Writing Tip 395: “Daylight Savings Time” or “Daylight Saving Time”?

"Daylight Savings Time" or "Daylight Saving Time"You know what’s weird? “Daylight Savings Time” is not the correct name for when we shift our clocks an hour back or forward, but it feels like it’s more commonly said than than the correct version, which is “Daylight Saving Time” (DST).

Did you catch the difference? It should be “Saving,” not “Savings.”

“Saving” is not acting as a verb, which might make you assume some version of an “s” is needed, or maybe you’re just thinking about your savings in the bank, “savings” in that case being the noun form.

“Daylight saving” together makes an adjective phrase modifying “time.” Should there be a hyphen in “daylight saving,” since it’s working together as an adjective? You could make an argument for it (ignoring new AP hyphen rules), but it’s not the standard form. But why am I talking grammar jargon? Let’s get back to the interesting stuff. I hear you. I really do hear you. Who wants to talk grammar jargon?

Daylight Saving Time was first put into action in a small Canadian town in Ontario in 1908, but the first full countries to adopt the system were Austria and Germany in 1916 during World War I. A number of other European countries followed suit—and the U.S. began its own version, dubbed “Fast Time” in 1918—but after the end of the Great War, most countries stopped the practice. During World War II, Daylight Saving Time had a bit more staying power. In 1942, President Roosevelt reintroduced “War Time,” but rather than seasonal adjustments, the newly shifted time system stuck year round, all the way through 1945, which brought the end of the war and thus the introduction of “Peace Time.”

It wasn’t until the Uniform Time Act of 1966 that “Daylight Saving Time,” roughly as we know it today, went into effect—and that, of course is “Saving” not “Savings.”

This “s” or no “s” debate seems to have first arisen in the 1970s, but it’s been a consistent matter of confusion ever since. Here’s the Google Ngram that tracks the use of the two wordings over time:

Twice a year, we’re reminded to change our clocks, and twice a year, people write all about “daylight savings time.”

But not you any longer, savvy time-changer. No longer you.

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Writing Tip 394: “Succession” vs. “Secession” (& “Secede” vs. “Succeed”)

"Succession" vs. "Secession" cat

Planning a secession? Next in line in the succession? The world might not be ready for this guy’s next move either way.

Whether you’re creating your succession plan or your secession plan, it’s good to think it through—yes, even with your spelling.

Even the best of ideas can fall through without the right attention to detail. Maybe you’ve learned that the hard way. Maybe you’ve learned it by a typo hitting you in the face. (This is absolutely one that can do that.) More

Writing Tip 393: “Maze” vs. “Labyrinth”

“Maze” vs. “Labyrinth”David Bowie might have steered us wrong on this one, folks. And I suppose “steering” is a part of the problem. When distinguishing between a “maze” and a “labyrinth,” some sources argue that these words are synonyms, but it’s important to note that many others do not.

Yep, some word comparisons are simpler than others, and this is one where there remains some disagreement. Or if not “disagreement,” we can frame this as “everyday use” vs. “pro-level word savvy.”

Here’s what you need to know:

  • A “maze” is a puzzle that you need to figure out. There are wrong turns, dead ends, and often multiple pathways to get where you need to go. The word for this is “multicursal.” In a maze, there is a way in and a way out, and these are different places.
  • “Maze” vs. “Labyrinth”

    This is a labyrinth, not a maze. Go ahead, follow the path. You’ll see the difference.

    A “labyrinth” can be argued to be a variation of a maze, but it has only one entrance/exit. The goal may be to find the center, to find one’s way from the center out, or to find one’s way to the middle and then all the way back out. It may wend, and it may wind. It may be tortuous, and it may be torturous. But however you describe it, a labyrinth is “unicursal,” meaning it has with one singular path. A labyrinth can be as complex and as intricately designed as a maze; however, a true labyrinth, according to many sources, is a journey of discovery, not of trickery. Dead ends and wrong turns aren’t usually a part of a classic labyrinth.

What about the history of these words? Will etymology help us out?

