Dialogue can sing, can bring characters to life and readers to tears. But you want those readers crying at the emotions your stories raise in them. You certainly don’t want them crying because your dialogue is so odious that it wrings those tears from them the way a pungent onion could.

And you don’t want readers howling with laughter at dialogue no self-respecting third-rate amateur actress would turn up her nose at.

We’ve all heard movie or TV dialogue that makes us shriek, shocked at how awful it is. Don’t give your readers a reason to howl at bad dialogue in your books. Instead, have them purring at the beautiful and engaging words that pour from your characters’ lips.

Or at the very least, keep them reading along, pulled deeper and deeper into your fictional world, by your dialogue.

So . . .

What types of dialogue don’t work? Which cause problems not only for your characters, but for your reputation?

Let’s look at a few dialogue snafus. (Remembering that you could intentionally put some of these dialogue problems to work for you instead of against you. A skilled writer can manipulate words for any purpose and to any advantage.)

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Repetition
I’ve talked about repetition before, but how about examples of repetition that might have readers pulling out their hair, wishing it was yours?

Keep in mind that repetition comes in several forms including words, word forms, and sound or letter combinations

“Yeah, Jack ran after Melanie,” Arthur told us. ”Jack tried to get her to turn around. Jack ran down the street, calling Melanie’s name, determined she’d listen to Jack’s pleas one time.” Arthur snapped his fingers. Nodded. ”Yeah, Jack would get her to listen. Jack had that way about him. Melanie didn’t stand a chance. Not with Jack dogging her that way.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Racing around the block, I’d hated that I’d been seen.”

“Hoping for a break, were you?” Peterson asked

Heaving short breaths in and out, Reece said,” Thinking about that last assignment had me looking forward to retirement, ordering my next drink.”

“Drinking calm you?”

“Drinking? Yeah, it calms.” Pointing his revolver at Peterson he said, “Killing, on the other hand, always gets me buzzing.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I already told you, man. Charlie stopped by his church, looking for a way to reach out to the maintenance man who checked out the place after hours. He had a check for him, thought maybe he’d take him to lunch—chicken sandwiches and a pitcher of beer were his usual choices.” Chester searched for our own waitress. “Maybe peach pie.” He chuckled. ”For them, not us. And Charlie didn’t consider it charity.” Chester grabbed our check before I could. “He simply chose, on a hunch, to share his handouts in person.”   

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Direct question and answer
Yes, sometimes characters ask and answer questions in a straightforward manner. But not all the time. Not most of the time. Not for an extended period of time.

Sometimes you want evasion and misunderstanding and deliberate antagonism between characters. You don’t often want . . .

 ”Did you get the aspirin, babe? I really need it.”

“Yes, I got the aspirin.”

“And the burger buns. I hope you got those.”

“Yes, I got the burger buns.”

“Did you remember to stop by my mother’s house? She said she had something for us.”

“No, I didn’t remember to stop by your mother’s house. I didn’t remember that she said she had something for us.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So, Patsy. Tell me about yourself. How old are you?”

“I’m thirteen.”

“Do you go to school?”

“Yes, I go to Adams Park Middle School.”

“What do you study?”

“School subjects.”

“And do you want to be here today?”

“No, I don’t want to be here.”

“Can you tell me a little about your family?”

“No, I don’t want to talk about my family.”

“How about what happened to you that night?”

“I don’t want to talk about that night.”

“And you said you don’t want to be here today?”

“Yes.”

Of course, you can instantly jazz up this dialogue with a few simple changes. How does this hit you?

“So, Patsy. Tell me about yourself. How old are you?”

“Thirteen.”

“Do you go to school?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you study?”

“Stuff.”

“Hmm . . . And do you want to be here today?”

“No.”

“Can you tell me a little about your family?”

“No.”

“How about what happened to you that night?”

“No.”

“Hmm . . . And you said you don’t want to be here today?”

“They give you that ugly shrink diploma for your conversational expertise?” 

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Stilted words and phrasing
Ignoring contractions or choosing words that make your characters sound like newcomers to the language can annoy readers.

Yes, you can use halting, stilted language to good effect. But not every character would speak in a stilted manner. And one that does might loosen up after being with other characters for an extended period.

Words too fancy, esoteric, poetic or studied, words that are too exact, words that don’t fit the character, the moment, the emotion of the scene or the tone of the story can get in the way of reader enjoyment.

“Yes, I do want a cookie with my milk. I would also like a sandwich.”

“Chocolate chip okay?

“Yes, chocolate chip would be good. Please give me two chocolate chip cookies and one very large glass of milk. I will eat them at the kitchen table. I cannot sit at the dining room table.”

“You talk kinda funny for a kid.”

“I am only four. What do you think a four-year-old child should sound like? Maybe you are the one who talks kind of funny.”

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Preaching
Putting your pet theory or your political, religious, or social beliefs into the mouth of a character and letting the character pontificate on and on is a sure way to keep readers from coming back to your books. From ever coming back.

Yes, you may have readers who agree with your discoveries, rantings, ravings, time-honored positions, revelations, theories, and your life-altering epiphanies. But fiction is not the place for preaching the party line. If your character has a position to defend, let him do it. And make him convincing.

Remember, however, that your position has no place in his mouth. This isn’t ventriloquist school. This is fiction, where truth is revealed, not force fed. Write your treatises if you want to, if you need to. But let characters be characters, not your ideal Mini-Me.

Some of your characters, some of the solid ones who defeat the bad guys, won’t be just like you. They won’t hold the same positions. They won’t have the same values. They might never choose you for a trusted friend. But they can still be the perfect character for your tale. And you’ll have to be the one to make them believable. And solid. And good.

Yeah. Sometimes you’ll have to make them good, those characters who don’t agree with your positions.

Are you writer enough to create them? Strong enough to stay away from . . .

“The president did it again last night. Did you see? The bozo was going off again on the war. Damn, he opens his mouth and crap comes oozing out.”

“Give it a rest, J.J. I’m trying to eat breakfast.” Sue tossed a pillow at him. “Every day you start with him. The pres—”

“That’s ’cause every day he gives me such great material to work with.” J.J. leaned toward the TV, cranked up the volume. “Watch this, Susie. Watch. He’s gonna lay out his wacked-out plan to [commit more troops, pull out the troops, raise taxes, cut taxes, hike defense spending, gut defense spending].”

Sue dropped her head against the couch.

J.J. stabbed the volume button until the room shook with the president’s voice.

“See.” J.J. pointed, nearly falling off the couch. ”Loser. I can’t stand to watch him. How’d anyone vote him into office. Stupid masses. They shouldn’t be allowed to vote.”

Sue threw another pillow. The one studded with beads.

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Uninterrupted speech of any kind (John Galt, anyone?)
Atlas Shrugged has good points and bad points. John Galt’s speech probably should be a high point.

It isn’t.

Ayn Rand let Galt talk for pages and pages and pages without interruption. No action. No interaction with the setting. No contradictory dialogue from other characters. No input from other characters.

Rand stopped all forward motion of her fiction to allow her character to present her social theory. (See the previous dialogue no-no.) But even if it hadn’t been a theory she espoused, letting a character talk for 70 pages nonstop will not endear readers to your books or your style.

