Several times in the last month or so, I've heard discussion of the use of the Chicago Manual of Style to edit novels. Chicago is a very useful, comprehensive style guide, but its purpose has little to do with fiction. Its purpose is to create uniform methodology and typography for research documents ranging from student papers to textbooks. Though some of its rules can certainly be applied to fiction, its purpose is not generally aimed at fiction.
To really understand this, it might help to know something about the process copy editors use to edit fiction manuscripts. For each individual project, they create style sheets. These style sheets contain everything from story details (correct spellings of character names, physical descriptions, etc.) to narrative details (that particular author's comma usage patterns, for example). The style sheet is a reference guide that the copy editor then uses to check consistency throughout the document. Some copy editors turn in their style sheets when they turn in the finished project so that the author and lead editor can see the style rules applied.
A house can create a style sheet or style guide that is meant to apply to all manuscripts generated by the house. This house guide is meant to simplify the copy editing and production process by taking the guesswork out of common style questions, such as when to include periods in certain acronyms. (Ph.D. or PhD?)
So, in the beginning, the University of Chicago press created a style sheet for its typesetters and compositors to help them figure out things like citation notation, and how to use archaic alphabets, and how to set scientific equations and symbols. It was an academic style system for academic works published by an academic press, and it was good. Many people wanted to use this style system because it simplified the process for all of them. The Chicago Manual has been through many revisions over the years and is now in its 15th or 16th edition.
Here's the thing, though. Academic grammar and style conventions are more formal than the everyday sorts of grammar and style rules that most people commonly use. If you understand the different philosophies of grammar and the ways the rules bend and shift to accommodate those different philosophies, then you will know that many writer quarrels stem from these philosophical differences. Most comma rules, in fact, can change depending on which style approach you take. The more formal and academic the document, the more commas it will contain.
I mention commas specifically because this came up on an author list recently. An author was complaining that her different copy editors each used different comma rules, and each insisted that her rule was "grammatically correct" with that sort of lead-pipe blunt force common to those who know how to apply a rule but can't explain why they're doing it. Now, I've worked with a lot of copy editors over the years, and I know that the best among them tend to get a little shrill over their pet rules. But the best among them also know that there are multiple rules sets, each of which can be applied to create a different but equally valid finished product. They can argue outcomes and the logic behind their style choices like the sharpest trial lawyer. And what I heard on that author on that list made me think these were not good copy editors arguing grammar philosophies, but quite a different sort of creature.
This creature is someone who studied hard in school and made good grades. She probably has been praised for her writing. She has the rule book and she knows how to use it, but she's probably never taken an advanced grammar class. She might not know that opposite rules can be equally correct -- that is, for example, that one style guide can require a comma after a single introductory transition word, and another can ban it, and each can be correct. She might not know how to choose which rule to apply or how to apply it, and yet, she can still legitimately consider herself "good at grammar" in the ordinary sense.
I suspect, but cannot prove, that the recent blossoming of direct publishing is leading a lot of these creatures to try to drum up some side income as copy editors. I suspect, but cannot prove, that some of them are out there promoting themselves by saying they are adept in Chicago style. They know that this is often reckoned the most sophisticated and detailed of the academic style guides, and they think it says something about their skills to claim competence in it. And it does say something. It says they're competent in Chicago style.
But here's the question. Do you want Chicago style for your manuscript? Maybe you do, and maybe you don't. What baffles me is the number of people suddenly requesting it. Whenever a novelist says she wants me to edit her work with any particular academic style -- Chicago, APA, MLA, whatever -- my first question is, why? Sometimes they'll give a well-reasoned response, such as the woman who recently told me she used Chicago herself and wanted to be sure her editors could manage it. She was looking for consistency between her approach and that of her content and copy editors. That made sense. But others don't seem to know why they're requesting it. It's become a buzz word, something people talk about because they're hearing about it.
If you want to use Chicago, use Chicago. It's a legitimate choice, albeit a choice that will create a more formal text. And if you're writing genre or commercial fiction, this might not be the best choice for your book, but maybe you want it to sound more formal or academic. But know what you're getting, because it might not be what you want.
