One of our long-time clients marked their 75th year in business a few weeks ago. It was not only an anniversary celebration, but also an open house for their new company headquarters.

Bouten Construction Company was founded in 1944 by Gus Bouten. Gus’s son Frank took over in the 70s; since 1996, the company has been led by Frank’s son Bill – three generations creating a remarkable legacy and an incredible achievement.

On October 23, 1983, my home town celebrated the dedication of its new St. Joseph’s Hospital. Bouten constructed the project under Frank’s leadership while Bill worked as a laborer on the site. Some distinguished folks are listed in the dedication program, not the least of which were Congressman Tom Foley, Spokane Diocese Bishop Lawrence Welsh, and my mother Rose, who at the time served as chairperson of the hospital’s board of directors. She’s the one who asked me to design the dedication program, and who, thankfully, saved a copy. Of course I couldn’t say no, nor could I argue over the fee (gratis, naturally). But back then I would have been happy if they’d asked me to design the label for the hospital’s new bed pans.

My mom understood the invaluable contribution a hospital provides a rural community, and still remembers the Bouten boys and the good work their team provided. It’s all part of why the company Gus founded has thrived for three-quarters of a century.

posted by: CK Anderson  |  category: the design life  |  make a comment

Breaking news from Formula 1 today: “a first proper look at both the cars that will do battle in 2021, and at the regulations that will reshape Grand Prix racing as we know it.”

Take a gander at the both/and construction of that sentence. (In this case, both and and are correlative conjunctions, like either/or, neither/nor, not only/but also, et al.)

What the writer is trying to convey is that, through a joint announcement from F1 and the FIA, fans will get a glimpse at (1) what the 2021 cars will look like and (2) the new regulations governing the sport. Both/and.

The way it’s written, however, could lead the reader to assume that only two cars will be racing each other during the 2021 season: “both the cars that will do battle.” The problem is that the both is in the wrong place, a problem that could have been solved by simply removing both and and to see if each clause could stand on its own:

a first proper look at

both

the cars that will do battle in 2021

and

at the regulations that will reshape Grand Prix racing as we know it

See what I mean? We have a repeated at. If the writer had instead written a first proper look both at the cars that will do battle in 2021 and at the regulations that will reshape Grand Prix racing as we know it, then we’d have a little clarity:

a first proper look

both

at the cars that will do battle in 2021

and

at the regulations that will reshape Grand Prix racing as we know it

This is all just a roundabout (not to mention long-winded) way of illustrating the principle of parallel structure—that sentence elements alike in function should also be alike in construction. A simpler example of this principle is as follows:

(incorrect) Aaron likes to listen to the Grateful Dead, chess, and fried chicken.

(correct) Aaron likes to listen to the Grateful Dead, play chess, and eat fried chicken.

Dig that parallel structure! You get precision, clarity, and rhythm—all in one.

posted by: Aaron Bragg  |  category: the writing life  |  make a comment

“One warning,” writes Deniz Cem Önduygu about his interactive timeline of philosophy. “Browsing this visual summary cannot substitute reading a good book of history of philosophy, let alone reading the original texts by the philosophers.”

Fair enough. But don’t let that stop you from exploring the awesomeness. And don’t tell CK I blew the whole afternoon frolicking in this “garden of forking paths of argument.”

posted by: Aaron Bragg  |  category: random thoughts  |  make a comment

Dana Schwartz’s “How to Choose a Writing Instrument and What It Says about You” is so dead-on that I didn’t immediately notice that it came from the New Yorker‘s “Daily Shouts” section. You know, the space normally reserved for “humor, satire, and funny observations.”

I mean, come on. Electric typewriter? “You order rye at bars and secretly think that you should have been alive in the sixties.” MacBook? “You like the idea of hiking more than you actually like hiking and are impressed with yourself for liking the Beatles.” Brilliant.

For the record, I earned my first paycheck as a journalist with my trusty 1946 Royal Quiet DeLuxe, briefly went through a no. 2 pencil phase until I got tired of having to stop every two minutes to sharpen them, and wrote this post with a five-year-old MacBook Pro.

My current weapon of choice, however, is a Uni-ball Signo UM-151 gel pen with a 0.38 mm tip and blue black ink—but that’s only because I can’t afford this. What does that say about me? That I’m a man of impeccable taste, obviously.

posted by: Aaron Bragg  |  category: the writing life  |  make a comment

You’ve heard of Bach, right? Johann Sebastian? That rather dour-looking Baroque composer of cantatas, oratorios, and liturgical music? Turns out there’s more to him than 18th-century Lutheran piety. Ted Gioia has the details:

I’ve talked to people who feel they know Bach very well, but they aren’t aware of the time he was imprisoned for a month. They never learned about Bach pulling a knife on a fellow musician during a street fight. They never heard about his drinking exploits—on one two-week trip he billed the church eighteen gorchsen for beer, enough to purchase eight gallons of it at retail prices—or that his contract with the Duke of Saxony included a provision for tax-free beer from the castle brewery; or that he was accused of consorting with an unknown, unmarried woman in the organ loft; or had a reputation for ignoring assigned duties without explanation or apology. They don’t know about Bach’s sex life: at best a matter of speculation, but what should we conclude from his twenty known children, more than any significant composer in history (a procreative career that has led some to joke with a knowing wink that “Bach’s organ had no stops”), or his second marriage to twenty-year-old singer Anna Magdalena Wilcke, when he was in his late thirties? They don’t know about the constant disciplinary problems Bach caused, or his insolence to students, or the many other ways he found to flout authority. This is the Bach branded as “incorrigible” by the councilors in Leipzig, who grimly documented offense after offense committed by their stubborn and irascible employee.

There’s more—much more—in Mr. Gioia’s newly published Music: A Subversive History. And while you’re waiting for that Amazon shipment to arrive, check out his Twitter feed. Hardly a day goes by that I don’t learn something from him.

posted by: Aaron Bragg  |  category: random thoughts  |  make a comment

I was reading a pretty interesting article this morning about how a Pittsburgh TV celebrity rigged the state lottery back in 1980. (I’d throw in a link, but I think you have to subscribe. It’s free, though, so check it out.)

Anyway, everything was hunky-dory until I came across this sentence:

Over a week, 25 witnesses — including co-conspirators, shop owners, and angry senior citizens — took the stand. 

I know that co-conspirators has become so entrenched in our language that we hardly notice it anymore, but still. What’s with the extra co-?

According to my copy of the OED, a conspirator is “a person who conspires or is engaged in a conspiracy”; a conspiracy is “a combination of people for an unlawful or a reprehensible purpose.” So. Conspirators conspire. They work together toward the same purpose. In fact, they have to work together, otherwise it isn’t much of a conspiracy.

Doesn’t that make the addition of co- redundant, then? Shouldn’t “conspirators, shop owners, and angry senior citizens” have sufficed?

Yes. And yes.

posted by: Aaron Bragg  |  category: the writing life  |  make a comment

Nature has published novelist Cormac McCarthy’s tips on how to write a great science paper, and—surprise!—much of his advice just happens to be perfectly suited to everyday writing as well:

• Only use an adjective if it’s relevant.
• Try to avoid jargon, buzzwords or overly technical language.
• Use a personal tone because it can help to engage a reader.

I do have one tiny little nit to pick, however. “It’s more important to be understood,” writes McCarthy, “than it is to form a grammatically perfect sentence.” True, I suppose—but a grammatically perfect sentence will be understood. I mean, isn’t that why we have grammar?

posted by: Aaron Bragg  |  category: the writing life  |  make a comment