You know who’s tired of this confusion? This guy. (If there was ever a bird to know his Shakespeare, this is the one.)
Perhaps with birds of prey, you might have a “fowl swoop.” Perhaps with gangly young basketball players, you might have a “foul swoop.” But when you’re looking for what to call a sudden, swift action, “fell swoop” is the correct form. How many of you are writing this one right?
Your answers: In extremely casual cases, you can get away with “nite,” but note, I’m saying “extremely casual.” Personally, I’d recommend avoiding it at all costs (this spelling makes some people—like yours truly—cringe), but if you’re texting a friend, I suppose this spelling is okay.
However, “nite,” like “lite,” is not an acceptable Scrabble word.
Contrary to first instincts to blame our messy texting and social media posting culture, “nite” has been around for well over 100 years, at least as early as the 1870s. But even with this history, it has never been accepted as a standard form.
And please for the love of words, never say anything about a “nite in shining armor.” That’s just crazy talk. You know better than that.
“Anytime” is a relatively new word—yes, we’re calling early 20th century “recent” for the sake of this linguistic argument. And you know that any time there is a new word, there’s going to be a grammarian hullaballoo. Here’s just another example.
When does he walk in the middle of the road? Anytime he wants to. He’s a rebel like that. Linguistic and otherwise.
“Anytime” (one word) is considered a casual form, not one for your résumé or emails to advance you up the corporate ladder. In fact, this one-word form is still not recognized by some dictionaries. (I’m looking at you, OED). “Anytime” technically is defined as an adverb meaning “whenever” or “on any occasion,” but as a new word, it is young and defiant, having other meanings too. “Anytime” can also simply mean “No problem,” in response to a “thank you.”
If you aren’t sure if you can get away with “anytime” vs. “any time,” ask yourself if you can replace the word in question with “at any time.”
Just because spell-check doesn’t flag “waiver” doesn’t mean that it’s the correct word for your sentence.
If you’re feeling weak in the knees, you’re “wavering” not “waivering”—unless, of course, at that moment you are also signing away some prior held privilege. In this case, maybe you’re wavering while you’re waivering? No, that’s still not right. Let’s explore “waiver” vs. “waver” further.
“Waiver” is a noun, meaning an intentional surrendering of a right, interest, or privilege or the written statement detailing this relinquishment.
“Waver” is most commonly a verb, meaning to sway or become unsteady. It can also mean to show indecision.
If you were hit by a wave, maybe you’d waver.
If you’re being indecisive, there’s no need to bring legal documents into it.
Just my two cents. Know what you’re saying. Don’t just trust spellcheck, people.
Psst… I have a secret your old high school English teacher didn’t want you to know. It’s okay to begin with “And” or “But.”
There’s a good reason your English teachers didn’t want you starting sentences with a conjunction. Developing strong writing skills is all about learning clarity and precision, and academic writing especially requires a certain language formality—the same formality that requires the proper usage of who vs. whom and semicolons. When students grow up and write professional correspondences, being in the habit of starting sentences in ways other than a conjunction will be a benefit to them.
But, of course, avoiding conjunctions at the start of sentences isn’t a hard rule.
Maybe the only way this flower is alive in the snow and ice is because it’s deep-seeded. No? Yeah, I don’t think so either.
No matter how much the weather makes you feel like gardening (or perhaps not…), there is nothing tracing back to seeds, roots, or things buried far within the dirt with this idiom.
If you have a belief that is held deep in your core, it is “deep-seated”—as in seated deeply within your heart. (Note, there’s a hyphen present since these two words are combining to become an adjective.)
You don’t want to bury your seeds too deeply or they won’t grow. The same goes for this idiom. No more deep seeding, everyone. “Deep-seated” is the way to go.
Kermit doesn’t like extra words in sentences either.
Words are so much fun sometimes that we often add them in nonsensically, letting them land where they may. Sometimes we stick extra words into sentences where they really have no point. That’s exactly the case when it comes to “equally as.”
Hint: There’s no point to the word “as” next to the word “equally” in most instances. Please clean it up if it spills onto your keyboard.
For example:
The twins were equally tall.
The pigs in space were equally smart.
The muppets were equally hilarious. (Strike that sentence; it’s not true. Sorry, Fozzy.)
Do you see how “as” is never needed in these cases? Yet writers add this little word in all of the time. Why is that? Where did it start? When will it stop?
Admittedly, in instances where you are writing “equally as (adjective) as ____,” making a comparison in the latter half of the sentence, the “as” works–though in this case, there would be two “as”es in the sentence, never just one. I repeat, never just one. Here’s a little grammatical instance of how change can start with you.
Mozart composed the Prague Symphony, and many stones compose this bridge in Prague.
100 writing tips compose my book, Alright? Not All Right. My book comprises 100 writing tips. There’s a subtle difference between these words that is essential in mastering their usage. Are you getting them right?
Ignoring other meanings for a moment, let’s focus on when “compose” means “to come together to form something.” Thus, little pieces come together to make something big. Words compose a page; planets compose the solar system; trees compose a forest.
To comprise means “to contain,” so to use it properly, something big must contain smaller parts. The library comprises books; molecules comprise atoms; the “dead poets society” did not comprise dead poets (or maybe it did have one. Oh, I just got sad… good movie).
I’m convinced that swans think deep thoughts. Perhaps the usage of the reflexive pronoun is one of them. No? You don’t agree?
We’ve addressed prickly “I” versus “me” usage, but “myself” needs its own moment in the editorial spotlight. Sure, it can be egotistical or dramatic, but it’s time that “myself” is finally understood. Are you with me?
Above all else, remember that “myself” is not interchangeable with “I” or “me.”
The painter and myself didn’t choose our palette (yikes!)
No one went to the library with my friend and myself (no!)
Neither of these sentences is correct. If you’re not sure why, return to that “I” versus “me” refresher. Here’s what you do need to know about this tricky word—and let’s add “yourself,” “himself,” “herself,” “itself,” “ourselves,” “yourselves,” and “themselves” to this conversation too. (These are all reflexive pronouns, but I’ll whisper the grammar jargon so as not to scare you away).