Watch your words

Construction of the Tower of Babel, Pieter Bruegel the Elder (1563)

 

I have a small stack of reference materials (and a copy of “The Imperfectionists“) on my desk: The Manila Times Style Guide, The Rules of the Senate, The Elements of Editing, The Collins Dictionary for Writers & Editors, and The Elements of Style.

I do not own a thesaurus and have hardly ever needed one. It helps that I spent most of my life as a student in the library, but, really, you don’t need a huge vocabulary to write (to write news, at least). In most cases, words will just get in your way anyway.

Take “said”, for example. In close to seven years of writing and editing news, I have hardly ever used anything other than “said” when attributing a quote or statement.*

Some writers use “noted” or “shared” or “opined”, and these are all fine words. Nothing quite says “said” like “said”, though.

Sometimes writers, as people who work with words often do, try to be cute and creative with their words and it gets distracting.

An excerpt to illustrate:

 

Beyond the health advisories, the report added that no travel restrictions have been raised on the Arabian peninsula because no advisory from the World Health Organization has popped up yet.

The report provided an update on the health of the Etihad flight passengers, whereupon it remarked that only 4 out of the 414 are without contact numbers. On Monday, 100 passengers of the flight carrying the Filipino nurse initially diagnosed with MERS-CoV have tested negative for the same.

 

There is so much style and art and cleverness here that my mind got stuck on “whereupon” and I just forgot about the rest of the story.

—

*Sometimes I use “made clear” or “pointed out”, but only when something is actually made clear or pointed out. I dislike “clarifying” because it sounds like something that should only be done to butter, but that is just a preference.

Twice Burned

So, this happened:

 

But the real fool is me

 

One of the worst things that can happen to a journalist (but a lot better than being shot over a story) is doing a story based on false information.

This is, after all, the discipline of verification.

In Philippine media circles, it’s called kuryente, Filipino for electricity and also slang for an unspecified sexually-transmitted infection.

And that happening is as painful as getting an electric shock or an unspecified STI.

This is the sort of thing that I managed to avoid as a reporter, but now that I work the desk, it has been a lot easier to slip up.

A veteran editor once told me: Your job is to assume that people you’re editing don’t know what they’re doing.

I’ve always felt that was a little too pessimistic, but it seems a safer rule of thumb now.

But,really, that just means to not be cocky about anything and to verify everything, which I should be doing anyway.

Homeward Bound

Across the DMZ from North Korea

 

With Murphy out of commission because of a shorted electrical system (shorted by a leak in the fuel tank, which is, all things considered, a bigger problem), I have had to commute home from work most nights.

That in itself is nothing to write about because millions of Filipinos do that every day. Doing it past midnight, though, makes it a more interesting proposition.

Because I have been the only source of income for my family for the past couple of months, there have been times when I had to walk home, stomach grumbling from hunger, myself grumbling at the fact that I am hungry and walking home.

The best route for walking home is down Kamias Road, home of the rudest and worst drivers by day, and home of the homeless at night.

It is a relatively pleasant 45-minute walk that involves making sure not to step on people sleeping on the sidewalks, ignoring cat calls from a. girls working at the bars and KTV joints that line the road and b. touts who shout at you from across the road offering a relaxing massage.

Every now and then, you pass a funeral parlor. That is pretty much what Kamias has to offer, I think: girlie bars, massage parlors, and funeral homes.

When I’m feeling like a high roller, I walk to Cubao instead to catch a jeep down Aurora Avenue to Katipunan. Sometimes, I take a bus to Cubao and feel guilty for being such a spendthrift.

The Cubao route is the easiest way home, but it is also the most harrowing. To get to Aurora, I have to cross a pedestrian overpass that is also where Cubao’s pimps and prostitutes hang out to offer passersby a good time.

Passersby who are not interested get a bad time, which usually involves uninvited touches and, a few times, being chased down the overpass by a zealous lady pimp saying “Pogi, chicks?” over and over again. Sometimes, they will offer their services for free, which is somehow scarier.

It is probably a little like how women who get catcalled by truck drivers and construction workers feel, but slightly different in that I am objectified not for my body (which is an okay body) but for my money.

Of course, one could also say that their existence on that footbridge is the greater objectification and that I am somehow perpetuating by walking there. It’s a bad situation for everyone., basically.