Theresa
Showing posts with label style. Show all posts
Showing posts with label style. Show all posts
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Appositives: Quick Lesson From the Style Guide
An appositive is a noun or pronoun (or a noun or pronoun phrase) set beside another noun or pronoun. Appositives are modifiers, and like all good modifiers, go next to the words they modify. An appositive must match in number/case/etc. the word with which it is in apposition.
Example: Her car, a battered green wagon, leaked oil in my driveway.
Appositives are generally surrounded by commas unless they are very short essential phrases, as in “My sister Trudy won the lottery.”
Trudy is the appositive, and because it's short and essential, it requires no commas.
Do we all understand what is meant by "essential" there? An essential modifier is one that is necessary for the sentence to make sense. Think of it this way. Because there's no comma before or after the appositive Trudy, we know that there must be more than one sister. The speaker is distinguishing between her sister Trudy who won the lottery and her sister Elaine who did not. If she had only one sister, and that sister's name was Trudy, then she could leave the name out of the sentence without changing its meaning.
In other words:
If the speaker has only one sister, then
My sister won the lottery
and
My sister, Trudy, won the lottery
mean the same thing.
If the speaker has more than one sister, then
My sister won the lottery
and
My sister Trudy won the lottery
don't mean the same thing. The first sentence could refer to a different sister.
So the commas can change the meaning of the sentence, and that's why punctuation is important for appositives. It's not just for readability, but also for meaning.
Theresa
Example: Her car, a battered green wagon, leaked oil in my driveway.
Appositives are generally surrounded by commas unless they are very short essential phrases, as in “My sister Trudy won the lottery.”
Trudy is the appositive, and because it's short and essential, it requires no commas.
Do we all understand what is meant by "essential" there? An essential modifier is one that is necessary for the sentence to make sense. Think of it this way. Because there's no comma before or after the appositive Trudy, we know that there must be more than one sister. The speaker is distinguishing between her sister Trudy who won the lottery and her sister Elaine who did not. If she had only one sister, and that sister's name was Trudy, then she could leave the name out of the sentence without changing its meaning.
In other words:
If the speaker has only one sister, then
My sister won the lottery
and
My sister, Trudy, won the lottery
mean the same thing.
If the speaker has more than one sister, then
My sister won the lottery
and
My sister Trudy won the lottery
don't mean the same thing. The first sentence could refer to a different sister.
So the commas can change the meaning of the sentence, and that's why punctuation is important for appositives. It's not just for readability, but also for meaning.
Theresa
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Online Style Guides
Yesterday as a result of a new story, I discovered that the Navy style guide is now online. If you write about SEALs or other sailors, this might be useful for dialogue and official jargon.
Here are some other links that might be useful if you're investigating questions of style.
AP Stylebook Online
AP advocates a style which is less formal than academic writing but not as casual as dialect. If you write for newspapers, magazines, or genre fiction publishers, you'll generally be safe with AP.
The Economist Style Guide
This concise guide is useful if you want a more thoughtful tone in your prose. Is your character highly educated? Is he a CEO or other money guy? This might come in handy.
Chicago
APA
MLA
The big three of academic style. Most of the ordinary manuscript format rules (double-spaced, one-inch margins, page numbers in corners, etc.) come from academic style.
Strunk & White
A general style guide aimed at ordinary writing. This is really basic stuff. No excuse for not knowing these rules. (I have special love for rule II.7, of course.)
Then there are the specialized style guides and online dictionaries. Is your character a doctor? Maybe you need to look at AMA style for that memo he writes in chapter six. Was he born and raised in London? Maybe you need this English slang dictionary. Is your hero a retired athlete? Here's a brief sports terms dictionary.
The point is that there are multiple layers to manuscript style. It needs an appropriate format to be ready for submission. It needs appropriate grammar and mechanics and usage within the text itself. And it needs characters who sound like the people the author intends them to be. Style guides can help the writer achieve all of these goals.
Theresa
Here are some other links that might be useful if you're investigating questions of style.
AP Stylebook Online
AP advocates a style which is less formal than academic writing but not as casual as dialect. If you write for newspapers, magazines, or genre fiction publishers, you'll generally be safe with AP.
The Economist Style Guide
This concise guide is useful if you want a more thoughtful tone in your prose. Is your character highly educated? Is he a CEO or other money guy? This might come in handy.