  • The word “labyrinth” came into English in the 15th century, deriving from the Greek word labyrinthos. Of course, if one were to talk of Greeks and labyrinths, you might immediately think of the mythical minotaur-hiding structure of King Minos of Crete. Was that structure truly a maze or a labyrinth, though? Fabulous question. It seemed to have only entrance/exit, and it was a journey of discovery to find and kill (or be killed by) the minotaur stuck inside. However, it did seem to be a puzzle to figure out, with twists, turns, and dead ends. If it was one singular path, Theseus wouldn’t have needed the string to find his way out, would he? So apparently this “maze” vs. “labyrinth” confusion has been around for a long time. Maybe it was something lost in translation.
  • “Maze” vs. “Labyrinth”

    Here, the path has options, so technically, this is a maze. Are you “amazed”?

    The word “maze” first entered the English language in the time of Middle English, and in these early days, “maze” meant “delusion” or “confusion.” It is likely related to “amaze,” though its linguistic origins are a bit confusing in itself.

Yes, when we are first learning the definition of “labyrinth” as children, we are told it’s a synonym of “maze.” Many people use these words interchangeably, and many dictionaries will call this acceptable. However, if you want to dig deeper, there’s more complexity there than first meets the eye. Like schools and shoals of fish, there’s everyday use and then there are the tiny distinctions that truly set them apart.

As for David Bowie’s labyrinth, I don’t know what to say. There’s a lot that confounds logic in that one. I’m not convinced this movie should be the guide to correct English language use, but then again, David Bowie is one to provoke lots of questions. Maybe this is just one more.

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Writing Tip 392: “Sick” vs. “Sic” (or “Sick ‘Em” vs. “Sic ‘Em”)

“Sick” vs. “Sic” (or “Sick ‘Em” vs. “Sic ‘Em”) dog

Will she listen if you say, “sick ’em” or “sic ’em”? Maybe neither, the adorable thing, but you need to at least know the difference.

I have dreams of someday someone opening up my grammar book and saying, “dude, that’s sick,” with “sick” meaning awesome. If they said, “it’s [sic],” I’d be super bummed. So bummed I would “sick” or “sic” a dog after them? No. That seems a bit over the top, don’t you think? But I needed to see how else to get these words into the story.

You probably never realized how complicated “sick” vs. “sic” could be.

Remember:

  • “Sick” is an adjective meaning ill. It can also mean disgusting or occasionally awesome, depending on where you want to let slang take you, but that’s another story.
  • “To sic” is a verb, meaning to incite an attack or go after. If there’s a “beware of dog” sign, this is the verb you should be most worried about coming from an angry neighbor.
  • “[Sic]” inside of brackets is a way to denote an error inside of a quote, pointing out that the flaw was in the original text, not your bad transcription or other rendering of it. This “sic” is Latin for “so thus,” meaning “intentionally so written.”
So, knowing this, should you tell a dog to “sick ‘em” or “sic ‘em”?

Well, I suppose it would depend on whether you wanted the dog to make someone sick or to attack. Usually, this phrasing is all about the attack, though, so “sic” would be what you’re looking for.

Of course, if you found it misspelled in a quote, it would look something like this:

He said, “sick [sic] ‘em, Rover.”

Knowing whether to tell your dog whether to lay or lie down is one thing, but knowing how to spell your commands is equally important.

Will anyone ever tell me how totally sick my writing tips are? We’ll see what happens. But in the meantime, at least we can get one more word’s spelling straight.

Happy writing, folks.

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S3: E5 – Where Do We Get the Word “Hipster”?

People surround us. Words surround us. The words we use for people surround us. And things can get tricky.

We might fall into traps of not knowing better with some words, like “gypsy,” which is often considered a racial slur to people of the Roma population—along with the word “gyped,” as in “I was gyped,” which stems from this “gypsy” word. So, hint on that, it’s one you probably want to cut from your vocabulary.

