Somewhere around Mrs. Winestock’s third-grade English class, I became firmly convinced that starting a sentence with and or but would mean the end of life as I knew it. I imagined a giant red F scribbled across my paper, my promotion to fourth grade in jeopardy, and my future as a writer ruined.
Fast-forward to college years and journalism school, where I was at last liberated from my fear of the coordinating conjunction’s role in my inevitable downfall as a writer. I learned the truth and I...