P.M. Castle

Colorado Author

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Ding dong: It’s the Bard of Avon calling

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My day job as editor of a business journal makes me by necessity a student of language. I deploy language — words on newsprint and a website — to report on businesses and business issues. Nights and weekends I herd still more words into mystery novels. And, I’d like to believe, at least a few well-turned phrases. Consequently, I remain vigilant for the best ways in which to convey information in the most compelling fashion.

As a student of language, I’m also a fan of a William Shakespeare and the remarkable ways in which he conveyed information. There’s an undeniable beauty in Shakespeare’s writing, but even more so the fundamental truths he revealed about the human condition.

Were I but half as clever, I’d try to imitate the Bard of Avon. Although I’m uncertain of how that’d work in a business newspaper. A story, perhaps, about an entrepreneur contemplating a new location for a growing venture? To build, or not to build? That is the question. It would be far easier to emulate Shakespeare in writing mysteries. Imagine the murderer frantic to wash blood-stained hands. Not unlike Lady Macbeth. Out damned spot! Out I say!

At the same time, it’s tempting to make fun of Shakespeare’s Elizabethan English. Bill Watterson did so ingeniously in one of my favorite Calvin and Hobbes comic strips. Calvin’s mom catches him as he’s running out the door and inquires: “Wither goest thou young rogue? Can there yet remain some villainy thou has not committed?” Calvin answers: “Thou dost wrong me! Faith, I know not where I wander. Methinks the most capricious zephyr hath more design than I.” The exchange became something of a standing joke whenever I asked my two teen-aged sons where they were headed on a Saturday night.

But here’s the thing — and, at long last, my point. Many common descriptions and phrases come from Shakespeare plays. People imitate Shakespeare every day whether they realize it or not.

A post that appeared on the Mental Floss online magazine enumerated some of them, including fair play, lie low, kill with kindness and good riddance. The Sherlock Holmes catchphrase “the game is afoot” originated with “King Henry V,” not Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

But wait, there’s more. If you complain about a wild goose chase or that something confusing is Greek to you, you’re reciting Shakespeare. Even knock, knock jokes originated with the bard.

As envious as I am of Shakespeare’s unmatched abilities, I doubt I’ll try to imitate them as editor of a business journal. Or, for that matter, a mystery novelist.

But as a student of language, I’m no less appreciative. The live long day.

If this is the new normal, I’d better sharpen my quill

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It’s time once again to reveal some of my trade secrets for writing a blog. Pull back the curtain. Spill the beans. Show how the sausage is made.

Today’s lesson: How to make fun of things that deserve to be made fun of because … well, because they’re easy targets and remarkably ridiculous.

In case my brand of irony isn’t obvious enough, I don’t use cringe-worthy idioms because I like them. I loathe them. I intend instead to demonstrate the absurdity of using words and phrases whose meaning and usefulness — if they ever had any to begin with — soon wears off.

Because of my day job as editor of a business journal, I’ll focus my efforts for now on phrases used at work.

Prebly, a company that provides a language learning application and e-learning platform, recently surveyed more than 1,000 people about their perceptions of office buzzwords. You know. Those phrases and terms that initially seem impressive, but on subsequent reflection mean little. In other and better words — thank you again William Shakespeare — full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

Fully 42 percent of those who responded to the survey cited “new normal” as the most annoying new buzzword of all. If the new normal includes the use of the phrase new normal, who wouldn’t be sick of that? “Lean in” came in a distant second at 18 percent, followed close behind by “hop on a call,” “level up” and “out of pocket.”

Other phrases also garnered disdain, among them “circle back” and “boots on the ground.” That’s not to mention “work hard, play hard” and such other terms that remind people of the stress of their jobs as “fast-paced environment” and “hustle.”

For that matter, people weren’t particularly fond of the comparisons sometimes ascribed to expectations for their performance, including “rock star,” “guru” or “ninja.” Weren’t ninjas mercenaries in feudal Japan whose covert methods were deemed dishonorable? That’s a plus? Maybe if someone at work deserves to be stabbed in the back. With throwing stars.

According to the survey results, generational differences affect the use of buzzwords. Members of Generation Z — those born between 1996 and 2015 and the newest additions to the work force — prefer “vibe,” “lit” and “basic.”

