Use supplementary appositives, noun phrase constituents designed to convey additional information, in all your sentences

(with thanks to Language Log)

The dog, a mottled grey lurcher with a lazy eye, regarded me superciliously. I had no idea how I, a simple dog-fearing man, would manage to sneak past it and through the gate, a rusted metal barrier, to freedom. I shifted on my feet, those fleshy and ever-so-slightly arthritic appendages, nervously.

‘Good doggie,’ I, an inexperienced dog-soother to say the least, said. ‘Do you want a bone, a hard, calcified material of which animal skeletons are constituted? Do you? Do you?’ I waved the bone, a sheep tibia, at him. I just had to buy myself enough time, the abstract concept describing the indefinite continued progress of events, to run away.

The dog, an imposing presence with its powerful jaws, two perfectly evolved pincers capable of crushing a human leg, one of the limbs upon which a person stands, growled. It was now, the conceptual moment at which these events were happening, or never, at no time in the future. I, the person trying to escape from the dog, the animal which was threatening my health, the state of being free from illness or injury, a specific instance of physical harm or damage, started running.

Signpost your twists

Agent Sam Glowingly waved a hand at the tangled web of notes on the whiteboard.

‘So,’ he said, ‘we still have no idea who the killer is.’

‘No,’ said McSleet. ‘Unless we can find someone in the monastery who’s able to leap thirty feet off the ground, pass through a stained glass window without breaking it and kill his victim through the power of sheer terror.’

‘Not your average monk,’ observed Glowingly. ‘In fact, it sounds more like one of the legendary fighting monks that reputedly inhabited this very monastery hundreds of years ago, but whose secrets have been lost for generations.’

‘Aye,’ agreed McSleet. ‘But we need to find a real solution, not sit here chit-chatting about ancient history that has nothing to do with the case.’

‘You’re right,’ said Glowingly, getting up from his chair and adjusting his pistol holster. ‘We’ve got no time for idle talk about legends that neither of us has any reason to believe are even true, let alone relevant to our current investigation.’ He consulted his notebook. ‘Where next?’ he asked.

‘We need to interview more potential witnesses,’ said McSleet, fishing a battered pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket. ‘How about Brother Laurence, who’s been studying the ancient manuscripts which sat undisturbed in the monastery vault for centuries and who has also, incidentally, been working out quite a lot recently?’

‘Okay,’ said Glowingly with a shrug. ‘But I think we’re wasting our time.’

Don’t not use double negatives

Although I wasn’t unfamiliar with the failings of post-structuralism, this particular book lacked some of the omissions I didn’t expect to not find. I had neglected to overlook the index, but this was a lack of oversight which failed to concern me – that is to say, if I hadn’t neglected to overlook the index, my lack of neglect wouldn’t have concerned me less.

‘This doesn’t fail to be a non-trivial problem,’ I muttered to myself. ‘There couldn’t be the absence of something I’m failing to miss, could there?’

It wasn’t something other than nonsense to imagine that I’d succeeded in failing to untangle the many far from non-linguistic problems that this text certainly didn’t lack. I just didn’t seem to be able identify the missing elements – or rather, the absence of them. Perhaps my failure to find said omissions was itself not insignificant.

‘Maybe I’m being too negative,’ I didn’t not whisper to no one other than myself.

Recap the previous book

Daniel Peridue, newly appointed Captain of the Guard as a result of his heroics at the battle of Langtathon where he had single-handedly held the main keep of Castle Langtathon against a determined strike force of magically strengthened ape-men called Grathraks, felt uneasy. It had been three months since the Southern Enchanters had broken the centuries-old treaty and launched their attack under cover of night, only to be foiled by the swift actions of Eli Shiningheart, who had revealed himself to be the long-lost heir of Lord Langathon and thus fulfilled the Prophecy of the Protector, as passed down from generation to generation of Ingturon scholars and eventually into the teachings of Yath’l Cth’dang, last of the Ingturon, who had nobly sacrificed himself at the Mountains of Rehethihimah to save Eli’s life and grant him the mysterious power of the Ancient Ones. Now everything was quiet. Too quiet.

‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ he asked his companion. Remi Longshanks, reformed thief whose skill with throwing knives had proved to be invaluable when he and Daniel had infiltrated the Enchanters’ inner sanctum and stolen their magical hearthstone, thus severing the link that allowed them to command the Grathrak army, looked up.

‘Don’t know,’ he said. ‘Were you thinking that peace has settled uneasily on these lands and that the dark shadow of the return of the Old Magic still lurks somewhere far to the South, despite our success in repelling the specific threats that previously faced us?’

‘Pretty much,’ said Daniel.

Forget what you’re doing halfway through a sentence

He opened the door and got into the car engine shuddered into life and the vehicle lurched down the driveway. He knew it was only a matter of time was against him and he had to do something had to be done. If there was one thing he knew for sure as he could be under the circumstances were against him, he thought with a grim smile formed on his face the facts.

Suddenly, the car jolted the car. He hadn’t been watching the road came to an abrupt stop in front of him was a barrier across the road came to an abrupt stop. It was too late to slow down into the ravine below the car was a deep ravine. He jammed his foot on the brakes weren’t working. With a screeching metal screech of metal screeched as he flew into the darkness opened and swallowed him.