Stories succeed because they’re a mix of elements—action, dialogue, exposition, more action, conflict, and so on. When any one element takes over, story becomes something other than story. And readers notice. And they get bored or mad or frustrated.

How much dialogue is too much? Fifty pages is definitely too much. Three pages may be too much. Even three paragraphs may be more than enough.

You’ll have to make the decision for each writing project. You’ll have more leeway with some characters and some plots than with others. But don’t imagine that your fifty pages of dialogue is going to revolutionize storytelling.

Consider the nature of story, with its conflict and adversarial moments. Unchallenged dialogue drains conflict. Unless a character is at war within himself, if there’s no challenge to his words, his dialogue will go flat. And so will the story.

I’m not going to make up an example for this one. Check out Atlas Shrugged. See for yourself what uninterrupted dialogue can do to bring your story to a stop.

I promise you’ll remember the example for a long time.

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You know, Bob
This one’s known by a couple of cute names, but I like you know, Bob.

This is dialogue between characters who share information that they already know, just so readers can get caught up. Writers often use this technique to reveal childhood events that have a bearing on the now of the story.

Find another way to share back story. Characters don’t have any reason to stand around talking about events they both know about.

“Hey, that car’s just like the one you dad gave you when you turned sixteen,” Jenny said.

“Where?”

“Look! Here it comes again.”  Kai pointed at the Camaro racing down the street. “You remember when your parents had it waiting in the driveway? And that red bow was wrapped all around it?”

“Pink. I was into pink that year.”

“Pink? Whatever. And your brother wanted to borrow it that night. Remember? But you wanted to go out and you called me and then we went to that party, the one weren’t supposed to go to?’

“Yeah, I remember. But it wasn’t a Camaro.”

“It wasn’t?”

“Honda Civic.”

“Really? How come I remember that yellow Camaro?”

“That was that TV show. You know, the one with . . .

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Laugh-worthy dialogue tags
Sometimes simple is best. And sometimes the best, most invisible dialogue tags are said and asked. As long as they’re not overused, the reader’s eye typically passes over them, understanding meaning without making the reader slow or stop to gather more information.

This isn’t a discussion of dialogue tags, so we won’t go into reasons for going with the basics or talk about the allowances that let us use creative tags and make them work for the story.

Let’s just look at a few dialogue tags you won’t want to use. I’m sure you’ve come across many others in your own reading.

Keep in mind that the only verbs you should use in dialogue tags are those used to speak words. Yes, characters can cajole and entice. And they use words to do it. But the words aren’t cajoled or enticed, they’re spoken.

Thus, He enticed her with promises of chocolate cake works just fine. But, “How about a thick slice of chocolate cake,” he enticed becomes laughable.

Others that could have your readers howling . . .

“My gut hurts,” he blurted out.

“I just had to let it go,” he ejaculated.

“We can’t wait to join that devil worship cult,” she enthused.

“Popping and cracking gum,” she hissed,” killed the mood for me.” (Hissing requires an S sound or two.)

“I love you,” she breathed [smiled, husked, laughed, moaned . . .].

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Adverbs used to describe the delivery of every line of dialogue
If you read a lot of classics or other novels from more than 50 years ago, you’re likely to have seen a lot of adverbs paired with dialogue tags.

Such a practice is far less appealing to today’s reader.

Instead of using adverbs to describe how a line of dialogue is delivered, use the words, especially verbs, around the dialogue to reflect a character’s mood or disposition, his attitude, the emotion behind his words. And if you find you like the impact of an adverb paired with a dialogue tag, use it. Don’t, however, line up a series of such pairings back to back.

Use adverbs sparingly.

“I’m looking for a bank,” she said worriedly.

“There’s one, maybe two, on the next block,” he answered assuredly.

She batted her eyes. “Would you walk with me?” she asked imploringly.

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I’ve got a few more bad dialogue categories for this list, but who needs a longer article? How about I give you a brief description of other kinds of bad dialogue. You’ll probably be able to supply your own examples.

Boring talk that has nothing to do with the story or characters
If dialogue doesn’t advance the plot, reveal character, increase conflict, or set or change mood, what’s it doing in your story?

Put dialogue to work. Skip the filler and go for the meat. Cut out boring, purposeless talk.

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Boring talk that has everything to do with the story or characters
Your story talk is key to the plot or characters but it’s boring anyway? Take it out.

Spice it up, pare it down, change the words, change the sound. Don’t bore yourself or your readers, even with dialogue that pertains to story elements.

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Words or sentiments that don’t fit the era—no okay before its time
Make sure your characters’ speech fits the era. Folks were not saying okay during the American Revolution.

Be especially careful of modern words used as verbs. Compute is an old word, and so a character from the 1700s could have computed (calculated). But while tank is also an old word, tanked meaning to fail is from the 1970s.

Also remember that men and women of different eras don’t have today’s sensibilities. They might not espouse concerns about slavery or women’s rights or environmental issues. Let both their words choices and the topics of their dialogue fit the era.

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Political correctness—a novel is not the place to censor speech
Let your characters speak as they should. Story conversations—and confrontations and fights—are intended to stir up conflict for the characters and tension for the readers.

Let your characters just come right out and say it, whatever it is. Don’t limit fictional people of any era because of the political correctness of our own day.

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Cussing, Cursing, Blue language
Too much cussing or not enough cussing for the character or the intended audience can make your dialogue laughable.

If a character would say it, should say it, put the words in his mouth.

If profane words don’t fit the character or the story or the intended audience, cut them out.

Use what works for your characters and plots, what strengthens them. Refrain from putting your favorite curse words in everyone’s mouth. And don’t hold back when your character should cut loose with a string of curses.

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Dialogue without subtext
I’ve written a full article on subtext, so here I’ll just remind writers to include subtext in dialogue.

Dialogue that’s all surface, with no hidden meaning or emotion, is flat. And readers will grow quickly bored with flat dialogue.

Add subtext to dialogue to keep characters on edge and readers aware of undercurrents. Your stories will be richer for your attention to this story element.

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Talking heads
Talking heads are characters involved in dialogue without regard to story action or setting.

When characters ping-pong their dialogue but don’t interact with objects in the setting, when readers don’t even know where they are when they’re talking, you’ve got talking heads.

Keep in mind that characters are more than just their minds and their words. They act and react and feel. Don’t allow them long stretches when readers don’t know where they are and what they’re doing.

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Ah . . . Samples of bad dialogue. I hope you keep far from these so your dialogue is not laughed at but enjoyed by thousands of readers.

Bad dialogue weighs fiction down with unnecessary encumbrances. Throw them off before they have time to pull down your story.

Avoid bad dialogue. Concentrate on story talk that enhances plot and character, that highlights the drama and the conflict.

Write good dialogue. Write good story.

***

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.

***

I wanted to talk about them now because I’ve recently read a succession of manuscripts in which they’ve been used, but not used correctly. I most often find participial phrases used without commas or constructed so that two actions look as though they’re performed concurrently, even though with the particular sentence construction, such would be impossible.

A few examples to familiarize yourself with these oddly named phrases—

Walking to the lake, Fred imagined making the perfect dive.

Lysette, saddened by her dog’s death, vowed to never own another pet.

