Open Source Developers’ Conference is across the pond in Auckland this year, and they’ve just opened their CFP. I’ll be submitting, will you?
Writing procedures can be much more difficult than you’d think. We see procedures everywhere, so it’s natural to think that we should be able to write one without too much trouble. For that reason, I wanted to take you through some terrible real-life procedures. This is at least partly so we can all have a chuckle at other peoples’ mistakes, and feel a little bit better about ourselves. But it’s also because it’s a lot easier to find examples of bad procedures than good ones.
With that end in mind, I went through my junk drawer, and pulled out one or two manuals that I had lying around, and I’m going to use them as examples of what not to do as we go along.
The first thing you need to look at is whether you’re documenting a process or a procedure. It’s easy to use these terms interchangeably, but they actually mean different things. The main thing to remember is that a process can contain many procedures. A process gives an overview of tasks: you might need to install the package, configure the package, and then use the package. Overall, that’s a process. Each of those things, though, is a procedure. Procedures are instructions for doing something.
Here’s an example of a certain hand-held computer game. As you can see, the instructions for using the stylus are … step 5? Every procedure in this book is numbered. What’s happened here is each procedure in a process has been numbered, rather than each step in a procedure.
So the next thing to worry about is whether you should be using bullets or numbers. This one is a really simple test: is the order important? If the order is important, use numbers. If it’s not, use bullets. Oddly, though, we get this one wrong all the time …
These ones should all be bullets. You don’t need to operate the product from a power source before you remove the unit from the packaging.
Let’s try this one together: Most of these ones should be numbered, the text even tells us that. The ones on the left under “Cutting Tips” are bullets, the order isn’t important, it’s a list of tips. What about at the top under “Starting and Stopping the Trimmer”? This one probably doesn’t matter, I’d be inclined to use numbers, though, mostly because you can’t stop the trimmer unless you’ve already started it.
And just another one, because it’s so easy: The bullets in red are fine, but then we go to numbers in the purple, and then for a little variety we throw in some upper-case letters in green. Bullets would have been for all of these.
So the next thing to worry about is whether you’re describing a concept or a task. A concept is a description, it answers the question “What do I need to know?”. A task is an action, it answers the question “What do I need to do?”. As writers, it’s much easier for us to think about things rather than tasks. Users think about tasks, though, not things. Remember the old adage about not needing a drill, but a hole? That’s the essence of this point.
This one just has so much wrong with it it’s hard to know where to start. Considering we’re talking about concepts and tasks though, let’s start with pulling those out. I’ve marked the concepts in blue, and the tasks in purple. To add insult to injury, we also have numbers where we should have bullets (in red), because this really is such a hodge-podge of information that there’s no way the order is important. Just to round things off, we also have a typo, and a vaguely insulting term about our children (in yellow).
But looking at that brings me nicely to the next point, which is about the level of detail. Make sure you don’t suddenly change depth in the middle of your procedure. If you find yourself doing this, you might actually need to do more than one procedure, or consider whether you’re actually writing a process. This one is best explained by example:
This certainly isn’t the worst example I could have picked, but it’s interesting all the same: a few of the steps here go into detail about some extra function that your product may or may not have (in yellow), while others are as simple as “open the velcro strap” (in blue). We also have process/procedure issues here, with procedures being numbers in order, and steps getting lowercase letters (in red). This is just confused by the photo references typed in red, and both angle brackets *and* square brackets being used. We also have a few stray bullets in one step. And having said all that, I’ll remind you that this is for a pair of boots. Admittedly, slightly more complicated boots than you’re wearing today, probably, but they’re just boots in the end. Also, I’m more than a little disturbed about the idea of “closure and locking of the foot” (in green).
Everyone knows what anthropomorphism is, right? Someone like to explain it? Yep, it’s applying human qualities to non-human things or animals. We do this a lot, especially to animals, but we also tend to do it to computers a lot.
I went online to find these ones, since I didn’t have any good examples in my stack of manuals. It seems to be something we do almost exclusively to computers rather than appliances, but we *really* do it a lot.
I’ll give you a pro tip: computers don’t actually *think*. They might display things, they might take a while to process commands, but they definitely do not think.
Have to say, though, that going through manuals looking for anthropomorphism does make this one sound slightly creepier than the author intended …
Which brings me to one of my favourite words, and it should be one of your favourites too: parallelism. When you’re writing fiction, you don’t want every paragraph or sentence to start with “Then”. When you’re writing procedures, though, it’s a good thing to have each step start with “click” or “type” or something like that. When you mix it up, it might sound more interesting, but it just becomes confusing. When faced with two statements that seem to be saying different things, users often think you want them to be doing something different. Every step should start with an action, and the same action should use the same verb. Use “click” for a mouse click, “type” for typing on the keyboard, “press” for a hardware button, etc.
