Why, suddenly, do people hate the comma? Did one force some clarity? Did an em dash add something cheeky? Did an apostrophe possess an unsuspecting subject?
Fear not, punctuation marks; I will defend you. You are full of character. You accentuate. You applaud! You provide context. Where would we be without you? Lost, confused, disorganized, and in a bit of a muddle, I reckon. Let’s take a look, shall we?
“I like eating, the smell of summer rain, and my pets.”
Without the commas: “I like eating the smell of summer rain and my pets.”
I beg your pardon?
The semicolon need not perplex; rather, it gives pause. It aids contemplation. We don’t pause enough in our rapid world. Thank you, semicolon, for reminding us to breathe.
Colons create drama and suspense: they are the orchestra leaders of the English language. When you see one, you know something big is coming next, like a crescendo of fact or a list of reasons.
And there’s the em dash, that lively and vibrant storyteller, giving us hints and peeks, like an actor turning to the camera and winking. Some people dislike them—thinking them vain or disruptive, perhaps—but I think they’re dandy, like a conspiratorial sideways glance.
Exclamation marks have never been more popular, often used in an attempt to be heard over the din of voluminous content saturating our existence. But even they are losing their spark due to overuse. We might as well just go back to the period.
People. Like. To. Use. Periods. Like. This. For. Emphasis. Such a method works well on occasion, particularly for irony. Periods cut to the chase and draw conclusions. We need them. Full stop.
It’s the lowly comma, sadly, that appears to be most at risk of an untimely death. I, for one, still love what it can do.
“Look deep into nature, and then you will understand everything better.” (Albert Einstein)
From the Fibonacci of phlox and forget-me-nots to the extraordinary resilience of a garden-variety dandelion, many lessons can be gleaned from nature. Strong as an oak. Red as a rose. Blue as the sky. Quiet as a mouse. Noisy as an oyster.
“A noisy oyster?” you ask. Everything is possible in a metaphor.
When contemplating the nature of transformational change, it helps to think about nature itself, comparing apples to, well, apples.
…and the livin’ is busy.