The twins, hoping for candy, received baked potatoes instead.

The twins, determined to prevail, begged for chocolate.

Jane declared that love was more than a feeling, hoping desperately that her words were true.

They look familiar, these participial phrases, don’t they?

We use them often. They’re modifiers of nouns and pronouns. Yet, they aren’t one-word modifiers as other adjectives are. They’re phrases—containing either a past or present participle (a verb form)—that modify a noun or pronoun. The weight they carry in the sentence is secondary to the main clause. That is, the information conveyed by a participial phrase is not the main thrust of the sentence.

In the first example, walking to the lake modifies the noun Fred. Walking is a present participle—it promotes the image that what Fred is doing is ongoing. (Present participles always end in -ing.) The participial phrase consists of the entire phrase, not only the present participle.

In the second example, saddened by her dog’s death modifies Lysette. Saddened is a past participle. Using a past participle rather than a present one shows that the action was performed in the past and has been completed. (Regular past participles are created by adding -ed to the present form of the verb. Irregular past participles, however, are not guided by a rule. If you don’t know the past participle of a verb, you can look up the verb in a dictionary. Wear, dive, and go have irregular past participles—worn, dived and dove, and gone.)

Participial phrases can include either past or present participles or both.

London’s most notorious jewel thief, tired and hoping to rest, raced the streets ahead of Inspector Andersen.

*******

You might recognize the format for participial phrases from advice about dangling modifiers. What is the modifier that dangles? It’s a participial phrase.

Dangling Modifiers
Participial phrases are left dangling when the noun or pronoun they actually modify isn’t the one that should be modified in order for the sentence to make sense. It happens when the sentence construction connects the wrong words. Typically, in a dangling modifier, the participial phrase should be modifying the subject of the sentence but seems to modify something else instead. The following are examples of dangling modifiers. (This construction is incorrect.)

Tripping over her shoes, the loose laces gave Jane a tumble. X

Eating pineapple, the boy’s chin dripped juice. X

Not prepared for it, the exam proved tough. X

Based on the participial phrase, Jane should be the subject of the first sentence. But the loose laces have taken over Jane’s spot. Rewrite the sentence—Tripping over her shoes, Jane took a tumble.

In the second sentence, the boy, not his chin, was eating pineapple. So—Eating pineapple, the boy dripped juice down his chin. Or better—Juice dripped down the boy’s chin while he ate pineapple.

In the third example, the sentence says the exam, rather than a person, was not prepared for it (it being the exam itself, surely an impossibility). In this example, as with the second, the correct subject isn’t in the wrong place—the correct subject isn’t even in the sentence. Correct the sentence by adding a subject—Not prepared for the test, Tobey had a hard time with it. Or, change the construction of the sentence—The exam proved tough for those not prepared for it.

Be especially careful with participial phrases and passive voice.

Gesturing and mugging for the camera, comical faces were made by the children. X

This says the comical faces were gesturing and mugging. This can easily be corrected by changing the sentence to, Gesturing and mugging for the camera, the children made comical faces. Or, Comical faces were made by the children gesturing and mugging for the camera. (Note the absence of a comma.)

Participial phrases are left dangling when the noun or pronoun they’re intended to modify isn’t what ends up being modified because of word order or sentence construction or because the noun or pronoun is never stated.

Participial phrases can go at the beginning, at the middle, or at the end position of sentences. Separate them from the main clause of the sentence with a comma (unless they’re positioned at the end of a sentence AND come immediately after the noun they modify, OR the phrase is a restrictive one (The man hoping to leave was my brother).

• If the participial phrase comes before the main clause, put a comma after the participial phrase
• If the participial phrase comes in the middle of the sentence, the phrase requires commas both before and after it
• If the participial phrase comes after the main clause, put a comma before the participial phrase

Participial phrases are clearest when they are close to the noun or pronoun they modify. The impact of the sentence is also often strongest when the modifier and noun are close.

Participial phrase with past participle in different positions in the sentence

Worried about his sister, Maxwell paced from front door to kitchen.

Maxwell, worried about his sister, paced from front door to kitchen.

Maxwell paced from front door to kitchen, worried about his sister.

Participial phrase with present participle in different positions in the sentence

Racing up the steps, Dan planned his revenge.

Dan, racing up the steps, planned his revenge.

Dan planned his revenge, racing up the steps.

Participial phrase modifying a noun other than the subject

Tilda kicked the man smiling joyfully.

Smiling joyfully modifies the man, not Tilda. There is no comma because the participial phrase is in the end position of the sentence and it modifies the noun immediately preceding it. If there were a comma—Tilda kicked the man, smiling joyfully—then Tilda would be the one smiling joyfully.

This is where I often find confusion with comma use; the comma is missing (when it shouldn’t be) from sentences where the participial phrase follows the main clause and the participial phrase modifies the subject rather than another noun.

Dan planned his revenge racing up the steps. X

Maxwell paced from the front door to the kitchen worried about his sister. X

A comma is required between revenge and racing since racing up the steps modifies not revenge, but Dan. Adding the to the second sentence shows the nonsensical meaning possible when commas aren’t used to separate the participial phrase from the main clause—this construction says the kitchen is worried about his sister.

Only omit the comma when the noun immediately preceding the phrase is the one being modified (and there are no other elements before or after the participial phrase) or the phrase is used in a restrictive sense.

Note, however, the comma use here—Tilda kicked the man smiling joyfully, hoping to break his knee. Hoping to break his knee is a second participial phrase, one that modifies Tilda. A comma is necessary to separate it from the man smiling joyfully since it does not modify him. Tilda, both smiling and hoping, could do this—Smiling joyfully, Tilda kicked the man, hoping to break his knee.

The timing of events can be a problem with participial phrases. That is, you need to be sure the subject of the sentence can perform the action of the main verb and the action of the participial phrase at the same time if you haven’t added clarifying words that indicate they happen at different times.

Running down the street, Billy raced into the grocery store. X

Frances, kicking her attacker, whirled around and ran for safety. X

Billy can’t run down the street and race into the grocery store at the same time, as the first sentence claims. A simple correction—After running down the street, Billy raced into the grocery store.

In the second sentence, Frances can’t kick at the same time she whirls and runs for safety. Correction—After kicking her attacker, Frances whirled around and ran for safety. Or—Frances kicked her attacker, whirled around, and ran for safety.

*******

Participial phrases are one option for varying sentence construction, for giving sentences a different flavor. Their use, however, requires that the writer pay attention to what the sentence actually says.
Remember the basics—

• Use commas to separate participial phrases from the main clause of the sentence
• Watch out for dangling modifiers
• Be aware of the timing of events—can they happen concurrently or do you need to add words to make them successive events instead?

***

And I’ll apologize ahead of time for the length of this post.

While you may not learn everything about a certain word or pair of words in this article, I hope to give you enough information that you can use these words correctly. Keep in mind that rules are there for good reason, but remember that rules can be broken for equally valid reasons. Write well and write clearly. But don’t be afraid to write creatively as well.

