Samantha Garner, Freelance Web Writer & Editor

Yes, this looks like an ad for Ikea’s Poäng chair, but it’s not. This is my favourite writing spot in the house. There are windows along one wall and continuing for a bit around a corner, so I feel surrounded by light. And, okay, the Poäng chair is pretty comfortable too.

This spelling & grammar installment isn’t a pet peeve, as they usually are. It’s just general word love. I recently noticed that someone had arrived at my blog through a Google search for “grammar of ‘i am won’t.’” It took me a minute or two to understand that the question really was about the word wont. So, in case you ever come back this way, Mystery Googler, here is your answer:

What is the difference between wont and won’t?

The word wont talks about someone in the habit of doing something, or of a characteristic of something. To use it in a couple of sentences:

“Samantha was wont to think about spelling too much.”
“Tomorrow will be quiet, as Sundays are wont to be.”

The word won’t, as I bet you already know, is a contraction meaning will not.

So, this one’s easy. It’s really a spelling thing, since speaking the two words aloud will tell you right away if you’re saying the wrong one – and if you’re saying wont, people might mishear you and think you’re saying want, depending on your accent. This adds a bit more excitement to life! Actually, the pronunciation might help you determine which one you want to write out. Wont sounds like want, and you wouldn’t spell want with an apostrophe, like won’t!

Oh wow. Was I getting carried away there or what? Sorry, spelling tends to do that to me.

I’ve finally scanned the documents from my high school writing days that I mentioned in my previous post. These are by no means the extent of them. What doesn’t appear here are the wonderfully inspirational interviews with writers that were photocopied, spread by spread, from a real live book (do teachers still do that? There’s something charmingly archaic about that imagery), and the short story I submitted in one class. The latter doesn’t appear here because it’s so awful. I spirited it away from my childhood home to read later, and my reaction made my husband think I was being bitten by a small rodent in the other room.

Click on any of these for a larger image.

1) This was a response to a play we’d read in my OAC Writer’s Craft course (a course I passed by the skin of my teeth – it remains my nemesis to this day). I think the first line sounds that way because our teacher asked us to identify what specific style of reaction we’d had, or something, but please look at what I’ve highlighted in the red box:

A well-defined social milieu?! I don’t think I rightly know what that means even now, and I’m nearly 30 years old! Maybe this one phrase is the reason I nearly failed the class. It’s all so clear to me now.

2) The next two were from my CanLit course, the course that pretty much defined me as a writer and showed me how amazing Canadian writing was. Below are notes about Fifth Business, and I don’t know if they’re notes from a lecture or if I invented the wording myself. Either way, it’s amazing to me how deeply we have to delve into books as students. I understand the value in it – and in this case it made me appreciate Fifth Business much more – but I also remember being skeptical that all of these elements were valuable/existed.

3) Now, keeping in mind how much I loved Robertson Davies at this time – how cruel is it to make your class write his obituary? And why did I get such a low mark on it? Probably because I wrote it through tears or something.

4) This one’s my favourite. It’s from that Writer’s Craft course. This document may also be the reason I nearly failed. Look at my answer to the last question! The cheek of it!

5) This last one sums up my high school mentality pretty well.

Oof. What busy times I’ve seen since my last post! On Friday I left on a last-minute trip to visit my parents in Ontario, returning on Monday to a busy workload. While I was at my parents’, I did unearth some . . . interesting material from my writerly past that I have planned for a blog post once I can sit down and prepare it. In the meantime, here are some good things other people have written recently:

• Are Your Clients Really Getting Your Best? from Men With Pens.
• Teri Vlassopoulos blogs about choosing the name of her new short story collection.
• Lija at The Writer’s Pet writes about Fifth Business, a favourite novel we have in common!
• An article about the writing advice industry at the Globe & Mail.

The post title comes from a question I came across on LinkedIn a few months ago, and it’s been knocking around in my head ever since. I suppose the only way to really answer this question is subjectively. There isn’t, as far as I know (and if there is, I bet I’m in trouble), a governing body for copywriters that calls us to a copywriting bar or something.

So. What education is needed to become a copywriter? My subjective answer is: absolutely none. And here is why I say this: I am a copywriter and I have no education.

Well, not no education. I did graduate high school, but that’s about it. I know now that I can hold some out-of-date opinions about how to move through the world. This was evidenced when, upon graduating high school, I decided it would be more logical to spend my post-high school years in the working world. I would enter at the lowest level and work my way up, just like in the wholesome ’50s! At the time, I dreamed of working in publishing. I sent my wee resume along to every publisher in Toronto, with a cheeky letter saying, essentially, “I love books and will sweep floors if I have to.” I was surprised at the time that nobody took me up on this too-good-to-miss offer.

I ended up working in restaurants, pursuing web and magazine writing opportunities as they arose in my free time. As always, I read a lot and wrote as much as I could, getting used to adapting my voice and tone to the subject matter. After a few years I moved to Calgary and began working office jobs, including my first marketing & communications job, which I held for five years. The rest, if I may be cheesy, is history.

Now, I’m not advocating shunning post-secondary education in the least. In fact, by rights I shouldn’t have even got that job I just mentioned – the posting called for someone with a BA. It was just luck that they overlooked that. I’m merely saying that, with copywriting, all you really need to succeed is a good grasp of spelling and grammar and a way with words. I have those things naturally (tooting my own horn, yes). I like to think that early employers took a chance on me because they liked my writing (I still hold the record for best speller at the aforementioned marketing & communications job), and sensed how much I love writing.  As a freelance copywriter, I’ve not had a single prospective client ask about my education. They only care about how awesome I can make their project sound. In the end, experience spoke louder for me than any degree I could get.

What do you think? Is higher education necessary to become a copywriter?

(Image courtesy of stock.xchng user tsunei.)

So I’m reading this novel right now. It’s good, but it uses the word “which” in a way that really bugs me. This spelling & grammar pet peeve has been a fairly recent, but intense, one of mine for the past couple of years.

Dear editor of novel: The word “which” is not a synonym for “and,” “anyway” or even a period. Here is an example from the book:

“And if you tell him you saw me smoking, I will banish you to the lowest circle of hell. Which I’ve never been there, but . . .”

Now I’m not going to get all academic on you here (I couldn’t even if I wanted to, anyway), but “which” is a pronoun. That means it refers directly to something that’s been mentioned in a conversation, or refers to the people having the conversation.

The character in the example I used should say either, ” . . . the lowest circle of hell, which I’ve never been to, but . . .” or drop it altogether. If he says which in the way I just suggested, he’s referring directly to the lowest circle of hell. In the way that appears the book, he’s using it to refer to, “I’ve never been there” – a future, entirely new point – which is redundant and makes no sense at all. He’s using which to indicate an afterthought, in which case a, “come to think of it” at the beginning or “anyway” at the end of the thought would suffice. Actually, in this example, dropping it altogether would make the most sense.

I know the example I used is from a character speaking, but that doesn’t make it right! Using which to signify an afterthought or make a new point isn’t a regionalism as far as I know, so it gets no pass from me. No sir!

I hope the above made sense. The thing with me is I usually feel it when a word is used wrong or a sentence is composed badly, but I can’t often put it into words. A loud clanging bell goes off somewhere in my torso. I think it’s my mutant superpower.