If you want to communicate your written message clearly, then you owe it to yourself, and your audience, to be purposeful about punctuation. Take the comma. Used correctly, it can help your readers navigate their way through some of your most sophisticated prose. Used effectively, it can add a subtle pause to accentuate your point.

About 30 percent of the time, a comma is optional. Whether you choose to use one after an introductory phrase, for instance, is a matter of style.

On June 20 I wrote my first blog entry.
On June 20, I wrote my first blog entry.

But 70 percent of the time, you really do need to know when and where to use this punctuation device.

Maybe you recall your sixth-grade English teacher telling you to put a comma before the last item in a series of three of more. OK, so you don’t remember. The point is, she was teaching you about the serial comma, as in:

Would you like coffee, tea, or water?

The serial comma is a holdover from prescriptive (traditional) punctuation. Within the past several years, this classic device has been shelved in favor of a more open style for mainstream communication.

Would you like coffee, tea or a latte?

But whether you’re a traditionalist or a non-serial-comma user, correct punctuation still counts for something. Compare the following:

Welcome Jim.
Welcome, Jim.

Due to the absence of the comma, the first example is actually a command imploring readers to make Jim feel welcome. With its correct use of the comma, the second example is an eloquent invitation for Jim to feel welcome.

Still think punctuation is just for language sissies? Consider these two seemingly identical sentences:

A woman without her man is nothing.
A woman – without her, man is nothing.

With the insertion of both a dash and a comma, the first sentiment has been transformed. What was once a glib affirmation of feminine dependence is now a feminist rallying cry. And it’s all thanks to some well-placed punctuation.

We live in an age of instant gratification, where anyone with a Twitter account can dash off a pithy 140-characters-or-fewer update. But it’s the passionate, attentive wordsmith who will continue to advance clear communication. So learn to use the almighty comma, among other tools of punctuation. Either that, or find yourself a good editor.

Back in the day, Ms. Nancy Duty taught me—and the rest of Bruceville-Eddy High school—to use two spaces at the end of every sentence and after colons. Most of us were learning to type on IBM Selectrics, although a few were using the newfangled electronic typewriters. (The previous year, my eighth-grade class had started to learn typing on Macs, but the school still had a limited number of computers.)

I never gave any further thought to this practice until I read an article on typesetting in John McWade’s Before & After magazine. This design guru said that the extra space wasn’t necessary in computer typesetting. I stopped using the second space immediately, but I’ve continued to encounter—and delete—countless extra spaces over the last 15 years.

As Cathline Marshall of Studio K&M once pointed out, that extra space “shows your age.” It tells readers that you learned to type in the BC era (before computers), when fonts were monospaced and the letter “m” took up just as much space as the letter “l”. In fact, HTML automatically deletes the second space, requiring serious effort to stick in that little character.

And really, why would you?

Did they ever give us a good reason for that extra space? Ms. Duty told us to use it, period. Sort of like the Ten Commandments coming down from Mount Sinai. Originally, this rule improved readability by clearly showing the end of a sentence, but with the advent of computers and variable-spaced fonts, it was no longer necessary.

Now, it’s annoying. (I can’t count the number of times I’ve found an extra space lurking in an otherwise-pristine document—usually because I tried to manually eliminate all the little offenders.)

Maybe you’re old school, and you honestly think that there’s a legitimate reason for using that extra space. Please accept the fact that this is no longer standard practice, and try not to be offended when editors remove every last one of those buggers.

Don’t believe me? Check out the Chicago Manual of Style.

Howard Levy, principal of Red Rooster Group, asks the following questions about proper style for percentages and time:

When you have a range of numbers referred to in a sentence, do you use an en dash or the word “to”? As in “20 to 40%” or “20 – 40%”?

Also, would you use the % sign after both the 20 and the 40?

What about time ranges? Do you need to use the :00 in all cases, even if some times start at :30, as in 6 – 7:30 pm vs. 6:00 – 7:30?

All excellent questions. As is typical when dealing with English grammar rules and style guidelines, the answers depend on the circumstances.

Percentages

• When working with a technical document, the standard convention calls for a numeral and the percentage sign. Ex. The control group experienced a 5%–7% reduction in discomfort.
• In nontechnical text, the convention is to use the numeral with the word percent. Ex. Marci predicted a 75 percent chance that John would cancel their date.
• That being said, The Chicago Manual of Style advocates use of the percentage symbol in nontechnical text that’s chock-full of percentages. Direct-response marketing copy, which relies heavily on specific proof, falls into this category. (Plus, testing shows that the percentage sign does a better job of grabbing readers’ attention.) Ex. This little-known stock produced gains of 286% after only six months.

Beyond that, using “to” versus an en dash or opting for one or two percentage signs depends on house style or client preference. The style selected simply needs to be consistent—certainly within the document and preferably throughout the organization’s materials.

Time of Day

Use numerals—including the zeros for even hours—when emphasizing exact time. (Times ranges fall in this category.) Ex. The meeting was scheduled to start at 6:00 p.m. and end at 7:30 p.m.

When referring to time of day in even, half or quarter hours, spell it out. Ex. The wedding ceremony begins at two thirty.

If you’re curious, the appropriate style for abbreviating ante meridiem and post meridiem is either lowercase with periods (a.m. and p.m.) or small caps without periods (which I can’t figure out with WordPress’s limited formatting options).

Here’s something to avoid in your written communications. Inexperienced writers (and even some experienced ones!) occasionally make dangling participle errors. Sound like something your high-school English teacher would say? Maybe, but professionals do not dare to make errors like these. Professional-level writing requires a professional-level understanding of grammar and clarity.