That is, communicate clearly by using correct words and by following the rules of good grammar and punctuation. But don’t be so worried about getting every jot and tittle perfect that you feel straitjacketed, unable to express your creative side. You can always edit to correct words and grammar and punctuation. Yet while you’re creating, don’t ever feel you can’t write with abandon. (A friendly reminder in case this list has you wondering (not wandering) why you’re even bothering to work through the minefield of writing.)

———-

It’s/its
It’s is a contraction for it is or it has. It’s been [it has been] a tough day here at Sam’s Auto Shop. It’s [it is] hard to spin gold from straw.

Its, with no apostrophe, is the possessive form of the pronoun it. He laid the book on its side. The hybrid rose had a fragrance all its own.

———-

They’re/their/there/there’re
I have the suspicion that misuse of they’re, their, and there is due more to typing error rather than a misunderstanding of their meanings. But just in case…

They’re is the contraction for they are. They’re [they are] my friends.

Their is the possessive for they. Their house [the house belonging to them] was on fire.

There is an adverb of place—He promised to be there in 25 minutes;
a pronoun—There is something I need to tell you;
a noun of place—Put it there, on the couch.

There’re is the contraction for there are. There’re too many books to count.

———-

Your/you’re
Your and you’re are other words I suspect fall victim to typing error rather than definition error.

You’re is the contraction of you are—You’re [you are] the worst driver I’ve ever ridden with.

Your is the possessive form of the pronoun you. I’ve already given the letter to your brother. Your shows belonging.

———-

All right/alright
Alright is not a word. The phrase all right is always two words. You may use a phrase such as, “Awright! I aced my finals” in dialogue if your character pronounces the word as awright. But never, not even in dialogue, use alright.

———-

A lot/alot
Alot is not a word. When you want to say there are many of some thing, use a lot, two words. We need a lot of sugar to sweeten this mess.

Allot, with two LLs, means to parcel out or allocate. The settlers on Avalon 5 were allotted one horse and two dozen grain bags.

———-

Bring/take
You bring something to where you are now, take something to a place other than where you are now. Bring me that magazine, Nan. You want Nan to move the magazine, which is not near you, to your location. It could be across the room or in another city—Nan, bring that magazine with the Elvis cover with you when you come.

Use take when the object is not coming to you where you now are. I’ll take my skis when I head to Vail. [I'm not in Vail.] Did you want to take the cookies home with you? [You are not home.]

Will you bring Samantha to me [where I am] or take her home [where I am not as I speak these words]?

There are a few variations for bring and take, but these examples should give you what you need to use the words correctly.

———-

Come/go
Come and go operate on the same principle as bring and take. Come to where I am now; go to a place where I’m not as I say these words. Come over for dinner tonight. Let’s go to the beach tomorrow.

There are seeming exceptions for both bring and take and come and go. I’ll bring the magazine when I come to visit. In this case, the speaker speaks as if she’s already where the other person is. But she might tell another friend, I’ll be taking the Elvis magazine cover when I go visit my friend. Both sentences are correct. As is, Come to the beach house with me tomorrow. In this, the speaker is projecting himself to the beach house.

English certainly has its oddities.

———-

Past/passed
Passed is the past participle of the verb to pass. Pass is both transitive and intransitive. That is, it can take an object—He passed the ball to his receiver—or not take an object—Time passed with increasing speed. (Passed can also be an adjective—a passed ball in baseball.)

Remember to use passed when you mean the verb.

Past is a noun—It’s a joke to say the past is always behind us;
an adjective meaning former—Her past mistakes threatened her future;
an adjective meaning done with—His glory days are long past;
an adverb meaning to go by—The taxi flew past my waving hand but stopped for Tom’s twenty;
a preposition meaning beyond—Geraldine was up way past her bedtime.

———-

Fewer/less
Use fewer to modify items you can count and plural nouns, less to modify singular nouns and items that can’t be counted.

I have fewer bruises than my brother. The census reported fewer residents in Pakasaw County.

There was less joy in the last announcement than in the three previous ones.  I wanted less time with my husband as the marriage wore on.

But, There were fewer joys to be had as age crept up on me. And, I spent fewer hours with my husband when his drinking increased.

———-

Effect/affect
Effect is a noun meaning a change caused by something, a result (among other meanings). The effect of the oil embargo was to raise the price of consumer products.

Affect is a verb meaning to make a difference to or move emotionally. I’m always affected by Sinatra’s ballads.

The affect (wrong) you have on my heart also effects (wrong) my brain.
This should read, The effect you have on my heart also affects my brain.

To confuse matters, affect can be used as a noun and effect as a verb, but those are very specific uses. Affect (accent on the first syllable), when used as a noun, is a psychology term. Effect, when used as a verb, means to create a result.

The doctor concluded that the patient’s affect was flat.

The new laws effected little change in behavior.

———-

Further/farther
Use farther for distance—She ran farther than Mary.

Use further for more or when the distance is not a physical one—We needed further information to make a decision.

The lines between further and farther are blurring with repeated use of one for the other. But you’d never be wrong in following this rule.

———-

Then/than
Then is an adverb that makes reference to time. First you boil the water, then you add the pasta.

Than is often used in a comparison. His slice of cake was larger than mine.

———-

That/which
That and which have many uses, but they’re often misused when the writer doesn’t understand the difference between restrictive and non-restrictive clauses. Both clauses modify nouns.

Use that for introducing restrictive clauses—clauses that define a noun by answering the question, Which.

The swan that turned toward us was not the one we sought.

The truck that stopped short of the line was the loser.

The knife that dripped blood was most likely the murder weapon.

Which was the swan we sought? The one that turned.

Which was the losing truck? The one that stopped short of the line.

Which knife was the likely murder weapon? The one that dripped blood.

Use which for introducing non-restrictive clauses (and commas to set off the clause)—these are non-defining clauses because the reader already knows the answer to the question, Which. While the non-restrictive clause doesn’t define which of something it is, it does give more information about that something. Yet the meaning of the basic sentence is clear without that extra information.

The swan, which was black, was not the one we sought.

The truck, which belched smoke and needed a new muffler, stopped short of the line.

The knife, which had been stuffed into the drawer, was the murder weapon.

The swan, the truck, and the knife had all been mentioned before.  Perhaps—

A swan paddled toward us. The swan, which was black, was not the one we sought.

A truck careened out of control. The truck, which belched smoke and needed a new muffler, stopped short of the line.

Something sharp, either the carving knife or kitchen scissors, had killed Tom. The knife, which had been stuffed into the drawer, was the murder weapon.

A comparison. Which do you think Lance would prefer?

The diamonds that came from the Rainger Mine were Lance’s inheritance.

The diamonds, which came from the Rainger Mine, were Lance’s inheritance.

In the first case, all the diamonds from the mine were Lance’s. In the second, all the diamonds we’re talking about are also Lance’s. Yet, in this second case, we are speaking about specific diamonds. And there may be only two.

Note: British English accepts the use of both which and that in restrictive clauses.

———-

In/into/in to
Use in for inside or within. He was running in the hallway. She was in the zone.

Use into to show movement from one place to another. He ran into the library from the hallway. Or to show transformation. While I watched, the frog changed into a prince.

He hid the key in his pocket.
But
He dropped the key into his pocket.

