All sentences must have a subject and a verb and if they have supporting words, that’s even better. But never use sentence fragments—never, never, never.

Are you nodding because that’s the advice you got?

Well, perhaps that’s the way to teach language skills to children just learning how to write. Perhaps it’s the way to teach non-fiction. Or perhaps not. Creative non-fiction is filled with incomplete sentences. Perhaps it’s just a first step from a first teacher, and somewhere down the line someone else was supposed to teach us how to break that rule in order to create phrases that make a splash when they’re grammatically incomplete but oh so thoroughly complete in meaning.

Face it: readers of fiction know that sentences don’t need to be complete in order to make an impact. Fragments can be understandable. They can be strong. They can be necessary for the life of a passage.

And what readers know, writers know. And those writers know how to write grammatically incomplete sentences that are nonetheless complete for their purpose.

_________________________________

So, now that you know it’s okay, sometimes preferable, to use sentence fragments, how do you use them correctly?

Use them, but do so with the knowledge that there are times and places where they work better than others. There are times when the paragraph or scene is better served by full sentences, with specific verbs and subjects. There are times when you need to spell it all out.

Not only are there places where fragments don’t work, there are some fragments that don’t work at all. For example, the shortcut style of instant messages and texts and tweets has crept into long fiction and sometimes just doesn’t fit.

Ever read something such as—

Tilly dropped the cookie sheet. For the second time. Betty turned to hide her face. Grin.

Grin? What does that mean? That Betty hid a grin? Couldn’t hold back a grin? That she wanted to grin? That Tilly was grinning? That a grin was threatening to break out but Betty couldn’t let it because the last time a grin escaped, her mother was so shocked she fell over backward—off the ladder she’d been perched on to take down Christmas decorations—and she’d tipped into the Christmas tree and of course that had listed toward the window, knocking out the newly installed glass and after that, with the hole in the glass, the cat had escaped, so Lady, the Pekinese with an attitude,  had to jump out after her and . . . Well, let’s just say that Betty didn’t grin unexpectedly any more.

It’s hard to convey something such as that with a simple grin.

What about—

Tilly’s boss told her to clean the cages before she took the animals out for their walks. Blank stare. How could she clean the cages with the animals still in them?

———————–

“I love you, my dear,” Zeke said.

But his shoes were tied, he was pulling on his coat, and his packed bags were sitting at the door.

“I’ll always love you. I just need to . . . find myself.”

Find himself? Cocked brow. Yeah, I’d show him where he could find himself.

What does blank stare mean here? Does Tilly offer one? Feel that she’s wearing one?

What of cocked brow? Where’s the verb? Who’s doing the cocking? Does the phrase convey what it should?

There are too many possibilities for what these could say to leave the reader with only blank stare or cocked brow. If you’re writing long fiction, take the time to provide enough information for readers to understand, to take in meaning and emotion.

In novels and novellas, even in short stories, we’ve got time. We don’t have to shortcut everything the way we do for social media. We get to expand.

That’s not saying you can’t use shortcuts, even single-word shortcuts. Just be sure that your shortcuts make sense. Remember the reader. And fit your shortcuts to the genre and era and setting of your fictional world. Fit them to the character.

Also, be aware that you’re using a shortcut and know why. Don’t use them only because you’ve  just spent an hour texting and that type of construction—a benefit when we text—is on your brain.

Write with deliberation. Use what works for the story, not what happens to pop out onto the page.

_________________________________

There are other kinds of incomplete sentences as well. Again, some work, others don’t.

Fragments and incomplete sentences that work—

The April showers brought not only spring flowers but tornados. And devastation. John stood at the edge of his property, shocked. The house his grandfather had raised up from the Kansas field was no more, wiped away in a moment. He could see for miles where once trees had stood to block his view. Now? Emptiness. A vast void. The Kansas earth wiped clear of man’s presence.

———–

Paulette raced up the stairs, panting. Afraid she was too late. Afraid of what she’d find. Simply afraid. Hell, she was terrified.

———–

Danny wanted to forget his troubles. Forget his job. Forget his wife.

No, on second thought, he liked the job.

These fragments work because they make sense. They are based on what has come before. So . . . Explanations work as fragments. Repetition works. Answers to questions work.

Fragments and incomplete sentences that don’t work—

Tim was ecstatic. His excitement overwhelming him. X

———–

Diana put the dagger. X

 ———–

 Yes, I need you to bring. X

———–

While he read. X And then he’d take a bath and have a glass of wine. While Diana read.

Why don’t these fragments work?

In the first example, a period has separated the wording of  an absolute phrase. But the two parts of the absolute phrase need to be in the same sentence. Replace the period with a comma, and you have a sentence that does work. Or, change the verb form of overwhelm and that works also.

Tim was ecstatic, his excitement overwhelming him.

Tim was ecstatic. His excitement overwhelmed him.

What about Diana and her dagger? That fragment doesn’t work because the meaning is incomplete. Where did she put the dagger? We have no idea.

Diana put the dagger inside her boot.

The sentence with bring is incomplete because bring is a transitive verb that needs an object. We need to answer the question bring what.

Yes, I need you to bring the dagger that’s in your boot.

The final example is a bit trickier. If the first sentence is the first in a scene, it has no connection to anything else and so while I read has no meaning. While is a subordinating conjunction whose purpose is to connect a dependent clause to the rest of the sentence. (There’s a bit more to it than that, but for our purpose, that’s enough.) Since there is no rest of the sentence, there is nothing to connect to. The phrase is meaningless.

Yet, we could use this grammatically incorrect snippet to mean something if we let it refer—connect, in a way—to what has come before.

When the similar while you read follows another sentence—when it so clearly refers to the previous sentence—it can stand alone. Is it grammatically correct? No. Does it work in fiction? You bet. You can even use such a sentence as a paragraph of its own, for emphasis—

Tim was ecstatic; his excitement overwhelmed him. Almost overwhelmed Diana too. But Diana only shook her head and put the dagger inside her boot.

“Yes,” Tim said. “I need you to bring your dagger. And to kill Smyth, of course.”

Then Tim would no doubt read Smyth’s diary while she took care of Smyth’s body. Tim would follow up with a bath and a glass of wine.  

Tim grinned, gave her a thumbs-up. Yeah, he’d sip his precious wine. Then it would be her turn to read the diary.

While she waited to kill Smyth’s precious wife.

 _________________________________

The way a writer crafts her sentences—fluid and detailed, short and to the point, peppered with modifiers, sparse and lean—is a reflection of that writer’s style. Sentence construction, rhythm, patterns, word choices, sound, the visual of letters on the page—these elements working together define a writer’s style. Showcase it. Make it.

And the use or absence of sentence fragments is one element of that style.

Put fragments and incomplete sentences to work for your fiction if it works for your and your stories. It’s allowed. It’s okay. It’s sometimes necessary.

But learn what works and what doesn’t. Be grammatically incorrect on purpose, not by accident.

 Use incomplete sentences for impact, for changes in rhythm, to convey a character’s personality or frame of mind.

Keep in mind—

Pretty much anything goes in dialogue. Throw the grammar rules out the window if doing so fits your character and the emotion of the moment. No one needs to speak in complete sentences. Let character speech raise the tension when characters don’t answer the question that’s asked but the one that’s implied or the one that’s ignored. Let characters be unclear. Let dialogue sound different from your narration.

Some sentences which look incomplete aren’t. And even if they’re grammatically incomplete, they are nonetheless acceptable.

