Writing 101: When Do You Capitalize The?

Proper capitalization is something that I struggle with every single day. Words like with and it are endlessly confusing when it comes to writing titles correctly, but more than any word the one that gives me the most pain is the. Is it a title? What if it's not? Suppose I need to mention the White House in the middle of  a sentence, and not at the beginning? Just when the heck are you supposed to be using a capital The, and when aren't you? 

How Do I Hate The? Let Me Count The Ways...

Without a doubt, the is my least favorite article. Since there are only two articles in all of English (a and the), I realize this isn't saying much -- but the depth of my hatred supersedes the general lack of choices. The is a problem for me personally because I can never seem to figure out just how to treat it when it comes to capitalization.

And frankly, neither does anybody else. The is treated all kinds of ways by all kinds of writers, and in looking for information about capitalizing the it's much easier to find condescending advice than something remotely useful (tons of grammarians, for reasons unknown, feel like it's necessary to explain in great detail that the first letter of any sentence should be capitalized).

After absorbing a mind-boggling number of capitalization rules, I still hate the. But at least now I know how to treat it -- and you can, too. 

The Rules

The is neither preposition nor verb, adjective nor noun, and that's why it's so hard to deal with. The rules of capitalization say that prepositions should never be capitalized, but that doesn't mean you should treat the like a preposition because it is not. Short verbs like are, be and is are also supposed to be capitalized when they belong to titles and proper names (example: the song Flowers Are Pretty should always be written thus). But again, the isn't a verb. 

But the isn't just any other word, either, and that's where the confusion comes in. It's an article, and it plays by is own rules. 

• Proper nouns. In proper nouns, such as exact place names (the Alamo, for example), the first letter of each word is supposed to be capitalized -- unless there's a the involved. It's an exception, and it's one that a massive number of people get wrong. Unless it starts the sentence, the should not be capitalized in proper nouns (so don't do it). 
• Titles. In titles, every first letter of every word should be capitalized -- excluding your prepositions and your articles, of course. In the book For Whom the Bell Tolls, the stays small. However, if the is the first word in a title, it must be capitalized whether or not it starts a sentence. For example, I have to write The Catcher in the Rye with both big and little the, because the first starts off the proper title of the book and the second appears in the middle.

And One More Confusing Thing...

 I know what you're thinking. You're thinking I've broken my own rules with the title above, When Do You Capitalize The? But you're wrong. It's one of those quirky rules of capitalization that I saved for the end, because that's where it belongs. In any and all titles, the last word must also be capitalized. Why is that a rule? I don't know; I don't make them up. Whether it's a preposition or a the, if it's the last word (or the first word) of a title, you've got to capitalize. So, when do you capitalize the? At the beginning of a title and at the end, but never any other time, and certainly not inside proper nouns. 

Writing 101: Ending a Sentence With Is

"It depends on what the meaning of the word 'is' is." 

                                -President Bill Clinton to the Grand Jury, 1998

There are lots of sentences out there that end with is, but the above quote is definitely my favorite. Is it okay to end a sentence with is? Like Clinton says, that all depends on your definition. 

The Meaning of Is

For reasons unknown, there seems to be some confusion surrounding the meaning of is. When discussing it's viability at the end of a sentence, many people point to the preposition rule. The rule says that prepositions shouldn't end a sentence, but a) that's already been debunked here; and b) is isn't a preposition.

Is is actually a form of the verb to be (third person singular present, to be exact). To be is one of the most oft-used verbs, but it has so many different forms you may not know when you're using it. Is is one of the them, and by all rules of English it's perfectly acceptable to end sentences with verbs -- and Shakespeare's famous for it (to be or not to be).

Some sentences, in fact, would be lot more cumbersome if you felt like you couldn't use is:

Is that where it is? 

How long did you say it is? 

I don't know what that is.

There are plenty of occasions when you can re-word a sentence to eliminate the use of the word is at the end, but do so only if it improves readability. Like the preposition rule, fear of ending on is is another one of those strange grammar myths that you just can't believe. Lots of sites say it's an abomination, but that's just silly. Always go by the first rule of good grammar: if it sounds right, it probably is.

Books on Film: Gone With the Wind

Even if you haven't read it, or seen it, or pulled down your grandmother's curtains and paraded around the house (what? I didn't do that), I know you've heard of it. It's Gone With the Wind, and it's both a literary and film juggernaut that you just can't stop -- not even 75 years later. It also happens to be my personal favorite, and it's why I'm making it the first selection for the new Books on Film feature. 

