I RECEIVED hundreds of letters in response to my first book on writing, The First Five Pages. Many readers loved the book, some hated it, and others told me with a dark satisfaction that they didn't read past my first five pages. Accustomed to receiving thousands of query letters a year, some truly bizarre, none of this really surprised me.
What did surprise me was the number of readers who wrote asking me to elaborate on what I'd said about the question mark. I had touched on the subject of punctuation briefly in The First Five Pages, devoting a mere two pages to it. Within those two pages were a mere three sentences devoted to the question mark. But for some reason readers fixated on these three sentences.
In this final chapter I will fully address the usage of the question mark, along with other punctuation marks that should be used sparingly, or not at all, in creative writing.
USE SPARINGLY The Question Mark
There is nothing wrong with the question mark in its own right. It is a perfectly fine punctuation mark, and even necessary in many cases. Obviously, it serves a purpose that no other punctuation mark can: to indicate a question. It can also be used creatively to capture a certain form of dialogue, where the character speaks with a rising inflection. This is often found in casual speech, where the speaker is stating a fact yet also trying to discern whether his listener is listening (or understanding). For example:
"I was walking to the store? You know, the one on 8th street?"
That said, you must remember that a publishing professional is looking to reject a manuscript as quickly as he can. This entails scrutinizing the first five pages, particularly the first page. And an abundance of question marks in the first pages—particularly in the first paragraph—nearly always indicate amateur or melodramatic writing. For some reason, the poor question mark gets seized upon by the writer who is desperate to immediately hook the reader in a cheap way. For example, I have seen too many opening lines like this:
Did I kill my wife? Or:
Did I think I'd get away with it?
Or:
Did she really do it?
It feels gimmicky, and actually distances a reader more than entraps him. These writers don't realize that readers, when beginning a book, are prepared to make a mental effort; they don't need to be treated as if they'll put the book down if they don't like the first sentence. It is overkill.
Never use the question mark to create drama. Let it fulfill its role organically, when (or if) it needs to. Always ask yourself if a sentence can somehow be paraphrased. For example, some "questions" might be indicated with periods:
"You didn't really think you'd get away with it?"
Could also be:
"You didn't really think you'd get away with it."
The latter is more subtle, indicating a flat intonation; it is more of a statement than a question. Always consider the desired inflection of the speaker.
Also realize that there is less license for the question mark in creative writing. Practical nonfiction and self-help books can get away with it more easily, particularly if they are prescriptive or directly questioning the reader, for example in an exercise section.
The Exclamation Point
So many people have beaten up on the poor exclamation point (including myself) that I feel bad delivering it yet one more punch. The exclamation point has been referred to as "the period that blew its top," is known as a "screamer" by journalists. Harry Shaw says, "Unless you wish your writing to seem juvenile or empty-headed, follow this rule: Never use an exclamation point when another mark will serve adequately and properly." F. Scott Fitzgerald says "an exclamation mark is like laughing at your own joke." Clearly, the exclamation point has many enemies.
Thus let me begin by being contrary: like the question mark, the exclamation point does have its place, does fulfill a role that no other punctuation mark can. There are times when it will be useful, even necessary. For example, to indicate a direct command:
Stop!
Or to indicate someone shouting:
Wait for me! Or to indicate extreme surprise: I can't believe it!
Which, by the way, can also be done in conjunction with the question mark (although this usage is debatable):
You mean her!?
To indicate extreme pain:
Ouch!
Or anger:
You son of a bitch!
Or any other extreme emotion. Indeed, extreme is the exclamation point's modus operandi.
This said, the reason so many attack the exclamation point is because, like the question mark, it can be painfully misused. Like the question mark, it can be used as a crutch to create a heightened sense of drama, can be transformed into a screaming car salesman. As a rule, if you need an exclamation point to make a scene come alive, then you better reexamine that scene. Drama should always be built naturally and organically, and not need a ploy to grab a reader's attention.
Ultimately, the problem with the exclamation point is that it's too powerful, too attention grabbing. It's the bright green dress, the flaming pink scarf. There may be an occasion, once every five years, when it is needed; until then, like those clothes, it is best left in the closet.
"It is a sound principle that as few stops should be used as will do the work."
— H. W. and F. G. Fowler, The King's English
Italics
Italics are a graceful form of punctuation, and in emphasizing a word or phrase they fulfill a role no other punctuation mark can. There are instances when they are needed. If a sentence is open to interpretation, italics can clarify, provide emphasis to a particular word in order to let readers know how to read it. For example:
He was angry that I didn't pick up the phone, but it was his mother and I didn't see why I should have to.
Or they can contrast two words in a sentence:
You might like it but she hates it.
They can also be used to indicate thought, to contrast a narrator's interior monologue with the exterior world:
My father's friend grabbed my hand. "Nice to meet you!" he said. What a snake.
"Nice to meet you, too," I answered, despite myself.