This manual almost gets it completely right. Three procedures here all need to start with the same three steps. But in one procedure, they write it using different terms. Is “tilting the motor head back” a different action to “raising the motor head”?
So, finally some takeaways:
The main elements of a procedure are:
- Main heading (‘ing’ verb)
- Before you begin
- Procedure sub-heading (infinitive ‘to’ verb)
- Numbered steps
- Reference info
- Related topics
And the things you really need to remember when writing:
- Mouse or keyboard, GUI or CLI? Stick to it!
- Verb (or location) first
- Active voice
- Give instructions, not suggestions
- Complete sentences
- Plain English
I’ve also created a handout with these for you to print and hang up somewhere, which you can download here.
This article was originally given as a public tech talk at Red Hat Brisbane, in September 2012.
I wrote this several years ago at this time of year, and it still feels very relevant.
Happy Diwali, everyone
Traditionally, people light candles, wear new clothes, and celebrate with sweets and snacks. What got me thinking, though, was the many and varied stories of how diwali came about, through legend and history. I won’t go into detail (if you want it, the Wikipedia page is a good place to start), but the stories are all essentially about a homecoming, a return from exile, the release of detainees.
In the past few days, I’ve been bothered by our government’s reaction to the 250 Tamil asylum-seekers, who are now on hunger strike in a boat in Merak, Java. These people are apparently so evil that both sides of politics agree that they shouldn’t be allowed in to our country, to enjoy our freedoms.
We quite happily advertise our wealth to the world. When those who have nothing; those who live daily in fear and poverty; seek to improve theirs and their childrens’ lives by giving everything they have to come here, we turn them away. We turn them away.
What evil do these people encompass? The detractors will cry that we will be over-run. Well, so what if we are? We have boundless plains to share, after all.
Even if you have never heard of diwali before, even if this day would normally have passed for you without a glimmer of recognition of what today means for so many Hindus and Buddhists, please just take a moment to think of those who will not be returning home. Take a moment to consider how many people are currently living in fear of their lives, in complete and abject poverty, and who are willing to give everything they have to try and rise above that. And think about the people who are so close to their dream of the future … yet so far.
Happy diwali. I hope that – for you – it is a time of light and happiness. And I hope that you will spare a thought and light a candle for those who cannot celebrate diwali this year, through no fault of their own.
This is intended to be a bit of a light-hearted look at what can go so tragically (and sometimes hilariously) wrong with open source documentation. There is a bit of a point, though, and that is that I’d like to hopefully go through some reasons why you might need to consider having a real life tech writer work on your project, and how you can actually go about making that happen too. But first, on to the funny …
Open source documentation usually sits somewhere on a scale in between bad and awful. It’s not just open source, though. Bad documentation is everywhere. A lot of the time it’s confusing, but sometimes it can be downright dangerous.
The irony here of course is that they’re attempting to make the situation safer, but have managed to make it less safe by introducing a spelling mistake, and making the sentence so complicated that you need to read it several times before you understand what they’re trying to say. Which is different to what they’ve written. Of course, by the time you’ve read it and gotten the message, you’ve probably already driven off the road.
There are some truly wonderful writing-related quotes out there, so I thought I’d start out with this one. Some of you might have heard of this guy. His name is Jerrold David Freeman, and he uses the pen name David Gerrold. Under that name, he wrote an episode or two of a little known science-fiction show call Star Trek. David Gerrold, in turn, has his own pen name, Solomon Short, who wrote some appallingly bad fiction, apparently, but otherwise appears to be famous merely for a few pithy quotes, this being one of my personal favourites …
“I’m all in favour of keeping dangerous weapons out of the hands of fools. Let’s start with typewriters”.
Of course, the point here being that there really is some truly awful writing around, which is interesting when you consider how much of it he was responsible for.
And while we’re talking about dangerous weapons. I guess even a typewriter would be dangerous if you held it like this. But we’re supposed to be talking about open source docs here, so here’s one from a set of developer tools for PHP:
“There are four ways to start a session. Two are wrong”.
Because, just as with the chainsaw example, there’s nothing quite like telling people the wrong way to do things.
It leads me to another one that I come across all the time in open source docs. This one is a little more subtle, but it’s also much, much more prevalent, so I’ve got a few examples here, maybe you can spot the common theme:
“simply open konsole”.
Well, I guess that’s easy enough, if you can find it in the menu. Actually, if we’re talking KDE, if you can find the menu.
“The easiest way to do this is to simply”
Not only is it simple, it’s also easy! Yay us!
“Simply download the patch here:”
You have no idea how many times I’ve clicked a link like that either led to a page with a list of patches longer than a Tom Clancy novel, led to a page with no patches at all, or led to a 404.
