Outcasts make good – semicolon, hyphen and parenthesis unite

A thought struck me in the shower this morning. I laughed out loud. Perhaps only a technical writer would.

The semicolon, hyphen and parenthesis. They’re the pariahs of our world. Yet they’ve got together and created a new semantic symbol. ; -)

Content management LOL

Ready for a Friday chuckle?

I took this picture in a stairwell, then tweeted it:

This has to be an important document! 

Content management LOL

Here’s the reply I received from Alan J. Porter:

I think that may be taking content management a little too far!!

While Michael O’Neill quips:

Can’t tell if it’s a usability fail or win. ;P

LOL (laugh out loud)!

Technical writers of the world unite – #twotwu

“If technical communicators ruled the world, I would take on…” A few weeks ago, I was given that sentence fragment and told to speak on the topic for five minutes. My audience was the group of technical communicators at TCANZ 2010.

What would you have said?

As far as I remember, I started by saying I would take on everyone in the world who does not know what technical communicators do. This rose from my heartfelt dismay when people ask, “What do you actually do all day?”

I then wittered on about the opportunities that modern technology offers us to do just that. Blogging, Twitter, wikis, the technology that makes it possible to hold doc sprints… You know what I mean.

More recently at ASTC (NSW) 2010, Neil James proposed the idea that we may move towards a single, unified communication profession.

And now, in a sublime conjunction of those two trains of thought, TWOTWU is born.

This post is just for fun. It’s not a serious attempt to rule the world or to unite all technical communicators! I want to see what cool ideas and discussions this post may generate, bearing in mind that sometimes the most creative ideas arise from animated, casual discussion amongst friends with a common passion.

If you’d like to join in, add a comment to this post, or tweet on Twitter with tag #twotwu. I’ll collect the tweets and add them as comments to this post every now and then. If you like, you can subscribe to the comments on this post.

To wit, twotwu

Ryan Maddox drew the owl, especially for this post. Thank you Ryan!

AODC Day 3: I can’t spell Ambliance!

Last month I attended AODC 2010, the Australasian Online Documentation and Content conference. We were in Darwin, in Australia’s “Top End”. Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve been posting my summaries of the conference sessions, derived from my notes taken during the presentations. All the credit goes to the presenter. Any mistakes or omissions are my own.

Frank “Choco” Munday presented the last session of the conference. Choco is an awesome presenter. It’s something of a tradition (the AODC has a few of those) that the conference ends with a raucous laugh. Choco excels at putting that sort of finishing touch to an event!

AODC Day 3: I can't spell Ambliance!

In this presentation, we looked at some horrors that technical writers may encounter and indeed should do our utmost to avoid.

Eggcorns

“Eggcorn” is a linguistic term for the practice of replacing a complex or scientific term with a more commonly-used word, especially when people swap the unfamiliar part of a phrase with a word that occurs more often in their own dialect. An oft-quoted example is the use of “old-timers disease” instead of “Alzheimer’s disease”. Wikipedia says that the term “eggcorn” was coined by Geoffrey Pullum in 2003, based on a case where a woman used the phrase “egg corns” when she meant “acorns”.

Choco was specifically concerned with “eggcorns” as spell-as-you-speak errors.  He took us through a rollicking and somewhat scathing look at a number of eggcorns, such as:

• “Should of” for “should have” – a frequent occurrence in Australia.
• “At your beckoned call”.
• “For all intensive purposes”.
• “I think I might be lack toast and tolerant” for “lactose intolerant”.

Choco showed a number of examples from print and online media, and lambasted them thoroughly. It’s well worth getting him to run through his list with you.

Mixed metaphors

Next Choco turned his eagle eye to mixed metaphors. Politicians were worth their weight in gold here.

Choco said, “I would slip one or two into my technical documentation, just to see what happens”. (Mixed metaphors, that is, not politicians.)

Unwords

Unwords got some Choco love too. Choco suggests we take a look at the Unword Dictionary at unwords.com.

So I did that. Here’s an unword I like:

19. bandpulliphobia (bănd-pu’lə-fō’bē-ə)

1. a. (n.) The fear of pulling off a band-aid; Especially when counting down from three.

Remembering that we were attending a serious technical writing conference, Choco did mention with a straight face (for a split second, anyway) that unwords are words that are not really words, so there’s a chance that people won’t understand them. We should therefore avoid them in our technical documentation. I was glad of this reminder, as I was starting to feel the temptation.

My conclusion

A fittingly boisterous end to AODC. Fun, but with a serious undertone. Thank you Choco.

Chrome dome

Julie Norris blogged two days ago, “Beneath most tech writers lies a creative writer, I believe.” She also dusted off a story she wrote a while ago, posted it and asked the rest of us technical writers where our “real” writing is.