He screamed, ‘Nooooo!’ he screamed. His life was flashing before he even had time to think about what he had done with his life was flashing before his eyes filled with tears of regretted so many things he regretted in his life was flashing before his eyes had time to close his eyes filled with tears in his eyes closed.

Write grammatically correct dialogue

I could feel the thrum of the bass speakers all through my body. When I spoke, I couldn’t even hear my own voice.

‘I am going to the bar,’ I shouted into the noise. ‘I intend to purchase a drink.’ Moopie didn’t stop dancing, but nodded, flicking sweat off her face.

‘That is a good idea,’ she said. ‘To change the subject – do you happen to know the name of the gentleman who was dancing with us?’

‘I am sorry,’ I said. ‘I am having a certain amount of difficulty hearing you.’

‘I was enquiring as to whether you knew the name of the gentleman who was recently dancing with us,’ yelled Moopie, leaning towards me. I hesitated for a moment. I knew who she meant, but I didn’t feel like talking about him, much less to him.

‘I do not know to whom you are referring,’ I said.

Solve mysteries by introducing more mysteries

‘So the vault was never broken into at all?’ said Mr Hain, his brow furrowed in confusion.

‘Correct,’ said Caldwell. ‘But someone did get inside.’ He paused, giving the gathered company a moment to catch up with his dazzling mental acuity. Mr Hain gasped.

‘An inside job?’ he said. ‘At my bank?’ Caldwell turned to him and smiled.

‘You could say that.’ He raised one gloved hand and pointed to the bank manager’s head. ‘Would you please remove your hat?’ Slowly, Mr Hain lifted his black bowler. ‘And would you kindly look inside?’

‘My god,’ gasped Mr Hain, staring in disbelief at the lining of his hat.

‘That, ladies and gentlemen,’ said Caldwell, with a small flourish of his hand, ‘is an occult inscription placed in our good friend Mr Hain’s headwear in order to control his every thought and action.’

‘Placed there?’ said Lady Petunia, her voice trembling. ‘But by whom?’

‘Whom indeed,’ said Caldwell. ‘Someone with considerable knowledge of mysterious black arts. Someone with access to Mr Hain’s hat. Someone able to perform such an act and go completely undetected.’ He paused, listened intently and took one step to his left before swinging his arm wildly in the air.

‘Gaaah!’ yelled a voice, seemingly from nowhere. Caldwell grabbed at thin air and shook his fist. ‘Alright, alright,’ said the voice. ‘You can stop it now.’

With a shimmer of pale light, a figure appeared, Caldwell’s hand gripping its cravat.

‘This,’ said Caldwell, ‘is Mr Laender, a demon of considerable power.’

‘A demon?’ gasped Lady Petunia.

‘Yes, my lady,’ said Caldwell. ‘A demon summoned and solicited by you, a time traveller from the future.’

‘Curse you!’ screamed Lady Petunia, her synthetic face peeling off and revealing the hyper-intelligent lizard beneath. ‘Curse you to the seventeen dimensions of hell!’

For a moment, the assembled company – detective, bank workers, policemen, demon and time-travelling lizard – were silent.

‘Um,’ said Mr Hain, tapping his fingers on the edge of his hat. ‘I mean... Are you absolutely sure it wasn’t just a break-in?’

Choose one character to bully

‘So it’s settled. We head north.’ Her hand resting lightly on the pommel of her sword, Saltar looked at each of her companions in turn. Pheos returned her gaze coolly, sparks of shadow flickering around his gloved hands. Gramble shrugged and hefted his axe from one compact, muscled shoulder to the other. ‘No objections?’ said Saltar. ‘Then we ride as soon as...’ She hesitated. ‘Where’s Dingleton?’

‘Curse him!’ muttered Gramble, looking around. ‘Stupid wretched creature.’ Pheos smiled archly.

‘I believe our diminutive friend is currently relieving himself,’ he said, nodding towards a nearby bush.

‘Sorry!’ said the bush. ‘Sorry! Hang on, I’m just...’ The bush rustled and Dingleton fell out, his trousers round his ankles. ‘Wooaah!’ He tumbled head over heels down the muddy slope, his hands stuck in his belt as he tried desperately to pull his pants up.

‘Dingleton!’ snapped Saltar. ‘Get up. We’re heading north. Where did you tie up the horses?’

‘Tie up?’ said Dingleton, a baffled expression on his face. ‘They were... um...’

‘I’ll murder him!’ yelled Gramble, gripping his axe. Saltar sighed.

‘At least tell me you picked up the bag with the holy amulet in,’ she said.

‘The thing about that...’ Dingleton began, before losing his balance and falling flat on his face.

‘Why is he here again?’ hissed Pheos.

‘I don’t know,’ Dingleton moaned quietly to himself. ‘I really don’t know. I’m not equipped for this. It seems cruel even to have brought me. When you think about it...’ Whatever he had been about to say, it was muffled by the bird faeces that fell directly into his mouth at that exact moment.