The Copyeditor's Desk

The jargony use of the noun impact and the verb to impact is almost as commonplace as the loathsome perversion of multiple. Careless use of this word sets my editorial teeth on edge.

Impact has become another mush-word: a sloppy term so overused it has pretty well lost its meaning. This kind of lazy word usage is to be avoided. Decide what you really mean, for hevvinsake, and say it! Here are some real words to choose from:

For the noun impact:

aftereffect
consequence
effect
fruit
importance
impression
influence
manifestation
legacy
outcome
outgrowth
payoff
persuasion
product
reaction
repercussion
result
sequel
significance
spin-off

For the verb to impact:

to affect
to bear on
to cause
to determine
to dominate
to force
to govern
to have the effect of
to imbue
to impress
to induce
to influence
to manifest
to militate
to mitigate
to operate on
to persuade
to seize
to sway
to touch
Garrrrrr! Take the marbles out of your mouth and say what you mean!

The woods are full of how-to books for would-be writers. Most of them rehash the same old same-old advice (how many different ways can you say “read the publication before you submit a query; write a query letter before you send a submission”?). A rare few, though, contain some genuinely valuable advice. Here are the ones I find worth reading.

William Strunk and E. B. White, The Elements of Style

Christopher Vogler, The Writer’s Journey: Mythic Structure for Writers and Screenwriters. Revised in 2002 as The Writer’s Journey: Mythic Structure for Writers, 3rd Edition, by Christopher Vogler and Michele Montez.

Benton Rain Patterson, Write to Be Read

Beth Luey, Handbook for Academic Authors

Clay Schoenfeld, Effective Feature Writing

And BTW, I believe my own book, The Essential Feature, is one of the best guides to magazine and newspaper writing on the market.

In recent years jargony use of the term “multiple“ has spread through the language like mildew through a loaf of day-old bread. Let it rain, and some newscaster will tell us that “multiple intersections are flooded” and “multiple streetlights are out.” Scholarly writers are especially attracted to the word, because it uses three syllables to express an idea that could be conveyed in one or two.

What’s wrong with multiple?

Well, in the first place, it’s uglier than pussley. Just say it: “multiple multiple multiple multuhpull . . .” Sounds like your mouth is full of marbles.

Aesthetic concerns aside, it’s vague and, outside the scientific and statistical contexts in which it performs effectively, it has no meaning. Like “area” when used to denote job, understanding, training, profession, or square footage, “multiple” could mean anything: some, a few, many, more than one, diverse . . . and any number of other possibilities.

We have here an author who has fallen helplessly in love with the word. This is a case where love went altogether blind at the garden gate:

There are multiple convergences between STS and feminist thought….

What is Author trying to say to us? If all she means is “more than one,” then we need no adjective at all, since more than one is inherent to the plural form convergences. Could she mean “many”? “Several”?

There are convergences between STS and feminist thought….
There are many convergences between STS and feminist thought….

We might want to get rid of the gassy “there are” construction: “Some convergences exist between STS and feminist thought….”

Moving on:

Embracing partisanship and struggle as they do, reconstructivists have taken to heart multiple critiques of objectivity, among which feminists figure prominently.

Many? Several? Diverse? Various? What does this mean?

Heaven help us:

[T]he maldistribution of the costs and benefits of technoscience occurs along multiple axes of difference….

Here, too, we have no idea what Author means. Are we looking at two such axes, a few, or a lot of them? Whatever, we’re assaulted with multiplicity in the very next sentence:

However, multiple categories of difference remain un- or underspoken in reconstructivist thought….

Can thought be clear if language is not? This statement is effectively devoid of clarity, because we cannot know what “multiple” is supposed to mean. By now, we begin to suspect Author’s intellectual credentials. It gets murkier:

[K]nowledge production would have to be generated by multiple counterpublics….

[K]nowledge production would have to be generated by multiple counterpublics….

We have fallen to the seventh circle of meaninglessness. Let us ascend:

Calling for democratizing technoscience, multiple and disunified as it is,…

Author appears to mean “multifaceted.”

This situation not only renders technoscience less relevant but less accountable to multiple constituencies.

Some of us would take umbrage with relevant as another example of jargon, but that’s a topic for another post. We’re stuck (again!) with “multiple” here. Does it have meaning? Many? Diverse? Various? Manifold? Who knows? Does Author herself know?

With a little thought, we all can find more precise terms that express what we mean. For example…

Real words for multiple:

a few
assorted
diverse
heterogeneous
manifold
many
more than one
multifaceted
multifarious
multiform
multipartite
nonuniform
numerous
of all sorts (or conditions, or kinds, or shapes, or descriptions, or types)
several
some
sundry
two (three, four…or whatever is appropriate)
various

Multiple can indeed mean “many.” The problem is that with overuse speakers and writers have come to imagine it means any of the various senses given above. The word has clear scientific and mathematical definitions (the product of a quantity by an integer; a group of terminals that make a circuit available at a number of points; formed by a coalescence of the ripening ovaries of several flowers). But when used carelessly, it fades, like a spirit in Hades, to a ghost of its former meaningful self.

by V.H.

Many scholars, especially those trained in the hard sciences, rely heavily on the abbreviations e.g. and i.e. Despite their popularity, the two are often confused.

E.G.

In Latin, e.g. is an abbreviation for exempli gratia. This phrase translates into English as “for example” and is typically followed by a list.

Below, an author uses it to introduce a string of references:

A great deal of work has been done to model the spread of tick-borne diseases (e.g., [15,] [18], and [22]).

Here Author could have replaced “e.g.” with “see, for example,…” a sign that the abbreviation is used correctdly.

Because i.e. means “that is,” it is in effect the basis for an independent clause: the pronoun that (id) is the subject of the verb is (est). So, if you run it into a sentence (rather than putting it inside parentheses, like this), then it takes a semicolon:

This result suggests a strongly iteroparous life cycle; i.e., a high probability of survival.

Using a comma in the same spot results in a comma splice:

This result suggests a strongly iteroparous life cycle, i.e., a high probablity of survival.

In the immortal words of Miss Thistlebottom: tsk, tsk, tsk!

Either abbreviation, i.e. or e.g., is always followed by a comma.

by T.M.

I just finished editing a piece of feminist epistemology for one of our client journals. The thing is pretty well written—clean, reasonably tight, and free of any obvious betises. But. . . .

Every Author Needs an Editor

Like all authors, ours has a few quirks that need attention. Let’s look at one of them.

Verbose turns of phrase

In this article, Author shows a peculiar fondness for subordinate clauses introduced with “that.” She probably figures the more words one uses to say something, the more scholarly it sounds. Not so! It’s the content that counts, not the number of words. Subordinate clauses, especially those starting with “that is. . .” and “which is. . . ,” can often be converted into participial phrases. The technique is simple: just delete that is (or that are, which is, or which are). The effect is much tighter and more professional.

Example:

. . . services that are provided mainly by poor women from minority, working-class, or Third-World immigrant backgrounds.

Better:

. . . services provided mainly by poor women from minority, working-class, or Third-World immigrant backgrounds.

Remember the editor’s scripture:

Vigorous writing is concise. A sentence should contain no unnecessary words, a paragraph no unnecessary sentences, for the same reason that a drawing should have no unnecessary lines and a machine no unnecessary parts. This requires not that a writer make all his sentences short, or that he avoid all detail and treat his subjects only in outline, but that every word tell.

William Strunk and E. B. White
Elements of Style
Principle 17

—V.H.