I could go way, way deeper on language that offends—clearly—but what got me started on this concept of words for groups is the word “hipster.” Some words are cooler than cool, and this is one of them. Hipster. And is it related to hippie?

Hip hip hooray. Hip. Hep. Let’s get excited, folks. This is the Words You Should Know podcast, Season 3, Episode 5.

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Writing Tip 391: “Manila” vs. “Vanilla” Folders

"Manila" vs. "Vanilla" FoldersI find it fascinating when typos are so common that online stores consider them and can redirect these mistakes to what you actually need. Maybe home improvement stores do this with spigots already when someone searches for a “spicket,” but what’s gotten my attention lately is the mistake of “manila” vs. “vanilla” folders.

Do you know what they are actually called?

Before you embarrass yourself in front of your boss, please remember that the correct word is “manila.”

They have nothing to do with anything vanilla in taste or color. (I’m guessing you already knew that about any potential taste, but I’m just covering all the bases here.)

Here’s the story:

Manila folders were introduced to the world in the late 1800s. They gained their name from the material that they were originally made out of, manila hemp. This specific type of hemp comes from a species of plantain-like fruit called abacá, which grows largely in the Philippines, and, of course, you know that Manila is the capitol of the Philippines. Manila hemp was a popular material in paper making, its yellowish-brown fibers strong yet thin, perfect for folders and envelopes.

Of course, manila folders are not still made of manila hemp; however, they are most commonly colored to mimic the original shade of yellowish brown. It’s funny how people get used to things and want to keep them familiar, isn’t it?

The “vanilla envelope” confusion seems to go back to the 1980s, or at least that’s when there’s a written record of it jumping into popular use.

Typos persist, but don’t depend on someone else (or ecommerce website redirects) to fix this problem for you. At work, at school, or organizing your home file cabinet, go ahead and use the supplies that make things easier. Manila envelopes are sturdy and multi-purpose. But they are in no way connected with vanilla.

Please don’t plop your vanilla ice cream on your folders to make this better. No vanilla bean essential oil needs to be a part of this. It’s a simple swap–not “vanilla” but “manila.” I have faith you can get this right.

Is this pushing the envelope? Nope, but it is time to get this word right.

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S3: E4 – The Origin of “Silhouette” & How Do You Spell “Piecemeal” (“Peacemeal”? “Piecemail”?) Anyway?

A few stolen minutes out of your day to talk words and communication, because Ben Franklin and Kurt Cobain both influenced our modern English language and spelling memes deserve to be debunked. Words. Language. Human communication. Everything begins there.

Norrie Epstein once said, “The best writing advice I ever received: facts are eloquent.” Oh how much I love this statement. It’s true in conversations, in books, in journalism, and anywhere words might take you. Sometimes, these facts are world changing. Sometimes, these facts are word-changing—or, at least in how you perceive certain uses of language.

Are you ready to dive in? I have two big questions for you today.

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Writing Tip 390: “Piecemeal” vs. “Piecemail” vs. “Peacemeal”

"Piecemeal" vs. "Piecemail" vs. "Peacemeal"

If you have a full dandelion, can you make its wishes in piecemeal? I’m guessing not, but who knows how wishes work?

If a “happy meal” once made you excited as a kid, would a “peace meal” make you excited as a grown up? “Happy” is good, but “peace” is a larger group undertaking. I know it’s not that simple, but I like the idea of a “peace meal,” even if this isn’t the actual spelling of the word.

What are we actually talking about?

To do something bit by bit. To do it in pieces. First things first, the beginning of this word is “piece” not “peace.” Got it? Good. But what about the rest of it?

Piecemeal? Piecemail? Piece-what?

I know “meal” doesn’t seem logical here—there’s nothing involving food to mention, no calories and nothing Instagram-worthy—but that is the correct spelling of this word: “P-I-E-C-E-M-E-A-L.”

The truth of it is that “piecemeal” is simply a really old word, dating back to roughly 1300, and this “meal” ending that was once completely logical has transformed into something bemusing, something befuddling. But here’s what you should know.