Chicago
APA
MLA
The big three of academic style. Most of the ordinary manuscript format rules (double-spaced, one-inch margins, page numbers in corners, etc.) come from academic style.
Strunk & White
A general style guide aimed at ordinary writing. This is really basic stuff. No excuse for not knowing these rules. (I have special love for rule II.7, of course.)
Then there are the specialized style guides and online dictionaries. Is your character a doctor? Maybe you need to look at AMA style for that memo he writes in chapter six. Was he born and raised in London? Maybe you need this English slang dictionary. Is your hero a retired athlete? Here's a brief sports terms dictionary.
The point is that there are multiple layers to manuscript style. It needs an appropriate format to be ready for submission. It needs appropriate grammar and mechanics and usage within the text itself. And it needs characters who sound like the people the author intends them to be. Style guides can help the writer achieve all of these goals.
Theresa
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
To Cap or Not to Cap
This question comes up in some form or another at least once a week. Which words do we capitalize, and which are lower case? Whether internet/Internet, Iraq war/Iraq War, or some other term, often we are unsure whether to hit the shift key on that first letter.
If you don't know house style rules, here's a safe way to find answers to these questions.
Check the AP Style book.
For the casual kinds of writing usually employed by genre fiction writers, AP style will be a safe fallback position whenever you run into these kinds of questions. Most of us use AP as a sort of baseline for a lot of technical questions like spelling, caps, hyphens, and so on. We may diverge from their rules here and there, but even when we do, it won't hurt you to follow AP. It's an accepted and recognized standard.
What if you don't have an AP style book and can't get to one?
Check Webster's. Not all dictionaries are created alike, and writers have been known to have bitter rows over which is a better standard. Some swear by the Oxford English Dictionary because of its comprehensive etymology. It's great for historical fiction writers. Some prefer American Heritage for its insightful inclusion of regional dialect and jargon.
So why am I advocating Webster's?
Because that's what AP does. When AP doesn't specify a particular spelling, it defaults to Webster's.
I keep multiple dictionaries on hand to check shades of meaning -- comparing definitions across dictionaries can often reveal subtle connotations. But for matters of style, when the Red Sage book is silent, we go to AP and, like AP, to Webster's.
Regardless of which method you choose, be sure to remain consistent. Don't use the OED variant for the first usage of a term and the Webster's for the next. Don't mix your internets and your Internets in the same document.
Which are your favorite dictionaries, and why?
Theresa
If you don't know house style rules, here's a safe way to find answers to these questions.
Check the AP Style book.
For the casual kinds of writing usually employed by genre fiction writers, AP style will be a safe fallback position whenever you run into these kinds of questions. Most of us use AP as a sort of baseline for a lot of technical questions like spelling, caps, hyphens, and so on. We may diverge from their rules here and there, but even when we do, it won't hurt you to follow AP. It's an accepted and recognized standard.
What if you don't have an AP style book and can't get to one?
Check Webster's. Not all dictionaries are created alike, and writers have been known to have bitter rows over which is a better standard. Some swear by the Oxford English Dictionary because of its comprehensive etymology. It's great for historical fiction writers. Some prefer American Heritage for its insightful inclusion of regional dialect and jargon.
So why am I advocating Webster's?
Because that's what AP does. When AP doesn't specify a particular spelling, it defaults to Webster's.
I keep multiple dictionaries on hand to check shades of meaning -- comparing definitions across dictionaries can often reveal subtle connotations. But for matters of style, when the Red Sage book is silent, we go to AP and, like AP, to Webster's.
Regardless of which method you choose, be sure to remain consistent. Don't use the OED variant for the first usage of a term and the Webster's for the next. Don't mix your internets and your Internets in the same document.
Which are your favorite dictionaries, and why?
Theresa
Friday, September 4, 2009
Can style be taught?
A friend asks me, "Can style be taught?" and I don't know. What do you all think? I think writers can be taught certain techniques that work, helped to recognize ways to create felicitous and meaningful phrases-- most importantly, guided to understanding the power that controlling prose can bring. We can learn to use and not avoid repetition, to aim for sentence combination and not just variety, to design our paragraphs for suppleness with transitions and links.