The problem, though, with italics is that writers can easily become addicted, and allow themselves to believe they are needed everywhere. For example:
His exam was three hours long. He never expected it to be so hard, and now he had second doubts over whether he was truly prepared.
At first glance the italics may seem necessary, but if you remove them you'll find that the sentence is equally understood without them:
His exam was three hours long. He never expected it to be so hard, and now he had second doubts over whether he was truly prepared.
Readers might not grasp the emphasis as quickly, but eventually they will—and allowing the reader that satisfaction is always preferable. If stresses and meanings are too laid out, if you tell readers at every step how to read your book, they will grow to resent you for underestimating them.
Italics are also annoying because whenever they appear, it is the
writer's voice appearing, telling the reader how he, the writer, would emphasize the sentence. It can be overbearing. Like the question mark and exclamation point, italics are a strong visual, and wield tremendous power. They can dominate a text without even trying. And they can also defeat their own purpose: italics overused quickly lose their power, and have little import the next time they appear. From a publishing professional's perspective, an overitalicized work is a sure sign of an unrestrained writer.
Finally, italics are, on some level, an admission of failure: every time you use one, you concede that you are unable to construct a sentence in a way that naturally emphasizes stress. This is why the Fowler brothers call italics "a confession of weakness."
Points of Ellipsis
Like the other marks in this section, there is nothing inherently wrong with the ellipsis, and it does have its place. It performs a unique function in allowing a writer to indicate a trailing off, o
r a brief passing of time. It is at its most restrained, and most effective, within dialogue:
The doctor approached her gravely, and put a hand on her shoulder. He said, "Your friend . . . might not live."
In an amateur's hands, though, ellipsis points can be a problem. Like italics, they can become a bad habit, a crutch to use whenever a writer doesn't know how to firmly end a sentence or section or chapter, when he doesn't know how to indicate a passing of time any other way. Worst of all, it can become a cheap device to end sections or chapters; some writers think that merely because they conclude with (. . .) it will force the reader to read on. This is silly. A reader doesn't turn a page because of three dots; he turns a page because of content.
Thus it is not surprising that these three dots are almost always used as a ploy, tacked onto an ending that has no dramatic merit in its own right. It's like shouting "Stay tuned!" It brings to mind the gimmicky endings of Batman, the television series, in which the characters are put into a dire situation as a cheap trick to make viewers tune in the following week.
Hyphen
The hyphen has a limited creative use in connecting two words into a compound word. Poets regularly use it for this function; indeed, by connecting unlikely words, you can nearly create your own language. Be sparing in doing so, though; it is attention grabbing. Some writers overdo wordplay, creating a witty vocabulary of their own, but at the expense of distracting from the narrative.
More importantly, be careful not to confuse the hyphen with a dash. These are two separate creatures. The hyphen is indicated by a single horizontal line (-) while the dash must be indicated by two typed hyphens, which connect to form one longer horizontal line, sometimes indicated like this (--) and sometimes like this ( —). Either one is acceptable when indicating a dash, but the hyphen (-) definitely is not.
DON'T USE AT ALL
There are certain punctuation marks that have no place at all in creative writing. I have no idea why they keep appearing, and assume they are simply confused with other marks. So let's clarify this once and for all:
Brackets
These should never be used in creative writing. They have a limited technical use (mainly to indicate omitted or substituted words in a quotation), but in creative writing they have no place. The only reason I even bring them up is because occasionally you see them confused with parentheses. Make no doubt about it: these are entirely different creatures, not even fourth cousins. (By the way, the British call our parentheses "brackets," so don't confuse the two.)
Underline
It is questionable to even consider this a punctuation mark: some writers do, others don't. Back when typewriters ruled the world, the norm was to underline text in order to indicate to the printer that such text would ultimately need to be italicized. Now, with computers, we can italicize text ourselves. Underlining is a thing of the past, and should not be used.
Bold
This is not truly a punctuation mark, but it is worth mentioning here. If italics and underlining are included in most discussions of punctuation, then the use of boldface should be, too. The reason it's worth mentioning is because when writers are desperate to make something stand out, they'll try every trick there is—ALL CAPS, underline, italics, and even bold. I can't tell you how many query letters I've received sprinkled with bold, and how many times this spilled over into the manuscript itself. Bold should never be used. Emphasis can be indicated with italics, or, when referring to a title in a query letter, in ALL CAPS—but never bold. The only time bold might be used is in a practical work of nonfiction, but even then, only for chapter or header titles, and never in the text itself.
THE WORLD of punctuation is a complex one, each mark having its own needs and rules. Sometimes marks will complement one another, at other times they will be in conflict. A period won't feel the same when preceded by a semicolon. A comma won't do as well near a dash. A colon won't allow a semicolon in the same sentence. Quotation marks need paragraph breaks in order to shine. And the slightest change to any of these marks will reverberate throughout the work, affecting sentence, paragraph, section, and chapter. Punctuation marks are skittish. A rock isn't needed for a ripple effect—a pebble is.
