No, they’re consequential strangers, which is  a different word entirely.   Recently, I asked my Facebook friends (most are actually CS) for examples of similar phrases in which the meaning of the second word is completely changed by the presence of the first.  

They came up with many suggestions in which the first word modified the second, but does it completely change the meaning of the word?  A final curtain is still a curtain; a silent prayer still a prayer.  Others in that group included heavy duty, dual diagnosis, bind date, jump shot, bathing suit, and sponge bath.  (I came up with will power, which is still a power of sorts.)

They also offered other oxymorons, like jumbo shrimp (suggested by two people), along with civil war,  invisible ink, and amicable divorce.  But in each of those cases, the meaning of the second word is really just modified.  However ironcially, they’re still shrimp, ink, and divorce.  Granted, consequential strangers start out as strangers–all relationships do–but then they become something altogether different.   

The best suggestions, I think, were friendly fire, jazz fiend, smart cookie, trail blazer, military intelligence, and, when meant as an exclamation, good grief!   In each case, the second word takes on an entirely different meaning than if it stood alone.

Is there a name for such phrases? I’d really love William Safire to weigh in here.  Consequential stranger is an oxymoron, but these relationships–in scholarly circles, “weak ties” and in everyday parlance “acquaintances”–are people we know.  So if you’re listening, Mr. Safire or any other experts in our language, your input would be greatly appreciated. 

In the meantime, just remember:  Consequential strangers are not strangers! 

And if you’re wondering whether a particular person in your everyday comings and goings is a friend or consequential stranger, take this test.

Writing a book involves far more than a completing a manuscript (not that that is any small thing, this last book having taken me three years).  But the writing happens, for the most part, in a room somewhere–alone.  Now it’s on to promotion, work that happens in the real world–work, as research on marketing and movements confirms, that is dependent upon consequential strangers.   

So, I’ve spent the last week emailing, talking, meeting, and strategizing.  I don’t know yet whether I’ll hire any of the publicists I’ve met or which of the lecture agents I’ll sign with or whether that guy who (according to one of my PR contacts)  ”gets” Internet marketing, is worth what he charges.  But after writing this book, I can’t help but see the process of making those decisions through a social lens.  I’ve already started to tap various members of my own social convoy–my agent, the team at Norton, people I’ve worked with, people who know people, social types, intellectuals, fellow journalists, and others in the media.  And from them, I’m getting everything the research on “weak ties” promises: their information, their support, advice, a fresh perspective, a good laugh, their recommendations, and from other writers, their particular brand of empathy (many have been here).

I’ve been published before, even had a best seller.  But this time is different, because I’m living my book’s message.  It’s kind of like the little girl on the Morton Salt box, pouring salt from a Morton Salt box.  Spreading the word about a book about consequential strangers is in the hands of consequential strangers.