Commands are complete in themselves.

Swab the deck [you swab is implied]

Do it.

Question words are complete.

Why?

When?

Answers to questions and implied answers to (implied) questions are complete.

Would she take the job? Yes.

She wondered if he actually did it. He had.

The punch line? Five balloons and one pet snake.

Interjections are complete.

Holy cow.

Yowza!

Damn.

Oh no.

_________________________________

Might you need to use grammatically complete sentences for a company report or thesis? Sure. But even in those circumstances a good writer knows how to create impact with an incomplete sentence.

Write creatively. At the same time, write to communicate. Be clear, but use any tool, every tool, to create an impact.

Use sentence fragments if you can do so without confusing your readers (unless confusion is the intent).

Explore your options. Mix up your sentences so they’re not all the same. Not all by the book. Not all even sentences.

Write dramatic fiction. Write entertaining fiction. Write good story.

***

These individuals are more (or would that be less?) than grammar experts or curmudgeons. They go well beyond simple courtesy to make their points about grammar or punctuation, often pointing out errors and simple typos.

And they make the rest of us who also care about correct grammar and punctuation look to be of like mind, when most who truly care about language have no interest in embarrassing or offensively correcting those who might not follow language standards.

While I too would like error-free comments in blogs and in articles and in e-mails, I don’t fly off the handle when I find errors—and I’m talking about in my own writing as well as in the writing of others.

We are not perfect and for some writing, there’s no need for perfection. A timely response is sometimes more important than a grammatically perfect one; a blog comment is not a white paper or thesis. Also, errors don’t always mean a lack of knowledge. Even those who know the difference have typed there for their or they’re.

In addition to giving grammar lovers a bad name, these grammar authoritarians can generate a response that’s contradictory to the one they may hope to inspire. Well . . . Perhaps their actual aim is to stir controversy. If they truly cared about language and grammar and punctuation, they’d probably find a more palatable way to get their points across. Readers of a blog are not likely to fall over backwards to thank the commenter who jumps on another commenter for using the wrong verb tense or an incorrect word. That is, this grammar authority will not convince others he’s right if he’s rude and bombastic.

He may instead discourage others from pursuing correct or standard grammar. After all, who wants to be so strait-laced about the rules that they turn into someone who  belligerently mouths off to strangers?

Of course, there are also those who think any rule should be ignored for art’s sake. I don’t know that these have been blessed with a moniker—grammar anarchists?—but they also hold strong opinions on grammar rules and language use. They argue for using language as it’s spoken and written by real people in their daily lives.

At the extremes, then, there are those who would hold to unchanging rules of language and writing and those who consider rules to be unnecessary limits on creativity.

Well . . .

How about we say that either extreme doesn’t necessarily help writers or harm writers? How about we take the best from both sides, especially if we write fiction? How about we make the two extremes meet somewhere in the middle?

Why not take the best of prescriptive grammar—the norms and rules and accepted usage—as well as the best of descriptive grammar—language and syntax and words as they’re actually used by speakers of a language?

By taking this stand, I’ve pretty much set myself outside the prescriptive camp if we’re actually talking the point of view of the true grammar nazi. But you’ll find that prescriptive doesn’t have to mean absolute. Prescriptive rules and formulas are not only recommendations for language, they are a way to teach grammar, to give everyone the same frame of reference, a foundation to work from. Those prescriptivists who focus on this aspect are more accepting of variations.

When used for purposes other than to beat down those who make errors, grammar rules can be recognized for their strengths. We understand they are not designed as straitjackets to constrict writers.

Instructors teach children and those new to the language via rules and examples. They do so to frame language for those just learning it. Without rules, those unfamiliar with the language would have no idea how to construct a simple sentence, no idea of the necessity of nouns and verbs, the importance of word order, or the nature of subject-verb agreement.

Those learning language need rules, and those using language need rules.

If we expect readers to understand that it was Wolfgang and not Marta who raced after the car, writers and readers have to share common rules and practices and understanding.

While these two sentences reveal the same information—

With Marta watching, Wolfgang chased after the car.

Wolfgang chased after the car while Marta watched.

this sentence reveals something different—

Watching Marta, Wolfgang chased after the car.

Without understanding the rules for word order in a language, readers might not get the meaning of a sentence. Or might wonder if a sentence has one or more possible meanings.

Without knowledge of the rules, readers might never understand what it means when someone breaks those rules. Readers might not be able to appreciate the impact of a broken rule.

Without knowledge of language standards, readers may never understand nuance or hyperbole or sarcasm or irony.

Punctuation rules are also important. This sentence means something quite different from the others—

Watching, Marta Wolfgang chased after the car.

Rules are vital for understanding. For communicating. And the individuals on both sides of a communication—the one speaking/writing the message and the one receiving it—have to be able to understand.

Think of rules and the prescriptive as keys to a code: anyone who knows the keys can read the code.

For writers, this is all-important. We want readers to understand. We want them to follow the plot and feel the emotion. No, we don’t always want to be perfectly clear, not in terms of giving away too much too soon. But even when we’re hiding information, we want readers to follow our misdirection. When we confuse the reader, we do so on purpose. We don’t want to inadvertently confuse.

Most of the time, we’ll want to provide the key to unlock the code of story. When we don’t provide it? Well, readers who can’t follow our books toss those books across the room.

So . . . We realize that we do need rules and we do need to follow them—for the most part—to keep the reader going where we want him to go.

This means we use standard grammar and punctuation.

We use a style sheet so our stories are internally consistent.

We follow the house rules of our publisher to maintain consistency within the house.

We use style choices that fit the genre. This is important because genre readers expect certain conventions. Too much that’s contrary to genre standards will pull the reader from the story, have him wondering what the writer was trying to do.

This doesn’t mean you can’t be creative. But you do need to know what you’re up against when you defy genre convention.

__________________________________

But if we have to follow the rules, what about creativity? What about the way real people speak these days? What about the influence of TV and texting and instant messaging?

What about the way we speak as opposed to the way we’re taught to write? How can we deal with discrepancies there?

This is where the descriptive comes in. Descriptive grammar shows how language is used in the real world. Linguists who study dialect and trends and social media can tell us all about how people actually use language. And they can show how that use varies across a country or between generations or within the tiers of a large company.

Writers can take advantage of what we learn from linguists and their studies. If you want a character who speaks today’s slang and who uses non-traditional grammar, you can put slang in his words and thoughts. You can use non-standard grammar.

You can have a character speak almost any way you want him to speak.

But the wise writer knows what such wording means to the story and to the reader.

The uncommon is often noticed. And the uncommon in the written word may be noticed quicker and in greater measure than the uncommon that’s spoken. We expect young people to come up with new words and new ways to communicate—that’s been happening for years.

But those of us already familiar with rules and patterns and styles will notice the uncommon in what we read.

A writer needs to understand this. Needs to understand that the uncommon can take the writer out of the fiction and have him studying or wondering about the mechanics.

Understand, as well, that slang and fads change. If something new doesn’t become something established and then something common, it simply disappears and makes way for the next new style. What once was hip, if it doesn’t become standard, instead becomes dated.

You might not care that a secondary character sounds out of fashion before your book is published; you might care very much if your protagonist’s appeal goes of style before readers get to enjoy him.

Keep in mind, also, that what is trendy to one group may mean absolutely nothing to another group. So, while Hollywood may promote certain practices for their current stories and young characters, the rest of the country—the rest of the world—may find such fadishness laughable or incomprehensible.