Use in to, two words, when the word before in is linked to in, to give the two words a meaning they wouldn’t have by themselves. Sally gave in to the kidnapper’s demands. Or when in to means in order to. He opted in to receive the discount. She stayed in to win the prize.

———-

Every day/everyday
When every modifies day, it’s a determiner—it qualifies the noun day. It answers the question, how often. He checks his tire pressure every day. Each can be substituted for every and the meaning would be the same.

The single word everyday is an adjective that modifies a noun. Everyday means daily or ordinary. A fantastic sunrise is an everyday event in Hawaii.

He gets up everyday is incorrect. He gets up every [each] day is correct.

———-

Impact
Most writers and readers have no trouble with impact as a noun. But when it’s used as a verb, watch out. The objections fly.

Impact as a verb with the meaning of hitting another object forcefully or pressing into something has been around for hundreds of years. It’s the newer usage—to have an effect on—that is questioned.

The Oxford Dictionary of Current English lists one definition as have a strong effect.

So…do you use impact as a verb meaning to have an effect on? My wife’s spending choices have greatly impacted my ability to make choices for the family. The answer depends on your audience. It’s become acceptable in many circles, including business, politics, and advertising. Commercial fiction? The use would probably be accepted, unless your editor objected. Literary fiction or formal writing for a scientifc or educational institution? Perhaps in those instances you would be wise to choose another verb.

———-

Comprises/comprised of/composed of
Comprise means to contain, not made up of. So… My notebooks comprise my thoughts on life. Never, My notebooks are comprised of my thoughts on life. And certainly not, My thoughts comprise my notebooks.

Something larger contains its parts—The whole comprises the parts.

Composed means to make up a whole. If you want to say that the parts make up the whole, then, Our office is composed of workers of many nationalities.

Never use comprised of for composed of, which would be saying something is contained of. (Of course, this rule has been argued by language lovers for a long time. There are those who say the use of comprised of has been around for a long time and so it should be accepted. Others say it should never be accepted. Language does change. Yet, until the alternative gains full acceptance, you’d be safe to follow the rule and not write comprised of.)

———-

Him and his/he and his and her and her/she and her
The words him and his and her and her are either correct or incorrect, depending on how they’re used. I hear this error much more often than I see it in print.

I took the treasure chest to him and his brother. This is correct since the words him and his brother are the objects of the sentence.

Him and his brother were happy with the spoils. This is not correct—the subject of the sentence should be he and his brother.

She and her mother [compound subject] wanted to see the new musical down at the playhouse. This is correct. (Never her and her mother as the subject.) However, I was happy to recommend the play to her and her mother, is also correct. The words her and her mother are the object of the sentence.

How to decide whether to use him or he, her or she if you don’t remember the rules about subjects and objects?

Drop the second person:
She wanted to see the new musical.
He was happy with the spoils.
I took the treasure to him.
I was happy to recommend the play to her.

———-

Hopefully
Hopefully is one of those words that can get you into a fast argument and/or get you branded as ignorant.

Traditionally, hopefully has meant in a hopeful way or manner. I prayed hopefully for my son to survive the battle. In this sentence, hopefully describes the manner of prayer. Substitute other adverbs such as fervently or repeatedly and you get the idea for what hopefully means when used this way.

But popular usage has seen hopefully used to mean I am hopeful or I hope. Hopefully, my prayers will be answered. This usage is still disputed and often hotly debated.

What if you said, Hopefully, the day would end in peace? Who is hopeful here? Hopefully is used in this case as a sentence adverb.

Sentence adverbs are accepted for many other words, but hopefully is not so easily accepted. So, what should you do?

• Refrain from using hopefully to mean I hope or as a sentence adverb.
• Know your audience and make your decision based on that knowledge.
• Claim creative license and write what your story demands.

Just be prepared to fight for your choice.

———-

Historic/historical
Use historic to refer to a meaningful event from history. Using historic denotes there is significance to the event. The time of the historic Wars of the Roses was a volatile one for England.

Use historical to refer to something from the past, from history, that is not necessarily of importance as a significant event. Think of historical as the more general term. The historical record is thin in the so-called Dark Ages.

———-

Accept/except
Accept is a verb meaning to agree to receive or do something. I plan to accept the first job I’m offered. Except is a preposition that means not including. I love all bread except rye.

Note that there is a verb form of except that means to exclude: Everyone pays the toll, present company excepted, of course.

———-

Conscious/conscience/consciousness/conscientious
Conscious means both aware of and responsive to your surroundings and deliberate. I’m quite conscious of my responsibilities, thank you very much. He consciously chose the Uzi over the Glock.

Conscience is a noun denoting a person’s moral sense of right and wrong (and often showing preference for choosing right over wrong). My conscience wouldn’t let me keep the wallet, even though I needed the money and the former owner was dead from his injuries.

Consciousness is the noun form of conscious, the state of being conscious. Regaining consciousness, coming as it did with headache and nausea, had little to recommend it.

Conscientious means careful and thorough, and wanting to do what’s right. Most volunteers are conscientious, but Maureen is the most diligent of all.

———-

Hung/hanged
Both hung and hanged are past participles of hang. Use hanged for a person who was executed by hanging—They hanged him for his crimes—and hung for hanging other objects—She hung the portrait above the fireplace.

———-

Complimentary/complementary
Complimentary means praising, admiring or approving, and to be given free of charge. The diva’s words were complimentary [admiring], but I didn’t believe that she’d suddenly become an admirer. The tickets were complimentary [free], so I took three for my friends.

Complementary means combining to form a complete whole or to improve, and to contribute extra features to. Also mutually supplying what each other lacks. Our life plans are complementary, so we might as well get married.

———-

Nauseous/nauseated
Nauseous is an adjective describing something that causes a feeling of sickness or nausea. Daisy’s most recent attempt at a meal—cornflakes with coconut and sour cream—was truly nauseous.

Being nauseated is to feel sick. Timothy was nauseated by the relentless bad news from the war zone.

Can you say, I’m nauseous without meaning that you cause nausea in others? Plenty of people, writers included, do use the phrase to mean just that. And because of common usage, most readers will understand the meaning, that you feel sick or nauseated. But you’d never be wrong to keep the words and meanings separate.

———-

Continual/continuous
The lines are becoming blurred by usage, but there is a difference between continual and continuous. Use continual for something constantly or frequently occurring. The continual road repairs took a toll on the city’s commuters. Use continuous for something happening without interruption. The continuous drip from the bathroom faucet kept Marie tossing and turning all night.

———-

Disburse/disperse
Disburse means to pay out money. The old miser disbursed funds to his children twice a year. Disperse means to scatter, to go in different directions or over a wide area, to thin out and disappear. At the sound of gunshots, both the crowd and the flock of birds dispersed.

———-

Discreet/discrete
Discreet means careful and prudent, keeping silent about something of a delicate or potentially embarrassing nature. The President trusted his chief of staff to be discreet. Discrete means separate and distinct. The corporation was composed of four discrete divisions.

Note that discretion, the noun form of discreet, has only one e.

———-

Disinterested/uninterested
This is another pair of words where one is often used for the other, though they are different. Disinterested means impartial, though in common usage it’s often used to mean not interested. Martin, a disinterested observer, was able to call the plays without favoring either team.

