Take Note!

Overused exclamation mark often misses the point

It is the unabashed expression of emotion. The voice of anybody who is convinced no one is listening.

It's the tourist sunburn. The wife who's finally had it being turned off by the remote control. The scream of both joy and desperation.

"Notice me!" it says. And you do, whether you like it or not, because the exclamation point is in your face, everywhere.

It's in the e-mail reminding you to "file that TPS report!"

On the TV infomercial, fervently yet ambiguously tempting you with "risk free!" products and services.

On the sticky note branded onto the refrigerator door, warning you to consider your life before even thinking about drinking the last of the milk!

Thanks to the convenience of the keyboard, there's no longer just one exclamation, but five!!!!! Or more!!!!!!

With the rise of e-mail communication and the relative anonymity of the corporate workplace's break-room microwave, the exclamation point has become the symbol for how we express tone and body language when neither can be heard or seen.

This mark of punctuation screams silently.

Somewhere within the soundless discourse, particularly on the receiving end, is the idea that no life can be so dramatic that it needs more than one exclamation point.

Or if it does, watch out! This person could be a candidate for workplace violence!!!

"It's shaped like a bludgeoning device," says Doug Fisher, a University of South Carolina communications professor. "I think sometimes that's what people are trying to do, bludgeon you into paying attention, but too many of them knock you senseless, and you don't pay attention at all."

Take e-mail spam. Or leave it, as does Gary Duckett, a 47-year-old Greenville Tech student who is currently on sabbatical from the business world.

"There is no spam that doesn't have an exclamation point," says Duckett, of Spartanburg. "It's the equivalent of a shouting TV commercial, like one of those used-car salesmen who has a close-out sale every week."

Nowhere, he says, is the use of the exclamation point more abused and counterproductive than in a professional setting.

Hospital rooms, Duckett says, have signs that simply state, "Cell phone use prohibited." It's a warning that, if not heeded, could get someone hurt.

But somewhere in the hospital, he says he knows there's a sticky note scrawled by a desperate workplace employee, shrieking, "Do NOT take these pens!!!"

On the gas station window, a sign with two exclamation points boasts of lottery payouts, and the gas card banners scream "apply inside!"

The sign informing the would-be robber, however, speaks softly. For some reason — and there's probably a good one — the statement, "Employees do not have access to the safe," warrants merely a period.

Roz Canty, 27, of Anderson, says any correspondence she receives, whether physical or virtual, is put to the exclamation test.

"If I see a note with a lot of exclamation points, I don't read it," she says. "If you use too many, it's like crying wolf."

And therein lies the problem, communication experts say. Too often, the exclamation point is used when it will have the least effect.

"If you have to use punctuation or some other gimmick to convey that feeling, then it suggests that there's something wrong with what you've written," says Melinda Menzer, a Furman University English professor.

It's not the exclamation point that should be the object of scorn, Menzer says, only its abusers.

Some dialogue would be misleading without an exclamation point to capture a character's intonation, and in rare cases, she says, it can be used in professional communication.

But, in no note, letter or memo should it be used more than once, she says, because then it is reduced to "using punctuation to make up for the fact that you can't communicate otherwise."

Strunk and White argue in "The Elements of Style," widely considered the writer's bible, that an exclamation point should be used only to express "true exclamations or commands."

And it was F. Scott Fitzgerald who once said, "Exclamation points are like laughing at your own joke."

Well, a lot of people are laughing these days.

Fisher says let them snort and guffaw at themselves.

While critical of the punctuation mark's abuse, he is sympathetic with those who are simply emotional and want to share it. In fact, he says there should be "a society for the preservation of the exclamation point."

But it's the occasion, the medium and the attitude that must be right for an exclamation point to be endearing, he says.

"People like it because it expresses an internal feeling, you know? It's like, 'Wow, look at this!' In the world where we're surrounded and assaulted and battered by communication every day, there's a certain desire to fight for the attention."

Published in:  on July 27, 2003 at 10:28 pm Leave a Comment

Summer’s Here And Gone

Journey to autumn is a slide rather than a fall

Now is the time when we resign ourselves to melting, like a double scoop of Death By Chocolate down the back of the hand.

Slowly, we slide, content to slip as the sun retreats from the Tropic of Cancer and summer drips down its protracted decline to autumn.

The appreciation of summer lies in its promise: a new romance, a better body, a catchy song, an over-the-top blockbuster movie.

It's a pregnant dream that is born by midsummer, where we find ourselves now, paradoxically a mere three weeks after we celebrated the solstice.

Summer reaches its adulthood in its infancy, on the Fourth of July, like some exotic insect that lives for only a day.

Today, at Garden Ridge, summer is on clearance, in the form of a plastic pink flamingo or a cherub garden statuette staring blankly into a gazing ball.

Summer is the garden retailer's longest season, beginning in February and ending in August. Autumn is now.

The brightly colored fake flowers that paint the mosaic of summer are half off. They have to go; the brown-and-auburn-hued fake mums of autumn have arrived, as have the fake pumpkins and the turkey dressed as a pilgrim.

So is a season lost in the rush of autumn's grab for summer's crown, a coup d'etat emboldened by our relentless, anxious expectation.

Expectation for the summer we thought we should have had.

By midsummer, there is no first cool rush of water, first glimpse of a lightnin' bug flash, first beach trip, first temporary tattoo or first Super Soaker guerrilla ambush.

The firecracker was either a doozy or a dud, and there's no way to do it again, because the roadside fireworks stands beckoning our Visa cards and screaming, "Buy One, Get One Free!" are closed, waiting for a trailer hitch to make way for a pumpkin patch.

The spent bottle rocket in the bush speaks to you like some kind of somnambulent zombie (if you haven't started your summer diet or your regimen of 175 morning belly crunches for a better shirtless you …).

It and the black gunpowder stain in your driveway are a reminder that summer is declining, within you, slowly, almost imperceptibly.

The All-Star game just isn't what it used to be, when the heroes of summer would never have stood for a 7-7 tie.

Hollywood has had its way with your pre-Fourth giddiness. Were Arnold, Neo and Dr. Banner everything you had hoped? All that's left between now and school bells are the sequels that should never have been made.

And the fear of long summer days rich with too much freedom.

Or a lack of it.

In early June, when lifeguards to their perches, sunscreen could barely fend off the sun's daily assault.

Their return to college was somewhere in the distance, over the hills and far away.

By now, sunscreen is an afterthought. Enthusiasm, too, is a fleeting commodity, lost as they watche, day after day, the same children swim in the same water and break the same rules.

It's 92 degrees, the type of post-Fourth humid scorcher that has the TV anchorman blaming the weather personality for the same warmth he pined for just a few weeks ago.

A funny thing about the hottest time of the year: There aren't as many kids in the water as when being in the water seemed novel.

There is infinite beauty in the midsummer we neglect — a neglect rendered by our perception, like the parallax of a star that moves across the sky only because you have moved.

Yet, these are the days when summer's promise is fulfilled, when the fullness of the sun's rays blankets us, despite the creeping advance of a marketable plastic autumn.

Crape myrtles are blooming white and dark pink.

Shakespeare is in the park.

School buses are not yet lumbering down the road, even if the grocery store sign is beckoning you to get a head start on your back-to-school shopping.

Now is the time for the long, hot, mildly mournful decline.

A beautiful descent.

Published in:  on July 13, 2003 at 10:26 pm Leave a Comment