Recently, the fine folks at copyediting.com began a new series of podcasts to address what they call “confusables”: those word pairs that give a lot of speakers and writers of English trouble because of their similarities in spelling or pronunciation. For example, they address discreet/discrete, disburse/disperse, loath/loathe, and inciteful/insightful. Some confusables, I’ve discussed in the past; e.g., peak/peek/pique, their/there/they’re.

Often, what happens with many confusables is that the incorrect part of speech is used. This occurs when an adjective form is used instead of a noun or verb, or a noun is used instead of verb. For example, how many times have you seen the construction, “I need to cloth myself”? Clearly, the writer meant to use the verb “clothe,” not the noun “cloth.” As is the case with several confusables, the verb adds an e to the noun form (bath/bathe, for instance).

Other times, people simply don’t know which word they want to use. Such is often the case with discrete and discreet. The former means singular, or separate, such as “discrete pieces of information,” and the latter means prudent, showing good judgment, or unobtrusive: “…followed the subject at a discreet distance.”

Affect – Effect

One of the more prevalent confusions for a lot of people is when to use “affect” or “effect.” In fact, a friend asked me last week whether I’d discussed these words here. I hadn’t, but fortunately, she was able to find her answer at Grammar Girl. To save you the trouble of searching, though, I’ll explain the difference here as well. In the simplest terms, “affect” is almost always a verb; “effect” is almost always a noun. And while both have adjectival forms – affective and effective – the adjective formed from the (usual) noun is almost always the one you see. One other thing to keep in mind: According to Web11, the noun form of affect stresses the first syllable; furthermore, the use of affect as a noun is so esoteric, I won’t even bother you with an example.

“affect” is almost always a verb; “effect” is almost always a noun

If you keep that in mind, you’ll (almost always) get it right. Let’s look at some examples:

Her perfume always had a significant effect on him: His eyes watered, and he’d sneeze every five or ten minutes. (effect, noun)

Her perfume affected him all the time, but generally not the way she intended. (affect, verb)

John was desperate to effect a solution that would satisfy all parties.

Unfortunately, John’s solution wasn’t very effective.

Flaunt – Flout

Granted, these two words aren’t used quite as much as “affect” and “effect,” but that may contribute even more to their confusion.

“Flaunt” means to display ostentatiously or impudently, or to treat with contempt:

Back in the ’70s, Morganna flaunted her bosom at baseball games and other sporting events.

Al Capone flaunted his ill-gotten riches until he was convicted of tax evasion.

“Flout” is similar to the second sense of “flaunt,” that is, to treat with contemptuous disregard. But Webster’s Concise Dictionary of English Usage cautions against using “flaunt” when you really mean “flout”:

Capone flouted Prohibition until Eliot Ness’s “Untouchables” nailed him for income tax evasion.

Pitfall – Pratfall

Personally, I don’t understand the confusion here, but I’ve seen both words misused recently, so apparently some people don’t grasp the difference. A “pitfall” (besides being an old Atari console game title) is a trap or snare, often one that is crudely covered, or a hidden or not easily recognized danger. A “pratfall” is something you see in vaudeville comedy: a fall on the buttocks, or a humiliating mishap or blunder.

One of the pitfalls of putting oneself as an expert in a field, is the occasional pratfall that happens when you err egregiously, whether by accident or not.

Wrap-Up

I hope this short introduction to the pitfalls of confusables will have the desired effect of affecting your writing in a positive manner. After all, we don’t want to flaunt our ignorance, do we?

Any other confusables you’d like to discuss? Let us know in the comments!

Clearing Up the Confusion is a post from: Kestrel's Aerie

What you are about to see are errors of usage I have collected over the past few weeks, saving them up especially for today. The authors shall remain anonymous, and if you happen to recognize your own writing herein, I trust you’ll appreciate that I mean no disrespect, and I sincerely hope you don’t take these examples as a personal affront: I assure you, no such motive exists. All I want to do is illuminate “real-life” examples of “what not to do.”

Some of these are minor, some more serious. All of them detract from the flow of the writer’s ideas, and at least for me, negatively affect my reading experience. Without further ado (not “adieu,” for heaven’s sake!), here are 10 items to test your grammar savvy. The answers are in the footnotes, but try not to read them before figuring out the problems for yourself.