Uninterested does mean not interested or concerned. Raul was not only uninterested in Marta’s day, he tuned out her words to concentrate on the latest weather report.

———-

Flout/flaunt
Flout means to openly not follow a rule or law or custom or practice. When Sam gave his son a book of driving laws, Sam Jr. proved eager to flout every one. Flaunt means to display in an obvious manner. Margaret arranged her jewelry in cases in the living room, eager to flaunt her wealth when her sister-in-law came to visit.

———-

Imply/infer
Imply means to suggest something. Peter was punched in the eye when he implied his best friend’s wife was fat. Infer means to deduce from evidence or reasoning (it’s not a knowledge from facts). From Wilbur’s tone and sneer, I inferred he thinks I’m as valuable as dirt.

Memory trick—The person doing the speaking implies something. The person hearing infers something from what the other person says.

———-

Purposely/purposefully
Purposely means deliberately. I purposely lost my shoe when I ran from the ball. Purposefully means having or showing determination. The veteran firefighter ran purposefully into the burning building.

———-

Irregardless
There is no such word. Use regardless to mean in spite of circumstances or conditions.

———-

Peruse
Contrary to common usage, peruse means to read or examine thoroughly and with attention to detail. It does not mean scan quickly. To peruse leisurely means to read without hurry.

———-

Prescribe/proscribe
Prescribe means to recommend and permit the use of, especially medicine or medical treatment, or to recommend with authority. Both doctors prescribed penicillin, even though I told them it made me sick.

Proscribe means to condemn or forbid. His prison sentence proscribed contact with his former associates.

———-

Free rein/reign
Reins are used for guiding animals, particularly horses. Reign, in its noun form, is the period of time a king or queen rules.

The phrase free rein means freedom of action. Lancet the Bold was given free rein over the peoples of Saint Sebastian. The phrase is never free reign.

———-

Noisy/nosy/noisome
Noisy is an adjective meaning to make a lot of noise or be full of noise. The classroom of active first graders was noisy and warm.

Nosy (also nosey) is an adjective meaning inquisitive (to a great degree) of the business of others. It has a negative connotation. Abe’s neighbor was nosy, always looking out his window, checking out Abe’s visitors.

Noisome is an adjective meaning to have a highly unpleasant smell. It can also be used in reference to other things unpleasant. It comes from annoy and has nothing to do with sound. The noisome odors from the dump didn’t waft through the air; they stormed through it, knocking senseless everything in their path.

———-

Literally/figuratively
Literally is an adverb meaning in a literal sense, actually or exactly. The soldier literally bled to death in front of me. It is often used to show that something actually happened as stated, in case the hearer/reader were to doubt the truth of the claim.

Figuratively is an adverb meaning non-literal, using figures of speech, metaphorical. He spoke figuratively, exaggerating the needs in order to tap into the emotions of his audience.

The problem. While literally means actually, for many years both writers and speakers have been using literally to exaggerate, to add emphasis, and to substitute for figuratively: I would literally die if Jenny told Michael I had a crush on him; He quite literally blew a gasket when he heard that his ex-wife was getting remarried; Dr. Franz gave up his life’s work, literally thumbing his nose at the scientific community and Dr. Medlin. Our narrator won’t actually die, the man didn’t blow a gasket—people aren’t constructed with gaskets—and Dr. Franz, while he might have shot Dr. Medlin the bird, most likely didn’t actually thumb his nose at him.

Common usage is changing the definition of literally. Is this change accepted by everyone? Not by a long shot. Can you use the word literally and not mean actually? If the word comes out of a character’s mouth, you can say pretty much anything. If you’re writing for a literary magazine? I wouldn’t try it. Anything in between, I’d say know your audience. Know why some won’t ever accept a use of literally other than to mean actually. Know why the misuse of literally may cause your readers to mistrust your word choices. Know why some readers will understand exactly why you’ve used literally and will accept that use for what it is.

———-

Different from/different than/different to
While there are many opinions, there’s no concensus on this one. I’ve read the experts and the forums and the opinions. Conclusion? Use different from most of the time and always when comparing nouns, when saying that one is not the same as the other.

Max is different from Thomas.
Elevated trains are not really different from those that travel underground.

—

Different to is peculiar to British English and may be used for different from in spoken English, in informal situations, or in certain areas of the UK.

This letter is different to that one.

He looks different to the way he looked before.

While American English doesn’t use different to in this manner, it does accept different to in a case such as this—He looked different to me.

—

Different than is peculiar to American English and is often used for different from. This is not an accepted use in formal writing.

Max is different than Thomas. X

Different than is accepted if a clause, rather than a noun, follows it.

The result was different than I’d expected.

He’s different than he used to be.

These can’t be written, The result was different from I’d expected or He’s different from he used to be.

But, these are correct—The result was different from the result I’d expected and He’s different from the man he used to be.

So… there are situations that call for different from, different than, and different to. Be wary of those who’d call for a blanket ban of any of the three.

———-

Circle around
Circle around is redundant. Simply use circle as the verb (or say something such as go around).

Circle the block.

Go around the block.

But not, Circle around the block. X

You can use circle around for emphasis.

The plane circled around and around while the pilot searched for a landing spot.

———-

Merge, blend, combine, or mix together
Adding together to the verbs merge, blend, combine, or mix is redundant. The verbs alone are sufficient.

The baker mixed the ingredients.

The two highways merged north of La Jolla.

We combined our efforts for the best result.

The paints were mixed, but the color was not what we’d expected.

———-

Coffin/casket
A coffin is a box used to hold human remains, whether for burial—above or below ground—or for cremation. A coffin typically has six or eight sides (and a bit of a tapered look).

A casket in much of the English-speaking world is a box, often small, used for a variety of purposes. In the United States, the term casket has become a substitute for coffin. It often refers to the rectangular-shaped display box used at funerals, a box with a split lid that can be opened for viewing. Remains may be buried in caskets, or the casket may be used only for the public display at funerals.

———-

Waved/waived
The verb wave means to move your hands (or something in your hands) to and fro. Jennifer waved to her friends from her car.

The verb waive means to choose not to insist on a right or a claim. Maxwell waived his right to an attorney and told the detective everything he’d done.

The noun form of wave is wave. The noun form of waive is waiver.

Waver is also a verb. It means to flicker or be indecisive. Margot wavered between the two choices her mother gave her.

———-

Gambit/gamut
Gambit, a noun, is a means of gaining an advantage. A gambit is an action or remark, a ploy. Nico’s gambit was nothing new; he simply planned to lie to his wife.

Gamut is a noun that refers to the full range of something. The medical team ran through the gamut of known communicable diseases.

———-

Callous/callus
Callous is an adjective meaning cruel, insensitive. Her callous attitude won few admirers.

Callus is a thickening of the skin. Tim developed a callus under his ring from the tools pushing against it, but he’d promised Alice he’d never take it off.

———-

I’ve identified the problem areas for these words, but have not given all definitions and uses of each word.  For full definitions and more information, see a dictionary. Preferably a current one since our language is ever changing.

Bill Bryson’s written a book of problem words that would serve as a great resource for any writer or editor—Bryson’s Dictionary of Troublesome Words: A Writer’s Guide to Getting it Right.

***

So, what’s a comma splice?

