An appositive is a modifier. It’s a noun or noun phrase that immediately follows another noun or noun phrase to further define it. You probably use appositives all the time without even realizing it. But are you punctuating them correctly?
Why am I devoting a blog to appositives? I’m so glad you asked!
Learning how to punctuate appositives—most often done with commas but sometimes with parentheses—isn’t difficult, but I see incorrect examples almost every day. The sad thing is that so many of this common appositive punctuation mistakes show up in Amazon book descriptions, websites, book reviews, and pretty much anywhere you find the written word.
So let’s review definitions, and then I’ll show you how easy it is to correctly punctuate whenever you use an appositive in your writing.
What Is an Appositive?
As a reminder, an appositive is a noun or noun phrase that provides additional information. Like other types of modifiers, an appositive can be essential (restrictive) or nonessential (nonrestrictive) to the sentence. Removing an essential modifier may cause confusion, but removing a nonessential one still leaves most of the meaning intact.
Essential: My cockatoo Snowflake attacked my computer.
Nonessential: My cockatoo, Snowflake, attacked my computer.
Snowflake’s handiwork the day she decided I was working too much.Snowflake the Cockatoo
What’s the difference, and why does it matter?
If I had more than one cockatoo, I wouldn’t use a comma—I’d want to make it clear that I’m discussing Snowflake and not another bird. I’m specifically throwing “Snowflake” under the bus (she deserves it, don’t you think?). If I delete her name (the essential modifier), I remove the clue that tells you which bird was the culprit, so I could be referring to one of several birds.
The second example is the one I personally would use because I only have one cockatoo, and her name is Snowflake. If I delete the appositive (her name), which is a nonessential modifier, you still know my only pet cockatoo created some trouble.
A good test is to use names of people you know. In this example, the writer has two daughters, so which example is correct?
My daughter Mary is ten years old
My daughter, Mary, is ten years old.
Answer: the first. The writer has another daughter, so removing the essential phrase in the second example creates confusion: “My daughter is ten years old” … but which daughter?
Appositives and Titles
The same principle applies when a proper name follows a descriptive title.
“Freelance editor, Candace Johnson, is writing this blog” is incorrect. Why? Remove my name and the sentence is confusing. No commas needed here: “Freelance editor Candace Johnson” is the noun phrase that is the subject of this sentence.
“Candace Johnson, freelance editor, is writing this blog” is correctly punctuated because “freelance editor” is not essential to the sentence’s meaning.
Here’s another example taken from something I read recently:
“The science fiction author, Philip Dick, may have said it best.”
You see the problem, right? By removing what the writer thought was an appositive (Philip Dick’s name), the sentence makes no sense. Correctly punctuated, this sentence should read,
“The science fiction author Philip Dick may have said it best.”
How to Avoid Appositive Confusion
When you’re writing an appositive noun or phrase, always ask yourself if removing the information between the commas creates confusion.
Remember: if a word or phrase is essential or restrictive, meaning that it provides essential information about the noun or noun phrase it refers to, don’t use commas.
QUIZ
Now it’s your turn: which of the following sentences are correctly punctuated?
Thanks to my fiancé Mark Jones for his support while I wrote this book. (She has not been previously engaged.)
Actress Kate Hudson recalled one of her favorite memories from giving birth to her son, Bingham. (She has two sons.)
Speaker, author, and consultant, Mary Smith, is revolutionizing hair care.
My favorite pie, cherry, is out of stock.
Answers:
Mark Jones is the writers only fiancé, so use commas before and after his name.
Kate Hudson has two sons, so no comma.
Mary Smith is a speaker, author, and consultant, so no commas before or after her name (but the Oxford commas after “speaker” and “author” are correct).
My favorite pie is out of stock whether I name it or not, so use commas.
Do you have questions about the correct way to punctuate an appositive, perhaps in your book’s acknowledgments or in a blog? Please post them in the comments, and let’s work together to make your writing shine.
