The whole reason that grammatical and linguistic conventions exist is so writing and speech are clear and easily understood. They are so integral to the language that you weren't even taught most of these conventions when it comes to talking--you picked them up naturally in the course of learning how to speak. For instance, it's common to contract the words I am into I'm, as in I'm cuter than my sister Jane.
But does this sound right?: Jane is not as cute as I'm.
Of course it doesn't. But why? Other sentences can end in a contraction--I did it at the beginning of this line.
I'm sure your answer to this question didn't go into the nuances of enclitic contractions and syntactic construction.* You most likely said something around the lines of "It just sounds wrong." Fluent speakers don't need formal training in every grammatical rule to be able to speak well. We are able to pick up on proper patterns of speaking based on what we hear. Writing conventions are a little harder, as punctuation doesn't come across in speech, but written punctuation still follows predictable patterns in how we speak aloud.
But sometimes rules are meant to be broken.
Natural speech is messy and it's not always perfect. We commonly put unneeded pauses in our sentences, start sentences with coordinating conjunctions, and end sentences with prepositions. When a writer tries to construct prose that follows all the proper convention for proper usage, the writing sounds-- well, unnatural. That's why writers from the ancient Greeks to the modern day have created literary devices that break the rules of writing without sacrificing clarity. This is solecism, the art of intentionally breaking grammatical conventions for literary effect. And yes, there is an irony here that solecistic literary devices are actually rules created to break other rules, but again, this is done for clarity. If we just break every grammar rule willy-nilly, then sence maken't the does awholelotta [wr]iting we'o. Below are some solid ways to subvert grammatical conventions in ways that are clear and interesting.
But does this sound right?: Jane is not as cute as I'm.
Of course it doesn't. But why? Other sentences can end in a contraction--I did it at the beginning of this line.
I'm sure your answer to this question didn't go into the nuances of enclitic contractions and syntactic construction.* You most likely said something around the lines of "It just sounds wrong." Fluent speakers don't need formal training in every grammatical rule to be able to speak well. We are able to pick up on proper patterns of speaking based on what we hear. Writing conventions are a little harder, as punctuation doesn't come across in speech, but written punctuation still follows predictable patterns in how we speak aloud.
But sometimes rules are meant to be broken.
Natural speech is messy and it's not always perfect. We commonly put unneeded pauses in our sentences, start sentences with coordinating conjunctions, and end sentences with prepositions. When a writer tries to construct prose that follows all the proper convention for proper usage, the writing sounds-- well, unnatural. That's why writers from the ancient Greeks to the modern day have created literary devices that break the rules of writing without sacrificing clarity. This is solecism, the art of intentionally breaking grammatical conventions for literary effect. And yes, there is an irony here that solecistic literary devices are actually rules created to break other rules, but again, this is done for clarity. If we just break every grammar rule willy-nilly, then sence maken't the does awholelotta [wr]iting we'o. Below are some solid ways to subvert grammatical conventions in ways that are clear and interesting.
Misworded: Having fun with diction
One of the key elements of style is diction, or using word choice that suits the writing. Academic papers should be full of domain-specific advanced words while dialogue should use simple and natural diction. It's important to use the right word.
But what if the right word doesn't exist? There are several types of devices that allow the author to create new words, called neologisms. A common way to create a new word is to take to or more words and just jam them together. This is a portmanteau, and many common words are the result of portmanteaus made long ago: motel [mobile + hotel], brunch [breakfast + lunch], labradoodle [Labrador retriever + poodle], cosplay [costume + roleplay], motorcycle [motorized + bicycle], and goodbye [God + be + with + ye]. You could also just use a existing word and turn it into the part of speech you need using anthimeria. Want to say that time in Mr. Coon's class went by as slow as a snail moves? The time snailed in Coon's class. Want to say you spent the entire day spending time with your cousins? Sorry, I was cousining all day. Want to compare your friend's overreaction to Nicolas Cage's "exquisite" acting? He gave a Cage-esque yell.
