Why do we let something as trivial as a comma divide us?

Human beings will use any excuse to go tribal, even over the most trivial issues. You don’t need examples from politics to demonstrate this, although such examples are seemingly endless. All you need to do is consult a grammar nerd.

At least people who argue over things like Star Wars vs. Star Trek, Coke vs. Pepsi, or dogs vs. cats can make a cogent case that, at least on some level, the debate matters. (For the record, Star Trek is better than Star Wars because it’s more cerebral, Pepsi tastes better than Coke, and cats are less trouble than dogs — plus, they purr.)

But if you really want to get a writer or editor riled up, all you have to do is mention the Oxford comma. The rivalry between Oxford and Cambridge, the actual schools, is nothing compared to the battle over this tiny mark that appears (or doesn’t) before the final item mentioned in a series.

Is it “red, white and blue” or “red, white, and blue”?

OH MY GOD!

It’s worse than asking a heads person to call tails at the flip of a coin or a stripes person to play solids in pool. It’s like asking a Dodgers fan to root for the Giants, or a Metallica fan to listen to “Baby Shark” on an endless loop.

Journalists vs. authors

This battle largely pits journalists, who shun the Oxford comma as though it were Ebola, against authors, who cleave to it the way Gollum clings to his “Precious.”

From journalists, I’ve heard the excuse that it takes up space on the page. But even in this era of the incredible shrinking newspaper, that’s like offering to knock a penny off the price of a car makes a damn bit of difference. It does not. Why not stop using question marks instead(?) They’re wider!

Bereft of any rational rationale for banishing the serial comma (as it’s also known), newspapers fall back on the “because they said so” excuse.

“They,” in this case, is the publishers of the supposedly venerable Associated Press Style Guide, which has issued some pretty stupid decrees over the years — only to reverse itself frequently and without warning. Some compound modifiers are hyphenated, and others aren’t, for no particular rhyme or reason, although the editors seem increasingly allergic to hyphens, as they are to Oxford commas. Maybe they just don’t like punctuation marks. Bigots!

They’re fine with using “alumni” as a plural for" “alumnus,” and “data” is perfectly acceptable as both the plural and, erroneously, the singular form of “datum.” (Well, Data on Star Trek was a single android.) But don’t try writing “stadia” as the plural of “stadium.” Or “aquaria” as the plural of “aquarium.” Just add the “s” instead, because this is Merica, and Latin is a dead language, unless you’re a doctor or a scientist. (Those people are just stupid, right? We live in the 21st century! Carpe diem!)

Authors and their editors, by contrast, are adamant that the Oxford comma must be employed, ostensibly to avoid confusion. It doesn’t bother them that dropping that final comma would cause zero confusion in the vast majority of cases. I suspect they just want to establish themselves as superior to those lowbrow journalists by employing this flourish as a conceit.

Conflicting instructions

Point of order: Mark Twain was a journalist before he was a novelist. So were Charles Dickens, and H.G. Wells, and Neil Gaiman, and John Scalzi. So was I.

Yes, you caught me. I did want an excuse to put myself in that elite company, but it is true: I spent 30 years as a journalist and I’ve written 30 books, so I’ve been in both camps. Newspaper editors have demanded that I omit the Oxford comma, and literary editors have demanded I use it. Some bloggers insist on it; others resist it. And they all make it seem more important than climate change or homelessness or the fact that a whole bunch of species went extinct last year.

No one seems to like my idea: Use it where it’s needed to avoid confusion, and omit it otherwise. That would require people to actually think for themselves, which is probably asking too much in this era of knee-jerk tribalism, Trumpism and identity politics. See? You don’t need a comma between “Trumpism” and “identity politics” to avoid confusion. Trumpism and identity politics cause enough confusion all on their own.

I admit, internal consistency is important, but can’t we have external consistency, too?

Of course not. That would require one side to give in, and heaven forbid journalists would lower themselves to the level of purveyors of fiction (otherwise known as fake news), or that authors should demean themselves by adopting the rules of dying industry that produces disposable print. You might as well ask a Democrat to listen to a Republican, or vice versa.

So I suppose I’ll just have to keep going along with obstinate editors who demand the Oxford comma’s inclusion or exclusion based on nothing more than their own particular bias, which they probably learned from someone else with the same proclivity.

It’s stupid. It’s nonsensical. And it’s the perfect illustration of where we are as a society.

Now, please pass the Pepsi so I can watch Star Trek with a cat in my lap.

Stephen H. Provost is the author of Please Stop Saying That!, a humorous look at jargon and clichés, available on Amazon in paperback and ebook.

Books are a better value than today's newspapers — and it's no contest

Authors and print journalists have one thing in common, and no, I’m not talking about writing.