Happy Writing, Candace
Candace Johnson is a professional freelance editor, proofreader, writer, and writing coach for fiction and nonfiction. She works with traditional publishers, self-published authors, and independent book packagers. As an editorial specialist, Candace is passionate about offering her clients the opportunity to take their work to the next level. Learn more at her website https://changeitupediting.com, and follow her on Facebook, Twitter, and LinkedIn.
Look forward to Candace Johnson’s upcoming class in the Writers’ Mastermind
I know how you’re feeling. You’re afraid to look at it. You’re afraid you won’t know how to fix it.
That draft. Yep, it’s a mess.
Plot holes, limp dialogue, caricatures instead of characters, and a shallow theme that plays like a bad soundtrack throughout the story.
This is impossible to fix, you think. You avoid it like it’s your snide mother-in-law, a Jehovah’s Witness at the door, or that colonoscopy you’re supposed to schedule.
Yes, your story could be bad. Maybe it sucks.
But is it beyond redemption?
No story is beyond redemption. “Drafts” (notice the word is plural) are called drafts for a reason. You will have multiple iterations of the same story. Accept it as part of the process. No one writes a perfect book the first time.
Instead of dreading your crude first draft, get excited about watching its evolution. Dig through your words and find the little pockets of goodness inside. Expand on them.
Stay curious. Ask your characters questions. Write down the millions of possibilities for them.
Read your draft over and over again (no matter how much it hurts) until something sparks against the flint of your mind. Sit quietly. Clear the inner badgering and follow your gut instincts.
When we think of creating our fictional worlds, we tend to think in terms of landscapes, maps, these two-dimensional planes of existence. However, whilst this can be useful for creating scope – lots of characters and a wide, wide world to explore, a feeling of breadth – it is less useful for creating depth.
Function follows form, and so when we create literally “deep” worlds, we also create symbolically deep ones. The best example of this in classical literature is, of course, Dante Alighieri’s Divine Comedy, which sees a perilous descent through the Nine Circles of Hell, then an upward ascent of the mountain of Purgatory, and finally a flight into the Spheres of Heaven.
… understanding that stories should not only move along but also upward and downward along a vertical axis is pivotal to creating psychological and symbolic depth.
There are many reasons why this structure – vertical rather than horizontal – works at such a profound level. An obvious one is that our own consciousness seems to function this way. We sit at a conscious level most of the time, but when we dream or enter trances, we enter a subconscious state, a lower level, where intuition and creativity and more primordial forces hold sway. Beneath even that is the pure chaos of the unconscious, the maelstrom of desires and shared human memory.
One can easily map Dante’s tripartite tiers to the levels of consciousness. Hell is unconscious, roiling in its own filth and destruction, without any self-awareness. Purgatory is sub-conscious. There is a level of awareness, of self-insight, and the desires and energies of the unconscious have been filtered and harnessed towards progress here. Lastly, in Heaven, we are fully conscious – aware of ourselves and self-actualised.
This is only a cursory overview, but already we can see how deeply this system appeals to our natural psychology and spirituality. Most authors focus on lateral, horizontal movement – going from A to B. But in reality, stories should not only move from A to B, but also from the ground floor to the basement, and from the basement all the way upwards to the first storey.
To give contemporary examples of what I mean, we can look at two masterclasses in vertical storytelling. The first is The City by S. C. Mendes, published by the amazing folks at Blood Bound Books. This incredible novel is set in the 1910s, and revolves around a detective, Max Elliot; he wants to quit the force, but a gruesome murder reminiscent of one that went unsolved long years ago – a personal tragedy that broke Max, but which he now has a shot at gaining closure on with this new case – pulls him back in. In trying to solve this murder, Max discovers an occult secret at the heart of San Francisco, which leads him down a path of profane knowledge, and to a city deep underground.
Without giving too much away, not only is there a literal element of verticality in this storytelling (we must descend to reach The City), but there is also a figurative element, in that Max discovers the realities of what is lying beneath what we think we know – which includes traditional notions of morality. His descent into the eponymous City ultimately leads him to confront unimaginable degradations, horrors, and ritualistic “sins”.