One reason to stay with what works and has worked for years is that it does work. Standards are not subject to sudden whims and momentary challenges.

On the other hand, standards do change over time. There’s no reason to hold on to traditions simply because they’re traditions. New traditions can work too. And old traditions should be put aside if they no longer serve their purpose.

That is, use something because it works, not merely because it’s traditional or because it’s new and flashy. Prescriptive or descriptive grammar, use what works for the story and the genre and the reader and for you.

__________________________________

For fiction, take advantage of every tool. Use traditional grammar when doing so serves your stories and sample from everyday practice when that works. Consider genre and consider your readers.

Think and plan and write for the long-term, if you want your stories to be appreciated for more than six months.

Learn standard grammar and punctuation so you can communicate with others who know the same rules.

Adapt when doing so fits your characters or plots or genre.

Write fiction that resonates. But also write fiction that’s understood.

Unlock the code to your stories.

Write effective and entertaining  fiction.

*******

I wanted to leave you with an example of when descriptive grammar can trump prescriptive, especially when used this way in fiction.

Then is not a coordinating conjunction, but we often use it as if it were. We think it and say it as if it carried the same grammatical weight as but or and. So we have sentences such as—

Ike skated past the cross street, then he pulled to the curb.

She said she was sure she’d seen a gun, then she changed her mind.

If we were sticking to the rules, we’d write—

Ike skated past the cross street, and then he pulled to the curb.

Ike skated past the cross street, yet then he pulled to the curb.

Ike skated past the cross street; he then pulled to the curb.

Ike skated past the cross street before he pulled to the curb.

Ike first skated past the cross street and then pulled to the curb.

She said she was sure she’d seen a gun, but then she changed her mind.

We can have technically correct, or we can write the way our characters would think and/or speak. And the two might not be the same.

If this is the speech/thought pattern of a character, then use the grammar and punctuation styles that work to reveal that character. Yes, you could reword the original. But if Ike’s brother is reporting how he eats, this may be perfect for that report. This is especially true if we’re talking about dialogue.

Many use then in place of a coordinating conjunction in speech. Showing that use in your fiction is a reflection of a common practice, one that doesn’t cause confusion for the reader. You can always write the sentence in the grammatically correct way, yet using then incorrectly won’t cause your story to fall apart. 

***

Inner dialogue is simply the speech of a character to himself. He hears it and the reader hears it, but other characters have no idea what’s going on in his head.

It’s the same for us and our thoughts. Unless we reveal them, no one knows what we’re thinking. In our worlds, however, even if we do reveal our thoughts, it’s likely that no one hears those thoughts uncensored. Lovers may share most of what they’re thinking, or an abusive parent might dump every thought on a child, but for the most part, men and women don’t share every thought. If they did, they’d be talking nonstop.

And they’d be opening up the very most intimate part of themselves. Most people simply don’t tell what they’re thinking, in full, to others. To do so would make them vulnerable, naked, without protection.

That’s a bit too much for any of us 3-dimensional people.

With characters, however, we get to listen in. And we hear not only passive thoughts—the stream of consciousness patter that flows through the mind—but deliberate dialogue—a character giving himself a pep-talk or talking himself into or out of particular actions.

Thought and inner dialogue give the reader insight he can’t get from watching a character’s actions from the outside.

Inner dialogue and thought reveal truth. They reveal darkness. They reveal hope or dreams or resignation.

They reveal emotions or beliefs too painful to be shared with other characters.

They reveal the heart. They reveal despair of the soul. They reveal strength of the spirit.

______________________________

Thought and inner dialogue can be used to raise the emotional level of a scene. When we see a mother comforting her child, telling him all is well, and then we see into her thoughts, knowing that in truth she has no hope that all will be well, we feel her love for her child. We see her own feelings and the need she feels to protect her child from a painful truth.

Character thought can also lighten a scene. A man who’s holding back sarcasm or inappropriate humor may present a blank face to other characters but may reveal his irreverence to the reader.

What else can thought and inner dialogue do?

Thoughts and lectures to self allow readers insight into a character

They allow characters to be differentiated

They give characters an honest voice

They can reveal character motivation

They can slow the pace of a scene

They can reveal a character’s conflict between his inner man and the needs of others

______________________________

So, how does the writer convey the thoughts and inner dialogue of a character?

First, the character must be the viewpoint character for a scene. Unless you’re writing from a completely omniscient viewpoint, which is quite unusual these days, you won’t be dipping into and out of every character’s head. And you certainly won’t be doing so within the same scene. So be sure we don’t get a thought from the dog when a couple is having a fight, not unless the dog is the viewpoint character for the scene.

Also, you’ll only want to reveal thoughts and inner dialogue that advance the plot. We don’t need to hear everything, just the good stuff. You could show random thoughts a time or two to establish the way a character thinks, but skip those kinds of thoughts for the most part. Give the reader thoughts that reveal the character and have bearing on the plot. Thoughts that up the emotional temperature for the reader.

In practical terms, try the following. The option without italics makes for the least intrusive read. 

1.  Use italics and dialogue tags

For traditional third-person narration, use italics to indicate a character’s thoughts or inner dialogue. Clearly signal to the reader that what she’s reading is thought or inner dialogue and not spoken dialogue.

Montrose angled his head, taking in both Giselle and her sister behind her.

They look nothing alike, he thought. He should have known Giselle was not Ariana.

Also . . .

Montrose angled his head, taking in both Giselle and her sister behind her.

They look nothing alike, he thought. I should’ve known Giselle was not Ariana.

No need to write he thought to himself. The reader knows he’s not thinking to someone else. Unless, of course, we’re talking paranormal or sci-fi. In such cases, you might indeed need to tell us who Montrose is thinking to.

Note that the verb look is in the present tense. Because this is inner dialogue—words directed to the character from himself—verb tense can be past or present, even if the rest of the narrative is past tense.

2.  Use italics without dialogue tags

When you’ve made it clear who the viewpoint character is, use italics without the dialogue tags. Readers will understand that the viewpoint character is the one revealing his thoughts.

Montrose tilted his head to get a clearer view of the hoyden behind Giselle. They look nothing alike. He dismissed the two of them with the flick of a wrist. And neither looks like my Margaret.

Use of italics allows the writer to treat thoughts as if the words are dialogue, as if the character is speaking to himself. So, we can use the present tense look rather than looked, even if the rest of the story uses narration in the past tense. The writer can also use I and me and we and our, even if the story is in the third person. Whatever you can do with spoken dialogue, you can do with a character’s inner dialogue. If you’re using italics to convey that inner dialogue.

3.  Don’t use italics at all

You can eliminate the use of and need for italics if you’re using first-person narration or deep POV in third-person narration. Since the reader knows and feels he’s in the character’s head, there’s no need to use italics to highlight thoughts of the character or dialogue directed to the character from himself.

Montrose tilted his head to get a clearer view of the hoyden behind Giselle. They looked nothing alike, these two women posing as his dead wife’s sisters. He dismissed both with a flick of his wrist. They also looked nothing like his sweet, sweet Margaret.

Stupid, ignorant fool. Should have known better than to believe. Than to hope . . .

There is no doubt that Montrose is the one thinking these thoughts.

In the first person—

I tipped my head to get a clearer view of the hoyden behind Giselle. They looked nothing alike, these two women posing as Margaret’s sisters. I waved them away. And they certainly didn’t favor my sweet Margaret.