Fun idea, Julie! I’m bravely following your lead and posting an old story of mine. “Chrome dome” was published in Fair Lady magazine many years ago. It’s one of ten “real” stories and articles I’ve managed to have published over the years. Do you know those short, light-relief pieces that some magazines print on the last page? This was one of those. I hope you enjoy it.

Do you go to the hairdresser just before a special occasion, or do you risk it only when you’re comfortably mid-way between them?

I felt like a slow-roasting chicken in an oven-bag. Goo oozed down my neck. Whenever I moved, cling-wrap crackled around my head and hot airstreams blasted my eyes. My lips were dry. The lip-gloss melted into thick blobs as I smeared it on.

In the world outside the hairdryer, a toddler whined. Not my problem.

Why do they have so many mirrors in these places? You turn to talk to your neighbour, only to find she’s in the opposite corner of the salon. I’m convinced there’s a design to it: to disorientate you, turn you into a mindless zombie. So that you won’t notice the hatchet job.

Thoughts bubbled to the surface of the heated cauldron that my brain had become. Did I turn off the iron before I walked out of my apartment? Is there enough money in my purse to pay for this torture session? What if the top of my head catches fire? Plan the escape-route to the nearest wash-basin.

At last Jacques appeared. My time was up. I emerged, exhausted but triumphant, secure in the knowledge that it would all be worth it. A quick rinse, and the glow of success was immediate. I relaxed into the chair, revelling in the sultry new me. The colour was a sexy, sensuous burgundy.

“Just a trim now?” Jacques stood by, scissors in hand. He picked up a hank of hair. “Mmm, gorgeous,” he murmured, caressing the lustrous thickness.

The thud-thud of tiny feet, a squeal of glee. That toddler again. Heads whizzed round. We all saw what was going to happen. Then we all went into suspended animation. All except the little horror. With a delicious crash, he rammed the instrument-trolley into Jacques’ hitherto immaculate back. There was a faint tug at my head, lost in the general mayhem. Shiny silver things rained all round me. The little horror squealed his fear and delight.

Then came an unnatural silence. Heads popped out from under dryers. All eyes were on me. Jacques stood stock-still. With that dream-like feeling of swimming through treacle, I turned back to the mirror. Jacques still held my hair. But it was no longer attached to my head.

“My Mommy’s gotta Mickey Mouse plaster.” Having imparted this useful bit of information, the little horror wandered off.

In the eerie stillness, Jacques lowered his arm and carefully laid the tress on the counter. He picked up a mirror, and showed me the bare streak curving over the crown of my head. I nodded. There was nothing to say.

“Get buzzed.” The suggestion came from a rotund, sympathetic man in the seat next door. He smiled at my shocked gasp. “No, doll, really. A high and tight. It’s the only thing to do. You’ll love it, really.”

I turned back to Jacques, my authority figure in this suddenly-changed world. He snapped out of his daze. “Have you ever considered a buzz-cut, Madam?” His eyes pleaded above the professional mask.

Actually, I had. I’d just never had the nerve to go through with it before.

The clippers peeled away the layers of hair. Jacques stood back to view the result. My head was so light, I felt dizzy. Goodbye, tired generation-X. I rubbed the back of my head, sensuous, cool. My hand rounded the crown of my head, stopped, went back to a large gash in the otherwise smooth fuzz. Jacques was shaking his head in despair. My neighbour danced up from his chair and stood on tiptoe to peer at the top of my head. The mirror again – there was still an uneven bare streak.

“How about a landing strip?” suggested Jacques uncertainly. His eyes were on my neighbour, not on me.

“Uh-uh. Not right for her.” He tilted his head to one side, then the other. His eyes lit up. “How’s about I write on it for you?” He twirled round, to display the four Xs marching across his head, from ear to ear. “We could do a rose… That gash there could be the stem…” Inspiration struck: “…Or a thorn?”

I was beginning to feel like a tarted-up tennis-ball. Time to started afresh, with a clean pate. Demi did it, and Sigourney too. Why not me?  I turned to Jacques. “Go for the chrome dome. Ms Clean. Make it gleam. High gloss please – and a bottle of baby-oil to go.”

Now heads turn as I walk down the street. I dash into a boutique. Suddenly I’m a power-dresser. Anything else looks silly. Everything is more real, more immediate. There’s nothing to come between my and my cellphone.

I hope my veil stays on at the wedding tonight.

The end

So come on tech writers, ‘fess up. What else have you written and where is it now? On occasion I own up to the writings of the opinionated, slightly staid bookworm who follows me around and dubs himself the travelling worm. Patty Blount writes about her fiction projects on her blog. Any more?

Thanks again to Julie for a cool idea.