I’m In Grammar Rehab

I don’t know if I can shake the habit. I’m in mind-jarring, hand twitching, don’t put two spaces after a period anymore rehab.

This struggle goes on with every new line I type on these springy, black keys with the white letters I’ve known so well for the past fifteen years.

There, did you see? Every time I reach the end of a sentence it happens, after each period I face that vein-tapping muscle memory pulsating from my right thumb. That’s the digit that punches the space bar rhythmically after each dot of punctuation.

I owe this struggle to WordPress, our blogging overlords who recently Freshly Pressed a marvelous piece called How Many Spaces Should You Put After A Period? by Dr. J over at The Western Tradition.

The good doctor set me straight as the home row on this keyboard. One space after periods. Got it.

But then I come to the end of the next sentence and can’t resist that second space. “Take me!” screams the beast, a white void no longer acceptable, a wasted rule that should never have been. But I can’t resist! Now each sentence ends with a quick thump-thump of the right thumb followed by an immediate thwack as my right ring finger–the methadone I need to combat this heroin of double-spacing–smacks the backspace button to set fragile paragraphs aright. Thump-thump-thwack. That’s the sound of my disease.

The pull of the post-period double tap remains so strong that I’m beginning to lose heart. (There it goes again). The animalistic part of me rationalizes because I am an attic.

“What are you worried about?” purs the beast. “You can put a second space after punctuation. No problem. That Dr. J is just plain old wrong.”

My nerves begin to calm. My pounding heart slows. I want to believe the beast’s lie. But how can I be sure?

I know copyeditors. Just ask them. The truth frightens. Then I remember that I’ve had articles appear in print, pieces that were worked over by multiple editors.

I find the link to my Houdini piece. I point and click, an apprehensive click, the polar opposite of that anxious thumb tap. I scan the text below Houdini’s portrait but unlike the masterful showman I can not escape the haunting truth.

The editors have indeed left only one space after each period.

Thump-thump-thwack.  

Now I look at everything I’ve ever written and cringe. A decade and a half is enough time to craft thousands of pages filled with tens of thousands of words. Do you know how many punctuation marks that is? I don’t because I’m a writer and don’t believe in math. I’m a matheist. Just think of all of those periods shivering in the shadow of that ill-conceived second space. How embarrassing! It’s like walking out of a three-hour lecture only to realize your zipper was down the entire time.

Gonna take a while to clean all this up.

No, it’s worse than that. Look at all those extra spaces scattered across my past. The road I’ve trodden as a writer is as bleak as a Cormac McCarthy post-apocalyptic novel, a desolate landscape of naked periods and lonely question marks. Can this world ever be rebuilt? Editing devolves into torture.

Oh, the betrayal of the system! I followed your rules teacher. I copied your example dear mother. Yet we were all deceived by the devils of western civilization.

And now? Now, I’m like an old dog but forget the part about having to learn a new trick. This old mutt has to unlearn wagging my tail at dinner. Impossible?

I can beat this disease but not by myself. We can do it together, you and me. Let’s kick the habit and reclaim wasted space. We must unite and fight the good fight! Listen to the sound of our hearts beating as one. Do you hear it? That soft echo follows us through every word, sentence, and punctuation mark. Yes, I hear the collective pounding of our hearts over the groans of the grammar gods. Thump-thump-thwack.

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Okay, a bit dramatic, but does anyone out there feel me? Find me on Twitter @eduClaytion.