You could also not worry about trying to create new words and just use a kenning, which is a short two-word description that replaces a common noun to add action and imagery to a sentence. Instead of psychiatrist, I can say that I went to my head shrinker. Instead of an accountant, I can say that The bean-counter said I can't afford a boat. Instead of an avalanche, I can say The white death buried them all. Similarly, if the noun I want to describe a noun, I can use another noun instead of an adjective. This is hendiadys, and like a kenning, adds imagery: we are nice and warm (instead of nicely warm) and he endured pain and suffering (instead of painful suffering) are a couple examples of hendiadys. Hendiatris can also be used: this is where a single noun is replaced by three descriptive words: three examples of hendiatris are he wants wine, women, and song (instead of a party), she won't cheat in any way, shape, or form (instead of manner), and Superman fights for truth, justice, and the American way (instead of good).
Other times, you have the right word you want to use but everything sounds too formal. In everyday speech, we tend to shorten words by omitting unneeded syllables. This is called apocope. This is how photograph became photo, animation became anime, and Alexandria became Alex. Notice that these words are all have syllables omitted--what if we want to just cut out a letter or two to imitate informal speech? This is syncope, like when William Shakespeare tells us "'Tis love that makes my heart beat e'er more" and when Uncle Rondel tells us that he "wants t'go fishin' with 'em 'cause it's fun." Notice that an apostrophe replaces the missing letters in the word, and that contractions (portmanteaus of shortened words) use syncope.
Speaking of altering words to suit how someone in real life would speak, maybe to emphasize how ignorant Uncle Rondel is I would have him say "Me an' yer pa are gonna go git us all a trampoleen." Your, get, and trampoline are all spelled incorrectly for effect--this is called an allegro, which is Latin for "lively:" allegro speech is literally the speech of life. Notice the incorrect use of me (it should be I) and us (it should be you). The switching of one word for another with the incorrect case, gender, mood, number, tense, or person is called alleotheta, which includes enallage (swapping verbs) and antiptosis (swapping pronouns). Common examples include We was robbed and Every dog as their day.
Of course, if you want a character to sound completely out of touch, you can just replace words with poor equivalents. First, there's malapropism, using a similar sounding word or phrase in place of the word one wants to use. Named for a literary character named Mrs. Malaprop, these are sometimes called Yogisms or Bushisms after two men who frequently used malapropisms, Yogi Berra ("I hear Texas has a lot of electrical votes") and President George W. Bush ("They have miscalculated me as a leader"). I could also give my character perissologia, or using too many words for effect. If my terrified babysitter character gets out of the house before the man in the clown mask gets her and she says "It was just so very horrifying scary!," that's perissologia. Now if I want my character to be out of touch because they're old, I may want to throw in an archaism, or a word, phrase, or spelling that is considered old fashioned and outdated. Pronouns like ye, thee, thou, and thine and full words like circumjacent (around), grimalkin (cat), yestreen (last night), camelopard (giraffe), and love apple (tomato) can easily make a speaker sound outdated--just be careful that you use the words properly as they were when popular.
But what if the right word doesn't exist? There are several types of devices that allow the author to create new words, called neologisms. A common way to create a new word is to take to or more words and just jam them together. This is a portmanteau, and many common words are the result of portmanteaus made long ago: motel [mobile + hotel], brunch [breakfast + lunch], labradoodle [Labrador retriever + poodle], cosplay [costume + roleplay], motorcycle [motorized + bicycle], and goodbye [God + be + with + ye]. You could also just use a existing word and turn it into the part of speech you need using anthimeria. Want to say that time in Mr. Coon's class went by as slow as a snail moves? The time snailed in Coon's class. Want to say you spent the entire day spending time with your cousins? Sorry, I was cousining all day. Want to compare your friend's overreaction to Nicolas Cage's "exquisite" acting? He gave a Cage-esque yell.
You could also not worry about trying to create new words and just use a kenning, which is a short two-word description that replaces a common noun to add action and imagery to a sentence. Instead of psychiatrist, I can say that I went to my head shrinker. Instead of an accountant, I can say that The bean-counter said I can't afford a boat. Instead of an avalanche, I can say The white death buried them all. Similarly, if the noun I want to describe a noun, I can use another noun instead of an adjective. This is hendiadys, and like a kenning, adds imagery: we are nice and warm (instead of nicely warm) and he endured pain and suffering (instead of painful suffering) are a couple examples of hendiadys. Hendiatris can also be used: this is where a single noun is replaced by three descriptive words: three examples of hendiatris are he wants wine, women, and song (instead of a party), she won't cheat in any way, shape, or form (instead of manner), and Superman fights for truth, justice, and the American way (instead of good).
