“Do the Thing You Can’t Not Do”

There was a time, not that long ago, when I was convinced I wanted out of Communications. (Not the department, but rather the function or field or job description or whatever. Financial services is my industry; Communications is my job.) When I left the Corporate Communications Department (with no job lined up) in 2006, the reason I gave was that I wanted to do something different. My then-boss sent out a lovely e-mail announcement with the subject line, “Laura S. Embarks on New Adventure.”

And God knows I wanted to. I was researching vet tech school and thinking about a job at a gardening center. Various people were encouraging me to write a book. A friend thought she could get me an audition as a cage dancer in a club I liked. I was up for something, anything!, different because I was sick to death of how others’ perceived my job and -- this was the kicker -- got in my face (and my work) about it.

After years of being a professional writer (good writing is necessary but not sufficient for effective communications), I was both insulted and wearied by the near-ubiquitous attitude others had towards the job, which is, in sum: the vast majority of adults think they can write. Because they send e-mails on the job, or have a blog (cough, cough), or got decent grades on papers in college, or because they regularly write letters to friends or family, or maybe because they just like it: people think they can write. And worse, they seem to see nothing odd about telling a professional writer how to do her job.

Think about what that means for someone who has spent decades (I count three of ‘em: I was word-crazy from the get-go -- thanks, Mom and Dad!) honing her craft. I wouldn’t dream of telling a programmer how to code or arguing with a financial analyst about the content of earnings reports. Yet, day after day in my role as a senior communicator, I encountered (and still do, sometimes) folks who acted like they could do my job as well as I could -- or at least, well enough.

These are the people who would call to say, “Why did you change my article?” Why? Because you don’t know the difference between “effect” and “affect.” Because you have no concept of where commas go when there’s a day and date in the middle of a sentence. Because the poor syntax you employed made the sentence factually inaccurate. I got lots of reasons -- you want ‘em all?

Sometimes, I could shut those folks up with a reference to rules they didn’t know: “I made the punctuation changes to comply with Associated Press guidelines, which dictate our usage protocols except when overridden by our internal style guide. This is standard in both corporate communications and journalism; I can direct you to more information if you’d like.” This was usually met with confusion or silence, but almost always made folks back off.

That kind of thing takes a toll. You hear yourself snapping at people who question your (far more informed -- on matters of punctuation, at least) judgment. You find that you feel angry about and unappreciated for your work -- and we Type As generally derive a lot of pride (and perhaps an unhealthy portion of our identities) from the work we do.

So then what? Well, I didn’t quit my job 2006 to get out of Comm; I quit because I couldn’t take the ever-mounting stresses of the department I was in and the impending horrors of a certain merger/conversion (which, as it turns out, wouldn’t happen for another two years). But still, it seemed like an ideal time for a change, to get away from fixing bad grammar and having to defend my efforts.

Except, I couldn’t turn it off, any more than I could when I was employed. I’d drive down Lake Street and wince at the missing hyphens or superfluous quotation marks in stores’ signage. I’d mentally copy-edit restaurant menus -- every one I saw. I’d debate myself about whether to follow AP style in my personal e-mails. I’d mutter corrections under my breath when I heard “that/which” errors.

Two years later, I’m back here, in Communications. Same firm, no less -- although a very different department. And while few things still piss me off more than “How come you changed the headline before you posted?,” I’m a little more philosophical about it than I used to be.

This is partly because I’m surrounded by a team of people who really are grateful for my contributions (and frankly, a lot of them are good writers for being non-writers, you know?). But I’m also a little older and wiser about myself. I know that I can’t stop trying to fix the world’s word messes, even if it’s only in my head, so I may as well do it where I’ll get paid, add value, and have a boss who is thrilled by my ability to nit-pick bad grammar into submission.

Long post! Why now? Two things:

First, I was in a meeting yesterday with Aeric, who started out a coworker and is now a friend (Aeric is not to be confused with coworker-friend Eric aka ETC from The Band). Darcy, also in the meeting, passed out a sample letter that one of our vendors has been using for some time. When I saw “… requests will be handled on a Best Efforts Basis [sic] …” and groaned out loud, Darcy looked at me quizzically, perhaps thinking I was unhappy with something she said.

“She’s just copy-editing; she can’t turn it off,” Aeric volunteered and smiled at me.

Second, this morning, I read an interview on Slate’s new Happiness Project blog that included this exchange:

Q: Is there a happiness mantra or motto that you’ve found very helpful?

A: Actually, it’s something that was shared with me by the soon-to-be former editor of Lifehacker, Gina Trapani. When I was interviewing her for my book, Career Renegade, at one point she said, “You do the thing you can’t not do.”