However, I don't think rhythm recognition can be taught. I think we can remind ourselves always to stay open to beauty and power, to appreciate cadence and melody in sentences, and to analyze passages to imbed more meaning-- and that analysis and creativity are comrades, not enemies. I think we can all learn to open our minds, to listen for poetic phrasing, to hear the music in paragraphs.
But no, I don't think we can be taught (or learn on our own) to write like Virginia Woolf or Vladimir Nabokov, any more than the most astute tennis coaching can give us a forehand like Serena Williams's. Talent does give you an edge in any endeavor. :) I do, however, think that almost anyone functionally literate can be taught to write on an adequate level, and that already adequate writers can be taught some techniques to be good writers, and that extraordinary writers can learn from the responses of good readers to improve whatever rough edges or complications still remain.
Notice the missing step there-- good to extraordinary. I suspect that step is the one that depends most on talent and dedication, and the least actually on coaching or teaching.
This is, actually, the problem I had with the character of the young math genius in Good Will Hunting. He happened to be a genius, but he had no real interest in math or anything else, and so it wasn't just his poor background that relegated him to janitorial status while not-quite-so-brilliant guys became MIT professors. (Notice that when the professor tries to help him explore math on something beyond a "trained-monkey" level, Will rejects him and leaves, and never does, it seems, pursue this inquiry.) He had no enthusiasm, no real love for the seeking of knowledge. And that, more than the childhood abuse, more than the underprivileged upbringing, was what doomed him to his angry, bitter, resentful existence. I remember my mother talking about her own past-- born the child of ethnic immigrant factory workers in the Depression, enduring a childhood of serious illness and fears, and a pretty inadequate factory town education, not to mention a culture that actively discouraged girls from achieving-- and she said, "I was a timid girl. But I had an enthusiasm for science." (She ended up with a PhD in microbiology.)
Enthusiasm is an essential ingredient, I think, in becoming more than just the talent. And that's what will take the merely talented, the naturally great wordsmiths, into eloquence. But neither talent nor enthusiasm can be taught, and so that step from good to great (which requires both) is probably the one that is hardest to make, and hardest to coach too. And of course, those are the writers who probably most want to be great, and who, sadly, recognize most how far they are from greatness.
(You've probably noticed that the most confident writers are generally the least accomplished... the better we get, the more we realize how distant greatness really is. :)
Fortunately, "merely good" is plenty good enough to succeed in almost every field, if "merely good" is combined with "hard working" and "disciplined". So maybe we can go from "merely good" to "very good" through study. What do you all think? Can you teach style?
(And of course, we should eventually discuss the diff between "style" and "voice".:)
Alicia being difficult
However, I don't think rhythm recognition can be taught. I think we can remind ourselves always to stay open to beauty and power, to appreciate cadence and melody in sentences, and to analyze passages to imbed more meaning-- and that analysis and creativity are comrades, not enemies. I think we can all learn to open our minds, to listen for poetic phrasing, to hear the music in paragraphs.
But no, I don't think we can be taught (or learn on our own) to write like Virginia Woolf or Vladimir Nabokov, any more than the most astute tennis coaching can give us a forehand like Serena Williams's. Talent does give you an edge in any endeavor. :) I do, however, think that almost anyone functionally literate can be taught to write on an adequate level, and that already adequate writers can be taught some techniques to be good writers, and that extraordinary writers can learn from the responses of good readers to improve whatever rough edges or complications still remain.
Notice the missing step there-- good to extraordinary. I suspect that step is the one that depends most on talent and dedication, and the least actually on coaching or teaching.
This is, actually, the problem I had with the character of the young math genius in Good Will Hunting. He happened to be a genius, but he had no real interest in math or anything else, and so it wasn't just his poor background that relegated him to janitorial status while not-quite-so-brilliant guys became MIT professors. (Notice that when the professor tries to help him explore math on something beyond a "trained-monkey" level, Will rejects him and leaves, and never does, it seems, pursue this inquiry.) He had no enthusiasm, no real love for the seeking of knowledge. And that, more than the childhood abuse, more than the underprivileged upbringing, was what doomed him to his angry, bitter, resentful existence. I remember my mother talking about her own past-- born the child of ethnic immigrant factory workers in the Depression, enduring a childhood of serious illness and fears, and a pretty inadequate factory town education, not to mention a culture that actively discouraged girls from achieving-- and she said, "I was a timid girl. But I had an enthusiasm for science." (She ended up with a PhD in microbiology.)