Other times, you have the right word you want to use but everything sounds too formal. In everyday speech, we tend to shorten words by omitting unneeded syllables. This is called apocope. This is how photograph became photo, animation became anime, and Alexandria became Alex. Notice that these words are all have syllables omitted--what if we want to just cut out a letter or two to imitate informal speech? This is syncope, like when William Shakespeare tells us "'Tis love that makes my heart beat e'er more" and when Uncle Rondel tells us that he "wants t'go fishin' with 'em 'cause it's fun." Notice that an apostrophe replaces the missing letters in the word, and that contractions (portmanteaus of shortened words) use syncope.
Speaking of altering words to suit how someone in real life would speak, maybe to emphasize how ignorant Uncle Rondel is I would have him say "Me an' yer pa are gonna go git us all a trampoleen." Your, get, and trampoline are all spelled incorrectly for effect--this is called an allegro, which is Latin for "lively:" allegro speech is literally the speech of life. Notice the incorrect use of me (it should be I) and us (it should be you). The switching of one word for another with the incorrect case, gender, mood, number, tense, or person is called alleotheta, which includes enallage (swapping verbs) and antiptosis (swapping pronouns). Common examples include We was robbed and Every dog as their day.
Of course, if you want a character to sound completely out of touch, you can just replace words with poor equivalents. First, there's malapropism, using a similar sounding word or phrase in place of the word one wants to use. Named for a literary character named Mrs. Malaprop, these are sometimes called Yogisms or Bushisms after two men who frequently used malapropisms, Yogi Berra ("I hear Texas has a lot of electrical votes") and President George W. Bush ("They have miscalculated me as a leader"). I could also give my character perissologia, or using too many words for effect. If my terrified babysitter character gets out of the house before the man in the clown mask gets her and she says "It was just so very horrifying scary!," that's perissologia. Now if I want my character to be out of touch because they're old, I may want to throw in an archaism, or a word, phrase, or spelling that is considered old fashioned and outdated. Pronouns like ye, thee, thou, and thine and full words like circumjacent (around), grimalkin (cat), yestreen (last night), camelopard (giraffe), and love apple (tomato) can easily make a speaker sound outdated--just be careful that you use the words properly as they were when popular.
"This book must be out of date: I don't see 'Prussia,' 'Siam,' or 'autogyro'" (20th Century Fox)
Disordered: Switching around the syntax
In addition to using interesting diction to violate proper usage rules, great writers can break regular syntax rules to create interesting sentences. Syntax is the art of ordering and arranging words in a sentence, which can get a little predictable: most sentences stick with a subject-verb-complement construction. But what if we altered that order? Alter it too much and the sentence is unreadable, but there are several devices that break syntactic conventions that still lend themselves to clarity. One of the most popular is anastrophe which is the inversion of usual word order effect. When Sam Spade calls the Maltese falcon "The stuff that dreams are made of" and Yoda growls "Use the force, you must," they are changing up the proper word order (Dreams are made of the stuff, You must use the force) to put emphasize on a different element of the idea--remember, emphasis is found at the end of the sentence. We use anastrophe every day in forming yes-or-no questions--Are you ready to go? is just a rearranged version of You are ready to go-- but is also common when writing in verse so as to end the line with the right rhyme or meter.
There are also devices that use juxtaposition to create interesting ideas. Juxtaposition is a syntactical concept where two or more idea are placed side by side to illustrate a comparison or contrast. The simplest and most common type of juxtaposition is the juxtaposition of two words that are inherently opposites, which creates an oxymoron. Phrases like open secret, civil war, jumbo shrimp, acting naturally, living dead, alone together, and Hell's Angels are all inherently contradictory but, because of their placement together, are able to create an interesting idea from the contrast: it's a secret because it's scandalous and shouldn't be known, but open because everyone knows it anyway.