Stupid, ignorant fool. I should have known better than to believe. Than to hope . . .

Note that without the italics, I kept the verbs in the past tense, to match the rest of the narration. This is a deliberate choice. It maintains consistency for the reader, keeps her from wondering why the writer changed from past to present tense.

With italics, the reader is given a signal to alert her to the inner thought. Without italics, there is no visual signal. Readers will understand that they’re reading thoughts, but a change to present tense in those thoughts—pushed up against past tense with the rest of the actions—may cause a hesitation for the reader. And you don’t want to do anything to pull the reader from the fiction.

This practice of switching verb tense only when using italics is a suggestion, not a hard rule. You’ve got options, and if you can make your story work by mixing present tense in your viewpoint character’s thoughts with past tense in that same character’s actions and do so without the visual aid of italics, try it. There’s nothing wrong with trying something.

Yet know that such a practice won’t be universally understood or accepted. Realize that you might lose your reader. And you definitely don’t want to make your reader hesitate, don’t want her wondering about the mechanics of story rather than the plot of story. Help the reader out.

While I wouldn’t want to say you can’t try something, my recommendation is to only switch tense in thought or inner dialogue if you use italics to show what you’ve done.

Do not, however, use I, me, we, or our without italics if you’re using third-person point of view. Without the signal of the italics, readers will think you’ve switched from third to first person mid-paragraph.

Keep in mind—

While it’s not required, consider beginning thoughts and inner dialogue with a new paragraph, as if it were spoken dialogue. Yet even as dialogue can share a paragraph with action, so can thoughts. Treat inner dialogue as you would spoken dialogue.

Never use quotation marks for thoughts, even if those thoughts are inner dialogue, a character talking to himself. Reserve quotation marks for speech that’s vocalized. Readers should be able to tell when a character is speaking inside his head and when he’s talking aloud, even if he’s the only person in the scene.

Plus, if you can cut back on distracting visuals, including unnecessary punctuation, do it.

Be consistent. Use the same method of conveying character thought and inner dialogue on the last page that you use on the first page. Consistency keeps the reader grounded in the fiction. Changes in method distract the reader.

______________________________

I hope these tips are helpful as you look for ways to convey thoughts and inner dialogue.

If you’ve explored other options, let us know what you’ve seen or tried for yourself. What works for you? What doesn’t?

Let your fellow writers and editors know how you write inner dialogue and character thoughts.

Share your own tips about punctuating thoughts.

Let us know how you write good fiction.

*******

On May 16, 2012, I made a couple of changes to the examples and their explanations. I hope the options are now clearer.

The writer must decide what is the when of story.

I’ve seen plenty of comments and recommendations about narrative tense and a lot of the debate is contentious. Although some readers and writers might have no true preference, most are firmly in one camp or the other.

Either they insist using the simple past is the only way to tell a story or they say present tense has much to offer and is as equally valid as past tense.

I don’t intend to start a debate, but I do want to let you know that you have options. And limitations. And that you face the expectations of readers, readers who include agents and acquisitions editors.

___________________________

What we’re talking about is the manner in which you present the actions of your story world. Do narrator and viewpoint characters see actions and events as happening in the past or do they act as if the events are happening right now?

Do they say—

Marlboro raced through the forest. [Past]

Or

Marlboro races through the forest. [Present]

What about these—

Tilly, aching for one sight of her lover, waited at the abandoned cottage and watched for riders on the old north road.

Tilly, aching for one sight of her lover, waits at the abandoned cottage and watches for riders on the old north road.

_________

I feared the man who was my father; his voice alone demanded respect.

I fear the man who is my father; his voice alone demands respect.

The setup for both is simple; the effects are vastly different.

___________________________

Most stories are told using the simple past—was, walked, drank, hoped. Stories using the past tense are written the same way stories have been told for years—once upon a time, sometime before the present time, these marvelous characters existed and lived out a fantastic adventure. They did these things, these events are over, and someone can’t resist telling you all about these happenings and adventures.

When I say most stories, I mean the great majority of stories. Oral stories as well as written fiction are told using the past tense. It’s common to readers, it’s common to writers, and it’s been the prevalent format for storytelling for years and years and years.

It’s so common that readers don’t notice it; they simply jump into the story’s adventure.

The present tense—is, walks, drinks, hopes—on the other hand, is rare. Yes, we all know wonderful stories told using present tense. Yet in comparison to the number of novels that use the simple past, present-tense novels are few in number. Present-tense narration is also much more recent a practice.

From what I can tell from a quick survey of Internet articles, readers notice when stories are told using the present tense. I’m not saying, nor are those readers, that there’s anything wrong with the use of present tense. We are saying that its use is noticeable.

And noticeable mechanics may well not be what you’re trying for.

Let me stress that neither choice is right or wrong on principle. You can use either present or past tense for telling your stories.

The present tense is often associated with literary fiction, short stories, students in writing programs and workshops, and first novels. The past tense is used in most genre novels.

Pros and Cons

Familiarity
Since the past tense is familiar to readers, readers don’t have to adjust when they begin a story written using past tense. There might well be an adjustment period for readers of present-tense stories.

Novelty
Stories told using present-tense narration can be enticing because they’re different. Readers may also end up paying closer attention since the format is one unfamiliar to them. They may develop a deeper involvement in the story.

Immediacy
Some writers and readers believe that use of the present tense makes story action and events more immediate. On the other hand, proponents of the past tense may find that verbs used in the past tense make story events seem more immediate. Because there’s no adjustment needed, readers can imagine themselves in the story from page one.

Believability
Readers have to believe that story events written in present tense are happening at the very moment they’re reading. That’s admittedly a stretch for some readers since they know the story events are not happening in the now. After all, a book’s events have to have been completed before the book was written. Yes, readers can get over this incongruity, but reader perception is something to consider when you choose your narrative tense.

While the present tense is not common in fiction, some writing uses present tense as a matter of course—

Scripts and plays

A synopsis

Essays that use the literary present tense (When writing about the events of a story: Alex then demands a declaration from Stella, but she refuses to humor him. When writing about what a writer says: Tinsdale uses this phrase to show his contempt for his critics’ opinions.)

___________________________

No matter your choice for the narrative tense—

Be consistent—don’t switch between past and present

Use compelling and descriptive verbs

Don’t overuse progressive forms—was walking, is talking

You won’t go wrong using the simple past for most of your fiction. Readers expect it and it won’t get in the way of the story.

Try present tense if you want readers to notice the narrative tense or you want to see if you can make story events even more immediate. Keep in mind that readers might have to make adjustments. Weigh the benefits against the costs—are the benefits, whatever they are for your story, enough to compensate for that adjustment period during which readers will not be fully involved in either characters or plot events?

Be prepared to change from present tense to past in order to see your manuscript accepted by a publisher. You might have to do it; would you be willing to make the change if it meant being published? Could you do it?

 *******

Choose the present tense if you’re trying for a unique feel to your fiction, but know the limitations. Know that readers might not accept your choice. Know that publishers might ask you to change your narrative tense.

Choose past tense when you don’t want to distract the reader, when you want to use the common storytelling method.

Don’t let fear hold you back. Use the narrative tense that works for the story, the genre, and your readers. Know what narrative tense can achieve.

Write strong stories.

Write powerful fiction.

***

While a legitimate punctuation mark, the semicolon has been shunned for use in fiction, especially for dialogue.

Is there a legitimate reason semicolons, or any punctuation, can’t be used in fiction?

