Dan wrote to me recently about two commas in my first posting. I’ve probably spent more time in my copyediting career discussing commas than anything else, except perhaps hyphens. And in my time editing at the Geographic our style on both has changed. (More about hyphens in a later posting.)

There are instances where a comma would be dead wrong—between subject and verb, for instance. There are other instances, such as in lists and with appositions, where commas are necessary. And then there are all the in-between situations, in which the use of commas depends on a writer’s style or on the need for a pause or on rhythm and consistency. (I never could understand the accusations of one of my all-time favorite editors that my fellow copyeditor and I kept reversing each other. “You put a comma in; she takes it out!” he’d say, suggesting that we might even have a quota on commas.) 

For decades the magazine’s philosophy on commas was to keep them to a minimum. We consistently eliminated them after short introductory phrases, around the year when giving just the month and year, between two predicates having the same subject. We were united in our attack on commas, stripping only the most necessary out of copy, although we always kept the final serial comma. Then over the years, writers started inserting more commas where they felt the need for a pause or to break up a long sentence. At the same time, our minimalist united front weakened through retirements and death. Later an editor came on board who absolutely adored commas.

So, in recent years commas have proliferated in the pages of National Geographic. They can be found after the shortest of introductory phrases, between two long and involved predicates, even taking the place of semicolons between two short, closely related independent clauses. Now, however, the magazine is restructuring its copyediting staff and has a new copydesk director. He will, no doubt, establish his own comma style.

So back to Dan and his comment. He is right that I did not need a comma in one place and could have inserted one in another. I agree wholeheartedly that a comma after “moment” would have helped prevent misreading in the sentence “At the moment, I’m about to give in. . . .” I do not agree, though, that the comma in the other sentence is wrong: “. . . and now here I am blogging, about grammar and punctuation and word usage.” I wanted to emphasize the act of blogging not the subject of my blogs, and using a comma did that for my ear. It’s not wrong, is it?

All of you out there, what do you think?

I’m often asked about the use of A.D. and B.C. and why National Geographic magazine has not switched to C.E. (Common Era) and B.C.E. (before the Common Era). The simple answer is that so far the use of C.E. and B.C.E. is mainly in the academic arena or by organizations making a statement. The terms are unfamiliar to most of our readers and, therefore, would have to be explained. Nothing can slow down a good read like parenthetical explanations of unfamiliar terms.

But, of course, nothing in editorial style is really simple. Writers and editors need to be aware of changing usage and be sensitive to different perceptions and points of view, while also communicating clearly with that publication's audience. No publication wants to be perceived as outdated or insensitive, but neither does it want to confuse its readers. It's all about clarity and balance. One of the Society's books, National Geographic Concise History of the World, uses the new terminology, clearly explaining in the front of the book what the designations mean and why the book is using them. It's easier to do this once in a book than it is in month after month in a magazine.

The challenge for National Geographic magazine is timing: When to make a change and how far out in front of the crowd do we want to be. That's the tricky part, and we may not always get it right. A number of years ago we decided to spell Neandertal without an "h" because that was the trend in scientific publications (anthropologists were finally catching up to the standardization of German spelling in the early 20th century, in which thal—meaning "valley"—was changed to tal). We still seem to be way ahead of the popular press and even some scientists on this one, and I’m thinking we should rejoin the masses.

From my survey of other general interest magazines and newspapers and from discussions with staff, I'm comfortable, for now, staying with the traditional and familiar A.D. and B.C. However, I've revised the first section of the entry on DATES in the National Geographic Style Manual to acknowledge the alternative system and will continue to monitor its use.

What are your opinions?   

How often have you heard the words "Styrofoam cup"? Whenever I hear such a statement or see it in print, I think that Dow Chemical has an uphill battle convincing the public that there is no such thing as a Styrofoam cup.

"What do you mean?" I hear you ask. It's true. Styrofoam is a trademark for a certain polystyrene foam used for insulation and some flower-arrangement material but never for cups and plates.

Responsible journalists honor trademarks. First and foremost by capitalizing them. Dictionaries, the National Geographic Style Manual, and trademark lists on the Web help determine if a word is a trademark. Dumpster, Ping-Pong, and Day-Glo are all trademarks.

Journalists should use a trademark only if what is being described is indeed the trademarked item and using the trademark is important in context. If the trademark is not significant, use a generic term—gigantic industrial trash bin (ugh!), table tennis, fluorescent pink.

Although trademark organizations advise journalists to use trademarks only as adjectives—never as nouns or verbs—I'm more relaxed when I come across such use, and I do allow it in the pages of National Geographic magazine. I once saw a Coca-Cola annual report that used its trademark as a noun: "a billion Coca-Colas ago was yesterday morning." Language Log recently wrote about a Zappos ad that used its trademark as a verb (I actually have a friend who constantly Zappos). And if a writer wants to talk about "a koala bear Velcroed to a tree trunk," I applaud the image. (Today an editor also has to think about product placement, even in print, but that's another issue.)

I respect trademarks, but I also respect good writing. Use trademarks judiciously to effectively convey your message—and remember to capitalize them.

I shuddered recently when a TV reporter, talking about a house fire, said the first floor was "decimated." Even though I’ve now accepted the word "decimate" to mean a significant decrease in a population, I have not accepted it as a synonym for "ruin." Originally the term referred to the Roman military practice of killing every tenth soldier to instill discipline in mutinous units, although for several hundred years it has been used to also mean any drastic reduction in numbers. Today it is commonly used to mean a sudden  population decrease, such as "the Indians were decimated by diseases" or "Asiatic cheetahs have been decimated by poaching and habitat loss."

Another definition I've come to accept is the current use of "tarmac" for any and all airport aprons. Technically the word means a tarmacadam paving material (capped Tarmac is a trademarked bituminous binder) used for roads, runways, and airport aprons. So, to a purist, saying that the President was greeted on the tarmac is similar to saying he was greeted on the concrete (assuming he was standing on concrete paving) or, if perhaps he were in rural Texas, greeted on the dirt. To most people today, however, "tarmac" means the area around a parked plane, no matter what that area is paved with. I’ve decided to join all the VIPs there, on the tarmac.

Can any writers tell me why "swath" has become an overwhelmingly popular synonym for "area," even when the area described is not at all a long, narrow strip. I fear I'm fighting a losing battle on this one.

However, I'm standing firm behind a "lectern" (the vertical furniture used by a speaker) and on the "podium" (the platform on which a lectern might rest). After all, evolution, even of language, is a gradual process.