Similarly, litotes create a juxtaposed conflict of meaning by presenting a double negative statement: She is not unattractive, I can't disagree with that logic, and I'm not as adventurous as I used to be all convey a different statement than merely using the affirmative answer. She is not unattractive says that the she in question is not unattractive but implies that she is also not attractive either--otherwise, the speaker would just say she is attractive. Likewise, I can't disagree with that logic implies that the speaker wants to disagree while I agree does not, and I'm not as adventurous as I used to be conveys that the speaker once was adventurous while I'm unadventurous does not.
If you want to inject humor, you could also try your hand at zeugma. Zeugma (also called syllepsis) is Greek for "yoking together," and at the most basic level, zeugma uses a verb to join words in a sentence that shouldn't be joined, often to create irony. One common way to use zeugma is to use of one verb for two contrasting actions: The farmers in the valley grew wheat, sorghum, and restless, they covered themselves with dust and glory, and The only thing she had on was the radio play with the idea of what can be grown, what can cover someone, and what someone can have on. Zeugma can also occur in the form of logical errors occurring by a misapplied verb. He cried his eyes and his heart out: no, a heart can't cry. She saw the thunder and lightning: no, one an't see thunder. When you come to the party, bring a dish and your boyfriend to share: no, the boyfriend shouldn't... well, you get my point.
A spoonerism also uses broken juxtaposition to create humor. While similar to a malapropism, malapropisms switch the word one wants for a similar word while a spoonerism switches the first sounds of two words in the sentence to form an entirely different phrase. Its like when you say that you stopped by the sharber bop (barber shop) to play cards and suffered a blushing crow (crushing blow) when you put down the whore of farts (four of hearts): getting these phrases bassackward (a spoonerism credited to Abraham Lincoln himself) creates humor and an indicates that a character is quite foolish.
There are also devices that use juxtaposition to create interesting ideas. Juxtaposition is a syntactical concept where two or more idea are placed side by side to illustrate a comparison or contrast. The simplest and most common type of juxtaposition is the juxtaposition of two words that are inherently opposites, which creates an oxymoron. Phrases like open secret, civil war, jumbo shrimp, acting naturally, living dead, alone together, and Hell's Angels are all inherently contradictory but, because of their placement together, are able to create an interesting idea from the contrast: it's a secret because it's scandalous and shouldn't be known, but open because everyone knows it anyway.
Similarly, litotes create a juxtaposed conflict of meaning by presenting a double negative statement: She is not unattractive, I can't disagree with that logic, and I'm not as adventurous as I used to be all convey a different statement than merely using the affirmative answer. She is not unattractive says that the she in question is not unattractive but implies that she is also not attractive either--otherwise, the speaker would just say she is attractive. Likewise, I can't disagree with that logic implies that the speaker wants to disagree while I agree does not, and I'm not as adventurous as I used to be conveys that the speaker once was adventurous while I'm unadventurous does not.
If you want to inject humor, you could also try your hand at zeugma. Zeugma (also called syllepsis) is Greek for "yoking together," and at the most basic level, zeugma uses a verb to join words in a sentence that shouldn't be joined, often to create irony. One common way to use zeugma is to use of one verb for two contrasting actions: The farmers in the valley grew wheat, sorghum, and restless, they covered themselves with dust and glory, and The only thing she had on was the radio play with the idea of what can be grown, what can cover someone, and what someone can have on. Zeugma can also occur in the form of logical errors occurring by a misapplied verb. He cried his eyes and his heart out: no, a heart can't cry. She saw the thunder and lightning: no, one an't see thunder. When you come to the party, bring a dish and your boyfriend to share: no, the boyfriend shouldn't... well, you get my point.
A spoonerism also uses broken juxtaposition to create humor. While similar to a malapropism, malapropisms switch the word one wants for a similar word while a spoonerism switches the first sounds of two words in the sentence to form an entirely different phrase. Its like when you say that you stopped by the sharber bop (barber shop) to play cards and suffered a blushing crow (crushing blow) when you put down the whore of farts (four of hearts): getting these phrases bassackward (a spoonerism credited to Abraham Lincoln himself) creates humor and an indicates that a character is quite foolish.