You won’t find me telling writers not to use a semicolon.

Punctuation is used for clarity, for emphasis, for rhythm. To deny yourself the use of any punctuation mark is to cut yourself off from an option that might serve your sentence, your scene, or your story.

I’d never tell anyone to always cut out the use of a particular word—for example, don’t eliminate all uses of the word that; some are necessary. In the same way I’d never suggest that a punctuation mark doesn’t have its uses.

With minor adjustments to most sentences, commas and colons and periods can all be made to work in place of the semicolon. But the semicolon brings a rhythm to sentences that other punctuation can’t offer.

Sometimes you want three short sentences in a row, each ending with a full stop. Other times you’ll want to connect those sentences into a single one and use commas and a coordinating conjunction to do so. Other times you’ll want the break—or the connection, depending on how you look at it—that a semicolon provides.

When connecting (or separating) independent clauses, sometimes you want the feel that only a semicolon produces. An example—

Elyse was ecstatic about her son’s release from jail; Joe was ambivalent.

The use of the semicolon here shows that the parts of the sentence are related. The semicolon also reveals the author’s style and the viewpoint character’s feelings.

We could also punctuate the same independent clauses other ways—

Elyse was ecstatic about her son’s release from jail. Joe was ambivalent.

Elyse was ecstatic about her son’s release from jail, but Joe was ambivalent.

Each sentence is valid. But the feel is different.

The sentence with the comma and the but has a softer feel, a smoother flow. You’ll often use this construction for your stories to keep the flow moving. But if you want to stop that flow, want to draw attention to a thought or word or event, you can use a period or a semicolon to halt the momentum of a passage or scene.

Too much of any one rhythm, including unimpeded flow and long sentence after long sentence, lulls (or annoys)  the reader. Can I say it bores the reader? It can.

Forcing the reader to pause or stop shakes him out of the stupor he might have eased into, and a forced stop calls attention to the words at the stop point. You are in fact saying, here is something noteworthy, something different from expectations.

Now, if you want to hide information at the same time you reveal it—clues in a mystery, for example—you wouldn’t point them out in this manner. You’d hide those clues in plain sight by placing them in the flow of the narrative, into the flow of thoughts or description. The clues are there and can be easily identified later; they just don’t draw attention to themselves through sentence construction.

But if you want to draw attention to words or phrases, to a character’s thoughts or feelings or to something the character thinks is important, you can use punctuation to do so.

Use the semicolon or the period to interrupt the flow.

Of course you’ll also want to do the opposite. When sentences are choppy, with too many of them interrupted by semicolons, or when you’ve simply used too many short sentences in a row, substitute commas and a coordinating conjunction for the semicolons and periods to smooth the flow. 

You can also use semicolons rather than commas and a coordinating conjunction to combine a series of those short sentences. This is a useful way to break up an annoyingly repetitive rhythm. Only one way, of course. There are others.

The boy wanted a dog. He hoped to get one soon. He’d always wanted his own puppy. He’d never been allowed to keep the strays he’d brought home.

The boy wanted a dog and hoped to get one soon. He’d always wanted his own puppy; he’d never been allowed to keep the strays he’d brought home.

A natural connection must exist, of course, between the two parts of combined sentences in order for the semicolon to be used correctly. But if that connection exists, use the semicolon.

Varying your punctuation marks gives you variety in sentence construction,  breaks from a monotonous rhythm, and a means of drawing attention to particular words.

___________________________

A quick Google search will reveal advice from writers and editors and other writing professionals that says to never include semicolons in fiction. I can’t see being so dogmatic. If a punctuation mark serves the story—or if it’s a style trait of the writer—use it.

Writers reveal themselves through the words they use and the way they put those words together—through diction and syntax. If a writer uses semicolons, that’s part of her style. Unless a writer’s choices interfere with the foundations and strengths of a story, I see no reason to mess with that writer’s style. A writer’s use of words and punctuation is integral to her style and her voice.

I’m all for pointing out options. But tell a writer she can’t use semicolons? I think that would be short-sighted and clearly a mistake.

I’m curious to know what others think. Have you been told not to use semicolons or other punctuation? Have you directed your clients away from semicolons? Do you think doing so has served writer and story well?

What about other punctuation marks?

*******

While I won’t tell a writer he can never use a certain punctuation mark, I will offer the advice to not overuse the semicolon or any punctuation. Anything that distracts from the story should go, and too much of any one element is a distraction. 

But don’t deny yourself legitimate ways to get your meaning across just because some curmudgeon has a fit about a particular punctuation mark or word or grammar rule. Yes, failure to adhere to some rules could keep you from being published. Use of a semicolon in novels is not one of those sacrosanct rules.

Use the full range of options, but learn to use grammar and punctuation correctly and effectively. Remember your readers and choose options that enhance their reading experiences. Write compelling fiction that carries your voice and style.

Write well today.

***

Punctuation marks—comma, exclamation point, question mark, dash, semicolon, colon, ellipsis, slash, quotation marks, parentheses, and period—have their places in our writing. Beyond doing the necessary, they can also be used to steer attention toward a word or phrase, add emphasis, or distract. Punctuation choices can be used to change pace and manipulate tension.

But when a writer uses weak words and instead relies on punctuation to both create and sustain the drama, the story suffers.

An exclamation point in every sentence of a scene does not create an exciting scene. It does create a visual on the page. A distracting visual that can annoy the reader as well as proclaim that the writer had no idea how to make words work the story.

Punctuation used beyond the expected purposes can slow the reader’s progress. Any time a reader has to stop to figure out what’s going on, has to re-read or backtrack, that reader is pulled away from the fiction.

We all hate when it happens to us. We’re rolling along with Pete Martini, dodging bullets and wisecracks and wise guys, when suddenly we’re pulled up short by a phrase that makes no sense. It could be the words, a typo, or an odd sentence structure. It could be a wacky piece of punctuation that draws the eye and causes us to mentally shake our head and think, “Huh?”

As readers, we don’t like it, and as writers, we shouldn’t do it. Put yourself in your reader’s shoes, especially when you’re rewriting or editing, and take out anything that would slow the reader’s journey through your tale. 

If it’s distracting or unclear, fix it or take it out.

The Nitty-gritty

Use exclamation points sparingly. They have their place in children’s stories and for select moments in adult fiction, but they lose their punch when overused. Instead of the exclamation point, use words to convey excitement or menace.  Shorten sentences to add snap or tension. Insert a one- or two-word paragraph into a free-flowing passage for impact.

Never use both the exclamation point and the question mark together. Choose one. Is it more important to show the question or the exclamation? If you’ve included evocative or powerful or pinpoint-accurate words, your choice should be obvious.

Don’t be a lazy writer. You’re the author; you get to do the work. Don’t make readers decide a passage is frightening because you’ve thrown in an exclamation point at the end. Choose words that convey fright and make that fright clear throughout the passage.

Don’t tell readers what to feel via punctuation. Do introduce emotion through word choice and the unfolding of the action.

Don’t overuse any punctuation mark. Even used correctly, some punctuation just jumps out at the reader. The exclamation point, of course, can be quite noticeable. So are dashes, the ellipsis, quotation marks, and parentheses. Use them, yes. But don’t use them in every paragraph or even on every page.

Substitute italics for quotation marks where possible. Use commas rather than parentheses, if you can.

