For most of my life, I have followed rules. Yes, occasionally I go wild. I'll eat ice cream straight out of the container. I'll wear blue with black. Sometimes -- I'll just come out and say it -- I use incomplete sentences. Just because.
A complete sentence has, simply, a thing doing the action and the action the thing is doing:
She bakes.
He eats.
They walk.
You will get a better sentence if you add more words:
I want to read this book.
The wind is picking up outside.
Today I will hem these pants.
Incomplete sentences are also called sentence fragments. I prefer the second term because it sounds less judgmental.
As with nearly all things, using sentence fragments in moderation is OK. You just need to make sure it works and is appropriate. Also, be sure the connection between the fragment and its subject is clear and not confusing in any way.
In formal writing, fragments can look ridiculous. Here's a paragraph from a Washington Post story, rewritten (by me) to include sentence fragments.
"A large and growing share of American workers are tapping their retirement savings accounts for non-retirement needs, raising broad questions about the effectiveness of one of the most important savings vehicles for old age. Desperate times.
"More than one in four American workers with 401(k) and other retirement savings accounts use them to pay current expenses, new data show. Rising costs, few options. The withdrawals, cash-outs and loans drain nearly a quarter of the $293 billion that workers and employers deposit into the accounts each year, undermining already shaky retirement security for millions of Americans. Trouble later."
Sounds ridiculous, correct?
But if you're telling a story or writing informally, fragments are fine. You may take liberties when you're narrating. The fragments can convey a mood, a feeling, a time. I tried to find sentence fragments in the books on my bookshelves at home, but I had no luck. So I had to look on the internet. Yes, Google works faster than my eyes.
This excerpt from Charles Dickens' The Pickwick Papers uses a series of fragmented phrases. Possibly the speaker is allergic to verbs, but the narration tells us about him and the story he tells.
"Heads, heads -- take care of your heads!" cried the loquacious stranger, as they came out under the low archway, which in those days formed the entrance to the coach-yard. "Terrible place -- dangerous work -- other day -- five children -- mother -- tall lady, eating sandwiches -- forgot the arch -- crash -- knock -- children look round -- mother's head off -- sandwich in her hand -- no mouth to put it in -- head of a family off -- shocking, shocking!"
American journalist H.L. Mencken wasn't above using fragments, either. This excerpt from "Suite Americaine" describes a less-than-cheery nation.
"Pale druggists in remote towns of the Epworth League and flannel nightgown belts, endlessly wrapping up bottles of Peruna ... . Women hidden away in the damp kitchens of unpainted houses along the railroad tracks, frying tough beefsteaks ... . Lime and cement dealers being initiated into the Knights of Pythias, the Red Men or the Woodmen of the World ... . Watchmen at lonely railroad crossings in Iowa, hoping that they'll be able to get off to hear the United Brethren evangelist preach ... . Ticket-sellers in the subway, breathing sweat in its gaseous form ... . Farmers plowing sterile fields behind sad meditative horses, both suffering from the bites of insects ... . Grocery-clerks trying to make assignations with soapy servant girls .... Women confined for the ninth or tenth time, wondering helplessly what it is all about ... . Methodist preachers retired after forty years of service in the trenches of God, upon pensions of $600 a year."
Kids use sentence fragments before they learn to speak in complete sentences. They still can make themselves understood. I can remember my little friend Jack, when he was a toddler, sidling up to me coyly, taking my hand and saying, "Snack?"
I would say, "You want a snack?"
He would say, "OK!" as if it were my idea in the first place. Tricky kid.
Sources: The Editor's Blog, grammar.about.com
ActiveStyle on 01/23/2017