The Book

Gone With the Wind was published in 1936, and it was most definitely an immediate success. It was already a bestseller before the reviews appeared in national magazines. Almost instantly, author Margaret Mitchell was awarded the Pulitzer and the novel's film rights were snapped up by one David O. Selznick (more on him later).

 

Set in the south during the Civil War and the Reconstruction era that followed, Gone With the Wind revolves around the life of Scarlett O'Hara. It's not often called a coming-of-age tale, though that's exactly what it is. Scarlett becomes shrewd and hardened during the war, the whole of which she spends pining away for a man who is married and who does not love her romantically. 

Rhett Butler, the book's hero (or maybe anti-hero), is passionately in love with her. But Scarlett, obsessed with Ashley Wilkes, doesn't really care. She loathes and envies Ashley's tenderhearted and loving wife, Melanie. For spite, and to make Ashley jealous, Scarlett marries Melanie's brother Charles. After he dies in the war, she marries her sister's somewhat long-in-the-tooth beau Mr. Kennedy. It isn't until he dies -- arguably, because of Scarlett -- that she finally condescends to marry Rhett. He does all he can to please her but it's never enough, and when Melanie dies he finally decides he's just too fed up with his wife to carry on. Besides, she'll certainly be running after Ashley harder than ever now. So Rhett leaves, and in one of the most climatic and tragic scenes ever written, Scarlett O'Hara Hamilton Kennedy Butler realizes that she really loved Rhett all along, and Ashley could never be a decent companion for her. She runs after Rhett, but it's too late...and he walks out. The book ends, as does the film, with Scarlett's iconic line: "After all, tomorrow is another day." 

Try not to judge the book on my brief summary; it took Mitchell over 1,000 pages to describe these same events, which she does much more wonderfully and poetically than I.

The Film

Upon purchasing the rights to the novel in 1936, David O. Selznik immediately went to work. He started taking meetings with Hollywood's biggest stars, both male and female, though from the outset public opinion was quite strongly settled on one actor, and one actor only, for the role of Rhett: Clark Gable. Debonair, drop-dead handsome, and oozing masculinity through ever pore, Gable was pretty much Selznick's first choice, too. Gable didn't want the role. Through much negotiation and deal-making, he was secured to play the part. The search for Scarlett would span two years and two continents.

Half a world away, a London stage actress named Vivien Leigh was also in love with the book. She told a friend as early as 1937 that she would play the role on film, but she had some extremely stiff competition. Just about every actress in Hollywood with any box office value screen-tested for the role, and Bette Davis rabidly coveted it. But Leigh was also on her way to Hollywood, and through her various connections scored an introduction to Selznick through his own brother, a well-known agent at the time. On the night when the studio burned up several massive sets used in former productions, to film the epic scene when Atlanta burns to the ground in the film, David O. Selznick met his Scarlett O'Hara. Leigh was introduced by this name, and after her screen test the producer was convinced. 

Selznick was well-known for doing book adaptations on film, and he'd earned a reputation for staying true to the author's original work. But Gone With the Wind was a 1,000-page monstrosity covering years and years of truly epic history, and the project became overwhelming right away. By all accounts, Selznick was a veritable madman on set. He oversaw every single stage of the production, and it created some tension. One person involved with the film complained that everything had to be done and re-done again. 

The opening scene alone was filmed four times, complete with costume changes and location changes, before it was finally deemed fit for the flick. Two directors were fired, one was re-hired, and Selznick edited the movie in full at least twice. The way the story goes, studio representatives literally had to take the reels for the film out of his hands because if the movie was delayed even one more day it would miss its premiere date. 

Selznick's obsession and attention to detail paid off. Gone With the Wind became the highest-grossing film of all time, in its day, and remains in the top ten of the American Film Institute's Greatest Films of All Time. It has been released and re-released endlessly, in every possible format, and you can still catch it on television at least once a year. The movie practically swept the Oscars and made a quick star of Vivien Leigh. Fashion trends immediately developed, and anything associated with Scarlett O'Hara was an instant hit in the late 1930s and early 40s.

But any movie can be popular. The real question is: did Selznick succeed? Did he transform a massive book into a marketable movie, without too much loss of story? 