1. Do you think it is going to become the new paradigm that Google is pushing it as, or is it going to be the next amazing technology no one uses (ie: Segway)?¹
2. When I was looking all this up, I was stunned to see that Super Bowl XI (Raiders-Vikings in the Rose Bowl) was played Jan. 9, 1977. Just for comparison sake, this postseason, the first day of the first-round games were played on Jan. 9. (Ed.: The first sentence is for context only.)²
3. On Friday night, the Saints’ staff at the combine gathered in a private room at St. Elmo Steakhouse, an 108-year-old Indy landmark….³
4. In 2010, National Grammar Day is hosted by Mignon Fogarty the author of the New York Times best-selling book Grammar Girl’s Quick and Dirty Tips for Better Writing and The Grammar Devotional.⁴
5. Something that solo’s well, can still do dungeons, and can run battlegrounds as well. (Disregard that this is a sentence fragment: It’s a stylistic convention, and works in context.)⁵
6. If it’s a problem with myself, a situation, conflicts, or policy issues, that it be brought up with myself or an officer first to see if it can be resolved.⁶
7. Keep current clients at their usual rate, and only quote your new rate to potential customers that want to work with you.⁷
8. And wtf…we are a community are we not?!⁸
9. WOW’s default UI is not optimal, but we can get around this due to it’s extensibility.⁹
10. First we see that the ability is now a raid wide Aura.  Instead of a Self Buff that occurs only when your pet scores a critical hit.¹⁰

Thanks for playing! So how’d you do? Again, I want to emphasize my intent here is not to belittle or poke fun at any of the writers. Rather, I simply want to help you (and them) write better. Now, go out and write right!

National Grammar Day: A Quiz is a post from: Kestrel's Aerie

First of all, what is a "comma splice"? Very simply, it’s the joining of two independent clauses with a comma, but without a coordinating conjunction. Here are a few examples:

• We bought a lot of chocolate chips on sale, my wife is baking cookies today.
• I’m hungry, I don’t want to fix anything too complicated.
• I looked at my weekly word count earlier, I was a couple hundred words below my goal.

Many of you may see those as examples of "run-on sentences," which they are. There are a lot of other ways to create run-ons; a comma splice is one of the simplest. 

Earlier, I mentioned "coordinating conjunctions." Coordinating conjunctions are and, but, or, for, nor, yet, so.  Each of the examples I gave can be fixed by inserting a conjunction:

• We bought a lot of chocolate chips on sale, so my wife is baking cookies today.
• I’m hungry, but I don’t want to fix anything too complicated.
• I looked at my weekly word count earlier, and I was a couple hundred words below my goal.

Note that the comma is still required before the conjunction, because the clauses are independent, or unrelated.

I’m sure many of you figured out different ways to eliminate the comma splice besides using conjunctions. For example, instead of trying to join the two independent clauses, you can simply make two sentences: "I looked at my weekly word count earlier. I was a couple hundred words below my goal." This is probably the easiest "fix," but it doesn’t always have the desired effect.

Likewise, many of you probably came up with another alternative: the semicolon. Use a semicolon if the two independent clauses are related to each other, and you want to add variety to your sentence structure:

• I’m hungry; I think I’ll fix some lunch.
• I looked at my weekly word count earlier; I was a couple hundred words below my goal.

In short, then, there are three ways to correct a comma splice:

• Use a coordinating conjunction after the comma.
• Use a period instead of a comma.
• Use a semicolon instead of a comma.

Two-Minute Drill: The Comma Splice is a post from: Kestrel's Aerie

And suddenly that started me off on a dissertation I had no intention of delivering. But, as egotistical as I am, I thought it sounded good (and my friend either had the courtesy, or as I prefer to think of it, the perspicacity, to not disabuse me of the idea that I might be on to something), so I’m going to present my thesis for your consideration.

Words fascinate me because they are so weak, so ineffective in truly communicating with one another.¹ People perceive them to be so powerful (“the pen is mightier than the sword”) only because we are reluctant, or afraid, to use our older, more basic, more effective forms of communication.

In prehistory, humans² learned to communicate effectively long before we learned to speak, and much earlier than we learned to write. Early man used gestures, pantomime, demonstration, and perhaps art (drawing) to transmit ideas. Looking at where evolution has taken us, it’s evident our early efforts at communicating were effective. 

In fact, in some quarters, we’ve “reverted” to using gestures: Consider a SWAT team or a military sapper team. The leader points to a couple team members, indicates a direction for them to go. He repeats that with successive pairs, then gives a nonverbal signal to act. Similarly, our ancestors hunted game (think mammoths) in a similar manner.

Language allows us to communicate more efficiently, not more effectively.

Language has enabled us to communicate more efficiently, not more effectively. I’m not saying words are unnecessary; anymore, they are hugely necessary. But we have evolved to using them as a crutch. 

Most of us have been to a funeral, or a wedding. What do people do at funerals (or weddings, for that matter)? How do they comfort the bereaved, or congratulate the newlyweds, and their parents? Many people offer verbal platitudes and words of comfort, but I think we all recognize they are words of convention.