Will this be another article where all the visual examples are from The Simpsons? (20th Century Fox)
Restructured: Parataxis and ellipsis
Beyond merely rearranging words, a writer can also just leave words or even entire phrases out. One way is through parataxis, which involves altering the presence of functional parts of speech (conjunctions and prepositions) in a sentence to create emphasis. When functional parts of speech are cut from a sentence, words that readers can fill in easily. So if the reader can fill in the blanks, why drop the words at all? Consider the first few sentences from Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar:
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It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they electrocuted the Rosenbergs, and I didn't know what I was doing in New York. I'm stupid about executions, the idea of being electrocuted makes me sick, and that's all there was to read about in the papers, goggle-eyed headlines staring up at me on every street corner and at the fusty, peanut-smelling mouth of every subway. It had nothing to do with me, but I couldn't help wondering what it would be like, being burned alive all along your nerves. I thought it must be the worst thing in the world. New York was bad enough. By nine in the morning the fake, country-wet freshness that somehow seeped in overnight evaporated like the tail end of a sweet dream. Mirage-gray at the bottom of their granite canyons, the hot streets wavered in the sun, the car tops sizzled and glittered, the dry, cindery dust blew into my eyes and down my throat.
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The parataxis creates a more broken reading that slows the reader down and forces them to consider the ideas more. One of the ways to create parataxis is asyndeton, or writing a sentence without conjunctions for emphasis. Julius Caesar's famous address to Rome declaring that "I came, I saw, I conquered" uses asyndeton, as well as Abraham Lincoln's address to Gettysburg where he promises that "government of the people, by the people, for the people shall not perish from the earth." Notice that including an and would make the sentence smoother and put emphasis on only the last idea, but the use of asyndeton ensures all the ideas have equal weight. Conversely, we could just add extra ands to the phrases and the effect would be the same. Notice that the definition of parataxis is altering the presence of functional parts of speech, and adding more conjunctions and prepositions than necessary (polysydeton) is paratxis too. Here's an example from the first page of J.D. Salinger's The Catcher in the Rye:
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"If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth."
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We are trained to pay attention to the last part of a sentence, and we know that in a list the last item falls after the and. Yet Holden Caulfield's continual use of and causes us to pay attention to very clause, giving emphasis to each phrase. Polysyndeton also gives your character a bit of the same effect as perissologia where they sound overly wordy and informal. The most common form of polysyndeton is adding a coordinating conjunction to the front of a clause, which disregards proper usage yet brings additional emphases to the sentence that uses the polysyndeton. And it works.
Writers can also leave out more than just individual words--experimental writers regularly leave out punctuation, phrases, or even critical parts of a sentence. This is called ellipsis. Typographically, an ellipsis is represented by three spaced periods ( . . . ) , yet a typographical ellipsis is only used in two cases. The first is in formal writing to indicate a direct quotation is not complete: "I couldn't believe my eyes [ . . . ] the destruction was everywhere" indicates that the speaker said something off topic between the two listed sentences. Ellipses are also used to indicate aposiopesis, where a speaker goes silent in thought, cutting off what they were about to say. I don't know what to say. . . and I was a beautiful day then . . . indicate speakers lost in thought who have nothing more to say.
Note that aposiopesis is not the same as when a speaker is interrupted, giving us the first part of a sentence but not the second part--this is anapodoton and uses a dash. Do they think that I'm just-- or If you really want to know-- are incomplete phrases that, if not for some sort of interruption (another speaker, a look, a memory) would have been completed. While it's hard to predict what comes after aposiopesis, the reader can infer what the rest of the anapodoton should be (Do they think that I'm just incapable?; If you really want to know, I'll tell you). Sometimes, an anapodoton is followed by a brand new idea, as if the speaker had a new idea or is changing the subject. Do they think that I'm just--Oh, they have no idea who they're messing with. This sudden and illogical change in topics is called anacoluthon. Anacoluthon occurs where one clause goes unfinished and another takes its place: You really ought to--well, do it your own way.