Enthusiasm is an essential ingredient, I think, in becoming more than just the talent. And that's what will take the merely talented, the naturally great wordsmiths, into eloquence. But neither talent nor enthusiasm can be taught, and so that step from good to great (which requires both) is probably the one that is hardest to make, and hardest to coach too. And of course, those are the writers who probably most want to be great, and who, sadly, recognize most how far they are from greatness.
(You've probably noticed that the most confident writers are generally the least accomplished... the better we get, the more we realize how distant greatness really is. :)
Fortunately, "merely good" is plenty good enough to succeed in almost every field, if "merely good" is combined with "hard working" and "disciplined". So maybe we can go from "merely good" to "very good" through study. What do you all think? Can you teach style?
(And of course, we should eventually discuss the diff between "style" and "voice".:)
Alicia being difficult
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Which is more striking?
I'm reading Relentless by Dean Koontz, and it's a sub-genre I love, where evil book reviewers get what's coming to them.
No, really, I love books about writers. That's sort of sad, isn't it?
Anyway, I don't know why, and I don't even know if it's real or the writer/hero is imagining it. But the reviewer who panned his book is in the hero's bedroom. Hero wakes up and senses him, but it's dark and he can't see. He reaches into a drawer where he keeps a flashlight.
Here's the next line:
The flashlight wasn't there.
Now my head sort of edited that to:
The flashlight was gone.
Now just with that little bit of info, which-- if you were writing the same passage-- would you do? And why?
I've been trying to put things positively in my own writing, because that feels more active somehow. But Koontz knows how to create suspense and shock a lot more than I do, so I bet he's right. What do you think?
No, really, I love books about writers. That's sort of sad, isn't it?
Anyway, I don't know why, and I don't even know if it's real or the writer/hero is imagining it. But the reviewer who panned his book is in the hero's bedroom. Hero wakes up and senses him, but it's dark and he can't see. He reaches into a drawer where he keeps a flashlight.
Here's the next line:
The flashlight wasn't there.
Now my head sort of edited that to:
The flashlight was gone.
Now just with that little bit of info, which-- if you were writing the same passage-- would you do? And why?
I've been trying to put things positively in my own writing, because that feels more active somehow. But Koontz knows how to create suspense and shock a lot more than I do, so I bet he's right. What do you think?
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Consistency: Not Just for Hobgoblins Any More
Theresa, what do you think?
I think that every time a writer says about punctuation, "but it's my voice," an angel dies. And not just any angel. A cute, pink, puffy-cheeked baby angel with those adorable fat rolls on its chubby little thighs. Now, do you really want to go through life with that on your conscience -- being the murderer of a wee baby angel?
Okay, maybe I'm overstating the case. Forgive me. I tend to get a bit wild-eyed when discussing punctuation.
So let me give you are a real answer, and I'll try to be rational.
There are two golden rules to keep in mind about punctuation in general. Rule Number One: the publishing house's style guide will control final decisions on punctuation in 99% of the cases. Rule Number Two: if you don't know the house style, then above all, be consistent.
I'm going to let you all in on a little secret. I wrote our house style guide. I didn't do it on my own; the editors, copy editors, publisher, and even the typesetter all provided input. And by "input," I mean "argued bitterly over the details." For months. On some of the details, the debate still rages. In fact, in the weeks leading up to our recent editorial retreat, our copy editor warned me repeatedly that she was going to take me on over the Oxford comma, and she did, but probably with less satisfaction than she had hoped for. And don't even get me started on the four-day argument over semicolons that started at the author dinner on Thursday, raged at intervals over the course of the day on Friday, carried us through the drive to Sonoma County, and provided endless conversational fodder for our three days in wine country. You know it's bad when an editor wakes up in the middle of the night and thinks, "Auden!" And the next night, another editor bolts wide awake and thinks, "Yes, but Dickinson!" And each one's slings her quoted poetry at the other, convinced of her righteousness.
So I could tell you that a lot of thought went into the style guide, but the truth is far more complex. Editors approach these matters with an obsessiveness usually reserved to misers counting pennies. That's what makes them good at what they do. If they’re not passionate about whether an ellipses can or can not serve as an end mark, then they probably won't give a damn about many of the other aspects of your story, either.