A comma splice is found in a sentence where a comma is used to join independent clauses when a stronger separator is called for. (Independent clauses have conjugated verbs and can stand alone as sentences.)

Examples of comma splices (this is what you don’t want to do):

Bob wore a white suit, Billy Ray wore a black one.

Tina hoped Santa would come soon, she had plans for her new doll.

He drank the poison, Sally was the one to die.

While the phrases might be related, punctuation rules require a stronger break between them than a comma provides.

There are a handful of ways to correct comma splices:

1.  Use a period and separate one sentence into two.

Bob wore a white suit. Billy Ray wore a black one.

2.  Use a semi-colon instead of a comma. It allows for a stronger separation than a comma does.

Bob wore a white suit; Billy Ray wore a black one.

3.  Add a conjunction to join the two clauses (keep the comma).

Bob wore a white suit, but Billy Ray wore a black one.

4. Use a dash to join/separate the clauses.

Bob wore a white suit—Billy Ray wore a black one.

5. Change one independent clause to a dependent one.

Since Bob wore a white suit, Billy Ray wore a black one.

Can you break this rule about not using comma splices? Of course. Almost every writing rule can be broken and broken to good effect. But first you need to know the rule, know how to fix sentences and phrases when you break the rule, and how to break a rule to your advantage.

Comma splices are most often allowed when the independent clauses are closely related and the sentence is short.

I ate the beef, you ate the snake.

Comma splices may also be accepted when the impact is stronger with them.

I came, I saw, I conquered.

Comma splices can jerk a reader from your fiction, make him focus on the mechanics rather than the content. Correcting comma splices gives your writing polish and makes it easier for readers to follow your story, to stay lost in the fiction.

Keep your readers focused on the story. Rid your writing of anything that will distract the reader from that story, from your imaginary world. Clear your manuscript of comma splices.

***

You can find

But one POV issue I find in manuscripts has less to do with choosing a point of view and more with maintaining it. I often find writers switching from a limited third person to an omniscient point of view, one in which characters know much more than they should, but only because the writer knows what’s going on. Not because the character has figured out all the intracacies of the plot by page 14.

There are the obvious problems:  How could Jack know about the getaway car, since he wasn’t there and the newscast didn’t report details? Why is Letitia mad at Eleanor for her lapse of judgment when Eleanor’s been angsting about it—mentally only—for 50 pages but has yet to find the courage to mention it to her friend?

Just because the reader knows what’s going on doesn’t mean every character does. Or can.

Then there are the subtler errors: Annie thinking about her luxurious black hair curling down her back; Elliot wondering how his manly six-pack is affecting Tina as he walks by.

Yes, Annie could be a narcissist. She could think, I’ve got it all over Renee. My hair is thicker and longer and Tony already said he preferred dark hair to blond. But almost no one, including narcissists, thinks something such as this about his or her hair—my thick, auburn tresses cascaded to my hips. Not even—She caught her reflection in the glass door. Her thick, auburn tresses swayed with every smooth step.

However, someone may legitimately complain, It’s coming off today. The damned curls make me look like Little Orphan Annie. Or, She whipped out a barrette from the collection on the car’s console and twisted her shaggy mess up and clipped it away from her face. She would take her own damned scissors to it today if Mr. David wouldn’t make time for her.

The word choices must reflect how the character would think and speak. It’s not only about what the character knows, but how he expresses himself.

It’s about who he is.

Sometimes a shift in POV is even subtler, just a shade off. But if you’re in first person or even limited third, you’ve got to restrict your character’s thoughts to what he would actually think.

Does he think in words his character would use? Do his thought patterns match his personality? Does he think of realistic concerns for his character? Does he have silly conversations—aloud or in his head—sharing information only because readers need to know it, not because that’s what or how he’d think?

Marcus would kill his best friend, Tobias Marchand, for the scratch stretching from hood to tailgate on his new—his 24-hour-new—F-150.

Would Marcus think his friend’s full name? Would he think best friend? Or might he actually think—He would kill the asshole, do it for real this time, if only for not telling him about the scratch stretching from hood to tailgate on his new—his 24-hour-new—F-150.

If you’ve taken us into a character’s head—and we can see, hear, and feel what he can—then remember we also can’t see or hear or feel what he can’t.

That deep point of view, where the reader identifies with a character, where he climbs inside the character’s skin, can do so much for your story. It can keep the reader imagining himself as the lead character, saving the world or the girl or his job. It can pull the reader so deep that he doesn’t realize that two hours have passed in his real world while a week has gone by in the imaginary one.

A consistent point of view keeps the plot real and can make fictional events urgent. It can rattle the reader, making him feel, making him think, making him react to your story as if it were really happening. Because, in a well-written story, one in which the reader can immerse himself, the story events are real. The emotions are true—they create physical responses in the reader. The reader uses his mind, his feelings, and his body to experience the story.

An inconsistent point of view stops the reader cold. It makes him realize the events on the page aren’t really happening. He may even be resentful, especially if he was into the story and was then jerked back to reality.

The reader reads to be entertained. To explore a world unlike his everyday one. To touch and experience what is strange to him. When he becomes lost in story, he accepts everything the writer puts before him. When he either cannot immerse himself or he is yanked from the fiction, he is disappointed, maybe even at odds with an author who tried to trick him into believing his world existed when it so obviously didn’t.

Don’t give your reader a chance to be pulled from the story you’ve created for him. Instead, keep giving him reasons to believe your words, to imagine himself as a character other than who he is. To live in a world peopled with unusual characters who say wildly improper things and get away with them.

Maintain the fiction. Maintain a consistent point of view.

I change many instances of like to as when I edit. But I also leave some that technically should be changed. Why? Let’s look at the differences between like and as first and then I’ll tell you why I don’t change some misuses.

Like is used for a comparison, typically of things. It’s often used when comparing nouns or comparing something to a noun. The noun follows like in the sentence…

Little Katie looks just like her momma.

The skin on his palms felt like the finest grain sandpaper.

Dorothy laughed like a hyena.

The prisoner ate like a pig.

The following examples are incorrect…

Little Katie looks like she’s about to cry.  X
(Little Katie looks as if she’s about to cry.)

The skin on his palms felt like he’d run sandpaper over it. X
(The skin on his palms felt as though he’d run sandpaper over it.)

Dorothy laughed like she was a hyena. X
(Dorothy laughed as though she were a hyena.)

The prisoner ate like the food would disappear before he could swallow. X
(The prisoner ate as though the food would disappear before he could swallow.)

Use as when you’re not comparing something to a noun. Verbs, rather than nouns, typically follow the use of as.

When don’t I change like to as, even when the words following like are not noun but verb? In dialogue.

Many, many people use like rather than as in speech. Characters in novels would use such a construction just as easily as people in the real world. So, if the use fits the character, I leave like in dialogue. Now, if the character is highly educated or picky in his mannerisms, I would definitely suggest switching like to as for him as well.

Be sure to reserve like for comparisons. The construction in this next example often slips past the most careful of writers because it seems to be making a comparison. Yet, in this sentence we’re not comparing foods to certain types of foods. We are expanding on the category of food…

Foods like cakes, pies, and cookies are great for the taste buds, yet bad for the arteries. X

Correct construction for this sentence is…

Foods such as cakes, pies, and cookies are great for the taste buds, yet bad for the arteries.