Consider the visual effect of punctuation. Look at your pages without reading the words. What do you see? If you’re relying on the visuals to snare the reader, reconsider what you’ve written. Readers are expecting fiction in novels, not a layout of words and punctuation that reminds them of business reports. Tell the story as you have to, but don’t forget what it looks like, on the surface, to readers unfamiliar with it.

Change sentence format and structure. If all your sentences meander, with many, many commas and semicolons, change up your format every once in a while. Those many commas will start to jump out at the reader, especially over the length of a novel. And they’ll bother him. And no one wants readers too annoyed to finish a book.

Consider your approach to character asides. Some writers use parentheses exclusively to indicate a character’s side revelation to the reader. Yet, if you’re using first-person narration, you’ve already given readers access to a character’s thoughts. Determine if it’s necessary to add the visual of parentheses to highlight those thoughts.

I strolled on the south side of the First Avenue (a cheap way to up my tanning time) and prepared to meet Gus Costanza, Mr. Remington’s enforcer.

I strolled on the south side of First Avenue, a cheap way to up my tanning time, and prepared to meet Gus Costanza, Mr. Remington’s enforcer.

Limit uses of unusual punctuation in a sentence or paragraph. Unusual punctuation marks do stand out, so don’t overburden any single section of writing with too many of one kind (or even too many of a mix of marks).

The em dash is often used in pairs. Does a sentence really need more than one pair? It could use them, but is it necessary and does the use hinder the flow or does it enhance the drama?

Barry—head held high and chest pressed forward—raced toward his sister while she—equally proud and stubborn—ran the other direction.

Personally, I think this sentence works well. But would I like to see a lot of this? Not in every sentence. And I wouldn’t like to see the dash combined with parentheses.

Barry—head held high and chest pressed forward—raced toward his sister while she—equally proud and stubborn—ran (or more accurately, jogged) the other direction.

Can you break the punctuation rules? You know my answer to that—of course you can. But choose your rule-breaking opportunities for maximum impact. And play by the rules when doing so enhances the story.

Always remember the reader. Make the experience of reading your fiction one of satisfaction, even if your story is intended to rile the reader. Let the plot or a character drive readers mad rather than leaving that to a poor use of punctuation.

Let the story—words and action, dialogue and character and emotion and conflict—draw the reader’s focus. Push punctuation to the background, where it can work without pulling attention away from the plot and impinging on your characters’ lives.

Use words to tell your story. Use punctuation to frame it.

***

Maybe you’re writing about a vampire or a super man who can move at the speed of light. If so, your character probably can accomplish several tasks rather quickly.

If you’re not writing about such a character, however, your characters might not actually be multi-tasking as much as finding themselves subject to an impossible combination of actions you’ve created for them.

Do you mean to imply that your detective can race down an alley at the same time he jumps into his car?

Does your thief pull a diamond free of its vault while he’s sliding down the banister to make his getaway?

Does Elsie painstakingly put on eyeliner as she’s pulling on her jeans?

I know, you wouldn’t write action combinations such as these. But if you did, your sentences might look like—

Zeke, running through the alleys after the masked man, jumped into his Mustang.

While Jones kept watch for the guard, Smith artfully pulled the Queen’s Knot from the museum’s vault, sliding down the double-wide banisters with ease.

Elsie, yanking her jeans up by the belt loops, painstakingly lined her eyes with kohl.

I find a lot of such sentences when I edit. Some, like the first example, don’t seem too bad. Most are not as blatantly impossible as the third.

Yet no matter where they fall along the range, sentences with concurrent—or seemingly concurrent—actions might need adjusting. If characters cannot perform two actions at the same time—because the characters don’t have enough limbs or the actions occur in different places or one action must always precede another—then those actions can’t be written as though they’re concurrent. Instead, write them as consecutive actions. Serial actions. Actions that follow one another rather than happen at the same time.

This may sound almost trivial, a matter too inconsequential for its own article. But if you write sentences with impossible concurrent actions, readers will notice. Agents and editors will notice as well. And such sentences not only make your characters seem unreal, they make the story seem false. Inconceivable. Not as true as what can be read in the daily newspaper.

Yet your goal is to get readers believing your tale is just as true as what they read about in news stories.

So while the topic isn’t as flashy as plot or dialogue or theme, it is important. 

____________________________________

If you have multiple actions in a sentence, simply check to see if you’ve written them in a way that the character can logically perform them.

Zeke can’t be running, on foot, through the alleys at the same time he jumps into his car. He can whistle while he runs. He can holler out to the one he’s chasing. He can make a phone call, wheeze painfully, even hold on to his heaving side.

But he can’t jump into his car and run at the same time.

He can do one after the other.

Zeke ran through the alleys after the masked man but stopped to jump into his Mustang when he reached State Street.

Zeke ran through the alleys after the masked man, stopping to jump into his Mustang when he reached State Street.

Zeke ran through the alleys after the masked man, then stopped to jump into his Mustang when he reached State Street.

Again, the original of this particular example doesn’t seem too wrong. Many readers might not even notice that Zeke was running through alleys and jumping into his car at the same time. But what about this? Zeke, running through the alleys after the masked man, backed out his Mustang. Is the impossibility more obvious?

The key is to understand what you’re asking of your characters as well as the sequence of the actions. Be sure characters can do what you’ve written for them to do.

Change impossible combinations of actions into actions that work.

From

Trudging up the stairs, Sid raced down the hall to his bedroom.

To

After trudging up the stairs, Sid raced down the hall to his bedroom.

From

While Jones kept watch for the guard, Smith artfully pulled the Queen’s Knot from the museum’s vault, sliding down the double-wide banisters with ease.

To

While Jones kept watch for the guard, Smith artfully pulled the Queen’s Knot from the museum’s vault. Then the two slid down the double-wide banisters with ease.

Or

While Jones kept watch for the guard, Smith artfully pulled the Queen’s Knot from the museum’s vault before sliding down the double-wide banisters with ease.

What to look for
Check out your use of present participles, participial phrases, and absolute phrases. Look at two or more actions written into one sentence. Make certain that either the character can perform several actions concurrently or that the actions have been written to show they happen consecutively.

These Work

Wanting to show off his new bike, Teddy pedaled hard toward his Gran’s house, blowing bubbles all the way.

Webster, lifting weights in the shadowed corner of the weight room, planned his next assassination.

These Don’t Work

Wanting to show off his new bike, Teddy pedaled hard toward his Gran’s house, dragging his feet all the way.

Webster, lifting weights in the shadowed corner of the weight room, raced around the track to plan his next assassination.

Some actions can be performed at the same time as other actions. Other actions must either follow or come before.

Thinking and planning, most anything to do with the mind, can be done while performing physical actions. Actions having to do with feeling—grieving, smiling, hurting, loving, hating and the like—can also be paired with physical actions without too many problems. It’s the combination of physical actions that you’ll want to look out for.

Let your characters multi-task when they need to. But don’t make them ridiculous by asking them to do more in the same moment than they can logically do.

Some can walk, talk, and chew gum at the same time. Others might need to concentrate on their steps and leave the gum chewing to less active moments.

Proofread your manuscripts for multi-tasking run amok. Look for impossible combinations of actions.

Make your characters real by ensuring they’re not super men and super women, capable of inhuman feats. Simply give them believable combinations of actions that they can pull off in a manner befitting the genre and their everyday abilities.

Craft your sentences with care so character actions seem natural and possible and don’t cause your readers to stutter over what you’ve written.

***

They are both tools and essentials for writers, an integral part of the writer’s skill set that requires attention from beginning writers and easy familiarity from experienced writers.