What Got Adapted? 

My verdict: yes. Now that's a controversial answer, because the film version of Gone With the Wind is certainly missing a ton of story elements. In the book, Scarlett has multiple children. In the film, there is only one. The movie also leaves out a huge chunk of the story that revolves around Scarlett's family; both her sisters come to rather ill ends, and movie watchers won't ever know of their tragic fates. Much of what happens to Scarlett in the years immediately after the war is skipped over quite neatly by Selznick, though that could be due to the fact that the original scriptwriter was fired. A parade of successive writers came along behind him, until he was eventually re-hired to clean it all up (the list of people who were fired from Gone With the Wind is quite impressive).

However, Gone With the Wind has a mind-numbing running time of 3 hours and 44 minutes for a good reason: a strong effort was made to capture the whole story. When you adapt a gigantic book, you end up with a really long film. The flavor and major plot points of the book are most definitely captured by the film, the actors are all well-casted and very suited to their roles, and despite the omissions of the more racy material that the book doesn't shrink away from, what's left unsaid in the movie is still pretty clear.

For a book on film, Gone With the Wind is one of the best adaptations you can find. The movie does just what it's meant to do: it turns text into live-action images. There are some discrepancies, of course. According to legend, while Margaret Mitchell and her husband watched the film for the first time, he turned to her during the famous train station scene and remarked, "If we had that many soldiers, we would have won the war!" But overall, it remains one of the best examples of a book on film and it's well worth watching.

Writing 101: When Do you Use Anyways, Anyway?

Anyways is one of those words you hear in conversation all the time -- so often, if fact, that you may never question it. But any way you slice it, the word's grammatically incorrect...which doesn't mean you should always refrain from writing it. There are some things you ought to learn about writing with anyway, any way and anyways. 

Writing Anyway/Any Way

Grammatically speaking, anyway is an adverb. This just means that, when applied, the word modifies the other words in the sentence. By definition, anyway means nevertheless or in any case. So I might say, well, I'm going to do it anyway, or anyway, I'm going to do it.

Any way, by contrast, means something different, though it's often confused with anyway like it's interchangeable. Any way is a combination of an adjective (any) and a noun (way). When used together as any way, it just means in any manner or by any method. Example: I'm going to finish this post any way I can; I'm going to do it any way possible. If you're confused about which one to use, just swap anyway or any way for another word or words that mean the same thing:  

I'm going to do it in any case.  

Nevertheless, I'm going to do it. 

I'm going to finish this post in any manner possible.

Anyways...

Technically speaking, anyways isn't a real word -- it's an error. However, it's one of those words that's so commonly used, it's been accepted into the vernacular. It's a common expression, usually used by a speaker who is resuming a narrative: Anyways, back to the rules of good grammar... 

Therefore, it's okay to use anyways in dialogue if it's the sort of word the speaker might use. In a casual conversation, the word crops up all the time. But you should refrain from using it in your standard narrative writing outside of dialogue, because by all rules of English it is incorrect.

Revealing Death

Death (Deck of Lies, #3) will be released in about a week, so take a good look at the cover now and get ready to look for it in online bookstores!

Tagline:

One good lie deserves another.

Blurb:

All In

I never wanted to get in this deep, but I did go looking for the truth before I was prepared to handle it. But how do you close the lid on Pandora’s box? You can’t unlearn something, or forget a dark secret once it’s been revealed.

I have no choice but to do my part to bury the truth again -- this time, someplace no one will ever be able to find it. But that’s the problem with lies. Once you start pulling threads, everything unravels.

No one is who they seem to be…not even me.

Writing 101: Me, Myself and I

Are you and I reading this blog post...or you and me? When should you be using myself in your writing? Me, myself and I are some of the most misunderstood words in the English language, and it's time to clear up the confusion about how and when they ought to be used. 

Me 

Technically speaking, you should be using the word me as a first-person singular when me is an object, and not a subject. But just in case you don't speak in esoteric grammar, let's look at that from a civilian point of view.

First things first: stop being afraid of me. Many writers of all skill levels are inherently frightened of the word, because it's been drilled into them over and over to use and I instead of and me in just about every single grammatical situation. Writers also incorrectly substitute myself when they should be using me instead. But sometimes, me is the only possible choice -- and the only correct one.

