, thus becoming a bit of punchline.

But I can see the powerful punchy Anglo-saxon "drunk" first, and the, well, elegant French word providing more of a visual.

It's okay if you say that I spend way too much time on triviality. :) But I find that often this sort of opposition/pairing is an aspect of voice.