“Simply type in the following commands”
Easy to type maybe, provided you know what all the switches do, understand all the parameters you’re setting, think in bash script, and have half a clue what you’re trying to achieve.
“Simply install the latest version”
Yeah, easy, why haven’t you finished that yet? And another one:
“Simply install the package”
Yup. Have you ever tried installing anything on Linux? If it’s not in the package manager, you’re on your own. And another one
“Simply install the package from their website”
As long as no one has moved it or changed it in the meantime. And my own personal favourite:
“<div class=”entry”> disappears entirely and <h3 class=”comments”> simply becomes <h3>”
Wow! Why didn’t I think of that! So simple!
Another quote, this one from Edward Gibbon. He said this many years before the concept of open source existed, but his words pretty much sum up many open source writers:
“Unprovided with original learning, unformed in the habits of thinking, unskilled in the arts of composition, I resolved to write a book”.
In open source, we all jump in and do what needs to be done, regardless and sometimes despite where our skills might lie. We’re all being forced to adapt to our environments in strange ways, stretch our skillsets, and do things we would never in normal circumstances do. So open source development tends to mean we all step in and do what needs to be done, but the main problem with that is the documentation isn’t recognised as “something that needs to be done” until fairly late in the piece. It’s at that point that someone realises that there’s a hole that needs filling up, and so some random person will be asked to step in and fill that gap.
Of course, the other problem that’s present in open source documentation is that of the amateur, and this doesn’t just apply to writing, either. People come to open source for a variety of reasons, but one of the main ones is to gain experience in their field, or to create or contribute to something that they can add to their portfolio. And I’m no stranger to this either, I frequently recommend contributing to an open source project as a good way for potential writers to start out. The problem with this of course is that in some projects, you end with a situation where the seasoned writers are burning out, getting run over by busses, or – heaven forbid – busy with actual real careers where they get paid real money and everything, and the majority of the grunt work is being done by people who – like Mr Gibbon – really didn’t know what they were doing. Not to say it’s a bad thing having new writers on a project, but like all the good things in life, it needs to be in balance. It’s no good having forty-seven amateurs and only one person who actually knows what’s going on, especially if it’s not a full time job for any of them.
In certain professions, it is natural to assume that the people practising them are skilled professionals. Doctor springs to mind, as does actor, and anything that involves sharp or particularly heavy machinery. Or pipe wrenches. Most people could at least have a good guess at what qualifications you would need to become a lawyer, a teacher, a plumber, a solar panel installation specialist, or a computer engineer.
But writing is still very much a dark art. And while technical writing certainly doesn’t have the mystique of, say, literary fiction or even a good horror writer, it is definitely considered a black box in many ways. And that, right there, is the problem. People don’t understand the skill required, the techniques employed, the training we have, even though we see product of writing work all the time. This, unfortunately, tends to mean that people figure it’s easy, and anyone could do it.
So you end up with a situation where the documentation becomes something of a hot potato. Everyone knows it needs to be done, nobody wants to do it, eventually it lands on the one person who was stupid enough to admit to either knowing a typesetting language, having some felicity with a word processor, or once having had a job where they sat next to someone who had to do some writing.
Basically, we’re surrounded every day – not just in open source – by stuff written by people who barely know how to string a sentence together. And it’s not just about choosing the right ‘your’ either. It’s also about organising the information in a way that makes it … well, informational.
The next quote is from one of my favourite authors. His name was Eric Blair, but he was better known as George Orwell. He’s most famous for giving us the notion of Big Brother, but he also left us with some fabulous writing advice. His most famous writing advice was given in 1946 in the form of an essay called “Politics and the English Language”, which is where this quote also comes from:
“In certain kinds of writing … it is normal to come across long passages which are almost completely lacking in meaning.”
And while this may well have been true in 1946, unfortunately no one must have been listening, because it’s only gotten worse.
This is from a ZDNet article that was written about a product I’m currently writing for, it says:
“CloudForms, which is based upon the company-sponsored DeltaCloud project that is now part of Apache– offer sophisticated resource management, application deployment services and Infrastructure-as a Service offerings that help IT adminstrators implement private and hybrid clouds”.
It doesn’t end there, they go on to say:
“The platform consists of a cloud engine for high level automation and abstraction services across multiple virtualization hypervisors and virtualized clusters, an application engine and system engine for comprehensive application lifecycle management across multiple cloud providers and various Infrastucture -as-a-Service offerings including storage, messaging and high availability services”.
Basically, that is 88 words that are completely devoid of meaning.
I’ve left the typos in for your own amusement.
Which brings me neatly to my next piece of wisdom, this one from the web comic author Randy Milholland (Something Positive), who said that
“Typos are very important to all written form. It gives the reader something to look for so they aren’t distracted by the total lack of content in your writing.”
Which could easily explain most of the Register’s articles these days.
