Blog - Kris Spisak

Writing Tip 386: “Troubleshooted” vs. “Troubleshot”

Is this a “trouble-shot”? Depends on what’s hit, I suppose.

Does “troubleshot” make you think of that photo bomb that wasn’t your wisest decision? Is it a penalty kick in a tied game? Does it make you think of that last two ounces of tequila that you just shouldn’t have agreed to?

I’m okay with these definitions. I think they are all “trouble-shots” in their own way. But you know how you also need to think of “troubleshot”? It’s the past tense of “troubleshoot.”

Yep, it’s true. More

Writing Tip 385: “Flow” vs. “Floe”

Sure, your eye might land on the iceberg, but do you see all of those flat, floating sheets of ice? That’s what we’re talking about here.

Sometimes, you’ve just got to go with the flow, unless you’re riding along on an iceberg. Then, perhaps, it’s time to reconsider—your spelling among other things.

Actually, an “iceberg” is a bit misleading. When we’re talking about an “ice floe,” we’re not talking about giant mountains of ice. More

Writing Tip 384: Getting down to “Brass Tacks” or “Brass Tax”?

Is the expression, getting down to “brass tacks” or “brass tax”? Is this the hint you need? Maybe. Maybe not.

Here’s that moment when you pause and think: pennies are made of copper; nickels are made of nickel. Is there a coin made of brass? Or is there some brass purchasing tax we just aren’t aware of?

Or was it something of a different era? Did Robin Hood steal money from the rich and give to the poor all because of that brass tax? Or does this have to do with a tea party in Boston? No brass taxation without representation? No, that’s not right.

There are so many stories I could imagine here—though, okay, fine, I’ll stop now—but it’s time to get down to the truth of this:

The proper spelling of this expression is “brass tacks” not “brass tax.”

If you want to “get down to brass tacks,” that means to get down to the core of something or to get down to the issue or task at hand.

Where do these “brass tacks” come from? Now, there’s admittedly a bit of debate there—not quite an English language kerfuffle but definitely a small squabble.

The “getting down to brass tacks” origin theories?

In an era when haberdashery was a commonly used word (not just something a writer has fun writing for nostalgia’s sake like this moment for me personally), the shift from fabric sold by a rough “yard,” as in an arm’s length, to an exact repeatable measurement, as in precisely thirty-six inches, seems to have occurred in the 1800s. These measurements weren’t commonly made by yard sticks or rulers every time but by brass tacks that were put into tables or shop-keepers’ counters for easy access when laying out bolts of fabric. Thus, “getting down to brass tacks,” came from the “getting down to the precise details of the task at hand.” Maybe?
Fine leather furniture has used brass tacks for centuries, not only for their function but also their style. Fine Tudor furniture? Brass tacks all the way. Federalist era chairs? Brass tacks ever so subtle and sophisticated. However, if we’re “getting down to brass tacks,” that’s a bit confusing, because the brass tacks would be one of the last pieces added to the furniture to hold the fabric or final construction in place. They wouldn’t be something at the core of the structure, as the expression implies.
Cockney rhyming slang might have pulled “brass tacks” out of a phrase about “facts.” (Say it with the right accent and it works, trust me.) I do love language origin stories that come out of slang, but since most seem to believe that “getting down to brass tacks” is American in origin, it’s hard to get fully behind this theory.

The haberdashery answer is in the lead for me personally, but I’m not going to preach on it. You can choose your own adventure with this origin story for now.

The good news is that you don’t have to worry about your taxes. The bad news is that the language etymology mystery lingers. I’ll update you if it’s ever settled.

Happy writing, folks!

P.S. Thanks to the newsletter subscriber who submitted this question. I love questions from my readers. Let me know if you have one too!

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Writing Tip 383: Apostrophes with “Years of Experience” & “Years’ Experience”

“Years of Experience” & “Years’ Experience” - clocks

Time flies when you’re having fun. Maybe it’s true if you love your job. Maybe, it’s time to rewrite your resume. Here’s a hint that might just help your cause.

Resume writers can be baffled about where to put the apostrophe (or not) when writing about the experience of their years. Is there an apostrophe? Is there none?

Let’s settle this one and for all. Yes. And yes. How easy is that? Wait … let’s break this down. More

Writing Tip 382: “Frayed Nerves” or “Fried Nerves”?

This rope isn’t fried. It’s frayed. Here’s hoping you’re not feeling either.

Your mind might feel fried, but what about your nerves? Are they fried too? Or are they something else?

This is an expression that goes back a couple centuries, but sometimes, the exact wording is misheard or misspoken.

Is it “Frayed Nerves” or “Fried Nerves”?

And have you been saying this correctly? More

Writing Tip 381: “Beside” vs. “Besides” the Point

These pins might be beside a pin cushion, but they are not besides it.