A participle is a verb that is constructed with either an -ing or an -ed ending that may be used as an adjective.

• Ex.: He ate scrambled eggs for breakfast. She enjoys her expanding portfolio.

Adding a participle to related words creates a participial phrase.

• Ex.:  Still holding the newspaper in his mouth, the dog ran from his master.

But notice what happens when the participial phrase is moved to the end. Consider the following:

• Ex.: The dog ran from his master, still holding the newspaper in his mouth.

The author likely intended the participial phrase to apply to the dog, but it doesn’t in this case because it is placed beside “master.” Is the master holding the newspaper in his mouth?

Here are two more examples:

• Ex.:  After being whipped fiercely, the cook boiled the egg.
• Ex.:  Flitting gaily from flower to flower, the football player watched the bee.

Has the cook just been flogged? Does the linebacker flit gaily?

The grammatical problem in these sentences rests with the placement of the participles and their antecedents, the nouns which are modified. A participle without a clear antecedent is called a “dangling participle,” because it’s left “dangling.” Make sure that phrases modifying nouns are placed beside the noun being modified.

Each time I visit Taiwan, I fall more in love with my mother’s country. The island’s natural beauty, the food, the culture – all make me proud of my Taiwanese heritage.

A friend who recently visited Taiwan described it as one of the world’s most under-rated travel destinations.

He has a point. But Taiwan has at least one serious challenge to overcome before tourists flock to its shores.

As a whole, the country does not cater well to English speakers.

I’m not trying to be the ugly American here, but English works pretty well as a universal language.

Which is easier: Trying to teach Taiwanese [insert nationality of choice] how to speak German, French, Spanish, Russian, Farsi, etc., or using English?

Signs of the Times

In the past 11 days, I’ve seen a number of hysterical signs and slogans that reflect the Taiwanese appreciation of the English language – minus editorial oversight.

Some of my favorites:

• “Baby & Kids Swears.” Reading this billboard for a children’s clothing store, I can hear my cousin’s voice clearly in my head. Of course, it’s supposed to read “Baby & Kidswear.” But it gives me a chuckle to think of precocious little tots swearing a blue streak.
• “Lideas.” It looks like a Greek heroine, but it was actually on a sign for a public women’s restroom. Occasionally, you see words with all the right letters, but in a nonsensical order. My aunt, for example, wore a varsity-looking shirt that said “NUISERVITY.”
• “Scared Bamboo.” I knelt down to read a sign in a public botanical display and laughed out loud. I’m guessing this particular plant holds some sort of holy significance. Or maybe some long-ago gardener frightened it and permanently altered the plant’s appearance.

Having studied a number of foreign languages, I admire the Taiwanese for bravely experimenting with English.

Now, it’s time to take the next step and finesse those skills with some editorial direction – something from which we can all benefit, yours truly included.

As I write this, it’s January 12 – or January 13, depending on your geography. (Since I’m presently flying over Alaska toward Japan, I feel caught between dates.) Regardless, we’re darn close to the start of the New Year. New resolutions, new beginnings.

For Mom and me, it’s the start of our latest adventure: three weeks in Taiwan with family.

For me and my business (and my writing life), today also marks the start of this new blog.

Beginnings always create unrealistic expectations of greatness. We feel the need to show our brilliance. This nasty pressure especially plagues writers, who so often give up on their craft because they’re disappointed with early attempts.

It’s okay to suck.

In Bird by Bird, one of the best books on writing I’ve ever read, Anne Lamott says it’s okay to write “really [crappy] first drafts.”

This isn’t just sound advice; it’s almost a universal mandate. Papa Hemingway himself said, “The first draft of anything is [doodoo].”

You have to write the garbage to get the gold.

It doesn’t matter if you’re writing the Great American Novel, a sales letter, or an e-book. With very rare exception, our first attempts fall way short of brilliance.

Sure, these initial scribblings may get the job done. Writing a memo to your boss? Just the facts will probably suffice.

But if you really want your writing to stand out, you must embrace the art of the rewrite.

Ninth time’s the charm?

Almost one year ago, the very talented Liz Martinez invited me to submit a short story for an anthology on Native American noir. I decided to take the plunge, seizing an opportunity to learn more about my Native American heritage.

My story came together over several months, many sessions of which felt like certain NaNoWriMo adventures. I’d sit at my computer or take a notebook and pen and write whatever drivel came to mind. Much of it sounded like crapola, but I had to forge ahead to the end.

Due to time constraints, I showed the complete, imperfect draft to my husband, one of my biggest fans – and one of my most direct critics. Tony offered praise and pointed out current plot holes.

I smiled, nodded, silently vowed not to do his laundry for the next three months, and went back to my keyboard. Roughly 50% of the story changed in the next draft.

We went through this exercise twice more before submitting the story for editorial review.

Then, Sarah Cortez, Liz’s sharp and insightful co-editor, gently guided me through the real revision process. While I’ve worked with editors in the business world, fiction editing was another animal. Together, we produced five more drafts before arriving at the final story that was submitted to the publisher.

The process, not the product.

So much in life comes down to the process, not simply the end product. For instance, I know very few writers who actually enjoy writing, but almost all enjoy the satisfaction of having written a solid piece.

Becoming a better writer – whether you’re a blogger, a marketing writer, a journalist, or a novelist – means giving yourself permission to write badly.

• Write in great quantities.
• Accept your malformed early drafts for what they are.
• Make them better.
• Rinse and repeat. Again.

Whatever the challenge ahead, attack it with gusto. Accept the fact that success may involve many failed attempts. It’s the courage to fail – and to learn from our mistakes – that will ultimately transform our dreams into reality.