There is more than a little sense of plummeting down Dante’s Nine Circles of Hell here, as each successive horror becomes more extreme, disturbing, and perverse. This gives the sense that we are not simply exploring a physical landscape, but the psyche of our own hero Max Elliot (who has seen horror in his time on the force, too), or, indeed, of the human race. What I loved about Mendes’ work is that it did not feel like I was being titillated with violence (the gore-porn that so often substitutes actual horror), but rather that there was coded symbolism in the violence that represented something deeper for our character, the wider plot, and indeed the human condition.
Most authors focus on lateral, horizontal movement – going from A to B. But in reality, stories should not only move from A to B, but also from the ground floor to the basement, and from the basement all the way upwards to the first storey.
This secret underground city is populated by mysterious lizard-people who predate humankind by quite some way; these symbolically seem to represent the cold, unfeeling reptilian part of the human brain – where there is only desire, fulfilment of those desires, and repetition.This reptilian part of the brain lies buried deep within us, but it is still there, regulating our unconscious breathing and prompting our need to eat, have sex, and sleep. This part of us knows nothing of societal norms – or perhaps obeys its own norms which we have become unfamiliar with – and so it is with the lizards of The City. In some sense, the lizard-people may represent a regression into an older – and perhaps more potent – form of being.
Certainly it seems that the ancient peoples, and even the early moderns, had far more of an affinity with sex and violence than we do. Our tastes seem ultimately voyeuristic and sterile by comparison with the blood-sacrifices of the Aztecs, the Bacchanalia of the Greeks, the gladiatorial games of Rome, or even the gruesome executions of the Elizabethans. This leads me nicely onto another aspect of “verticality” in fiction: our relationship with time.
In Will Shakespeare Die? by Gordon James, a title released by The Writing Collective in 2020, the verticality is almost entirely metaphorical. It is the past which is the murky basement, the lower level of hell, into which we must descend to learn the truth. In Will Shakespeare Die? the story unfolds over two timelines: the 1980s and Elizabethan England. In the ‘80s, Kit Morton and Thom Davenant are desperately trying to salvage the disastrous development of The Play, a theatrical production about Shakespeare’s life; to do this, Morton resorts to occult means.
In Elizabethan England, William Shakespeare also calls on occult magic to see how his story ends, whilst trying to thwart hidden forces closing in on him. Whilst the scenes in the relative “modern day” of the ‘80s are grim, it is the past which proves the true lower level of hell only accessible by means of magical incantation:
“Now with speed he poured more incense in, extinguished the altar lights, sat kneeling toward the triangle of manifestation upon the floor, crossing his arms upon his breast in a crossbones symbol. In the complete darkness he closes his eyes and repeated and repeated: ‘Allay Fortission, Fortissio, Allynsen Roa!’ Then nothing, except he alone in the profound quiet, waiting. ‘I greet you,’ he said, eyes still closed. ‘I greet you.’ The incense seemed to swirl around him, thick currents, sticky as treacle, but charred beyond sweetness. He felt like a man drowning…”
If we construe our consciousness as layers, built up over time, not only through our own experiences, but through the genetic memory passed down through DNA, then the past is a perfect cipher for the unconscious, the deep dreamworld we occasionally are granted access to via moments of clarity, insight, or illumination.
Clive Barker once wrote in his The Great and Secret Show that we access the dream-sea (which he calls “Quiddity”) three times during our life: when we’re born, when we fall in love with our soulmate, and when we die. I do not know if Gordon James has read much Clive Barker, but his story weirdly imitates this structure, as we enter the past only at moments of magical rebirth, intense love, or at the moment before death.
The strangeness of Will Shakespeare Die? is that this portal is double-sided, and whilst our modern characters are going down into the lower depths of “the past” and hell – Shakespeare’s secret England – our Shakespearean cast are visiting, or rather visioning, the 1980s. To them, the future is the dream-sea, an ineffable realm they are trying to ascend towards, but lack the means to fully do so.
