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.

Media Meltdown: Blurb for my new book

Here's the blurb for my forthcoming book, "Media Meltdown in the Age of Trump," due out June 1. Pictured above is the full cover:

Some politicians use the media to their advantage. Others reshape it in their image.

Had the political force that is Donald J. Trump met the immovable object that was the American news media in the 20th century, the result would have been predictable. Trump would have vanished without a trace, along with such wannabes and also-rans as Edmund Muskie, Howard Dean, Gary Hart and John Edwards.

Today, however, the once-powerful Fourth Estate might as well be in foreclosure, shattered into a million pieces by cable television, talk radio and the internet. Newspapers, their stranglehold on information broken, are on life support. Gutted by cost-cutting and consolidation, they see the very same digital platforms that crippled them as their last, best hope for salvation. Television news, meanwhile, has descended from Cronkite and Brinkley into a three-ring circus of breaking news and talking (or shouting) heads.    

Trump, a carnival barker of a president, has taken for himself the role of ringmaster, using his chaotic style and the power of his office to dominate the spotlight. At once condemning and exploiting the media, he's transformed the presidency into a reality show, complete with multiple scandals and cliffhangers to keep everyone tuned in.

He didn’t arrive out of nowhere. The way for his ascent was paved by the media themselves, hungry for drama to stoke ratings and boost subscriptions. When cable and the internet began siphoning off readers/viewers by targeting their built-in biases, the nation became polarized and the gloves came off. Civility was sidelined, spin became the MVP, and the referees – the mainstream media – were benched.

This is the story of how carnival journalism has supplanted and, in some cases, co-opted what’s left of the mainstream media, and how politicians like Trump have both fueled and profited from the change. Is any of this good for the nation? A game without a referee might be more fun to watch, but is it fair? Media Meltdown provides some of the answers.

Literacy on life support: The decline and fall of written language

Motion pictures didn’t kill writing. Neither did television.

We who love the written word took comfort in the fact that authors such as Stephen King, J.K. Rowling and Dan Brown could still use it to captivate mass audiences. Good writing was alive and well, we thought. Reports of its demise were premature and, we believed, greatly exaggerated.

Or were they?

Death can come suddenly, but far more often, it creeps up on us. It hides in the shadows of our own denial. Lurking there, it bides its time, numbing us to the signs of its looming presence. We barely notice that we’ve embarked upon a long, slow walk toward our demise. Our decline is subtle, our transformation gradual.

One day, we stop running. Farther down the road, we labor to walk … and then to stand. If we notice this regression, we do so reluctantly. Fatigue whispers in one ear and apathy in the other: “Accept it. Ignore it. It’s not really as bad as it seems.” And so forth. We acclimate to a “new normal” and forget what the old normal was, because it’s too painful to remember and even more painful to pursue — until, at last, it eludes our grasp entirely.

Movies weren’t the end of books, and television didn’t kill magazines or newspapers, but the regression from the age of literacy continues apace — indeed, accelerates. This is no seasonal illness; it’s become a chronic condition, and the symptoms are no longer just a few, but myriad.

• We favor sound bites over policy proposals.
• We accept tweets as our favored form of prose and elect their foremost proponent as our president.
• We shutter bookstores, and we learn about novels only when Hollywood makes them movies; then we don’t bother to read them, because we’ve seen the ending on the big screen.
• We value “keywords” over complete sentences.
• When we go online, it isn’t to read; it’s to “game” or to veg out on YouTube.
• Romantics used to send love letters by parcel post; now players send “dick pics” by email.
• Editors? Who needs them when we’ve forgotten proper grammar? Who has time for them when we demand our information now.
• Newspapers? Ink on your hands and waste for the landfill.
• Magazines? Exiled online, if they survive at all, ghosts in the same machine that slew them.

If literacy isn’t dead, it’s on life support. You can’t read if there aren’t any writers, and there won’t be any writers if no one pays them — if they’re too busy marketing, posting and promoting to knock out that sequel you’ve been waiting for. The more time writers spend doing the work of agents and editors, publicists and promoters used to do, the less time they’ll have to actually write. The more rushed and the less robust their stories will be.

How can we create memorable prose when it disappears in the blink of an eye on Snapchat? Will any library preserve the tweets and texts of this impulsive generation?

Readers have it in our power to provide the answers. It is we who create the demand, or refuse to, and the supply increases or dries up in response to our decisions. That’s just the way it works.

Downhill trajectory

In the world we’re fashioning, we value tweets and memes and Facebook Live. Quality writing? Not so much. You might want to debate that point, but until you’re willing to do so with your pocketbook, it’s all just empty noise. Yes, there are exceptions. Some people still make a living by writing, even a comfortable one. This proves nothing. A patient with a chronic, wasting illness still enjoys occasional “good days” and periodic bursts of energy. They’re no proof that the patient is any less ill, the condition any less serious.

Such “good days” will become less frequent with the passage of time, until at last they’re whittled down from few to none.

Is that what will happen to literacy? Time will tell. It would be cruelly ironic if some hothead’s reckless tweets were to result in a catastrophic war — a war that might reduce our “information superhighway” to cyber-rubble. Such a tragedy would obliterate our carefully crafted virtual world of denial and convenience, and if that were to happen, we might need writing again, just to communicate.

“Literacy is a bridge from misery to hope. ... Literacy is, finally, the road to human progress and the means through which every man, woman and child can realize his or her full potential.”

— Kofi Annan

This is not to suggest that our only choice lies between a nuclear and literary wasteland. Far from it. With some luck and just a little restraint, the nuclear button will never be pushed, and we can avert a literary apocalypse, as well. There are, after all, alternatives. Most notably, we could celebrate writing again — something we haven’t been doing.

We denigrate reporters as purveyors of “fake news,” dismiss authors as hobbyists and degrade those who instruct us in the language by quipping, “Those who can’t, teach.” Is writing really a marketable skill? Shouldn’t university students be taking practical courses like business, engineering or computer technology?

Such thinking could lead us to a real-life Tower of Babel, that engineering marvel from the realm of lore that remained unfinished because all those talented architects and builders forgot how to communicate ... just as we're doing right now.

But what if, instead of devaluing the written word, we exalted it once more and encouraged those who sought to master it? What if we invested in the authors and reporters and editors and English teachers who have made it their passion? The more we value writing, the more people will aspire to fill these roles; the more accomplished those people will become, and the greater the rewards will be, not only for those who read their work, but for society as a whole.

That’s not fake news. You have my word(s) on it.