So let’s explore this problem a little more. In order to solve a problem, though, we need to define exactly what the problem is, and that’s where open source makes it difficult, because open source encompasses much more than just Linux, and one solution is never going to apply in all situations. So, let’s take a look at the issues. There are of course two broad types of open source project:
There’s the cathedral type, where you have some piece of software that’s been developed internally by some company and then released as open source, or the flip side of that is the RHEL model, where they branch an existing project, which is then worked on internally and released to the public again.
Then you have the bazaar type, which is what many of us tend to think of automatically when we say “open source project”. This is where some teenaged genius has a brilliant idea and then somehow convinces everyone else it’s brilliant and they should contribute to it as well.
So of course, I can go on at length about how documentation is handled in the cathedral version. In Red Hat’s case, of course, we hire people, train them, and then get them to pump out documentation. For the most part, what they pump out is pretty good, but that’s to be expected when you’re putting effort in to finding and hiring the people best suited for the job.
Another interesting one that’s more or less in the cathedral category is Libre Office. They’re created by a seemingly endless stream of volunteers, but are extremely susceptible to the newbie problem. There are one or two community elders who know where everything is and what needs to be done next, and there’s a steady flow of people who drift in, do a few things, and then drift out again. It works, oddly enough, and if you’ve ever used Libre Office documentation then you would know that what they pump out is pretty high quality.
So let’s move into the bazaar-style projects. Of course one of the best ones for documentation is Gimp. Their user manual is a thing of wonder, and they also have an amazing array of tutorials. I haven’t had much to do with the gimp docs community, but as far as I know they have a relatively tight knit group of core documenters, which says a lot about how having a core group of experienced writers can really help your overall documentation.
And it’s also interesting to contrast Gimp to Inkscape. Inkscape has a really robust community of contributors, but they haven’t had the documentation focus that Gimp has. For some time they’ve had a fairly robust users manual over at the Floss Manuals site, though, so perhaps they just haven’t seen the need to expend energy on doing it within the project.
Of course, it’s important to remember when we’re talking about Gimp and Inkscape though that in terms of bazaar-style open source projects, they really are the cream of the crop. To get a more realistic view, let’s look at a little tool I was trying to get working not so long ago called ‘recordmydesktop’. This is their documentation page, so the fact that they have one is a good start. You might notice the last time it was updated though. 2008 in the case of the FAQ, and 2007 in the case of the manual. I won’t get started on the manual itself, because we only have forty minutes.
So we’ve more or less ascertained that most documentation sucks, and open source documentation tends to suck slightly harder than the rest. The next question then is, what are we going to do about it. If you have lots of money, the answer is easy … pay a professional writer to do it. Depending on who you get, and how much money you give them, you should end up with something pretty reasonable. Hopefully.
If you’re in this happy situation, then you need to go looking for someone who is a writer first and a technology nut second. There’s a fairly common thought, especially amongst the IT crowd, that you can’t document a product unless you have a full understanding of the technology behind it, and possibly several decades of experience in using it. Well, I’d like to stand up here today as living proof that that statement is a lie. Complete and utter fiction. The skills of a professional technical writer include being able to wade into a product they’ve never seen or used before, and be able to document it fully. That’s because professional writers are trained in the art of audience analysis. They approach the product in the same way as a user, which means they are much closer to the learning curve that your users will be going through, which ultimately helps them document it.
Let’s have a car analogy! Imagine you’re a mechanic, and someone has asked you to describe a car to them. There’s a reasonable chance that you’re going to start off describing how the car converts fuel to energy, which drives the engine. But if that person has never seen a car before, what they really need to know is that it is a box with wheels that can move people from place to place, before they understand catalytic conversion.
Of course, money ain’t always easy to come by, especially if you’re in the open source space. But that’s not to say that you can’t get writers to write for free. The good thing about writers is that they tend to have this undeniable drive to … well … write. It’s that drive that creates such wonderful things as NaNoWriMo. National Novel Writing Month – or NaNoWriMo – is where people sign up to write 50,000 words in 30 days. For free! I’m sure many of you think this is completely nuts, and I’m sure you’re probably right. But there’s lessons to be learned here, too.
The biggest lesson we can take away from things like NaNoWriMo is that if you give writers an attractive writing environment, they will come to write for you simply because it seems like it might be fun to do. And so this means you might need to put a little bit of thought into how you project is going to be documented, in order to be able to make that authoring environment as attractive as possible.
Briefly, I’d like to hark back to what I said earlier about Red Hat. Red Hat have about 90 people in the documentation group now, with more than half of them being writers, and the rest translators. And we haven’t slowed down hiring (Incidentally, if you want a job …). Why is it we can find so many writers? Well, a lot of it has to do with the environment we offer potential new writers. Can you see a pattern emerging here?
