The Case Against Abbrvs

Turns out that we and words, surprisingly, do share characteristics that shape our destiny:

1.]  Words have a body and a space and a form and a sound, just as we do.  This matters.  And nobody thinks about it.  This matters, too.

2.]  We and words exhibit apparently well-defined edges which are, in fact, not well-defined at all:  words share multiple meanings, and merge with their mothers, modifiers, neighbors, and cohorts;  just as people blend and merge in myriad sane and wacky combinations spanning heredity and circumstance.

3.]  Neither we nor words exist independently of others.

4.]  We and words change over time, and if you’re not changing, you’re not very alive.

5.]   So, yes, the words are alive.  And so are we, aren’t we?

6.]  And, oh yeah, we and words have evolved together.  Neither of us would be where we are today without the other.

This is quite an arrangement.  And it’s hidden in plain sight, while we’re all so busy in the ebb and flow of words—talking and texting and reading and writing and listening to the tumbling torrent of words delivered electronically and socially—we don’t pause to appreciate the miracle.

Even when we’re not in a discernible verbal exchange, the words keep burbling from the artesian discharge in our own brains.

So let’s pause now and consider again:  we and words evolve together, and neither of us would be where we are without the other.

All together now, or separately for that matter, who cares, let’s non-verbally celebrate.  Words!  Yay!  Words do have a being and an energy and a meaning and a life, and that life, that wholeness, should be respected.

Therefore, simply on the basis of common decency, and perhaps an appreciation for adjunct beings in the universe if you can dig that deep, words should be respected and expressed in their full form.  Not only do you insult Words by reducing, say, a seven letter word to four letters, but you also reduce yourself.  Short form words are for short form brains, people!  You’re better than that.

Abbreviations are for abbreviated people.  Whole words are for whole people.

And the matter is a lot more substantive than whether or not you go to the trouble of using all seven or eleven letters in the whole word.  But let’s look at the matter of length first.

Here are some eleven letter words you probably use either more than you’d like to admit, or less than you should:

Submersible

Galvanizing

Association

Silversmith

Godforsaken

Pyrotechnic

Pls attnd mtng of glvnzg sbmsble slvrsmth assn of gdfrskn slvrsmths (GSAGS) nxt Tues or it’s yr ass.

Let’s do the math here.  Six words of eleven letters each = 66 letters if written in I-respect-whole-words format.

Using the I-am-an-abbreviated-lazy-small-minded-person format, we have used 35 letters and managed to insult six words, the English language, and our readers.

The lazy, shallow, disrespectful way saves 21 letters, but, again, look at the cost!  You have denigrated the language, your species, evolution, dignity, and yourself.

I think you’re better than that.

But we’re not done. It gets worse.

It appears that you’re making up abbreviations like you’re Daniel Webster because it might save a little time.  Well, if you’re so important that you need to save 3.1 seconds of keyboard time to write a sentence, then pls join the Vry Imprtnt Ppl Clb and stop reading now.  Everyone else, please slow down for a minute, savor the miracle of language and consciousness, and contemplate:

“There is more to life than increasing its speed.” – Gandhi

Life can be richer when you graciously afford each word its proper slice of the time/space continuum.

And, presumably, you are writing because you expect your words to be read.  So in addition to respecting the language, consciousness, evolution, and life itself, you should also respect the reader.

What we know as “the written word” evolved from pictograms, those little drawings on cave walls, like cartoons, that were standardized, after a fashion, to say something like,  “I killed the dragon and left the beak and entrails down by the funny rock.”  These pictograms were digested, so to speak, in a glance.  Visual signage, which we still use today, crosses language barriers; they have become a de facto international language to help you find the toilet, the train, the trail, and when to cross the street.

Why does this matter?  It matters a lot, because we read words as if they were pictograms.  We do not read letter-by-letter.  We read word by word.  We recognize the words as images.  And we zip right along the line and the page until we come across some unrecognizable jumble of cnsnnts x vwls that make us stop reading and wonder WTF is that?  It’s a goddam abbrvn because the goddam author’s brain was too abbreviated to spell the word he so cavalierly dismembered.

Don’t do it, people.  The language and consciousness and life on earth, they’re better than that.  And so are you.  So is your reader.

And one more thing if you’re still tempted to shrivel like a leaky balloon to the pathetic dimensions of your lesser self.

What if spoken words were abbreviated?  How cool would you sound then, Mr. I’m-Too-Big-A-Deal to write out the whole word every time?  You’d sound like a seven year old kid imitating war sounds, which could be fun when you’re playing with seven year olds but hardly the vowel-free delivery you’d employ when, say, negotiating a large baloney purchase or talking your parole officer into bringing you a nice Reuben sandwich.  Most languages have vowels and don’t sound all that good when these melodic lingers are abbreviated to death.

And now that you mention it, thank you, all of the world’s great speeches are delivered very, very slowly;  almost—word—by—every—single—word—, as if the speaker is imbuing each with the full force of its etymology, its context, its meanings, its homonyms, and the cultural blood that nourished it into being.

Spoken language blossoms fully in proper tempo, and written language comes fully alive when its fine full form is well respected.