How to Not Write Bad: The Most Common Writing Problems and the Best Ways to Avoidthem
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It wasn’t necessarily always the case, but it’s now okay to use like:
As a synonym for such as.
We read authors like Hemingway, Faulkner, and Fitzgerald.
To introduce a clause where a verb is omitted.
He takes to engineering like a duck [takes] to water.
He speaks French like a native [does].
It has never been wrong or even suspect to use like in a sentence like:
Like Paris, Rome has an almost unlimited number of world-class restaurants.
However, some people are gun-shy about like and engage in the hoity toity lingo that’s called “hypercorrection.”
[In common with Paris, Rome has an almost unlimited number of world-class restaurants.]
Actually, in common with is called for in only one situation: sentences like Bill and Paul have lot in common.
g. Use a Plural Verb with a Collective Noun
A number of objections comes come to mind.
In the above sentence, the plural come is better than the singular comes, even though (singular) number is ostensibly the subject of the sentence. That’s because the emphasis is on objections. By the same logic, if the emphasis is on the singular collective, the singular verb is preferable:
Just one battalion of soldiers were was sent to the front.
A bucket of worms were was on top of the bench.
He was one of the employees who was were given an award at the ceremony.
Often, it could go either way, as in this pair:
A scrum of applicants was hovering outside the office door by 7 a.m.
A scrum of applicants were hovering outside the office door by 7 a.m.
Which do you prefer? I would go with 2.
2. SKUNKED
As with words, certain grammatical constructions are considered okay by some or most authorities but retain an offensive odor for many readers (and, crucially, teachers and editors), and should be avoided. This shouldn’t present a problem, since they’re usually not difficult to replace with the correct form.
a. First-Person First
[I and Matt will be collecting tickets for the concert.]
Matt and I will be collecting tickets for the concert.
b. Like (II)
Some have argued that the 1950s ad slogan “Winston tastes good like a cigarette should” started the modern prescriptivist movement. In any case, things have gotten to the point where using like instead of as, as if, or as though is widely accepted. But it still could get you in hot water in certain quarters.
[He looked like he really wanted to jump into the pool.]
He looked as though he really wanted to jump into the pool.
[Like the professor said, this material will be covered on the exam.]
As the professor said, this material will be covered on the exam.
c. Possessive Before a Gerund
This one is on the cusp and may get a clean bill of health before the decade is out. But for now it’s a skunker.
[I don’t like you talking about the senator in that tone.]
I don’t like your talking about the senator in that tone.
d. Past Tense
The word snuck did not appear in print before 1887, at least according to The Oxford English Dictionary. Traditionally, the past tense of to sneak had always been sneaked. Then snuck sneaked in, presumably because sneaked is hard to speak. By now, The Random House Dictionary deems it “a standard variant past tense and past participle” of sneak. In Google Fight, snuck beats sneaked by a nearly two-to-one margin.
That means, for all intents and purposes, that it’s okay. The same goes for hung and dove, which have respectively joined hanged and dived as accepted. Not so with these other relatively recent verb forms, in which the traditional participle is more and more commonly used as the past tense. They are all still skunked.
He drunk drank the water.
The fish layed laid lay on the counter, filleted and ready to broil.
(That is past tense of the verb lie, which is often confused with the verb lay. Lie is intransitive—you, or fish, do it all by yourself. Lay is transitive, meaning that you do it to something, like carpet or your burdens; it’s often followed by down. I lay laid the files on my desk.)
Honey, I shrunk shrank the kids.
In a fit of pique, he sunk sank the toy boat.
The Basie Band really swung swang.
e. Ly-Less Adverbs
A common move in spoken English is streamlining adverbs.
[This was a real nice clambake.]
[Think different.]
[He didn’t do so bad.]
[That car sure drives smooth.]
I bracketed those sentences with a heavy heart because they have such a nice, casual sound to them. Hey: I even called this book How to Not Write Bad! Unfortunately, this sort of thing is still skunked in writing meant for anything more formal than a blog post. The first, second, and third examples are easily changed:
This was a really nice clambake. (Apologies to Oscar Hammerstein.)
Think differently. (Apologies to Steve Jobs.)
He didn’t do so badly.
However, the third runs into a problem that’s illuminated by a famous bit of dialogue from the movie Airplane:
RUMACK: Can you fly this plane, and land it?
STRIKER: Surely you can’t be serious.
RUMACK: I am serious…and don’t call me Shirley.
Surely is a hard word to pull off. Moreover, as in the bracketed example, the adverbial sure is sometimes used to mean something slightly different from surely. Here, the best tack might be seeking out another word altogether.
