Don't reject the semicolon; it's useful

Pity the forlorn semicolon;

battered by critics from every direction.

Cousin to the comma, niece or nephew to the colon,

this kindred outcast yearns for connection.

A corporate executive I know has told me she abhors the semicolon; she purges it from the writing of her subordinates.

But wait! That was pre-pandemic; a year has passed.

"On the matter of the semicolon," she now says, "I have softened."

Before I reveal her answer, let's review the semicolon's role; here's an example.

Well — in fact — that last sentence was an example.

Each part of that sentence flanking the semicolon is a sentence on its own, so intimately related that using a semicolon marries them, thereby cementing clarity.

To do so creates an added benefit: the pleasing effect of varying punctuation, rhythm and pacing in your writing.

If every sentence you write appears in the same form, the effect is deadening, like the singing of Johnny One Note, in the Richard Rodgers tune, with lyrics by Lorenz Hart:

And the note he sang was this ...

Ahhhhh

Poor Johnny One Note, yelled willy nilly

Until he was blue in the face,

For holding one note was his ace.

Now, why did that corporate exec "soften" on the use of the semicolon?

"It appears," she says, "that I am a separator (as a lover of the dash) and not a uniter. Alas, I began to soften when I realized some circumstances require a tad bit more heft than a comma, and — lo and behold — I discovered that semicolons no longer annoy me as they used to. I still think they are inelegant, so I use them sparingly."

"Sparingly" is a good thing, even though it challenges the wisdom of that elegant philosopher Mae West, who said: "Too much of a good thing can be wonderful."