“Piecemeal” comes from the word “piece,” as we understand it today (isn’t it awesome when there’s a not tricky part?), combined with the suffix or word ending “-meal.” But, again, let’s think past food. This old “meal” was used around the concept of measurement. For example, a “footmeal”—or fotmælum in Old English—was not a time to sit and dine on feet, it was talking about the length of a foot. Moreover, it was more than a measurement. It was understood as “foot by foot,” or a little bit at a time. Footmeal. Thus, “piecemeal” could be understood not just as a small measurement but also “piece by piece,” which would hold the same meaning for us today.

We should also add into this conversation the old word “fingermeal,” which is not a meal to be eaten with one’s fingers, but that same old use of “meal” as a measurement, as in the length of a finger.

Footmeal. Fingermeal. Piecemeal. It’s all coming together now, isn’t it?

Hopefully. At least you’ll get the spelling right, and please remember “piecemeal” is a single word. No hyphen is necessary.

We’re not talking world peace within this word. I’ve even heard interesting arguments about how maybe it’s “piecemail” related to the chainmail (also spelled “chainmaille”) a knight might have worn in the Middle Ages (the little links joining up piece by piece to make the whole). To this, I say, cool idea and very creative, but just because you can make up a story, that doesn’t mean it’s true.

Wait a moment, I’m sensing a moral here. You know I love storytellers, but there’s a time and a place for such creativity. Spreading #fakenews about etymology stories … that’s just going too far.

Do you have any word origin stories you always believed were true but then they actually weren’t? I feel you. But now is the time to get things right—to write things right—to right the wrongs by writing them right.

Too much?

S3: E3 – The origin of “compete” and “boycott” & is “lineup” / “line up” one or two words anyway?

A few stolen minutes out of your day to talk words and communication. Let’s talk language tips for the curious or confused. Welcome to episode three of season three.

The Irish author Samuel Beckett once wrote, “Ever tried? Ever failed? No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.” I love this idea, in talking about communication skills as well as so many other areas of life.

People can be so scared of failure or doing something incorrectly. I’ve been thinking a lot about this lately. But what can we achieve if we don’t try?

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Writing Tip 389: “Line up” vs. “Lineup” vs. “Line-up”

Should I say, “how do you like them apples” in this lineup?

Think fast, should it be one or two words? Or should it be hyphenated?

“Line up” or “lineup” or “line-up”? It’s one of those language questions that can have you staring at the blinking cursor on your screen. Hopefully, this quandary isn’t one that crosses the line of something that has you blinking and cursing at your screen.

But when I ask, “which version is correct,” it’s admittedly a bit of a trick question. It can be one word or two, depending on your goals with it.

Is it a verb, where you are lining something up? Children, pencils, chess pieces? If you’re saying, “line up, everyone,” or realizing it’s time to line up your nesting dolls—one next to its smaller sister, next to its smaller sister, next to its smaller sister—it’s two words.

Is it a noun, where you’re referring to the group? Your fantasy football team lineup or the lineup for tonight’s performance? If so, it is one word, no space, no hyphen. I know you want that hyphen, but it’s really not necessary.

But what about that hyphen? You never actually need it. Sure, maybe you could get away with it when you’re using it as an adjective, as in the coaches’ “line-up” decisions, but notice my wording here. “Maybe, you could get away with it.” The recommended version, even when acting as an adjective, is the one word form.

So in short, lineup (one word) is a noun or adjective. Line up (two words) is a verb.

That’s not too tricky, right? “Pick up” / “Pickup” and “Set up” / “Setup” work the same way.

The one-word form is a noun or adjective. The two-word form is a verb.

There’s not any English language grammar offenders lineup, where you’re going to be called out by folks wielding red pens poised for the attack. You know I’m here to take down the idea of grammar police, not because they don’t have things to teach us, but because it’s not the attitude we need right now. Let’s embrace helping each other and trying to be better versions of ourselves. In life—as in grammar—this is how we change the world.

Maybe today, our efforts are as simple as striking a hyphen, but who knows what’s next?

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