That car certainly [or definitely, or really] drives smoothly.
There are some exceptions. When a verb indicates a state of being—that is, if it could theoretically be replaced by the verb to be—it should be followed by the non -ly, or adjective, form.
You look beautiful. I feel good. I feel great. I feel bad. I feel fine. I feel pretty. The dinner tasted wonderful.
[I feel badly] and [the dinner tasted wonderfully] are hypercorrection.
An apparent exception to this is the word well, especially in negative sentences. (It’s only an apparent exception because in this context, well is an adjective, as in well-baby clinic.) So we say, He didn’t feel well, so he stayed home from work.
f. Only, the Lonely
For a little word, only creates a heap of difficulties. For a century or more, it was a sticklers’ article of faith that this adverb had to be placed directly in front of the word it was modifying, or else all sorts of ambiguous hell would break loose. Thus, the sticklers would have had you write:
I have eyes only for you.
Only God knows what I’d be without you.
I want to be with only you.
Music fans of a certain advanced age will recognize these as mangled and ruined versions of the titles of some classic pop songs: “I Only Have Eyes for You,” “God Only Knows (What I’d Be Without You),” and “I Only Want to Be with You.”
Here’s the thing. In pop songs and in speech, please feel free to put only in any position that feels right and seems to make sense. In formal or public writing, however, the sticklers’ rule about placement still applies. (Barely.)
He only has only one more course to take before graduation.
Germany’s economy only grew by only 1 percent last year.
I’m only asking only for a little respect.
g. Assorted Grammatically Skunked Expressions
[He couldn’t help but be impressed.]
He couldn’t help being impressed.
[It’s not that big of a deal.]
It’s not that big a deal.
[I’m a person that likes to laugh.]
I’m a person who likes to laugh.
3. STILL WRONG
Certain grammatical mistakes are commonly made in spoken but not written English, and thus won’t be addressed at length in this book. Examp
les include ain’t; of instead of have in expressions like He could of come; them instead of those in expressions like one of them things; and regionalisms like He done wrecked the car. The one that probably comes up the most—as it’s a feature of many nonstandard dialects, including African-American Vernacular English—is a transposition of past and participle forms of irregular verbs.
[He seen it coming.]
He saw it coming.
[I had went to watch that movie when it first come out.]
I had gone to watch that movie when it first came out.
a. Subjunctive
The subjunctive mood has been losing sway in the English language over the centuries, but it’s still got some sway left. Basically, the subjunctive calls for a shift in the verb to be in reference to untrue scenarios; the word if is usually a giveaway.
[If I was you, I would take that class.]
If I were you, I would take that class.
Note that if the scenario followed by if is not necessarily untrue—that is, if it’s in doubt—the standard past tense is called for, and the subjunctive is hypercorrection.
[I asked him if he were happy with our marriage.]
I asked him if he was happy with our marriage.
[Check what’s in the refrigerator to find out if he were in the house last night.]
Check what’s in the refrigerator to find out if he was in the house last night.
b. Like (III)
Like still doesn’t cut the mustard when it’s followed by in:
[Like in France, American TV is a case of dumb and dumber.]
As in France, American TV is a case of dumb and dumber.
That’s an easy fix, but a comparable misuse of unlike is more challenging.
[Unlike in the higher atmospheres, airplanes frequently encounter turbulence when they’re about to land.]
Airplanes often run into turbulence when they’re about to land. That’s not true in higher atmospheres.
c. (Don’t) Let ’Em Dangle
A similar like mistake is:
[Like his first trial, Morgan was acquitted.]
Again, the fix is to use as in:
As in his first trial, Morgan was acquitted.
This error is an example of a dangling modifier. Here are some more examples from students’ writing:
[By including several charts along with the story, readers are encouraged to understand the long-term trends.]
[Being the most spectacular event of the year, newspapers were obligated to devote major coverage to the hurricane.]
[As an expert on fiscal recovery, his comments were listened to with intense interest.]
[By reversing the color scheme, the eye is captured.]
[Claiming to be a simple man leading an ordinary life of a male as he enjoys watching football with his buddy’s, Smith’s lifestyle is far from ordinary]. (For buddy’s, see “Apostrophes,” II.B.1.)
(From a review of a new bra by Victoria’s Secret) [Sitting in class or dancing at the bar, the bra performed well…Though slightly pricey, your breasts will thank you.]
