The Forbidden Punctuation

On squirrels, impulses, and choosing parentheses

(Contained. Mostly.)

I am a parentheses person.

This feels important to say up front (for accuracy, if nothing else).

Parentheses are how I admit that my brain is doing more than one thing at a time (which it always is). They let me keep a sentence moving forward while acknowledging the extra thought tugging at my sleeve (politely, I like to think).

I once read that excessive parentheses are an indicator of too many things going too many directions in your mind. I do not remember where I read this (or whether it was credible), but it felt less like a warning and more like a diagnosis.

I do not have my ducks in a row.

I have squirrels.

And they are at a rave (with glow sticks).

This is where the punctuation problem starts.

Because lately, my squirrels have developed a craving for the em dash.

This is strange, given that I have never been an em dash person. I did not use them in law school (even when people worked very hard to formalize my writing). I did not use them when I was trying to sound crisp, or serious, or like someone who definitely owned ducks.

But suddenly, the em dash is everywhere. In posts. In documents. In messages. In sentences that want to do three things at once and refuse to choose just one (which I respect, on principle).

And now my brain keeps reaching for it the way you reach for a food you never cared about, right after someone says you should not have it.

This is the diet problem.

There is also, apparently, a new social layer to this.

Somewhere along the way, the em dash picked up a reputation. It started showing up in jokes and side comments and knowing glances as “the AI punctuation” (or at least that is what people say).

I do not know when this happened. I only know that my brain noticed the rule at exactly the moment it was told not to want the thing.

Parentheses and em dashes do very different kinds of work, and I think that is the real tension here.

Parentheses whisper. They lean in. They say, “This is extra, but it matters” (or at least it mattered to me).

Em dashes announce themselves. They interrupt. They turn the lights up and ask the sentence to make room (immediately).

Parentheses assume the reader will follow you.

Em dashes assume the reader should stop and look.

My squirrels are not subtle lately.

They are no longer asking permission to bring extra thoughts into the sentence (politely, quietly, contained). They want spectacle. They want emphasis. They want punctuation that feels like a bass drop.

To be clear, I am not trying to hide anything. I am not pretending I do not use AI in my writing. I literally put it in my email signature that I use Wiggins as a thinking partner (transparency feels easier than performative purity).

So this is not secrecy.

It is impulse.

It is novelty.

It is my brain reaching for a new shape to hold the same abundance of thought.

The em dash feels like a parenthesis that stopped being polite.

It feels like my squirrels tunneling between ideas instead of taking the scenic route (which is what parentheses are for).

So for now, I am staying loyal.

I am keeping my parentheses.

They are roomy. They are kind. They let me acknowledge the extra thought without handing it the microphone.

If an em dash shows up in my writing one day, please know this was not an accident.

It was a small, glitter‑covered lapse in self‑control (and the squirrels were very persuasive).