How do you know when to use me? Just take all the secondary subjects out of the sentence. For example, if I write The loud alarm startled Mary and I, all I have to do to check the grammar is remove Mary from the equation. I'll end up with a sentence that says The loud alarm started I instead, and that's patently incorrect. The loud alarm started myself sounds even more ridiculous. Clearly, this means that The loud alarm startled Mary and me is the only possible solution. The alarm is the subject of the sentence, and it's affecting Mary and me -- we're both objects.

Myself

The word myself is only used as a reflexive pronoun, and if you don't know what the heck that means don't worry. Plenty of writers have no idea what it means. Myself is in the same language family as herself, yourself and themselves, all of which are used as objects in a sentence and not as subjects (this means the sentence isn't about myself or herself or anyself). The subject is responsible for the action in a sentence; the object is being affected by that action.

Generally, myself only appears in sentences when you're using it with the word I. For example, I see myself writing another blog post early tomorrow, or I don't care for grammar rules, myself. What I wouldn't say is that The alarm sounded startling to both Mary and myself, because The alarm sounded startling to myself is ludicrously and obviously incorrect. But if I'm saying I thought the alarm sounded startling, myself, then I'm correct.

 I

The word I is used when I am the main subject of the sentence: I am writing this blog post, for example. When I'm responsible for the action in the sentence, the word I is used instead of me. For example, Mary and I hate that loud alarm is correct, because the verb is hate and the ones creating that hate are Mary and I. Even without Mary, the sentence is correct: I hate that loud alarm. Remember that me is used when I am the object, not the subject, of the sentence. When I'm the subject, I use I.

 

And the Exceptions

There are exceptions to every rule, and some phrases become so common that they're accepted as correct English even when they are not. It's more technically accurate to say It's I instead of It's me, but who ever says It's I? Don't ever be married to grammar rules, because in everyday language they don't always apply. Re-read your sentences, and when the grammatically incorrect stuff sounds right and natural consider sticking with it anyway. It's important for your writing to be correct, but it's more important for it to be readable. 

The Second Time Around: Wuthering Heights

In just five minutes, most people can name at least one movie they've seen or book they've read that featured two young lovers who fell under each other's spell despite the fact that their families are mortal enemies. Shakespeare made this sort of ill-fated romance famous in Romeo and Juliet, and now it's a convenient device for any writer who wants to create romantic tension. Certain plots come around again and again, because they're just too good to enjoy just once. But sometimes, authors decide to re-vamp entire books decades after the fact, copying plot lines, characters, setting and circumstance for brand-new audiences. The second time around, I found out I still don't like Wuthering Heights.

The Original

First printed in 1847 and written by Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights was not an instant success. Emily was but one of the ill-fated Bronte sisters, all of whom were writers and each of which would die young. Her sister Charlotte had published a book the year before, Jane Eyre, and it was a big success in contemporary circles. Anne Bronte released her book, Agnes Grey, in the same year Emily saw her work published.

Both books would overshadow Emily's work for her entire short life, which lasted for a little bit less than one year after Wuthering Heights was first printed. It was not appreciated by critics, and received mixed and very tepid reviews. She did not leave to see her book become the most wildly popular of the three, and an enduring classic that school children are forced to read in English classes the world over. 

It has been adapted for the big screen a whopping 15 times, it's been made into three different operas, it's inspired other authors and poets to write their own original works. And it's been at least two different full-length novels...counting the original, of course.

And boy, it is morose. Wuthering Heights itself is a spooky, strange, sad house on the moor (that's kind of like a swamp, with less water). A moody man storms around the house all day, which seems to be haunted by a woman named Catherine. Once all of this is revealed, the reader is transported back to the life of young Heathcliff, the tale's hero. He falls in love with Catherine, the daughter of the man who took him in when he was a young, homeless boy. There is instant rivalry between Heathcliff and the firstborn son, Hindley. Once the old man dies and Hindley is the master of Wuthering Heights, he decides to take all the long, frustrating years of hatred out on Heathcliff. 

Now that the stage is set, as you can imagine much heartache and tragedy follows. Clearly Catherine cannot marry Heathcliff; she's the daughter of a wealthy man and he's a nobody. She falls in with the rich neighbors, and their equally rich son, while Heathcliff sets out to make his way in the world (i.e. gather a fortune). Nothing works out well for any of these characters, though there may be some hope for their children. 