The house style guide represents a sort of neutral territory in the midst of these ongoing battles. Because the rules of English grammar are in constant flux, and because formal and casual English adopt different rules, there are multiple right answers to the same question. Can you use a semicolon? Answer: it depends on who you ask, when you ask, and the source material. (But the answer is no if you're writing light genre fiction. And now let's all wait to see how long it takes Alicia to respond to that comment.)
You know, we're just perverse enough as a breed to think that all this bickering is fun. We all obey the style guide, and we all know as a result of months of arguing fine points when we can safely ignore the style guide. We develop inside jokes from particular arguments -- just watch Alicia and I use the words "natural storyteller" and then giggle like schoolgirls. Through all of these evolving arguments, even when we may concede a point or agree to adopt a particular convention, we never accept defeat. Because deep in our hearts, every editor worthy of the job title is utterly convinced of the correctness of her personal beliefs. Never mind the evidence. We've thought deeply about it. We know.
Authors are not privy to any of this, though sometimes you witness parts of it. Sometimes you might even enter the fray momentarily, and kudos to those of you brave enough to do it. But here's the thing. When you send your editor an e-mail saying, “But I don't want to do my commas that way," what you're really doing is re-opening a behind-the-scenes battle -- dipping into the ocean's surf, if you will, and wading with those of us who live like dolphins.
So, with all that said, it takes us to the specific question. An author wants to adopt two separate sets of conventions for her punctuation in the same novel. One set will apply to the "voice" of a particular character. The other set will apply to the balance of the novel, which is presumably in the author's voice. Is this acceptable, or even a good idea? Answer: it depends on who you ask, when you ask, and the source material.
But the real answer is no.
There are dozens of reasons that the real answer is no, but they all point to two different concepts. First concept: the purpose of a house style guide is to create a consistent style in all documents released by a line or a house. What you're trying to do violates the very purpose of the house style. More than that, the first reader -- and indeed, all subsequent readers, if you're lucky enough to get to them -- will see your punctuation as inconsistent. It's unlikely that they will analyze it more deeply than that. If they notice it at all, they will probably find it puzzling or annoying. If they don’t notice it, they might still be subconsciously unsettled by the book’s inconsistencies. In either case, you risk breaking what John Gardner calls the fictive dream, that mental state a reader enters when they are captivated by a story. Unless the break is deliberate (and for some experimental or literary writers, such breaks are deliberate), this is not the effect you want.
Second concept: Even if your editor goes along with it -- and it's unlikely that she will -- the copy editor and proofreader are going to hate it. They will find it confusing (as, I suspect, will most of the readers), and they won’t want to be responsible for getting it correct. They're going to try to change everything to the house standards. It will lead to an editorial battle, which the managing editor will settle by saying, "Do what the style guide tells you to do." And then everyone will remember you as the author of the manuscript that led to those battles. That's not how you want to be remembered in-house.
If you are writing genre fiction, you should strive to make your punctuation as transparent as possible. Trust the words. Let the words tell the story. Let the words provide cadence and rhythm, meaning and context. Punctuation is not bling and you should not apply commas like a pointillist decorating a canvas. You don't want your end reader to notice your punctuation. You want them to notice your story.
Trust me on this. I've thought deeply about it. I know.
Theresa
I think that every time a writer says about punctuation, "but it's my voice," an angel dies. And not just any angel. A cute, pink, puffy-cheeked baby angel with those adorable fat rolls on its chubby little thighs. Now, do you really want to go through life with that on your conscience -- being the murderer of a wee baby angel?
Okay, maybe I'm overstating the case. Forgive me. I tend to get a bit wild-eyed when discussing punctuation.
So let me give you are a real answer, and I'll try to be rational.
There are two golden rules to keep in mind about punctuation in general. Rule Number One: the publishing house's style guide will control final decisions on punctuation in 99% of the cases. Rule Number Two: if you don't know the house style, then above all, be consistent.