So here’s my list of great writing environment factors, whether you’re paying your writers or not:
Give writers freedom in the tools they use. This allows experienced writers to use tools they’re familiar with, and to adjust and improve the way they work with your documentation. If you have always produced documentation in a word processor, and you have a great writer come in and want to start working in Docbook XML or LaTeX, then let them. If they’re experienced enough to know what that is and how to make the change, they’re worth being flexible for.
On the other hand, provide a simple structure and process for producing documentation. Don’t make people jump through hoops to contribute to the docs. This helps new writers on the project get up and running quickly, and it helps people who are not proven writers get started. We all know how important it is for our contributors to be able to submit their first patch quickly and fairly easily, so that they get that hit of satisfaction and stick around. It’s exactly the same for writers. Make it easy for them to do quick tasks like fixing spelling and grammar mistakes, and maybe have an up to date list of smaller projects that need doing, ready for when new people sign up to the mailing list.
A robust documentation team will pick up many, many bugs for you. Within Red Hat, a large proportion of the bugs found in our software before it’s released, is found by the documentation group. And that’s aside from the other positive benefits that good documentation can bring to a project, including the single biggest factor, which is decreasing support calls. Make sure you acknowledge the work the documentation team does. Make sure that whenever you mention contributors or volunteers, that those on the docs team are mentioned as well. Don’t include them as an afterthought, or as a generic group called “the documentation team”. Name them! Make sure they know you understand and appreciate that the work they have contributed is just as important as the work contributed by developers. And this works to attract more writers too: if people see that writers are acknowledged and appreciated in a project, they’re more likely to feel as though they too will be rewarded by joining.
Recognise writers as experts in their field. If they tell you that something doesn’t read well, or they recommend that you choose a different way of expressing something, listen to them as you would another developer. You don’t have to agree with them every time, because that’s not the way the world works, but recognise that where you know how to sling code, they know how to sling words. And if they’re coming to you and saying that your documentation sucks, perhaps you should give them an opportunity to step up and make it better.
And finally, ensure you have a positive and welcoming community. I know this isn’t easy, but it’s probably the single biggest recommendation I can make. As a job classification, writing – even highly technical writing – does not suffer from the same gender imbalance as software development. Roughly half of your potential writers will be women, and roughly half will be from a background other than white and north American. And it won’t necessarily be the same half. If you don’t have a code of conduct, and if you don’t have a community that actively welcomes and supports women and minorities, then you are cutting down your pool of potential writers by well over half. And I don’t know about you, but that just seems dumb to me.
So I’m going to leave you with some final words of wisdom from the Polish writer Stanis?aw Jerzy Lec: “Advice to writers: sometimes you just have to stop writing. Even before you begin”.
OSDC 2011 kicked off today at the ANU. I tripped along to the OSIA (Open Source Industry Australia) miniconf, which Red Hat sponsored, and was mightily pleased to hear Stuart Gutherie reference one of my favourite pieces of historical weirdness: the mechanical turk. I couldn’t help but hold forth, and eventually gave an impromptu lightning talk on the subject.
The mechanical turk existed in the late 1700′s, and was billed as an “automaton chess player”. In reality, it was a wooden box in which an accomplished chess player could sit and manipulate the chess board on top, while a wooden “turk” would appear to move the pieces mechanically. It was invented by Wolfgang von Kempelen, a Hungarian, who also invented a “speaking machine”, a speech synthesiser, which was actually quite important to the early development of phonetics as an area of study, but not half as famous as his great hoax, the mechanical turk.
What makes the mechanical turk so interesting is the lengths von Kempelen went to to persuade his audience that the turk was, indeed, an automaton. He would show the audience first one empty cabinet, then another, and then in the third cabinet would be a complicated looking system of levers and pulleys. The cabinet was designed that, throughout this proceeding, the human operator could easily slip from one side to the other on a sliding seat to hide from view.
The trick was not exposed until the mid-1820′s, despite some very public appearances. The mechanical turk won chess games against such prominent figures as Napoleon Bonaparte and Benjamin Franklin before being found out, although no one has recorded the names of those chess players working the turk from underneath.
How this becomes relevant to the IT industry is equally as fascinating as the history of the machine. In the days of the turk, playing chess was something that no machine was capable of doing. It required a level of computation that only humans were capable of achieving. We have now invented computers that can play chess (and even appear on game shows) with ease, but there are still tasks that we can’t replace with a small shell script. Many of these tasks are frustratingly simple, but require a human brain to parse the data. Writing tasks often fit into this category: things like writing short captions for images, changing the style used in a document, or changing text from British English to American English spelling.
Within Red Hat, we spend a lot of our time working on errata text. After a program has been released it is fairly normal to find bugs. When the developers go through and fix a bunch of those bugs, they will send out an update termed an “errata release”. For each bug fixed, the technical writers need to document it, which means writing four sentences: one sentence each about the cause of the bug, the consequence of the bug, the fix that was applied, and the result of the fix. This is, naturally, quite tedious and boring. It’s natural for us to want to automate this process, but unfortunately it’s a job that requires a human brain.