As a member of the nearly fossilized Baby Boom generation, I’d need a translator to understand what they’re talking about. Of course, they’d probably feel the same way if I ever gave into the temptation to “sharpen my quill.”

I suppose my secrets about writing blogs really aren’t. They’re obvious. Choose a topic that’s easy to ridicule, exaggerate more than a little and throw in some irony for good measure.

As for using buzzwords, don’t.

To make a long story short, remain vigilant for mistakes

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Part of my day job as a newspaper editor is to, well, edit. To review copy for spelling, style and content. And sometimes make long stories short. The same holds true for my other job as a mystery novelist.

It’s a mostly rewarding task. More so when I need only a polishing cloth to make language shine. Less so when a wrecking ball is required to demolish huge chunks of text and rebuild them word by word like brick walls.

The process has turned me into something of a fussbudget, though. Actually, make that curmudgeon aggravated by the least transgression. WHAT? You used further instead of farther? Are you out of your mind? Criminy. What a dolt.

At the beginning of my journalistic career, I expressed my frustrations using the pencil with which I edited typewritten copy. My weapon of choice was a Mirado Black Warrior loaded with No. 2 lead. Not to brag, but I was a young gun who wielded it with deadly proficiency. These days, I pound away at my keyboard to correct mistakes. And grumble loudly enough the nice woman who works next door to the newspaper office probably wonders about my emotional stability. I don’t blame her.

Let me be honest. I appreciate technology and the efficiency it’s brought to newspaper journalism and book publishing. I don’t want to go back to writing with a typewriter and editing with a pencil any more than I’d want to dip a quill into an inkwell. The good old days were anything but.

I remain exasperated, however, by what I contend is another consequence of technology. Despite the very software intended to prevent them, mistakes appear more frequently in the written word. The need for speed has supplanted respect for the language of Shakespeare. Does somebody, anybody, know the differences among their, there and they’re? How about its and it’s? Capitalization has become a popularity contest. If a word looks or sounds important, by all means go ahead and capitalize it.

The problem is nearly ubiquitous in informal communications, especially text messages, but has spread like a virus to infect more formal channels.

Although I’m confident enough to lament the mistakes I detect in spelling and style, I’m less assured about punctuation marks. That’s because even experts must agree to disagree about punctuation marks.

Take the Oxford comma, for example. No. Really. Take it. Please. There are those who love the Oxford comma. I loathe it.

I feel the same way about semicolons. Abraham Lincoln considered the semicolon a “useful little chap.” I side with Kurt Vonnegut and his lesson on writing: “Do not use semicolons. … All they do is show you’ve been to college.”

Don’t even get me started on exclamation points. Perhaps F. Scott Fitzgerald put it best: “An exclamation point is like laughing at your own joke.”

The risk, of course, of writing about editing is a mistake will appear in the very blog I’ve edited. That’s not to mention the sentences I tend to leave incomplete. Entirely on purpose. For all those eagle-eyed readers out there, I welcome you to swoop right in and let me know what you spotted.

In the meantime, I’ll just keep on editing. That’s part of my jobs.

Listen up and engage like a journalist

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I’d like to believe I bring some skills to the conversations and other interactions in which I engage. If not skills, then at least experience.

As a newspaper journalist, I’ve spent 42 of my nearly 63 years on the planet getting paid to talk to people and listen — really listen — to what they tell me. That’s a lot of practice. While it hasn’t necessarily made me a perfect conversationalist, I’d assert it’s made me better one.

It’s also made me something of an anachronism in an age when people are more connected by technology than ever before, yet struggle to connect personally. It’s perplexing, because I can’t think of a more crucial ability, one that applies to nearly every aspect of life. While many factors go into success, never underestimate the importance of relationships.

I don’t claim to offer any expertise. I’m willing to lay a bet, though, some of what I’ve learned in my career applies to interactions. The next time you’re involved in an interaction — a business meeting, family gathering or just lunch with friends — engage like a journalist.

Here are four tips — call them talking points — to consider:

Be prepared. I never go into an interview without first conducting as much background research as time allows. And then planning not only the questions I’ll pose, but also their order. Think about what you want to talk about. If you need to ask for something, contemplate the reasons why. Even with a script of sorts, I don’t necessarily stick to it. Remain flexible enough to steer in a different direction and discover where that takes you. I conclude interviews by asking if there’s a question I DIDN’T pose. This affords an opportunity to bring up other and perhaps even more important information.

