If I were you, I’d be a bit cautious if someone wanted to envelope you in their arms. Does this mean they’re going to put you into a giant package and ship you off somewhere? Or perhaps this is just a typo. I’m guessing it’s a typo. But it’s typos like this that always give me pause. You can do better, folks.
Nothing makes you feel less like a graduate than failing your first real-world spelling test. Do you know the difference between “alumnus,” “alumna,” “alumnae” & “alumni”?
When people start talking Latin origins and uncommon spelling forms, tension begins to build in some secret place where childhood spelling bee angst hides. When we start adding word gender form into the conversation, there’s a tendency for hands to be tossed into the air. But sometimes, there are moments for tossing up graduation caps rather than hands. And in these cases, you need to make sure you’re prepared.
Being someone who stocks things is good. Being someone who stocks or stalks people is bad. Being someone who stalks things could go either way—but I’m guessing there has to be a story there.
We can talk about corn stalks or agricultural stocks on the New York Stock Exchange. We can talk about stockings made of silk or a stalking horse, but whichever form you intend, make sure you’re spelling it right. Neither farmers, not investors do well when they’re careless.
Sometimes pressing send on an important communication can feel like a gamble. When you misspell a word that spellcheck doesn’t catch—like applying to be a “manger” rather than a “manager” (ouch!)—it can really hurt the cause. Typos can sometimes sneak into our writing when you aren’t looking (or when you forget to proof yourself), and here’s one more you need to make sure to get right to make those big emails slightly less of a “gamble,” “gambol,” or otherwise.
If you’re walking into a Vegas hotel, maybe you’re getting ready to gamble. If you’re gamboling through the door of that hotel, that’s something quite different.
Before April showers bring May flowers, there are a lot of puddles around. If you’re inclined to splash around in your galoshes, you need to know the difference between “spatter” vs. “splatter.” Neither are misspellings. And there is a difference.
Take a moment with this one. Any guesses?
Here’s a hint: “Splatter” appears to actually be an old portmanteau, a squishing together of “splash” and “spatter” in the vein of frenemy, brunch, or nowadays. Its first known use was in 1785.
Half of a loaf may be better than none, as the saying goes, but for those lucky enough to have more than one loaf, do you know how to pluralize this noun?
Spellcheck isn’t going to help you.
Neither are similar words that end in “s.” “Knife” becomes “knives,” and “dwarf” becomes “dwarfs” after all. (Oh, it’s true. And I hear you, ghost of Tolkien. Stop messing with people on this one!)
Let’s talk about “Ring” vs. “Wring” and “Rung” vs. “Wrung.” I think that’s the best place to start with this idiom that is misspelled so often.
I know spelling can sometimes put you “through the wringer” (or is it “through the ringer”?), but it’s time to pay attention and get this right.
If you’re wringing your hands because of an alarm bell ringing, I get it. I do. But there’s a difference that we need to understand. Your hands aren’t making any noise. Go ahead. Try it. I’ll wait.
You could raise the roof, or you could raze the roof. Just know there’s a big difference between the two.
Word pairs that sound the same (homophones) aren’t often antonyms, but “Raise” vs. “Raze” is one of those rare pairings where correct spelling is essential. Imagine a city planner walking into a meeting of community members with a proposal to raise a building between two historic properties. Now, imagine that same planner wanting to raze a building. Both are logical uses of these words, but the reaction of the crowd might differ dramatically.
If you’re doing lots of naval-gazing, maybe you’re missing a sailor or maybe you’re a spy. But I’m guessing it might just be a typo if you’re writing about excessive introspection.
“Navel-gazing,” meaning the contemplation of your own thoughts, concerns, and existence (often to a self-absorbed degree), was first used in 1959, but oh, the spelling confusion since then.
You’ve heard it said, but do you know how to spell it?
This is another case of the English language being funky and you over-thinking your knowledge of the the nick of time, knots, gnats, and other words with spellings that sound like they should simply begin with the letter “n.”