The Voice In Your Head Probably Does This Too

Or maybe I'm just nuts. 

Let me begin by expressing the beauty I find in punctuation. They say that emotion cannot be conveyed (very well) through text, that you can't tell what tone of voice someone is using when they write, that the majority of communication is non-verbal, based on body language--making the written word much harder to decipher. 

But I disagree. 

You see, it is a combination of our diction, our punctuation, and the white space we leave on a page that conveys meaning. (Perhaps this is why poetry is such an art: everything matters.)

But it is the punctuation that I find especially meaningful. 

When I was in high school, "the thing" to do was instant messaging. I'd get home from school, hop on the computer, and IM my friends (who I had just seen at school) for a couple of hours. At least, I'd do it whenever my mom would let me. 

And I found that punctuation carried (perhaps) immeasurable meaning. Each punctuation mark carried my tone--or was at least intended to supply the "non-verbal" part of my communication that, had I been speaking, would have come across in my body language or voice inflections. I chose carefully what I typed, knowing that it was in this punctuation that my meaning could be found. And I think most of my friends inherently knew that. (Though, I do remember having to explain things once or twice.) 

So for me, emoticons (at least initially) were kind of a waste. They were not what conveyed my tone or emotion. My punctuation was entrusted with that job. (I would, by the way, love to read a study on emoticons and the evolution of their meaning/usage.)

I think that it is because of the value I attribute to punctuation--and by extension, grammar (we'll get to grammar in a minute)--that I could not ever bring myself to use the abbreviations that have infiltrated and supplanted some of our language. (For example: L8R, TTFN, LOL, etc. These, I would place in the same category as emoticons, but that is another post for another day.)

When I began texting, I wrote just as I would if I were writing an email. I still do. I spell things out, I use punctuation, I follow the rules of capitalization. (So do most of the editors I know, by the way.)

Because for me, the words that I write are representatives of my voice. I do not often feel like I have much worth saying (which is why I have no desire to be a writer), but I know that when I am giving someone something to read that I have written, I am giving them my voice. And I want that voice to sound intelligent. As a representative of myself, my writing should portray me in the best light possible--because that is how I would want to be perceived and how I would try to present myself were I there in person.

And in a way, the written word is far more intimate than the spoken word. Now, I know this is a stretch, but think about it for just a moment. If my words are my voice, and you are reading my words right now, then my voice is in your head, giving you ideas and sparking responses. I am not there physically, but I am with you. And I am sharing my ideas, my triumphs, my disappointments with you. And you, in some way, are responding. (Well, if my writing is compelling enough to keep your attention, you are responding. Though, if I bore you, and you stop reading, that's a response, too.) Writing is then, perhaps, some form of telepathy, though maybe not the traditional telepathy we usually think of. (I promise I'm not trying to be creepy.)

I can't help but wonder how many people have thought of writing in the sense that I do. I'm not trying to say that my thoughts present a totally new view of writing (as Carly's dad says, "Every thought you've ever thought has already been thought before."), but I do wonder at how different the world would be if everyone wrote with immense care, regarding their words as I regard mine. 

So where is this all going? 

When I read, there is a clear voice in my head that speaks the words according to what is put on a page (or screen). But this voice only knows how to process the data that it is given. Inflection and tone are dictated by, not the words, but the punctuation and to a (slightly) lesser extent, the grammar. And when spelling/punctuation/grammar is used poorly, the voice in my head speaks poorly.

It is as if the speech I am hearing is stunted. It sounds less educated. And, I confess, it paints a poor picture of the writer/speaker. I can't help but snobbily assume my intelligence is superior than the author of whatever text I am reading. 

I know that this is not a fair measurement of others. I know that this is highly judgmental. I know that I am a snob. 

But I also know that mistakes happen. People often write in a hurry. Sometimes there isn't time for proofreading. So I like to think that I give a generous allowance for errors. 

But there are a couple of things that I absolutely can not (no matter how hard I try) overlook.  

To and too. I admit, I'm never sure when to or not to use a comma before using "too," but when someone says "to" when they mean "too," it's as if their voice has been cut off--like a suddenly dropped phone call. The word sounds incomplete in my head. Again, stilted voice. 

There, their, and they're. I know people struggle with this one. But I have never understood why. 

And finally, my biggest pet peeve: your and you're. I can not tell you how prevalent this mistake is (though, I am sure that you have all noticed this often enough for yourselves). It's everywhere! And I can not tell you how stilted the voice in my head sounds when it reads this mistake. (Don't get me started on the abbreviations "U R" or "ur"--which, if they must be used, should be used properly. But if they really must be used, please don't use them on me, except in jest.) Again, the voice is stilted. (I wish I could vocalize for you what I hear in my head when I read this mistake. It sounds ridiculous.) 

I will admit that I am not perfect. I have made mistakes in each of my three pet peeve areas. I probably will make those mistakes again in the future. But I will try with all my might not to.

Thank you.