Writers need to know how to put grammar and punctuation to work.

I wasn’t sure how I wanted to approach the topics of grammar and punctuation; both are such basics for writers. We learned how to use grammar in our native languages when we first learned to speak. We learned about punctuation when we first learned to read. And since those early days, we’ve put both to use in our own writing—for schoolwork, for pleasure, for business dealings.

I don’t want to harp on about grammar and punctuation, on the rules and nit-picky minutiae. But . . .

You knew there’d be a but after that opening, right?

But grammar and punctuation cannot be ignored or set aside by writers.

Grammar and punctuation are not the meat of your stories, but they are the framework that makes story stand.

Grammar and punctuation (can we call them G&P?) are necessary elements of any piece of writing—if you want to communicate, you’ve got to make your meaning clear. And clarity goes beyond word choice.

Words and story have to be arranged to convey what you want to say, what you want the reader to take in. You can’t put words in front of readers and expect them to arrange them into meaningful bits of information.

That’s your job.

Anyone can pull words out of the dictionary and string them together; a string of words doesn’t make story, not even a string of electric, exotic, evocative words that pleases the ear or trips off the tongue.

But words that make sense and make connections and make a reader think or feel or shiver, those words do make story.

So . . .

What do I suggest is important in regard to grammar and punctuation?

Learn more than the basics.

You’re the writer or the editor. Grammar and punctuation are two of the tools of your trade, and you should know them inside out and upside down and backwards and forwards and any other way they can be known. You should know how to use them and what they’re capable of, and you should look for new ways to put them to work.

You should know when to choose this rule of grammar rather than that one, and what the use of each punctuation mark would mean for a sentence or phrase.

You should know what both correct and incorrect grammar will achieve and what happens when you don’t use expected grammar or a typical punctuation mark.

While you may want to surprise your readers with an unusual plot thread or uncommon construction, you don’t want to be surprised by grammar or punctuation mistakes. Knowledge of grammar and punctuation rules will cut down on unintended errors.

Treat G&P as any craftsman would treat his tools, with a combination of respect and casualness.

Don’t take good grammar for granted, as though it can perform magic without your hand behind it, as though it can make up for bad plots or weak characters. But at the same time, don’t fear it or spend so much time on it that you can’t write.

You should know how to clean up grammar and punctuation, just as any artist knows how to clean his tools. And not simply know how to clean them; you should remember to clean them, actually set up a schedule to do it. Yes, you should be sure you edit for G&P and make them shine.

Spend time periodically reviewing or learning something new about grammar or punctuation.

Learn the uses of a semicolon. Read up on commas (I know, exciting, exciting). Go shopping for used grammar books and read a different one every year or two.

Brush up on modifiers or phrases or gerunds. Not because your grammar must be perfect, but in order to remind yourself there are other ways to write something, other methods to present your character or setting or action or dialogue. Other ways to craft a sentence or a phrase. Other ways to provoke an impact.

Unless you’ve got a degree in English (or the language you write in) or one in creative writing, you probably don’t know all the rules. Unless you’re a grammar expert, there are constructions that you’ll either use incorrectly or be ignorant of.

There’s nothing wrong with looking up grammar or punctuation rules, but if you don’t know what to look up, you may have a tough time finding what you’re looking for. You may not know you need to search for information at all.

I admit that I don’t know all the rules. I have grammar books on my desk just as I have dictionaries there, and I’m grateful that several someones made the effort to gather the rules in one place so I could review them.

Don’t sweat blood over the grammar of each phrase, each tiny punctuation mark.

Yes, you want to punctuate correctly, you want to get the grammar right and use a variety of options that take advantage of a wide knowledge of grammar. But you don’t need perfection.

Does that sound blasphemous?

I don’t mean it to be. But striving to perfect a manuscript can cripple a writer, can have her so fearful of mistakes that she either can’t write with a flow that brings life to her stories or refuses to submit her work until it’s perfect.

I don’t want that to be your fate.

Realize that the perfect novel manuscript is rarer than the most uncommon gem and that if you’re waiting for perfection before you submit, you’ll likely wait forever.

An agent or acquisitions editor is not going to reject your manuscript because of a few typos, grammar blunders, or punctuation flubs. They know how to recognize good story. And they know how to correct grammar and punctuation errors.

There is a caveat, however: you do owe your readers (and that includes agents and editors) a clean, polished manuscript. So practice due diligence. But don’t let that diligence paralyze you.

Break the rules when doing so serves the story.

Sometimes you’ll want a comma where no comma has any business being. Put it in if you’ve got a reason to do so—you’ll be able to argue your case with your copy editor.

Don’t be afraid to take chances. But do so knowing what you’re doing and why and the possible repercussions of choosing an odd grammar construction or an unusual punctuation mark.

As atypical word choices can lead to poetry in prose, offbeat grammar or punctuation can lead to delightful phrases, rhythms, and meanings.

Be willing to explore non-standard constructions.

Don’t get hung up on the terminology.

You don’t have to know grammar terms to use them correctly. Unless you’re in school, no one’s going to test you on your knowledge of terms.

But do know how to use grammar. Knowing what’s available will expand your options and strengthen your stylings. The more ways you can work a sentence or phrase, the more potential you have, quite literally, at your fingertips.

__________________________________________

We’ll explore particular grammar rules and individual punctuation marks in other articles. In this one, I wanted to stress the importance of correct grammar and punctuation while at the same time assuring you that a lack of knowledge about some point of grammar or punctuation should not keep you from writing.

There’s nothing that says you can’t learn the rules. There’s nothing that says you can’t learn how to break those rules. There’s nothing keeping you from presenting your manuscripts in the best manner possible, not when the Internet and writing groups and classes, many free, offer abundant resources to help you.

If you expect readers to pay for the pleasure of reading your stories, if you want agents and editors to take you on, you owe them each the courtesy of well-written fiction, well-crafted stories.

Give readers the best of you. Show them you want them to enjoy the stories you place before them, that you want them to read more of your work. That you’re serious enough about your craft that you’ll put in the time and the sometimes tedious effort necessary to produce the best stories you’re capable of writing.

Respect their time and money and their interest in you by refusing to produce shoddy, lazily written books.

Don’t let the writing tools—any of them—intimidate you. They serve you. Put grammar and punctuation to the task of presenting your stories with the strongest foundations possible.

Learn your craft and put it to work on your behalf.

***

I don’t find that absolute phrases are rare as much as I find them misused. Or perhaps I should say misconstructed.

Let’s start by defining an absolute phrase and giving some particulars for it.

It’s a modifier, a noun phrase, that modifies a sentence. Where an adjective modifies a noun and an adverb modifies a verb or another adverb, an absolute phrase modifies the full sentence.

It’s an addition to a sentence that tells us more about the sentence.

It’s not essential to the sentence structure, so the sentence is grammatically correct without it. (Although it may add vital meaning to the sentence.) The absolute phrase is almost always set off by a comma or a pair of commas.

It typically contains a noun followed by a modifier, though sometimes it will simply be a modifier.

It often contains a participle (past or present), but it could instead be a prepositional phrase, a noun phrase, or an adjective phrase.

It does not contain a finite verb (one that indicates tense, person, or number).

It does not connect to the rest of the sentence with a conjunction.

It’s often a more focused view or an expansion of the sentence it modifies. (It tells more by narrowing in on a specific detail.)

Some absolute modifiers imply the unstated words being or having.