Some English language questions feel a bit prickly, but this shouldn’t be one of them.

As similar as they might appear at first glance, the debate between “beside” vs. “besides” is not similar to that of “toward” vs. “towards” or “backward” vs. “backwards.” Most of these are words that show physical relationships (ahem, “prepositions” for those who care about formal names), but one of these things is not like the other. Do you know which one? More

Writing Tip 380: “Hurray” vs. “Hooray”

Hip, hip, hallelujah! No, that’s not right. But how do you spell the last word of this cheer of excitement?

You know that last day of school feeling? What’s the right word for that? And then, how do you spell it?

Hooray! Hurray! Huzzah! Yep, these are all versions of the same exclamation of joy, encouragement, or approval that sometimes just has to be vocalized.

The Oxford English Dictionary prefers “hooray,” noting it’s a version of “hurrah.” Merriam-Webster and Dictionary.com agree. The Cambridge Dictionary prefers “hurray,” noting “hooray” is a variant in the U.S. But what about you? What does your gut say?

“Hurray” vs. “hooray” is an oddly tricky question. More

S2: E10 – Nervous “Tics” & Nervous “Ticks” Plus Other Things That Make You Squirm (Besides Grammar)

Words You Should Know podcast by Kris Spisak

So you’re telling me you think grammar is gross. You’re allergic to the idea of sentence diagramming. Actually paying attention to the English Language sounds kind of icky. Okay, sure, that’s not my opinion, but you knew that. And if it’s yours, that’s okay. I get it.

But you know what is icky to me? Lots of the creatures that seem to be coming out this time of year, and the problem is that the words we use about them often cause as much confusion as anything else.

This is episode 10, the final episode of season 2 of the “Words You Should Know” podcast. Time flies when you’re having fun, I guess. Let’s dive in.

What is distinctive about the kitten in the middle? There is a distinct color that distinguishes her from her litter-mates. You could say she’s distinctively colored. Or you could forget all this and just go cuddle a kitten…

It is my distinct pleasure to dive deep into the distinct differences between “distinct” vs. “distinctive.” How do we distinguish one from the other? What is distinctive about each? How are “distinct,” “distinctive,” and “distinguished” not so distantly related? It’s time we figured this out.

I know I’m not the only one who’s written the word “distinctive” and then paused—convinced it should actually be “distinct,” or should it be?

Here’s what you need to remember when these two words start to feel complicated:

“Distinct” commonly means “unique” or “different,” or it refers to a quality that would be easily observed or recognized. If you hear a distinct sound, that means you definitely heard something that stood out amid any other noises. If you see a distinct motion in the darkness, that means that you definitely saw something. And perhaps you should run. Or perhaps it was just an adorable kitten being mischievous when no one would see it getting into trouble.
“Distinctive” often refers to a quality of a whole that makes it stand out. For example, a writer could have a distinctive voice. Your favorite craft beer could have a distinctive flavor. A cat could have a distinctive meow that is discernible from the others. Or maybe it’s less of a meow and more of a yowl—in which case, good luck with that.

These aren’t the only definitions of these two words, but these are the definitions where the meanings sometimes seem most muddled.

Both “distinct” and “distinctive” have been around for a long time, the 14th and 15th centuries respectively. Now, that’s a lot of time for confusion between the two, but it is what it is. They are close etymological neighbors but not exact synonyms. I repeat: not exact synonyms.

“Distinguish” also arrived into English in the 15^th century, with the “distinguished” form not appearing until 1714.

Whether you call me distinguished in my quest for clarity in English communications or not is up for you to decide, but I know this is another distinct word usage question that has people curious. Is my answer distinctive? Maybe. But either way, it’s good to finally have this settled.

Now, I apologize if you’re allergic to all of these cats.

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S2: E9 – Whippersnappers & the Birth Order of Grammar Rebels

Words You Should Know podcast by Kris Spisak

I don’t know if birth order has anything to do with grammar persnicketiness. Do eldest children have a tendency of dotting their i’s and crossing their t’s? Are youngest children inclined toward utter grammar rebellion?

Was that first known person to drop an “OMG” in 1917—yep, I said that date correctly, 1917—was he a youngest child? I bet he was.

Was the member of One Direction who once jumped off the stage to correct the grammar on a fan’s sign an oldest child? I have no idea, but that’s my guess.

Here’s what I do know:

Lindley Murray, often called the “Father of Grammar” was an eldest child.
Noah Webster, American English renegade, was the 4^th child out of 5.
Ben Franklin, English language revolutionary, was the 15^th child out of 17. (Yikes, power to that mama…)

This is the Words You Should Know podcast, Season 2: Episode 9, and it’s time to go deeper.