Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? No, I’m not talking about springtime in Richmond. Have you ever been confused about when to capitalize the names of seasons?
A lot of people think that seasons are like proper names and that, therefore, they must all be capitalized. These people are incorrect in their assumptions.
Unless a season is named at the start of a sentence or is part of a proper name, you don’t need to capitalize it. I know you want to fight me on this one, but it’s okay. Take my hand. Don’t hit that shift button. It can just be spring, summer, autumn, or winter. No capital letters required.
This is one that’s often lost in translation—or lost in ignorance, maybe. When you’re talking about multi-lingual experts, do you know the difference between interpreters and translators?
Hint: Sign-language translators are incredibly rare.
Interpreters work with spoken text, and translators work with written text. It’s simple, really, but you hear it wrong all the time. Live speeches have interpreters. Multi-national meetings have interpreters. Interviews with a language barrier have interpreters. Why is it that “translator” is so ubiquitous? 50% of the time, it’s actually wrong.
I try to be convincing here on this blog—persuasive that grammar is indeed important. Have I convinced you, dear reader? Hopefully. Have I persuaded you? No. Trick question.
Though most people seem to use them interchangeably, “to convince” and “to persuade” should be used in different situations. The difference is all about what someone is being convinced of or persuaded to do. My word choice is intentional there. You convince someone of an idea. You persuade someone to take some sort of action.
Back by popular demand, let’s continue our conversation about hyphens and dashes. Oh, you know you’re excited. I was, anyhow, when last week’s blog prompted multiple requests for more.
Did you know that there are multiple lengths of dashes and different uses for these lengths? There are three basic marks to be aware of:
Remembering how old you are is one thing. Remembering where to put (or not put) the hyphens when you describe your age is another.
A thirty-one-year-old woman should be able to write grammatically. I am thirty-one years old. A thirty-one-year-old is old enough to know better.
Did you see those hyphens (or lack thereof)? They’re all correct. Do you know why?
Here’s the reminder: if the age is being used as an adjective or as a noun (as it is in my first and third examples), use hyphens; if the age is part of the adjective phrase following the noun (as it is in my second example), don’t use hyphens. Got it?
When a child is two years old, he or she doesn’t care about grammar. Maybe a ninety-year-old still doesn’t. Either way, knowing the rule doesn’t hurt, right?
Politics can be fascinating, can’t they? Every once in a while I play with writing opinion pieces (like this), some of which walk on the edge of political debate. Recently, I came across a book on the subject entitled Political Writing: A Guide to the Essentials. In it, the author writes:
“So it stands to reason that one of the tasks you must successfully complete in your quest to become a good writer is to expand your vocabulary. The more words you have mastered, the more distinctions you can make.”
I’m totally cheering on the author at this point. He clearly gets it. He’s helping people change the world. He’s surely a master with words himself. Then, I come upon this sentence:
“Mark Twain, who once observed that there are no true synonyms in the English language, said it best: ‘The difference between the right word and the wrong word is the difference between lightening and the lightening bug.’”
And once again, I shake my head at the state of politics today. Even their advisers seem lacking. Did you catch why?
“Lightening” and “lightning” are two different words. That giant bolt of static electricity once thought to be summoned by the gods is “lightning.” The verb “to lighten” is written as “lightening” in its present participle state. Auto-correct or spellcheck won’t help you with this one. You just have to pay attention.
Clever old Samuel Clements had his way with words, so let’s at least try to do the man justice by getting them right.
The word “thing” is the word that you use when you can’t remember the actual word that you need. It’s true, isn’t it? “Thing” is up there with “stuff,” “whozits,” ”whatsits,” “thingamabobs,” and “snarfblats” – okay, maybe not that last one. Anyone else have a song from The Little Mermaid suddenly pop into their head? No? Yeah, me either…
Admit it. We’re not always the best communicators. Sometimes, we form sloppy habits without realizing it. Edit the word “thing” out of your writing whenever possible. I promise: you can find a better word. Whether I’m ghostwriting professionally for a corporate client or writing or editing fiction, this is one word I don’t allow myself to use. Take it up as your own challenge. Unless you learned your vocabulary from a seagull named Scuttle, I have faith you can do it.
Recently, a challenge was thrown down from one of you. And you know me; I can’t ignore a good writing dispute. It’s like a double-dog dare in the school yard–just switch out the bold kid with me sitting at my computer, glasses on, jaw steeled with determination. (An intimidating picture, I know)
The claim states, “There are 923 words that break the ‘i’ before ‘e’ rule. Only 44 words actually follow that rule.”
For the sake of a writing tip, let’s take a moment to get into the nitty gritty fine print that this statement ignores. The “i” before “e” except after “c” rule applies only to words where the “ie” makes the “ee” sound (e.g. “achieve,” “piece,” “belief,” “receive,” “ceiling,” “receipt,” etc.). Some spelling textbooks even record this as part of the rhyme:
I before E except after C,
When the sound is “ee”More
The delineation of people into essential versus non-essential categories – it sounds a bit like something out of a John Hughes flick, doesn’t it? But I’m not talking social strata. I’m talking commas. Take that, Claire Standish.
Have you ever wondered why sometimes writers surround appositives with commas and sometimes they don’t? Let me rephrase that. Have you ever started reading a blog and then come across the word “appositives” and then debated whether you should keep reading because you a) didn’t know what it meant and/or b) started feeling a grammar-induced yawn coming on?