And if you're not interested in long-winded descriptions about the howling wind of the moor or somewhat archaic-sounding language, you don't have to read Wuthering Heights. You can always read Alice Hoffman's much more modern version instead.

The Re-Vamp

Here on Earth, published in 1997, takes place in Massachusetts (which has weather a bit like what you'll find in England) and mirrors Wuthering Heights quite well considering the 150 year age gap.

The setup is basically the same: wealthy family of means takes in a young orphaned boy, who immediately befriends and loves the daughter of the generous man who adopted him. He is immediately at odds with the man's son, and of course he eventually leaves the family home to go out and make a fortune. March, the story's heroine, finally gets tired of waiting for him and marries the wealthy boy next door. Sound familiar? 

Despite the changed setting, character names and time period, Here on Earth doesn't really diverge from Wuthering Heights until the last half of the book. In this version of the story, Catherine (March) remains alive and she ends up returning to her childhood home...and this time, her Heathcliff is there. He married the daughter of the rich neighbors, just like in Wuthering Heights, and he's still bitter and angry because he didn't get what he wanted. But this time around, he's even more broody and much more evil than Bronte's hero.

Personally, I'm not a fan of the plot or the characters in either version -- it's why I can say with certainty I definitely don't like Wuthering Heights. Broody love just isn't my deal, and I know that for a fact. I gave the book a fair shot twice over, and I am one of the few who is not a Bronte fan. The second time around, Wuthering Heights is still depressing and soaked in tragedy...and somehow, I feel that Emily Bronte would definitely approve.

Writing 101: What Does Write What You Know Actually Mean?

Doesn't it seem like every famous author or artist has some dramatic life history? You hear all about how this one struggled with depression and alcoholism, how that one decided to go live in the wild one day, how so-and-so was the daughter of an actress and traveled all over the world. Here's the thing: we can't all have a totally fascinating and interesting life. Some people are, in fact, basically pretty normal: suburban neighborhood, standard high school, part-time summer job working at a fast food joint. So when you hear trite advice like "write what you know," it's perfectly fine for you to roll your eyes.

Reality is Boring

Not all of us know what it's like to see the hills of Spain lit with the afternoon light (lookin' at you, Ernest Hemingway) or grew up listening to fascinating Civil War stories from people who were actually there (but good for you, Margaret Mitchell). Some authors can only dream of being on a fully-rigged sailing vessel, storming across the seas...but should they never write about it just because they've never done it?

No. The much-parroted advice write what you know doesn't necessarily mean that you should go roam around a drafty English castle before you pen that romance novel, and I definitely shouldn't run right out and kill someone before I craft my next mystery book. A great many authors have very successfully written historical fiction novels; obviously, none of them are in possession of time machines. And while I can't say I ever knew the man, for he died well before I was born, I'm pretty darned certain that Jules Verne never actually went to the center of the Earth or 20,000 leagues under the sea, either.

Live and die by the write what you know cliche, and you're limiting your range of topics severely. If everyone followed that adage to the letter, it's extremely unlikely the world would have any science fiction stories, vampire romances, or Stephen King (unless you want to believe he was actually attacked by fog while at the supermarket).

However, write what you know is still decent advice -- but only if you understand that sentiment for what it is.

What Do You Know?

Whether you're writing about a girl named Sally, talking animals who live on a farm or an inanimate object (and those are all real books, by the way), there is always some human truth in the tale. After all, love is love whether it's happening in a drafty castle in 14th century England or in a college English class in Michigan. If you've really been in love and you really feel like you know romance, write that romance novel. Set the scene in an enchanted forest, 200 years in the past, or even on the moon if you like. If you know love, you can pull off a love story -- use your research skills to fill in the blanks when it comes to setting, daily life, and what gravity is like on the moon.

Write what you know is really just an easy way of saying that all writers have to draw on their own experiences and their own histories, wrap that all up in fiction and put it on the page. If you have a very complicated love-hate relationship with your sibling, it can become interesting conflict in your next book. If you've ever had a crush on someone who didn't crush back, you can include that unrequited experience in your work -- and, because you actually had that experience, it will feel very believable. That situation is universal, and it can happen on a pirate ship in 1760 or a futuristic colony on Mars in 2760. The emotions you've felt are always real, and they can always be used in your writing -- whatever you might be writing about.