Ask the right questions. I’m interested in finding out not only the who, what, when and where, but also the how and especially the why. Ask people what motivates them and chances are good you’ll gain insights that prove valuable in developing deeper relationships.

Demonstrate your interest. This might be easier for me than others because I really am interested in the people I interview. They’ve got news I want to gather. That attribute extends beyond sources, though. Everyone is a subject matter expert on something. They’ve got fascinating information they’d love to relate if only someone would ask them. You might discover a shared passion that could serve as the beginning of beautiful friendship. 

Above all, listen. Intently and purposefully. My work as a journalist has trained me to listen to what people tell me — not the next opportunity to interject my thoughts. Listen not only to what others say, but also the ways in which they say it. Are they animated, reticent or something in between? Watch, too. Not all communication is verbal. I make it a point to turn off my phone before an interview so I’m not interrupted. Turn off your phone and then listen as if you’d have to subsequently write a story about the conversation.

There are differences between journalism and life, of course. Not every encounter should turn into an interview. But there are also similarities in the opportunities journalism and life afford to glean information and, more important still, establish rapport and build trust.

Want to connect? Really connect? Engage like a journalist.

I feel the need. The need for speed.

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I’m reluctant to quote lines from a movie because of the nearly ubiquitous convention of so many who do. I’m willing to make an exception, though, because these particular lines encapsulate the sense of urgency I so often confront.

I feel the need. The need for speed.

Not as a jet fighter pilot, obviously. But as a writer.

From my vantage point, everyone writes more quickly than I do. They churn out whole novels — entire series of novels — in the time it takes me to plod through a single chapter. If other writers proceed at what seems to me like the speed of light, I move at a geological scale. A few million years of character building here, a few million years of plot development there.

So it was with considerable envy I read a story by Thu-Huong Ha posted on Quartz.

She describes romance novelists as the true hustlers of the publishing industry. They’re busy not only writing books, but also marketing and interacting with fans. They must work quickly.

She quotes as a poster child of sorts H.M. Ward, a self-published author whose novels have sold more than 20 million copies. Ward says she writes two hours a day and averages about 2,500 words an hour. What? By comparison, this little lament is just 620 words. And I can assure you I spent far more than an hour writing it.

Then there’s Katherine Garbera, who writes four or five novels a year and has completed more than 100 novels over the course of her career.

I’m fortunate to know several romance novelists. I’m not familiar with how fast they write, but I’m impressed nonetheless with their prolific output. I’m thinking of you, Christina Hovland. She’s written more than a dozen romantic comedy and contemporary romance novels and has more scheduled for release this year. I recommend her work. It’s funny and compelling. And frequently steamy.

There’s an element of romance in my work, but none of the stereotypical bodice ripping found in historical romances. Or, for that matter, any rock hard abs. That’s what happens when your protagonist is a middle-aged newspaper editor whose once athletic physique long ago slid into disrepair. Besides, my characters remain pretty busy solving murders and finding treasure. That and avoiding getting killed in the process.

I suspect, though, the measure of romance in my work bears no relationship to the pace at which I write. I’m just slow. That’s all.

I attribute part of the problem to my approach as a pantser rather than plotter. Writing by the seat of my pants affords freedom and accommodates serendipity. But I waste a lot of time backtracking because I’m uncertain of which direction to head next.

I attribute another part of the problem to the habits I’ve developed in my day job as an editor and the incompatibility of two processes. I believe writing is a constructive process — assembling something out of bits and pieces. Editing is a deconstructive process — dismantling something to replace it with something better. What slows me down is trying to engage in both processes simultaneously. To deploy yet another analogy, I’m like a bricklayer who can’t move on to the next course until the one before is as perfect as I can make it.

I realize I’d be better off remembering Aesop’s fable of the tortoise and hare and the promise slow and steady ultimately wins the race. I can’t help thinking, though, of Chuck Jones’ more modern fable of the coyote and roadrunner.

I still feel the need. The need for speed. But I’m resigned to the likelihood I’ll never catch up to faster writers. Not even with Acme rocket-powered roller skates.