So we did the next best thing: we created a mechanical turk. We call it “The Turkinator”, and it’s currently available for Fedora errata releases. Basically, you choose whether you want to write a Cause, a Consequence, a Fix, or a Result; you’re given a bug to read; you submit your sentence and that’s it. In this way, we automate the task of writing errata text by breaking the big task down into little tiny pieces and asking humans to perform the work of a shell script.
This model has an extra added bonus in the open source space, though, and that is what we like to call “micro-contributions”. Anyone who has contributed — or thought about contributing — to an open source project would understand how daunting that first contribution can be. By creating the possibility of micro-contributions, potential contributors can have their first (and second, and third …) patch completed in under a minute. Instant contributors for the project, and instant contributions for the development team.
The writing industry has a schism. It’s not always obvious. We like to play it down. Some deny its very existence. But one day, you’ll be happily writing away in your new job, safe in the knowledge that you have a good grasp of spelling, comma placement, the use of industry terms and jargon, and can even confidently place a semi-colon in a position of value, when it hits you: are you a prescriptivist or a descriptivist? Suddenly your bubble collapses. The ship you were happily sailing on just moments ago collapses beneath you, and you’re cast away on an ocean of meta-questions. It’s all well and good to understand the basic tenets of grammar, but why do you understand those things, and in what way do you apply them? Are you putting a comma there because it makes historical and logical sense to put it there, or are you doing it just because that’s the way it’s always been done?
Most technical writers, those who have forged their career path through a combination of traditional university-level education in the field and into-the-deep-end, on-the-ground experience will give you a quick answer: Because the style guide says so.
Others, though, have had a somewhat more bumpy journey. They might have come from other fields such as journalism or creative writing, or they just might be the sort who overthinks this type of thing. Their answer will be more considered. They will describe the history of the word you have chosen, how its spelling and usage has changed over time, how the impact of technology has shaped its use, and how it fits into global trends.
Neither of these answers is wrong, although the two groups have argued (and probably will continue to argue) the point ad infinitum.
Prescriptivism is an easy answer, and the one that allows the writer to get on with things. They think “how do I handle this”, and there will be some guide – Chicago, AP, the Australian Government Style Guide, an internal document – that they can consult. They get their answer, they correct it in their work, they carry on. I have been this person.
Descriptivism is a more time-consuming method. In the absence of a font of all historical grammatical knowledge, it involves discovering historical usage, charting current usage, and predicting future usage. The answer, in many cases, is probably more ‘correct’ (or at least more considered), and the writer will certainly have a very long list of very good reasons for choosing the answer they do. It is the territory of the writer who needs to understand, not just do. I have, also, been this person.
In a recent conversation it was remarked to me that the speaker could not tell if I was in favour of neologisms or not. I argued that I am in favour of new words (and usage) entering the lexicon, but that I also feel it’s important to maintain an historical accuracy within our writing and grammar. It’s a somewhat contrary position to take, I agree. After all, new words and usage will not ever enter the lexicon unless they are used, surely? Dictionaries won’t include words just because they might be used next year. Fair point.
But, just as movies are not all science fiction, writing is not all technical, language is not all written, and audiences are not all university-educated, technically adept, native English speakers between 25 and 35. Writing needs to suit the audience, and different audiences have different expectations. This gives us a startling ability to watch language shift. Words can be used in a completely informal and slang way throughout most fiction and magazines, newspapers have historically been held to a higher standard of formality (although that is changing as the golden age of print takes hold), high-brow magazines and professional journals are expected to be quite formal, along with most technical documentation, and then academic papers hit the highest highs of formal language, with their stiff tone and impenetrable prose. But before new words are taken in at the beginning of that literary river to begin their long journey to towards the sea of obscurity, they must first be coined in the spring of neologism, and that occurs in the spoken word, and rarely in print. Take, as a simple example, the word “hello”. Originally used as an exclamation (and often historically cited as being used in hunts) or a way of gaining someone’s attention, it turned into a more formal greeting after Alexander Graham Bell’s initial plan of having people answer the telephone with ‘Ahoy’ fell through. ‘Hello’ eventually became the accepted standard, leading to call operators being referred to as ‘hello girls’ for decades, and the term itself becoming almost so banal as to not require a definition. It is interesting to note that, although ‘hello’ moved easily from almost-exclusive telephone use into a general greeting, the equivalent term in Japanese ‘mushi mushi’ (????) has not, remaining a term used on the telephone only. Language is a living thing, and will change constantly, even in the face of criticism, denial, and plain old refusal to change.
