Debs: My Love Affair with the Comma

DEBORAH CROMBIE: To this I could add "my love affair with long sentences," both of which go against all the things we were taught in writing workshops. Write short, blunt sentences, they said. (See what I did there? A comma!) I am the first to admit that short punchy sentences have their place, and I do use them. (No comma between short and punchy there--we don't need it.) Short sentences move the action along. They express emotion. They add interest to a paragraph or a page of longer sentences, and help keep the reader from getting lost in the prose. But where short really shines is in dialogue, because real people seldom speak in complete sentences.

But pages and pages of short, punchy sentences can become really annoying, and long sentences without commas to clarify them can put the reader to sleep in short order, so I'd like to think I aim for a happy middle ground. (You might guess that I am a diehard proponent of the Oxford comma, and that diagramming sentences was one of the few things that stuck with me from English classes.)

But all of this really is just backup to justify the way my brain works. When I'm writing, I hear the sentences in my head, and they have a certain rhythym. Hence the commas, and if I don't hear that pause, I will leave the comma out. At which point Microsoft Word will usually correct me and I have to choose between the software's grammar police and what I think sounds right. 

I'm really curious to learn how my new editor feels about commas! And then, of course, there's the copy editor, but that's a fraught subject for another day.  (I do know that technically there should be a comma between and and then in the above sentence, but here I made the judgement call to leave it out.)

Readers, do you think about these things? If so, do you fall on the side of more commas, or less?

And now for my progress report! I am steaming along in the last quarter of Kincaid/James #20--it's all downhill from here, I hope! A few more chapters and it will be done--at least until my editor gets her hands on it.

Here's a little snippet of Duncan paying a visit to one of my favorite places, in real life as well as in the books. We haven't seen the Scotch Malt Whisky Society in a couple of books and I was missing it. (You'll have to wait to find out just why he's meeting with his former boss, Denis Childs.)

Kincaid now felt a bit silly for having insisted on the hideaway of the whisky society rather than Denis Childs’ favorite pub, which was considerably nearer Childs’ home in Clerkenwell. But as he pulled open the solid wooden door tucked away behind the Bleeding Heart Tavern in Hatton Garden, he felt the sense of security the place always conjured. Quickly, he climbed the open stairs to the first floor members’ room.

He remembered his surprise on his first visit when he’d found not the dark fustiness he’d associated with members’ clubs, but a high-ceilinged wide-windowed room painted in pale gray, with black leather banquettes and soft furniture covered in jewel tones. Clean-lined photos of whisky distilleries adorned the walls and the mirror over the fireplace reflected the awe inspiring ranks of society whiskys displayed behind the bar. Today the fire wasn’t lit and several of the windows admitted the warm afternoon air. It was still a bit early for the afterwork drinks crush, for which he was grateful, and Denis had not yet arrived.

At the bar, he asked the bartender for a recommendation, having learned that trying to pick a dram from the society’s complicated menu was practically an afternoon’s task.

“We’ve a nice Speyside in the new Outrun,” the bartender answered. “Twelve-year-old, lots of honey notes. Suits such a warm day.”

“Sounds perfect. I’ll have that and a packet of the vinegar crisps.” He’d suddenly realized he was starving, having not taken time for lunch, and it didn’t do to drink neat whisky on an empty stomach.

Claiming his favorite table in the front corner, he slid onto the banquette so that he was facing the door. There were a few business types, men and women still in suits, occupying other tables, but no one close, and no one he recognized.

With a little exhalation of relief, Kincaid raised his glass to his nose and sniffed. Closing his eyes, he took a very small sip, letting the syrupy liquid expand in his mouth. Honey, yes, and was that...pineapple? Then came the burn, with notes of ginger and spice, chocolate and cranberry. He swallowed and felt his shoulders begin to relax.

When he opened his eyes, he saw his friend just entering the room, raising a hand in greeting. 

I hope this makes everyone want to sip a good single malt--or the non-alchoholic equivalent!

And, last thing, as every post should have a picture, I took this one this morning. Spring is coming, and the rosa japonica on the back of our deck is the first thing to bloom.

If there's no hint of spring in your neck of the woods, enjoy ours!