I'm going to let you all in on a little secret. I wrote our house style guide. I didn't do it on my own; the editors, copy editors, publisher, and even the typesetter all provided input. And by "input," I mean "argued bitterly over the details." For months. On some of the details, the debate still rages. In fact, in the weeks leading up to our recent editorial retreat, our copy editor warned me repeatedly that she was going to take me on over the Oxford comma, and she did, but probably with less satisfaction than she had hoped for. And don't even get me started on the four-day argument over semicolons that started at the author dinner on Thursday, raged at intervals over the course of the day on Friday, carried us through the drive to Sonoma County, and provided endless conversational fodder for our three days in wine country. You know it's bad when an editor wakes up in the middle of the night and thinks, "Auden!" And the next night, another editor bolts wide awake and thinks, "Yes, but Dickinson!" And each one's slings her quoted poetry at the other, convinced of her righteousness.
So I could tell you that a lot of thought went into the style guide, but the truth is far more complex. Editors approach these matters with an obsessiveness usually reserved to misers counting pennies. That's what makes them good at what they do. If they’re not passionate about whether an ellipses can or can not serve as an end mark, then they probably won't give a damn about many of the other aspects of your story, either.
The house style guide represents a sort of neutral territory in the midst of these ongoing battles. Because the rules of English grammar are in constant flux, and because formal and casual English adopt different rules, there are multiple right answers to the same question. Can you use a semicolon? Answer: it depends on who you ask, when you ask, and the source material. (But the answer is no if you're writing light genre fiction. And now let's all wait to see how long it takes Alicia to respond to that comment.)
You know, we're just perverse enough as a breed to think that all this bickering is fun. We all obey the style guide, and we all know as a result of months of arguing fine points when we can safely ignore the style guide. We develop inside jokes from particular arguments -- just watch Alicia and I use the words "natural storyteller" and then giggle like schoolgirls. Through all of these evolving arguments, even when we may concede a point or agree to adopt a particular convention, we never accept defeat. Because deep in our hearts, every editor worthy of the job title is utterly convinced of the correctness of her personal beliefs. Never mind the evidence. We've thought deeply about it. We know.
Authors are not privy to any of this, though sometimes you witness parts of it. Sometimes you might even enter the fray momentarily, and kudos to those of you brave enough to do it. But here's the thing. When you send your editor an e-mail saying, “But I don't want to do my commas that way," what you're really doing is re-opening a behind-the-scenes battle -- dipping into the ocean's surf, if you will, and wading with those of us who live like dolphins.
So, with all that said, it takes us to the specific question. An author wants to adopt two separate sets of conventions for her punctuation in the same novel. One set will apply to the "voice" of a particular character. The other set will apply to the balance of the novel, which is presumably in the author's voice. Is this acceptable, or even a good idea? Answer: it depends on who you ask, when you ask, and the source material.
But the real answer is no.
There are dozens of reasons that the real answer is no, but they all point to two different concepts. First concept: the purpose of a house style guide is to create a consistent style in all documents released by a line or a house. What you're trying to do violates the very purpose of the house style. More than that, the first reader -- and indeed, all subsequent readers, if you're lucky enough to get to them -- will see your punctuation as inconsistent. It's unlikely that they will analyze it more deeply than that. If they notice it at all, they will probably find it puzzling or annoying. If they don’t notice it, they might still be subconsciously unsettled by the book’s inconsistencies. In either case, you risk breaking what John Gardner calls the fictive dream, that mental state a reader enters when they are captivated by a story. Unless the break is deliberate (and for some experimental or literary writers, such breaks are deliberate), this is not the effect you want.
Second concept: Even if your editor goes along with it -- and it's unlikely that she will -- the copy editor and proofreader are going to hate it. They will find it confusing (as, I suspect, will most of the readers), and they won’t want to be responsible for getting it correct. They're going to try to change everything to the house standards. It will lead to an editorial battle, which the managing editor will settle by saying, "Do what the style guide tells you to do." And then everyone will remember you as the author of the manuscript that led to those battles. That's not how you want to be remembered in-house.
If you are writing genre fiction, you should strive to make your punctuation as transparent as possible. Trust the words. Let the words tell the story. Let the words provide cadence and rhythm, meaning and context. Punctuation is not bling and you should not apply commas like a pointillist decorating a canvas. You don't want your end reader to notice your punctuation. You want them to notice your story.
Trust me on this. I've thought deeply about it. I know.
Theresa
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