Absolute phrases can come at the beginning, the middle, and at the end of sentences.

There are two types of absolute phrases. One type explains a cause for or a condition of the rest of the sentence. These types of absolute phrases could be rewritten as subordinate clauses introduced by since, because, or when.

The second type adds detail or narrows the focus of the sentence. These types of absolute phrases could be rewritten and changed into main clauses or introduced with the proposition with.

A few examples (words in brackets can be written or merely implied; sentences in parentheses have been rewritten, with the absolute phrases removed)—

[Having been or Being] [T]aken for a thief, Constance decided to act the part.

The moon only a quarter full and the stars hidden, the night offered a landscape of shadow. (This could read, With the moon only a quarter full and the stars hidden, the night offered a landscape of shadow.)

The suspect [being] long gone, a party atmosphere returned to the Johnson family barbecue. (Since the suspect was long gone, a party atmosphere returned to the Johnson family barbecue.)

Timmy John Jenson, meek in attitude and bold in determination, intended to ask for a raise. 

Terence continued his stroll down Main Street, [his] cares abandoned, [his] fears lost behind a double dose of Prozac.

Noelle, [her] heart pounding, lifted a trembling hand to the door knocker. (With her heart pounding, Noelle lifted a trembling hand to the door knocker OR Noelle’s heart pounded as she lifted a trembling hand to the door knocker.)

Thunder pounding again and again just outside the bedroom, Astrozoom the Wonderdog quivered under the bed. (Since thunder pounded again and again outside the bedroom, Astrozoom the Wonderdog quivered under the bed.)

They seem easy enough to write, these sentence modifiers. So why, or how, are they misconstructed?

I find this construction used incorrectly when the absolute phrase doesn’t have a strong enough connection to the rest of the sentence. It’s either not an expansion of the sentence or not a focusing in on one part of the sentence. While the format is often correct, the words themselves do not work as a sentence modifier.

So, what doesn’t work as an absolute phrase, even though the setup looks right? These sentences do not work—

Noelle, the sun shining brightly, lifted a trembling hand to the door knocker. X

Terence continued his stroll down Main Street, airplanes taking off at the airport. X

Astrozoom the Wonderdog quivered under the bed, children playing in the yard. X

What would be the absolute phrases in these sentences don’t mean anything to the sentences. The sun shining brightly has nothing to do with Noelle’s trembling hand reaching for a door knocker. It’s not a cause of Noelle’s shaking hand, nor is it a focusing in on a detail that gives us more information about Noelle lifting that trembling hand to the door knocker.

This is the construction I find most often misused, this reference to a weather condition. If lightning or thunder or wind is a cause of a character’s actions, use the absolute phrase. If not, try a different wording.

For Terence, airplanes at the airport have nothing to do with him walking down the street. We could have said any of the following and been correct, depending on the true circumstances—

Terence continued his stroll down Main Street, cars zipping past without pause.

Terence, happy and oblivious, continued his stroll down Main Street.

Terence continued his stroll down Main Street, his boss busily working back at the office. (With his boss busily working back at the office, Terence continued his stroll down Main Street.)

These make sense for Terence and the conditions of the street. The third example makes sense only if we know that Terence left his office with a lot of work undone or if he had an argument with his boss before he left. If the reader knows nothing of his office conditions or that he skipped out, leaving everything for the boss, this particular sentence wouldn’t work.

This same understanding of the plot or story events is important for making sense of Astrozoom’s last sentence as well. If Astrozoom is terrified of the children playing in the yard and the reader is already aware of that, his sentence would be acceptable. We would know it was because of the children playing in the yard that A-Zoom was quivering under the bed. Yet, without that knowledge, the sentence doesn’t make sense as it stands.

Yet, even knowing that children playing in the yard caused Astrozoom’s quivering, I’d reword that sentence, making sure the connection was obvious.

With the neighborhood children hollering and carrying on in the back yard, Astrozoom the Wonderdog quivered under the bed.

Sometimes an absolute phrase is the perfect way to shortcut a long explanation. Sometimes, however, the reader needs the explanation.

______________________________________

Absolute phrases are one more way to introduce variety into your writing. But if they’re used incorrectly, they may have readers scratching their heads, trying to make sense of something that has no meaning. Be sure that your phrases make sense at the sentence level and make sense in the context of the scene.

Add absolute phrases.

Make them specific.

Broaden your sentence constructions.

***

This is an expanded version of my answer when reader Sara asked—

Can you give me any suggestions for the use of single quotes– besides their use ‘inside’ a quotation? I’d like to use them to add emphasis to single words within text.

Are there any hard and fast rules?

In fiction, at least with American English, there’s really no other use for single quotation marks than a quote within another quote (typically when a character is speaking and quoting someone else). Note: British English can use single and double quotation marks in the reverse, with singles for dialogue and doubles for quotations within dialogue.

Single quotation marks have quite specific uses outside of fiction—

~  Use single quotation marks for quotes within a quote, the same way fiction presents such quotes.

“I want to go,” I said quite clearly. “But she said, ‘Not with me. You can never travel to Paris with me.’ “

~  In discussions of linguistics or phonetics, a foreign word is italicized and if the definition follows, that definition is enclosed in single quotation marks.

~  Words with philosophical or theological meaning, when used in articles or books about philosophy or theology, are often put in single quotation marks.

~  Single quotation marks are used in newspaper headlines when quotation marks are required. (Space is limited for newspapers; they cut punctuation wherever they can.)

~  The cultivar name of a plant is put in single quotation marks, though in the past it was written cv. + name.

In American English, single quotation marks aren’t used very often and always for specific purposes. If you’re writing fiction, stick with double quotation marks.

________________________________________

To emphasize text, you can use either italics or double quotation marks. In some circumstances, one is preferable to the other. Never use both to indicate emphasis. 

Italics
~  Use italics to show shock or to emphasize a word that a speaker might emphasize—He ran all the way to the police station vs. he ran all the way to the police station. A different emphasis gives a different meaning.

~  Use italics to set off non-English words in English text. If the word has become commonly used and is understood, there is no need to italicize it.

Maxwell’s nom de plume is Rastaglio. His pretensions are clear, yet he writes for an unsuccessful feuilleton.

~  Use italics for sounds—boom, crack, brrr—if you intend for readers to hear the sounds.

Quotation Marks
~  Use quotation marks, always double, to set off special words, such as words you make up or highly specialized words. You only need to use the quotation marks the first time the word is used in your text.

Arthur and company are scalawags and “gutterturdlians.” And that’s all I have to say about them.

~  Also use quotation marks to indicate irony or sarcasm.

Italics or Quotation Marks
Use either italics or quotation marks for words used as words—Marlowe was talking about humidity, but he kept saying “timidity.” Marlowe has trouble with words; he uses weary for wary.

Both quotation marks and italics stand out; they attract the reader’s attention. Use them sparingly so the reader isn’t pulled from the fiction. But do use them. Their use is one more option for bringing variety to your fiction.

I find quotation marks stand out more than italics, so I tend to recommend italics more often. They accomplish their purpose, but they allow the word to blend into the sentence.

*******

Emphasizing words or phrases allows you to add nuance and shading, and the use of emphasized words can help make a character stand out. But because this technique of emphasis is visual, it can quickly distract or annoy the reader.

Let italics or quotation marks be a tool for emphasis, but only one of several. Make the flow and meaning of the story stand out to the reader. Don’t rely on punctuation to do the work of words.

***