One of the things that is really interesting about a language like English is how it changes over time. English is changing constantly, as we create new words or new uses for existing words, then fold those new words into our existing vocabulary. This is why dictionaries release new updated editions at regular intervals, to try to keep track of the cusp of change.

How stories are told is affected by this constant level of change. Popular fiction published out of New York, for example, is edited for consistency with current usage of English in the United States. Copy editors list what edition of what dictionary they’re using for their reference, because in English (unlike French) there is a choice. For my most recent Dragon Diaries copy edit, for example, the copy editor cited Webster’s 11. Interestingly, in English, a new word could be acknowledged as a word or not, depending upon which reference source the copy editor uses.

Because I’m interested in the cusp of pretty much anything, this frontier of language intrigues me. When does the way that people actually talk become officially acceptable? And when does adhering to the official use of language interfere with the reader’s immersion in the story?

Here’s one example to illustrate what I mean.

Once upon a time, I wrote medieval romances. Language usage in those books was another copy editing frontier, but for the sake of focus today, we won’t get into that. The point is simply that one thing I didn’t have to contend with in those books was the use of trademarked names. I wrote an article in those days – it might have been about an organizational system for authors writing linked books – and got a long rant of a letter from another writer in response. It seemed that I had used the word “xerox” as a synonym for “copy”, and she took great exception to this. I didn’t know at that time that it is typical for copy editors to capitalize all words that are trademarks. So, in a contemporary romance, the word would appear as “Xerox”, even if was used as a synonym for the word “copy”. Now that I write contemporary romance, I see the root of that author’s rant.  She learned it from a copy editor.

Because language is on the move, these boundaries are changing all the time. When does a “Xerox” become a “xerox”? How long does it take for the trademark to become assimilated into language, independent of what company’s copier is being used? When does a “Kleenex” become a “kleenex”? A “Dumpster” become a “dumpster”? I suppose it happens when the dictionary of choice acknowledges the word as a word in itself and a synonym its parallel. That there are online dictionaries that are more in tune in contemporary usage (maybe they’re closer to the front of change) just complicates it even more.

For me, the point of the matter is this – as a reader, I find the sudden appearance of a capitalized word in the middle of the sentence disruptive. It jars me out of the story – and starts me thinking about copy editors instead about what happens next in the story. And this irritates me – both as a reader and as a writer – because I know that the author has worked hard to create a mood, and to ensure that the reader is NOT jarred out of the story. That irritation just adds to the distraction factor –  soon, I’m putting the book down and walking away just because of the insertion of capitals on trademarked words.

This, surely, is not the point.

Right now, for example, I am reading a book that has a lovely evocative mood. It’s poetic and mysterious and quite beguiling. I settle into its world each night to be seduced for a little while. But the other night, a “Realtor” appeared in the story. With a capital R, right in the middle of a sentence. That startled me. I had to stop. I read the sentence a couple of times more. I had to wonder why the word had a cap – I guess, then had to go and look up the word. Predictably, I started thinking about copy editors and the evolution of language instead of what was going to happen next in the story.

Not good.

Certainly not the author’s plan.

There are lots of other examples of this, as well, although trademarks are the ones I find most intrusive – usually because I don’t think of those words as trademarked products; I think of them as synonyms already. What about you? Are there typesetting or vocabulary choices that jar you out of a story?