Today’s “print” journalism isn’t so much about print. More and more, it’s about posting videos online, then finessing keywords and creating vague headlines to ensure they get hits, page views, visits or whatever. None of that has much to do with writing, and none of it does anything to help with literacy. Neither does laying off copy editors, line editors and staff writers (note the word “writers” in that last title).

We who write books still – gasp – actually write. Sure, we put out ebooks, utilize keywords in marketing and go after a “target audience,” but we don’t obscure or massage the facts in order to do so. Authors were never meant to be public watchdogs. Some of us are, but we take that mantle voluntarily, not because it’s part of our job description.

It is – or was, once upon a time – part of what it meant to be a journalist. Ever wonder why attacks on journalism as “fake news” have gained so much traction? It’s easy to blame ego-driven politicians, but not so easy for media companies to look in the mirror. The more these companies sacrifice their own credibility at the SEO altar (that’s “search engine optimization,” for the uninitiated), the less reason people have to believe them. Or to buy what they’re selling.

The fewer journalists actually attend public meetings, the less reason anyone has to believe they know what’s going on. You can’t be a watchdog if you ain’t watchin’!

This isn’t the fault of front-line journalists, who, increasingly, are asked to do more with fewer resources. They’re heroes, in my book. It’s the fault of the companies that employ them. While they’re tasked, increasingly, with things that have less and less to do with writing and reporting, we authors are doing pretty much the same thing we’ve always done: Looking for interesting stories (in our own heads and in the world at large), and doing our best to entertain, inform and challenge our readers.

That doesn’t mean authors are better than front-line journalists, merely that we are given more freedom to pursue our craft than today’s journalists enjoy. That wasn’t always the case.

Shared struggle

No, writing isn’t what we authors have in common with journalists. Not anymore. What we share is a struggle to remain visible in a world that offers an explosion of media choices. Anyone who wants to can publish a blog and call himself a journalist, and anyone can self-publish a book at proclaim, “Hey! I’m an author!” Her books might be good – or they might not. But who has time to weed through all the pig slop to get to find that diamond in the trough?

In truth, we have less time than ever for such pursuits. And the world has catered to our increasingly frenetic lives by serving up fast-food information via iPhones and sound bites, condensing complex issues into Twitter-pated bullshit that can be spewed by anyone in 280 characters or fewer.

Media companies have responded by mimicking their own worst enemy: posting on Twitter, adapting their format to fit “handheld devices” and making news more disposable than it used to be when the morning paper got recycled at the bottom of a birdcage in the opening sequence of Lou Grant.  

By contrast, we authors are doing what we’ve always done: writing.

Media companies, faced with declining circulation despite their “if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em” embrace of social media, go out begging potential readers for attention. “You can subscribe to our online service for just $9.95 a month!” they declare. “It’s a bargain!”

Authors make similar pitches: “You can have hours of reading pleasure for just $9.95! You can’t beat that!”

Both products are worth about the same as a couple of cups of coffee at Starbucks or a ticket to a movie matinee. So, the question arises: If you only have $9.95, which one should you buy?

My answer is: the book. And I’ll tell you why.

More bang for your buck

Prices have gone up for both products. That’s inflation for you. But what are you getting for your buck?

Books are still about the same length as they’ve always been, with just as much content and just as much work put in on the front end.

The opposite is true for newspapers. With all those writers and editors being shown the door, the breadth and depth of newspaper content isn’t anywhere near what it used to be. Newspapers have become the fast-food burger of reading: The price gets bigger as the product gets smaller. And not just when it comes to the number of pages. If you’re not covering the city council meeting, the school board or the Friday night football game, seriously, what’s the point?

Yeah, local newspapers are still putting out some good content, but it’s a small fraction of what you used to find in their pages. And it’s nothing close to comprehensive. By contrast, a 340-page book in 1979 is still a 340-page book 40 years later. You’ll find as many vivid characters, as many twists and as much good information between the front and back cover as you ever did.

None of this should be taken as an argument that books are intrinsically better than newspapers. This is about value for the consumer’s dollar, not an assessment of the two media’s inherent worth. They perform different functions, both essential – and that makes the decline of the daily newspaper even more lamentable.

Three decades ago, I probably would have deemed newspapers a better value than books. Given the Draconian cuts in staffing, resources, content and the number of pages in your daily paper, I simply can’t say that now. Compare a six-section, 72-page paper of 30 years ago to a two-section, 16-page edition today.

Is it any wonder subscribers are heading for the exits?

Newspapers are being made – and, it could be argued, have already been rendered – obsolete by the internet. That’s tragic, and it’s certainly not the fault of front-line journalists, but it won’t do us any good to bury our heads in the sand and pretend it hasn’t happened.