Both like and as have other uses. This article serves to show the correct uses in circumstances when the two words might be confused for one another.

Today’s topic? The dangling modifier.

I hear at least one of you laughing, but it’s true; that’s what it’s called. But since many of us might not know what a modifier is, much less how it can dangle (and why that would be bad), let’s look at a few examples of this tragic misuse of English grammar. (This is no slam against those who don’t know the zillion and one grammar terms;  you don’t need to know the names to know how to apply the rules.)

Watching from the cliff top, the ship grew smaller and smaller as it sailed away from Angela.

Hoping to reach her mother before her sister did, the phone felt alien in Gretchen’s shaking hand.

Not wanting the dog’s bark to give away their position, the muzzle was pulled over his snout.

Pretty bad, I know. What should I have written to keep from dangling my modifiers out in front of the entire English-reading world?

Watching from the cliff top, Angela saw the ship grew smaller and smaller as it sailed away.

Angela was the one doing the watching, so she should be the subject that follows the modifier (watching from the cliff top).  As written in the first example, the ship is watching itself. An impossibility.(At least the way it’s written here. I’m not precluding sci-fi writers from figuring out a way to make that happen in their fictional worlds.)

Hoping to reach her mother before her sister did, Gretchen lifted the phone in her shaking hand.

In this example, Gretchen is doing the hoping, so she should follow the modifier.

Not wanting the dog’s bark to give away their position, Vandercamp (or Elvis or the twins or someone) slid a muzzle over his snout.

As first written, this said the muzzle didn’t want to give away their position. Humorous, maybe, but not likely a true read of the situation. This example’s trickier, however, because of the construction. The subject of the modifier—the person not wanting the dog to give away their position—is never stated.

So, why were these modifying phrases dangling? Because they didn’t modify the subject they were intended to modify. Or, as in the third example, there was no stated subject to modify.

The modifier needs to be attached to something, to a subject (often a simple noun). That subject needs to follow the modifier. And that subject needs to be explicitly mentioned, not merely implied. For sentences using this construction to be read correctly (and without confusion), subjects need to be both identified and attached to their modifiers.

Dangling modifiers aren’t found only at the beginnings of sentences, but that’s where I most often find them. And they don’t need to begin with a participle (those -ing forms of verbs), though again, I often see that rather than something such as—

To ease his conscience, a dozen roses were ordered.

How to make that better?

To ease his conscience, Tom ordered a dozen roses.

Or the straightforward—

Tom ordered a dozen roses to ease his conscience.

So, it’s an easy error to fix, this dangling modifier, once you know what it looks like and what it should look like.

Look for actions performed by no one or nothing, and look for subjects performing actions that make no sense.

Check out any sentence that begins with a participle since those are the ones that often contain the dangling modifier.

Make sure that the first noun (subject) following the modifier (often right after a comma) is the one performing the action of the modifier.

Your readers will appreciate that you make their reading experiences both clear and enjoyable, without them having to do a double-take over questionable phrasing or laughing at poorly written sentences when a scene should instead induce tears.

Every writer (and editor) makes mistakes. Whether due to ignorance or sloppiness or the sheer number of possible writing errors, no writer of long fiction will produce a flawless draft. Not without more time than most of us have to produce one manuscript.

Yet, we can lower the number of mistakes by looking at common writing mistakes and then proofing our own work to see where we can eliminate those mistakes.

This list is by no means complete, but I’ve listed very common mistakes that I’ve seen as an editor, made as a writer, and heard about from other writers. (While this list is intended for the fiction writer, writers of non-fiction can benefit from an awareness of these common mistakes as well.)

~ Starting the story in the wrong place ~
Whether the story opens in the lead’s childhood when it should instead start at the moment a car races toward the 35-year-old detective or we meet the heroine as she sits in front of a fire after confronting her ex (which we didn’t get to see), we need to recognize that sometimes our stories just don’t open in the right place.

The fix for starting a story in the wrong place is to begin it instead at a point of action or heightened emotion. Dump the reader into an incident from the character’s day. An incident of importance. A moment of change for the character. An instance after which his life will be different.

~ Filling the opening with back story ~
Some writers want to tell everything about a character (or two or three) before jumping into the story. Resist the temptation to try this yourself. Give us story before back story.

~ Giving all characters the same voice ~
All people don’t speak the same—characters shouldn’t either. Make sure your characters speak with different rhythms and use different expressions. One may rattle off at the mouth while another is the king of one-word answers. Reveal your characters through their dialogue, not only by their actions.

~ Muddled genre ~
Some writers try to stuff every stylistic trick into one book, hoping to make their story appeal across genres. Pick one genre (and a sub-genre if appropriate). But don’t try to write to please every reader of every genre. It won’t happen and you’ll weaken your story.

~ Overuse of cliche and common phrases ~
Cliches and common phrases are someone else’s words. Create your own phrases that fit your character in his situation in his story. Common phrases make your work sound like a hundred other books. Go for the novel phrase for your novel. The work will be better for your creativity and the extra time you invest.

~ Switching POV ~
We’ve all heard of head hopping, switching points of view every page or paragraph or even within paragraphs. Yes, you can get away with it. But why try? Why not give your readers the best and the least confusing read possible? Don’t make them struggle to figure out what’s happening and to whom. Each time a reader has to re-read because she’s lost track of who’s doing what, she is pulled from the story. And you want that reader fully engaged in your book—don’t give her an excuse to put it down.

~ Not enough plot to sustain the story ~
If your story’s thin, throwing in extra descriptions won’t fix fatten it. You may fill it with hot air, but you won’t make it any meatier. Make sure you have enough story to your story. Are there low-level climaxes before the big moment? Have you woven story threads for different characters? Do your main characters face setbacks and obstacles before they triumph?

~ Too many plot threads for your story ~
Too many characters or problems or incidents or locations can overwhelm a story. Combine characters if you have a few who exist only for one scene. Cut out obstacles for your lead if he’s living under a black cloud every day and nothing positive ever happens to him. Keep the story full and rich, but don’t overburden it with extras that smother.

Take a hard look at your plot threads. Do they add to the tension and tone of the story? Or do they distract the reader, pull him in too many directions? Have you blended the threads into a tight story, or do threads dangle, maybe start tied to another thread but then lead nowhere?

Does your main character have an ex-wife and a business partner and a younger brother all demanding his time and attention? Is he trying to save the President’s daughter and prevent a toxin from reaching London’s water supply? Did he just find out he could have cancer and that the man he always thought of as his father was really the man who accidentally killed his birth father?

Decide what the story’s about and which elements add flavor to that story. Then cut threads that distract. Combine threads (and characters) that aren’t strong enough to stand alone. Remove anything that might have the reader scratching his head, wondering why that scene, that event, that person, even that phrase were in this story.

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There are exceptions to any writing rule or suggestion, to any of the practices that make up good fiction. Yet what we’re looking for are ways to produce good writing and better writing. We’re not looking for what we can get away with—our focus is on what makes the story work and work well.

Always keep that in mind when you’re writing, rewriting, and editing. What works best for this story?

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