So how far can ellipsis go? What's the most that can be cut from a sentence or a paragraph?
Writers can also leave out more than just individual words--experimental writers regularly leave out punctuation, phrases, or even critical parts of a sentence. This is called ellipsis. Typographically, an ellipsis is represented by three spaced periods ( . . . ) , yet a typographical ellipsis is only used in two cases. The first is in formal writing to indicate a direct quotation is not complete: "I couldn't believe my eyes [ . . . ] the destruction was everywhere" indicates that the speaker said something off topic between the two listed sentences. Ellipses are also used to indicate aposiopesis, where a speaker goes silent in thought, cutting off what they were about to say. I don't know what to say. . . and I was a beautiful day then . . . indicate speakers lost in thought who have nothing more to say.
Note that aposiopesis is not the same as when a speaker is interrupted, giving us the first part of a sentence but not the second part--this is anapodoton and uses a dash. Do they think that I'm just-- or If you really want to know-- are incomplete phrases that, if not for some sort of interruption (another speaker, a look, a memory) would have been completed. While it's hard to predict what comes after aposiopesis, the reader can infer what the rest of the anapodoton should be (Do they think that I'm just incapable?; If you really want to know, I'll tell you). Sometimes, an anapodoton is followed by a brand new idea, as if the speaker had a new idea or is changing the subject. Do they think that I'm just--Oh, they have no idea who they're messing with. This sudden and illogical change in topics is called anacoluthon. Anacoluthon occurs where one clause goes unfinished and another takes its place: You really ought to--well, do it your own way.
So how far can ellipsis go? What's the most that can be cut from a sentence or a paragraph?
Everything.
Okay, not everything. But close to everything.
These are two examples of the extremes of ellipsis. In the first example, I cut everything but a single word; in the second, I only left the essential information. All sentences need a subject and verb, so this is grammatically impossible and a fragement. Yet my meaning is clear (as I was answering a question), so there is no issue with either of these fragments that I am using for stylistic purposes, which are uncreatively called style fragments. Yawn. We really need to create a clever portmentau for them--like goodfrags. While goodfrags are almost always avoided in formal writing, we use several in our everyday speech. Morning. Hey. What? Yes. No. Maybe. Huh? Really? Damn. Go. Okay.
Yes. Yes, it will be. (20th Century Fox)
Wrong: Catachresis and cacography
As we've seen, solecism is complex and involves breaking rules in just the right way. These literary devices are necessary to the continued development of language, according to theorist Jacques Derrida. Derrida believed that solecism tested the limits of language, violating conventions to the degree that they could become conventions themselves. Yet not every experiment in rule breaking is successful. Derrida pointed out catachresis, which is the substitution of one intended word for another. As we've seen with kennings, malapropisms, and spoonerisms, this can lead to creative imagery and ironic meanings. Or it can just be wrong, like writing I want a peace of pie. There is no clever intention or irony at work: this is just an error. But what if everyone uses peace instead of piece? If enough people make the same common error, the error becomes accepted use in the same way that litotes, portmanteaus, and goodfrags are used by every one of us every day. Recently, literally was redefined by the OED to also mean figuratively, it's actual opposite. This is bad, as the additional definition will cause a lack of clarity. Linguists argue that these errors that make writing less clear and less nuanced will lead to cacography--writing that is so error-filled that it cannot be easily written. While solecism is important to incorporate to give writing a more natural and free style, it's important to be aware of when rule breaking makes sense and when it is just bad writing
*For my hardcore grammar nerds that were wondering, yes there's a rule: you can't end a sentence in enclitic contractions (ones where the first word is a pronoun and the second is a model verb like I'm, it's, he'll, and they've) but you can using a non-enclitic contraction (ones where the first word isn't a pronoun or the second word isn't a model verb like didn't, might've, o'clock, or y'all).
*For my hardcore grammar nerds that were wondering, yes there's a rule: you can't end a sentence in enclitic contractions (ones where the first word is a pronoun and the second is a model verb like I'm, it's, he'll, and they've) but you can using a non-enclitic contraction (ones where the first word isn't a pronoun or the second word isn't a model verb like didn't, might've, o'clock, or y'all).