word choice

Writing Tip 117: Wack vs. Whack

You know what’s wack? Spellcheck. It isn’t up with the times—and by “times,” I don’t just mean the past few decades.

“Wack” has been an accepted term for someone who is a bit odd for a long time (originating roughly in the 1930s), most likely coming from the adjective “wacky.” More recently (roughly the 1980s), it became a term for something of dubious quality or something inferior or bad. It’s slang, sure, but when it has a unique spelling, you need to make sure you’re not misusing it when you mean something else.

“Whack” (with the “h”) has a few definitions from striking forcefully to the strike itself to murdering and beyond, but that “h” is necessary in all of these forms.

And here’s a twist: remember that old arcade game where you whack moles with a big mallet? That was called Whac-a-mole. I know. It’s wack.

Thus ends today’s random lesson in word confusion.

Writing Tip 116: Regardless vs. Irregardless

“Irregardless” is not a word. Please stop using it. Don’t you love it when things are simple?

Writing Tip 115: Raised vs Rose

The fog rose or the fog raised — Think fast: the fog raised off of the fields or the fog rose off of the fields?

Much like lay and lie, we have another transitive-intransitive verb situation on our hands. Darn it. I lost you with more grammar language again. Strike that! I meant cat riding a skateboard! Puppies snowboarding! Donkeys driving speedboats! Back with me? Okay, let’s dive in.

We’re working with two different words here: raise and rise. Both mean to move upward, of course, but the difference is whether the subject is moving or the subject is moving an object.

“Raise” is the transitive verb (stay with me!). It requires an object. For example, she raises her head; we raised a glass.

“Rise” is the intransitive verb (You’ve come this far. Hang on!). It doesn’t require an object. For example, the sun rises in the morning; I rose out of my bed.

You can see from my examples that “raised” is the past tense of “raise” and “rose” is the past tense of “rise.”

Of course, you have to keep a look out for “razed” as well, but that is a whole other story. We’ll leave that destruction to another day.

Writing Tip 114: Disinterested vs. Uninterested

There are some words that people use as synonyms when they really aren’t. Yep, this is me calling you out again, language lazy friends. Or perhaps that’s too strong. Maybe it’s not laziness so much as ignorance. Grammar naiveté. So often these are subtleties never taught, after all. So how are you to pick them up on your own? That’s what I’m here for, folks.

“Disinterested” and “uninterested” are another example of words that are treated as synonyms but actually have different meanings.

To be “disinterested” means to be impartial. A disinterested person wouldn’t have a stake in the outcome. To be “uninterested” means that you simply don’t care. This is a subtle difference, but one worth noting.

For example, a disinterested referee would call the game fairly. An uninterested referee might not be paying much attention.

Have you been using these words correctly?

Writing Tip 113: You’re Welcome

welcome welcomed cute dog — “Welcome!” says this welcome little bundle of cuteness. (You’re welcome.)

A welcomed question came my way last week. Or was it a welcome question? You see where I’m going here. The word “welcome” can be one that you overthink since it has so many forms. It can be an interjection (“Welcome, friend!”), a verb (“He welcomed them into his home”), or an adjective (“a most welcome language tip”).

Remember that only verbs have to worry about tense. Even if something was welcome last week or last year, if you’re using the word “welcome” as an adjective, you never need to add on that “d” or any other conjugated form. The same thing goes for interjections, of course, but I’m not convinced that’s one that you’d be confused by. (“Welcomed!” “Welcoming!”—Yep, it sounds weird no matter how you do it).

Great question, grammar-concerned friend. Does anyone have any others?

Writing Tip 112: For all intents and purposes (not “intensive purposes”)

He was Henry the eighth, he was. Henry the eighth, he was, he was.

Did you know that the origin of this tricky idiom goes back to a single member of English royalty? Henry VIII is the one for whom you can blame this phrase. Its first recorded use appears to be a 1539 proclamation of parliament. And yes, it was written “for all intents and purposes,” not “intensive purposes.” As you know, it means “for all practical reasons” or simply “in effect.”

If you were first introduced to this phrase in spoken English rather than written English, I can understand the confusion, but be sure not to sound silly if you use the expression yourself. For all intents and purposes, “intents and purposes” is the way to go.

Got it?

Writing Tip 111: Just Deserts or Just Desserts?

Today, allow me to blow your spelling-bee hating mind. If someone gets what they deserve, do they get their “just deserts” or their “just desserts”?

Oh, I know, you’re confident on this one. Just listen to that pronunciation!

Starting off with refreshers, we know that a tasty post-meal treat is a “dessert” (s x 2). We know that cacti grow in “deserts” (s x 1).

When you use the “just deserts”/”just desserts” expression, it is pronounced the same way you say “desserts.” It’s clearly not talking about a sandy, dry locale. There’s probably some etymological backstory about a poisoned soufflé or something, right? Yeah, that guy got his “just desserts,” someone once said, and it stuck, right? Someone like Shakespeare? Something from Titus Andronicus? If you think about it hard enough, it almost makes sense, doesn’t it?

But then, of course, you would be wrong.

Writing Tip 108: Unpalatable (Palate vs Palette vs Pallet)

If you have an artist who’s also a foodie, who has a day job driving the forklift at a big box store, do you know what vocabulary you should be using in all instances? Hey, everyone needs a day job—most of us anyway—so it could happen.

This spelling distinction doesn’t come up often, but when it does, there’s often confusion.

“Palate” is the word used when describing your sense of taste or simply the roof of your mouth.

A “palette” is a selection of colors or the flat board an artist mixes her paints upon.

A “pallet” is the large platform upon which goods are loaded or rarely a term used for a makeshift bed, perhaps made of straw.

"Money" or "Monies" — Wait, was Destiny’s Child a group of grammar divas?

Here’s a thought: when Destiny’s Child sang, “All the honeys that making money, throw your hands up at me,” were they annoyed that “honeys” and “money” didn’t make an exact rhyme? Were they right to say “money” and not “moneys” or “monies”? Did they miss an opportunity for poetic perfection? Am I over-analyzing things again?

Hold that thought, early-Beyoncé fans. Do you know the difference between “money” and “moneys” and “monies”?

The good news here—for all of us—is that Beyoncé, Kelly, and Michelle were absolutely right in their use of “money.” This is an example of a mass noun, which often refers to an uncountable abstract. We’re talking about the idea of cash or capital, not a specific amount of dollars or cents. There’s a plurality that’s understood in “money,” which is what often confuses people about the uses of “moneys” or “money.”

Writing Tip 105: “Toward” vs. “Towards”

I’m not one who can don a believable British accent, so maybe that’s why I always use “toward” and not “towards.” Don’t know what I’m talking about? This is another case of regional differences.

The choice of “toward” or “towards” is not a matter of right or wrong. Usually, it’s a matter of geography. Across the pond, “towards” is more common—as are related forms: “backwards,” “forwards,” “upwards,” “afterwards,” etc.

In the U.S., “toward” is more common—as are “backward,” “forward,” “upward,” “afterward,” etc.

I guess I’m conventional and follow the crowd on this one—my crowd being American. Either one you choose, though, make sure you’re consistent about it. If your writing waffles between the two, it’s jarring not only for your reader, but also for your national identity. There’s no such thing as a grammatical dual-citizen.