Simply put: words begin in spoken slang, are gradually normalised through various print mediums, until time and usage turns them into stiff and ‘correct’ terms to be used until they fade into obscurity. Some fade into obscurity sooner than others, some have an amazing longevity with histories that fade into the fog of time. Technology has a tendency to speed the process up significantly, with terms such as ‘facetime’, ‘diskette’, and ‘webinar’ having had their brief golden age and are now (some would say thankfully) dying out again. It is also technology to blame for the re-purposing of words such as ‘login’, ‘instantiate’, and ‘friend’. And it is technology, I fear, that has spawned this entire debate between prescriptivism and descriptivism. It might seem strange to us now, where we are encouraged to be one or the other, but I believe that in times past, we have all been a little bit of both.
As a professional word-wrangler it is my job to understand my tools. I would expect a carpenter to fully understand saws: different blades, the angle of the teeth, the size and weight all make a difference to the final product (I imagine. I believe I sawed a piece of wood once, many years ago. These days I value my fingers too much!). I make it a point to understand my tools – words, and the grammar that binds them together – completely. As such, I enjoy taking the time to research the history of words and usage, and work out exactly why it is that I should (or shouldn’t) use them in the way that I do. To me, that’s essential knowledge that I require in order to do my job well.
On the other hand, I have a job to do. I need to get words on paper. The words I set to paper need to be accurate, they need to convey the right message, and they need to be able to be understood by my audience. They also need to be given to my readers when they need them, which means hitting deadlines. And that means that I don’t have always have the time to indulge my scholarly side and look up the history of every comma use, or fully analyse whether I should be using “shut down”, “shut-down”, or “shut down” in this particular instance. So I have to make a call: I spend time researching the important ones, the contentious ones, and the ones that will hopefully lead me to a greater understanding of other words. For the rest, I have my Chicago Manual of Style, our internal Word Usage Guide, and my dictionary. I lay my faith at the feet of the prescriptivists, but make sure I pay my tithe to the descriptivists, because who knows where all this is going to lead?
A conversation on the Australian Tech Writers mailing list prompted me to dig up these old blog posts from 2008 and repost them here. It was a short impromptu series of the changing face of language, and how we as wordsmiths deal with it:
Spotted this one on Slashdot today. Reading the comments, I came along quite a few that expressed what appears to be complete and utter dismay at the introduction of new words into the language. For example, this one:
“Even if you can guess what it means, it’s always good fun to pounce on neologisms and jargon and grill the user why they are using them instead of a more traditional word.”
And then there was this one:
“my old boss used to love these damn things and every time he’d say the word “webinar” a peice of me died a little inside”
It reminds me of a time I was driving around Brisbane with a friend, it was Christmas time, and I noted a sign in front of a church that stated something along the lines of “Christmass Services”. I made an offhand comment about the mispelling, and my friend pointed out that the origin of the word indicates that it should, indeed, be spelled “Christmass” (as it derived from the Mass for Christ). The main point of her comment though was the fact that language is an ever-changing and constantly evolving beast. Wordsmiths – myself included – are often very quick to point out that something is not a word, or is a neologism, or just isn’t right for some other reason.
We all use language in different ways every day – the language we use to speak to our friends is not the same as we use to speak to our children, or to authorities. The language that we use to write emails to our friends is different to the language that we use to write a complaint to the phone company. In my case, the language that I use to write technical documentation is different to the language I use to write fiction, and is different to the language I am using to write this blog post. The most interesting thing about that is the language that I use to do all those things has changed – as I’ve gotten older, as my opinions have changed, as my knowledge has increased, as my tastes have changed, and as I’ve come across new words.
I was working on the latest fiction project last night, writing very short snippets in first person for several different characters, and consciously trying to alter the ‘voice’ of each section to suit that character. Not as easy as it sounds, but I’m reasonably pleased with the results, so far.
Language, in all its forms, shifts and changes with attitude and society. While I’ve never considered Merriam-Webster to be authoritative, and I certainly wouldn’t rely on it for any of my work, at least we ought to give them credit for trying to document the language as it is used, rather than how it ‘ought’ to be. And for that reason alone, it has a place in the world.
Not so long ago, I wrote this. To summarise, it was about new words adopted into the English language by the Merriam-Webster dictionary, most of which had their genesis in online culture. So it was with great joy that I came across this article which outlines some of the words that the internet has succesfully killed. It’s a lovely piece of work, I suggest you read it. My very favourite is at the top of the list – “friend”. Once a word meaning ” someone you knew, had a personal relationship with, occasionally spoke to, and frequently drank beers with” it now, according to the article, means “someone who found your email address and typed it into Facebook and/or LinkedIN. You may have met said person at a conference once, and possibly even conversed with for 5 or more minutes”. Of course, my second favourite is in there too – “startup”. Once, it meant “a company with a novel idea, service, product, or technology, and a vision on how to build that company into a successful, profitable entity”. Now, it means “a college graduate and three friends who have an incremental idea, service, product, or technology, and a vision on how to build that company such that it gets acquired by Google, Microsoft, or Yahoo (in that order), preferably within 18 months for at least 9 figures.”
