My ‘So’ Stories
Avoiding the deeply, deeply boring word
So I started this sentence with “So”. Big mistake. “So” at the start of a sentence is item 8 on a celebrity’s list of words and phrases that her Twitter followers would like to see banished from the English language.
Susie Dent — who is touring the UK with a show titled The Secret Lives of Words — has 1.1 million followers on Twitter. Their least-favourite phrase is “going forward” and their tenth-least-favourite phrase is “my bad”.
You heard it here first?
At least we know where to look it up
Meanwhile, the Oxford University Press, which publishes the Oxford English Dictionary, has announced the first Oxford Word Of The Year to be chosen by a public vote. 318,956 people voted for this, according to the BBC news report I’m reading on my phone, and it’s actually two words: “goblin mode”.
“Metaverse” came second, with only 14,484 votes. Sorry, Mark.
The BBC quotes Dent as saying: “We’ve always had this sort of begrudging take on how English is evolving, but actually, I think the fact that we care about it so much means that it’s in pretty good hands.”
Yea verily. Forsooth.
But I’m not giving up “So” at the start of my sentences. I have a prior relationship with the word that goes back to a very early professional experience.
Misreading the room
Not long after I started my first real job, as an editorial assistant sitting at a desk located next to the coffee jug, the teapot and the kettle (“William, could you…? Great, thanks.”), I was given a story to write.
This came as a shock. I’d written captions before, and one or two intros, and I’d done my share of sub-editing, and I had become an authority on how the photocopier worked — but this was my first proper panic and I didn’t read the situation correctly.
The flat plan had expanded — late 4-colour DPS ad, late 4-colour half-page ad paying above rate card (I’ll never forget those details) — and there was editorial space to be filled. At very short notice. Everybody else was already busy and being given more to do. The Big Boss was standing in the middle of the room pointing at people. I thought: I need to show willing. That’s what I need to do in this situation.
“I can do something,” I said, expecting “Black. Two sugars” as my answer. Of course, I knew the entire building’s coffee/tea orders by then.
Instead, the Big Boss swung round, pointed at me, and said: “Great. 600 words. I need them by four.”
Saved by the time available
After my colleagues had coaxed me out from under the desk and told me what to write (he had said, but my brain had frozen by that point), I got to work. [With hindsight — not difficult. Cuttings. A rehash.] My 600 (exactly) words were ready by 3:59. “What do I do now?” I said, in a complete funk, pulling the last sheet from the typewriter. I was still double-spaced in those days.
“Take them down to him,” shrugged Tea, Leave The Bag In, No Milk, No Sugar, who was still typing.
So I did. And he stared at my typescript. And then he said: “That is such a deeply, deeply boring word. You can’t start with that.”
I had started with “The”. And there were still 599 words to go.
But there is a correlation between the time available and the editorial standard to be applied. He scribbled briefly on my typescript, then initialled it and handed it back to me.
“That’s fine,” he said, and glanced up at me. “Well done.”
Meltdown
Out in the stairwell, waiting for my heart to get back to its normal rhythm, I looked at my typescript. He had added the word “So”. My story now began with the words “So the”.
I never want to see those 601 words again. Happily, I won’t. I count myself lucky that they were printed on paper that has long since been pulped using hot metal that has long since been melted down. I’ve succeeded in forgetting 599 of them.
But not the other two. I know there are people who can start their stories with “The” and think nothing of it. I’ve read stories that start with “The” and enjoyed them.
It’s just me. I can’t do it.
So…
If you liked that, could I interest you in this?