Grasping how to use a mark in its own right is difficult enough; mastering how to use it in context of the content, and in context of all the other punctuation marks, is a lifelong endeavor. It is truly an art. But it is worth the effort. When we look at punctuation collectively, we begin to see that punctuation marks, in the right hands, can truly bring out the best in one another. A period used with a dash becomes so much more than a period on its own could ever be. We begin to see that punctuation marks by themselves are like col-
ors in a palette: it is only through the collective that they become all they were meant to be.
But this is abstract. In order to better understand the symphony of punctuation, let's look at what the masters have done over centuries. We return to E. M. Forster's brilliant novel A Passage to India:
Houses do fall, people are drowned and left rotting, but the general outline of the town persists, swelling here, shrinking there, like some low but indestructible form of life. Inland, the prospect alters.
In the first sentence, Forster uses commas to capture the feeling of a town ebbing and flowing; he also gives us a long sentence, asking us to take it all in at once. He follows this with a paragraph break and a short sentence, which allows the next sentence to provide a sharp contrast. This furthers the purpose of his content, showing the contrast between his two settings. Best of all, he is subtle: the punctuation weaves itself seamlessly through the text, might even be missed if you were not looking for it.
Here's an example from Henry James's "The Tree of Knowledge":
Such a triumph had its honour even for a man of other triumphs—a man who had reached fifty, who had escaped marriage, who had lived within his means, who had been in love with Mrs. Mallow for years without breathing it, and who, last but not least, had judged himself once for all.
Notice how he avoids commas in the first portion of the sentence, which allows us to rush headlong into a dash, which in turn sets us up for a grand summary, an elaboration. That elaboration is carried out with an abundance of commas, which breaks up the style of the sentence and helps contrast the second portion of the sentence to the first. The commas also mimic items in a list, subtly hinting that we should take with a grain of salt what the character considers "triumphs."
Vladimir Nabokov adroitly uses punctuation in his story "Signs and Symbols":
For the fourth time in as many years they were confronted with the problem of what birthday present to bring a young man who was incurably deranged in his mind. He had no desires. Man-made objects were to him either hives of evil, vibrant with a malignant activity that he alone could perceive, or gross comforts for which no use could be found in his abstract world. After eliminating a number of articles that might offend him or frighten him (anything in the gadget line for instance was taboo), his parents chose a dainty and innocent trifle: a basket with ten different fruit jellies in ten little jars.
He begins with a long sentence, devoid of commas. He follows with a short sentence, which provides a nice contrast for the first and third sentences. In the third sentence he brings in commas, and in the final sentence he brings in parentheses and then even a colon, allowing for first a building effect and then a wonderful feeling of finality. Even the paragraph break is well timed: he opens the paragraph with a problem and breaks it having resolved that problem.
Let's look at an example from Edith Wharton's story "The Muse's Tragedy":
Danyers afterwards liked to fancy that he had recognized Mrs. Anerton at once; but that, of course, was absurd, since he had seen no portrait of her—she affected a strict anonymity, refusing even her photograph to the most privileged—and from Mrs. Memorall, whom he revered and cultivated as her friend, he had
extracted but the one impressionist phrase: "Oh, well, she's like one of
those old prints where the lines have the value of color."
Using varied punctuation, Wharton manages to prolong a sentence that would otherwise be too long. Calling on the semicolon, double dash, colon, comma, and quotation marks in a single sentence (!) she creates enough ebbs and flows to allow such a length. Notice also her unusual placement of quotation marks at the conclusion; it makes us feel as if the quotation is inherently connected to what came before.
Cynthia Ozick also varies her punctuation in her story "The Shawl":
Rosa did not feel hunger; she felt light, not like someone walking but like someone in a faint, in trance, arrested in a fit, someone who is already a floating angel, alert and seeing everything, but in the air, not there, not touching the road. As if teetering on the tips of her fingernails.
Notice her immediate use of the semicolon, which offsets the idea that she did not feel hunger, and sets it up to be contrasted to what follows. She then switches to abundant commas, which capture the feeling of the content, evokes what it's like to feel "light," each comma buoying us further up in the air. Finally, she concludes with a short sentence and immediate period; this is conspicuous, since the final sentence could have easily been tacked on to the previous sentence with a comma, and it helps once again to provide contrast, and to emphasize the notion that she felt as if she were "teetering." Consider this example from Jack London's "In a Far Country":
How slowly they grew! No; not so slowly. There was a new one, and there another. Two —three—four; they were coming too fast
to count. There were two growing together. And there, a third had joined them. Why, there were no more spots. They had run together and formed a sheet.
This comes toward the conclusion of the story, when the character is freezing to death, hallucinating and envisioning icicles surrounding him. The punctuation helps capture this feeling. First, it is hysterical and chaotic: we have an exclamation point; we have a semicolon coming after the very first word in a sentence; we have two solo dashes following each other; another immediate semicolon; and a series of short, abrupt sentences. All these marks work together to capture his demise.
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