The grammatical problem in those sentences (and I apologize if I seem to be stating the obvious) is that Morgan didn’t resemble his first trial; readers didn’t include the charts; newspapers were not the most spectacular event; the eye doesn’t reverse the color scheme; his comments were not an expert; Smith’s lifestyle didn’t claim to be a simple man; the bra doesn’t sit in class or dance at a bar; and the reader’s breasts are not pricey. (Pause for snarky comment.) In each case, the italicized word or phrase is the subject of the sentence, and the opening phrase—up to the comma, that is—has to modify, describe, or characterize the subject and nothing but the subject.
To get technical for just a minute, I’ll note that this is a problem only with introductory phrases (which do not contain a subject and verb), not clauses (which do). So there is no dangler issue in the following:
Since he is running for mayor next year, he is resigning all his board memberships. (Opens with dependent clause.)
Kris is the starting center on the basketball team, but Jessica wants to replace her. (Opens with independent clause.)
An interesting thing about danglers is that a rather select group of writers commit them: the minority who would even attempt a complex sentence. They haven’t quite mastered the skill of putting one of these together, and thus can get themselves in rather spectacular trouble, but at least they realize that this level of complexity is, as Hamlet said, a consummation devoutly to be wished.
Relevant as well is that danglers are very common—and, to a certain extent, acceptable—in speech. When talking, some “mistakes” are okay. Did you notice that the previous sentence has a dangling modifier (mistakes don’t talk)? In conversation, I bet you wouldn’t. As another example, let’s suppose I’m speaking with someone who’s an expert in ancient religion, and I say: “As an expert in ancient religion, I wonder what you think of devil worship.” That is a dangling modifier: “I” am not a religion expert. In speech, we give this a pass. In writing, we—and by we I mean the professors and editors of the world—do not.
That’s unfortunate, because danglers spring incessantly from many writers’ fingers; it takes a substantial amount of discipline and rigor to prune them from our prose. (If you haven’t guessed, I am one of those writers.) Consequently, much more so than the other errors on my list, they show up in well-respected publications, such as the New York Times Book Review (rather than providing the meticulous examination of the process of looking…we are treated to rhetorical flights that provide little perspective of any useful kind), the New Yorker (A major political donor, his greatest concern is to protect Israel), and the Chronicle of Higher Education (Having made it successfully through all three gantlets, all of the rejections I experienced along the way have become only vague memories).
How to avoid danglers? A simple strategy will help you smoke these bad boys out. First of all, you have to recognize sentences that have this structure: MODIFIER-COMMA-SUBJECT-VERB. The vast majority of the time, the part of such a sentence before the comma will either:
Begin with Like, Unlike, or As. (Example: Like most of the student body, Rogoff has spent an inordinate amount of time avoiding hard classes.)
Contain a gerund, that is, a verb in the —ing form. (Being an inquisitive sort, I wonder what you ate for breakfast.)
Begin with the infinitive form of a verb. (To maximize your chances of losing weight, you should avoid fried food.)
Begin with one or more participles. (Shaken and not stirred, James Bond’s martinis are a twentieth-century icon.)
Consist of a noun phrase. (A popular mayor, Potter is running unopposed for reelection.)
Once you recognize the sentence, circle the subject, the modifier, and the verb. Then see if it makes sense if you keep all the elements but change the order to this: SUBJECT-COMMA-MODIFIER-COMMA-VERB. If it does—as in all of the examples above—you’re good to go. If it doesn’t, you have a dangler.
So take one of my students’ troubled sentences:
[Being the most spectacular event of the year, newspapers devoted major coverage to the hurricane.]
Shifted, it would be:
[Newspapers, being the most spectacular event of the year, devoted major coverage to the hurricane.]
Obviously no good. There are any number of ways to fix this sentence. Probably the best thing to do is to follow the student’s original instinct and start with the hurricanes. So:
The hurricane was the most spectacular event of the year, and newspapers devoted major coverage to it.
To make matters even more complicated, danglers are sometimes okay.
That sentence is an example of a certain class of opening modifiers, sometimes referred to as sentence adverbs, that get a pass when it comes to the whole dangling-modifier question. These are words or phrases that, rather than modify the subject, convey the speaker’s or writer’s attitude, or generally characterize the content of
the rest of the sentence. For example:
Fortunately, the game will go on as scheduled.
To be perfectly honest, that course is pure hogwash.
Summing up this section, it’s pretty easy to spot a dangling modifier.
d. Parallel Universes
The parallelism problem crops up most commonly in lists. You want to make sure that every item is in the same basic form.
[I like to hike, play disk golf, and just goofing off.]
In the example above, the phrase I like to applies to the first two items in the list, but is mysteriously dropped for the third. As the Beatles once sang, “You can’t do that.” So change to:
I like hiking, playing disk golf, and just goofing off.