The article is tongue-in-cheek – and readily admits it – but there’s a whole lot of truth in there (albeit disguised nicely behind humour). Language is evolving, and the major vehicle for change is that thing that has become so pervasive in our lives – the internet – and the culture that goes with it. Not only have new words entered – “w00t” and “mondegreen” instantly spring to mind – but ‘old’ words have had their meanings modified to fit the new medium. I maintain that it’s not a bad thing, it’s progress (whatever definition you choose to use for ‘progress’). Sometimes it seems like backwards progress, but it is nevertheless the direction we are heading. Don’t like it? That’s OK – the new generation do. And when they’re all grown up and complaining about the “young ‘ens”, well, that’s OK too. Their kids will be busy picking up the slack by then.
In what has become a somewhat impromptu series on the evolution of the English language, I just had to mention something I read whilst on holidays last weekend. I picked up Bill Bryson’s take on the life of Shakespeare whilst away. I’ve been interested in the great mystery of Shakespeare’s life for some time now. I own a copy of Nolan’s “Shakespeare’s Face” and have read numerous other accounts (or, more accurately, guesses) of his life and works. Add to this the fact that I have been wanting to start reading Bryson’s “A Short History of Nearly Everything”, and it was a fairly predictable attraction. Not incidentally, I’m intending to read his “The Mother Tongue” shortly too.
The book is quite short, and I finished it mere days after purchase – helped along by a few days in a warm climate with no pressing demands, I might add. It is written in true Bryson style, very conversational and light hearted, and he gives a lovely (or not so lovely, depending on your take on plague and wanton violence) picture of 16th century England, and Shakespeare’s somewhat unassuming – so far as we can tell – place in it.
However, my favourite part is this discussion of some of the many words that Shakespeare (allegedly) introduced into the English language:
And there was never a better time to delve for pleasure in language than the sixteenth century, when novelty blew through English like a spring breeze. Some twelve thousand words, a phenomenal number, entered the language between 1500 and 1650, about half of them still in use today, and old words were employed in ways that had not been tried before. Nouns became verbs and adverbs; adverbs became adjectives. Expressions that could not grammatically have existed before – such as “breathing one’s last” and “backing a horse”, both coined by Shakespeare – were suddenly popping up everywhere. Double superlatives and double negatives – “the most unkindest cut of all” – troubled no one and allowed an additional degree of emphasis that has since been lost.
Bryson goes on to mention the notorious variability of spelling known in early English society, noting this little gem -
Perhaps nothing speaks more eloquently of the variability of spelling in the age than the fact that a dictionary published in 1604, A Table Alphabeticall of Hard Words, spelled “words” two ways on the title page.
Of course, it just goes to show that the language has been evolving apace for many hundreds of years. Indeed, despite the naysayers it is happening much slower now than it was back in Shakespeare’s day. I can imagine that back then there were people (perhaps among the upper, educated, classes) who complained that artists such as he were mangling the language, and doing things the wrong way, although the attitude towards English was reasonably fluid then, thanks to Latin and French being considered ‘proper’. Surely, as time went on, and English took hold first in business and legal matters, and later in the sciences, that there have been people unwilling to accept change, even as it occurs around them. Nothing has changed in that respect, I imagine, it’s just that now they have access to the internet – and a world full of people reading their opinions. Hopefully, it won’t impede the progress overly. Much as I still cringe a little at “truthiness”, “coopetition” and “incentivise”, I am completely capable of embracing the words that I like – “blogosphere” is one of my favourites, along with “jumping the shark” and “backronym”. It’s only a matter of time before the language evolves to the point that our grandchildren will be almost incomprehensible, and Shakespeare’s scribblings will have taken another step towards total obscurity.
I’ve been making risotto a fair bit recently, and my partner has been taking the leftovers in to work. This has corresponded in an increased request rate for the recipe (or slightly less tasty-smelling lunches, I imagine!). To satisfy the requirement, I went looking for this recipe on the old slowfoodadventures blog but couldn’t find the original writeup. Luckily, the photos exist, so I shall attempt to make some sense of them for you, and for the hungry co-workers
linux.conf.au is the biggest Linux and open source conference in the southern hemisphere, and rightfully so! I was a speaker at the conference last year in Brisbane (the video is on my videos page) and had a great time.
This year it’s being held in Ballarat, Victoria, and I must say I’m quite looking forward to finding out what a regional LCA is like. Anyway, the CFP is open, I’ll be submitting again, and I suggest you do too. More details on the LCA website.