Harsh reality

But here’s the good news: Books are as robust and relevant as ever.

So, if you’re offered a choice between a monthly newspaper subscription and a book for that $9.95, my advice is to buy the book. Newspapers have already lost the battle to the internet. And, with their decision to abandon comprehensive local news coverage, they offer very little in the way of content you can’t find online. We authors haven’t given an inch in our battle to stay both evocative and relevant. That’s why I’m proud to be one. I’m still a journalist; I just find my stories in the past these days, digging up nearly forgotten nuggets to share in the realm of historical nonfiction.

And I’m actually writing. Imagine that! It’s a hell of a lot more fun than spending most of my day plugging in keywords, filming videos and sweating bullets in the increasingly desperate hope that someone out there is still paying attention. That’s what the current media culture demands of many good, hardworking journalists who would much rather be writing and reporting. When they do, their work still shines. It just shines far less brightly than it once did. That’s not their fault. But it is, unfortunately, their reality and ours.

For more on the decline and fall of journalism in the 21st century, check out my book Media Meltdown, available on Amazon.

Me a workaholic? Give me a break!

“You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.”

— Inigo Montoya (Mandy Patinkin) in "The Princess Bride"

My name is Stephen, and I am not, repeat not, a workaholic.

It might look like I am at times, but these days, it’s easy to mistake someone who’s conscientious, driven and passionate about what he does for a workaholic.

What’s wrong with that, you ask?

If people think you’re doing something because you’re addicted to work, they’re likely to tell you to “take a load off,” “relax” or, my favorite, “Don’t take life too seriously.”

I have an offbeat (some might say warped) sense of humor, but I like a good laugh as much as the next person. If there’s anything I might be addicted to (other than caffeine), it’s puns. But addicted to work? You’ve got to be kidding me. That’s like accusing me of being addicted to exhaustion and stress, two of my least favorite things.

Another problem with being mistaken for a workaholic is that people overlook the real reasons you work as hard as you do. Here are a few:

• You want to make sure a task is done well.
• You want to meet a deadline.
• You don’t want to make others do the work that’s your responsibility.
• You want to succeed. This point is particularly true of the self-employed and small-business owners, who frequently get classified as workaholics. But their motivations aren’t a love of work for its own sake. It requires a tremendous amount of work and dedication to pursue success apart from the established corporate structure, simply because there’s no established support framework. You have to build one from scratch, which requires a lot of work on top of the typical workweek. What most people in this category want is independence. The work is merely a means to that end.
• You want to feed yourself, contribute to your family’s success and maybe, just maybe, have a little bit left over for (gasp) playtime! (Workaholics don’t have playtime, so if you’re looking for a way to distinguish the conscientious, driven worker from the workaholic, this is a great bullet point to remember.)

All of the above apply to me. As a journalist, I want to make sure my newspaper contains high-quality content and is delivered on time, and I know it’s up to me and my reporter to make that happen.

As an author, I’m trying to establish a support framework (fellow authors and others in the industry; and, most importantly readers) in addition to doing the actual work of writing.

In order to give all this a chance to work, I have to establish clear boundaries. My work as a journalist comes first, because that’s my primary source of income. So, I make sure those goals are met first.

Sometimes, that means working outside the "normal" workday to cover a meeting or respond to breaking news. But that doesn’t mean I go out looking for extra work just for its own sake. I have books to write and market, too. So, on the weekends, I don’t do journalism unless 1) there’s a crisis involving breaking news, 2) my boss asks me to or 3) I need to in order to ensure the aforementioned quality and timeliness standards are met.

I became an author (and a journalist, for that matter) because I love to write. Most of the time, writing isn’t work to me; it’s pleasure. The stuff that goes along with it – the marketing, promotion and the networking – is necessary work. If I were a workaholic, I’d love that stuff. I don’t. Not even close.

Yes, it’s fun to meet other authors and talk to readers, but nine-hour drives to conventions aren’t kind to a 53-year-old body, so they’re not my idea of a good time.

(An aside: I don’t want people contacting me on social media or personal email about their pet peeves regarding the newspaper or telling me that one of my books sucks. Just put yourself in my position. Would you? I don’t think even workaholics enjoy that sort of thing.)

It’s easy to dismiss hardworking, conscientious people who are passionate about what they do as “workaholics,” as though there’s something wrong with them. But is there really? Aren’t hard work, conscientiousness and passion positive traits? They sure were when I was growing up, and I think they still are today.

So, the next time you see someone working hard, don’t assume the person's a masochist or workaholic. Far more likely, it's someone with a goal, a vision, a purpose. And chances are good that, if it's achieved, it will help make the world a little better place.