I think there is a profound truth in this. When we get lost in looking backwards, trapped in the past, regressing, we are in a form of hell, and interestingly the redemptive notes only begin to creep into the novel when our ‘80s cast realise that they still have time to create a future for themselves, to look forward (or upwards, to extend the metaphor).
As you can see, understanding that stories should not only move along but also upward and downward along a vertical axis is pivotal to creating psychological and symbolic depth. Many writers neglect this aspect of storytelling to their detriment. There are many lessons to be learned from reading S. C. Mendes and Gordon James, and from exploring what the concept of “verticality” means in our own writing.
Who said a writer’s job is easy-peasy? Well, it’s far from being a stress-free task, especially if we want to entertain our readers in the best way possible.
To craft engaging stories, writers must dive into a variety of techniques to make this process effective and useful.
Before we learn about the plot structure formula, we must understand what plot is.
Talking about plot isn’t the same as talking about story. While a story tells what happens in a mechanical way, a plot explains the connection between two or more events. Let’s take a look at the differences in the compound of events.
Story
X happens, then Y happens.
Plot
X happens, then Y happens because of X. Therefore, C happens.
3 Act Plot Structure
The structure most used throughout history was Aristotle’s structure. In this type, a plot is divided into three parts, known as the 3 Act Structure.
Act I: In this part, characters are introduced, along with their relationships, desires, dreams, and obstacles. This is also where the setting is established and the inciting incident takes place.
Act II: Here is where the rising action leads readers to the climax. Then the falling action brings us closure to the conclusion.
Act III: Finally, the plot’s resolution is exposed, wrapping everything up.
Horace came up with a more dynamic structure divided into five acts. American novelist and professor, Alice Adams, explains the 5 Act Structure, where the plot follows this formula:
5 Act Plot Structure
A, B, D, C, E
1. Action: Setting and characters are introduced through a specific event that draws the reader into the story. It isn’t only an exposition but is the promise of a great story. Starting the story with a compelling action—it doesn’t have to be a violent one, but where the character is doing something that will hook readers in—is the best way to set a story’s gears on, rather than beginning with a reminisce, a dream, the main character waking up or even looking at a mirror. Always choose the more dynamic way over a passive one.
2. Background: Here, we present the vital information about the character, what brought him to where he/she is, and what motivates him/her to be and act in a certain way. It provides the context to understand the characters’ current situation and the building of conflicts. This is why the characters’ background must be emotionally strong because emotions are what impulses people to act.
3. Development: We reach the point where the character has to face obstacle after obstacle to achieve his/her goals. This is the sequence of events that will show the reader the “whys and “how’s”, the rising actions which will lead to the climax. However, I must state there are contradicting opinions on this part of a plot. Some writers say the development encompasses the events toward the peak, while others are sure it refers to the events that follow the climax. For me, the development takes more than 50% of the story. It’s all about rising and falling actions, some of the resolution, the character’s decision after the initial or inciting event, and the whole process the character goes through to reach his/her aim.
To understand how the rising action can make a story more exciting engaging, create obstacles every time the character has overcome one, and let each obstacle be larger.
4. Climax: Everyone agrees climax is the major conflict and the peak of a story. It is also the twist that challenges the character’s full potential, leading him/her to the final struggle.
5. Ending: This is the last act, obviously, where we see the character as someone else thanks to the journey he/she had to travel. After the final struggle, the characters might return to their everyday lives, but there’s always a reflection, except if they haven’t reached their goals. Then, their lives would be utterly different from what they used to be.
Which Plot Structure is Best?
Good stories are like circles or spirals that lead us to the same starting point, but we return to this starting point with a solution, a question, or a transformation in the character.
Whatever decision we make and whichever structure we choose, we must keep in mind that action will always be the best option to kick off our stories, while drama will build tension. Gather these elements in a harmonious waltz to lead your stories to the desired ending.
Plot structure formula is easy. Just remember your ABCs and 123s.
Cristia HJ
I write what I write to bring hope to the brokenhearted and ignite the passion for life in the sleeping soul. I want my readers to connect with my characters and free their imagination while the world is still spinning. Because no matter what we do or from where we come, we are all made of dreams and stardust.