The real communication is nonverbal: People touch, in one way or another. They shake hands; they kiss; they hug. They communicate with a smile, a laugh, a look; some cry.

In those looks, those touches, those hugs, they are saying, "I care. I, too, am bereft. I feel your hurt." Or at a wedding, “I am glad for you. I am happy that you are happy. I am happy for your children, your friends, or whoever else’s joy we are celebrating.”

In it’s simplest, most basic form, they are saying, "I care about you. I care for you."

But outside such emotionally charged circumstances (there are others; I’m sure you can think of some), we generally use words, spoken or written, to communicate.

Of course, there’s a valid argument to be made that words—language—developed to fill a void in how we communicate with our other senses, but I submit that void has widened considerably since we learned to speak and write.

Language facilitated our ability to lie

For one thing, language facilitated our ability to lie to each other. There is a drama currently on television, called “Lie To Me.” The premise, founded on real science, is that by studying a person’s voice and physical clues when they are talking, a trained observer can determine, unequivocally, whether someone is telling the truth or hiding the truth.

As language evolved, we humans, being a relatively lazy bunch, devolved to the point where others do not as readily perceive the subtle changes in our demeanor when we lie. Thus, it has become increasingly simple for us to deceive each other.

Animals, on the other hand, don’t have language: Watch a couple strange dogs approach each other. They communicate totally through nonverbal behaviors. Yet there is no question, after a short time, which one has established dominance, whether they are friendly, or whether one feels threatened by the other.

To some extent, we do the same, but we don’t all apply the same conventions or interpretations. For example, when I meet someone new, I shake hands with that person. My grip is firm, but not bone-crushing; I am usually looking for the same in return. Someone with a weak grip is either unused to shaking hands or lacks self-confidence, in my judgment. Someone with a bone-crushing grip is trying to show off his strength (I’m unimpressed, generally—and my arthritis certainly doesn’t appreciate it) or is trying to be the alpha-dog. I don’t automatically buy into that, either: My ego is too big to be easily subordinated by a handshake, no matter how strong. In fact, I usually wonder what the other person is trying to compensate for with that sort of grip.

So just in this common behavior, we can see a wide range of interpretations. I’m not claiming my interpretations are correct; in fact, it’s no doubt a fallacy for me to project my interpretations of a handshake on others, when in fact, there may be no intent whatsoever.

But, don’t we do the same thing with language? Don’t you arrive at some conclusions about me, based on the words I use? For instance, I used the word “premise” a couple paragraphs earlier, when I could just as easily used “basic idea” or, more simply, “idea.” You probably didn’t think much about that, but what about when I used “subordinated” a couple paragraphs up? Did the word give you pause? If so, why? Even as early as the second paragraph, I used “perspicacity” and “disabuse.”

I started this article with a question: “Why do I love words?” It’s time for me to answer more directly than I have so far. By way of analogy, let’s look at the value of pi: Most of us know it as 3.14, and for the vast majority of us, that works (or did, when we were doing geometry in school). And for the vast majority of us, a well-rounded vocabulary serves us very well. But occasionally, we need to be more precise in our language, just as an astronomer or astrophysicist needs to be much more exact with the value of pi. So, I love words because they allow us to be more precise, more accurate, in how we communicate.

This is where we come full circle: While I argue words are less effective in communication than physical behaviors (I know, I know: what’s the gesture for “perspicacity”?), by choosing words precisely, we can be more efficient in what we’re trying to communicate. Hopefully, if you’re unfamiliar with “perspicacity,” the context in which I used it helped you to understand that my friend acutely discerned I might be on to something.

Am I, though? I’m very interested in your opinions on this idea that language has lessened the effectiveness of our ability to communicate nonverbally. Let’s discuss in the comments.

A Pro and Con View of Language is a post from: Kestrel's Aerie

What Is This?

Following the lead of my mentor, friend, and exemplar, Tami Moore, this is a weekly article to document progress in meeting my writing goals as described here.

I set up an Excel spreadsheet to track all my work by category (blog post, copyediting work, creative writing) and item. So all I need to do is add up the “words” column and I’m good to go. I’ve also decided to give this article half-credit, since I do a bit more than just paste boilerplate and fill in numbers (see the next section, for example). However, it will be counted in the following week’s total.

How Did I Do?

My weekly goal is 1,500 words.This week, I published two articles to the blog. I also did the first run-through on copyediting Tami’s Choose: Volume 1 – The Search for a Captain. For accountability purposes, I’m counting copyediting at ten percent of the original word count. I also prepared a style sheet for Choose, which I am counting at 25 percent.¹

I should say, right off the bat, rereading the first several episodes of Choose was loads of fun. I found things I’d completely forgotten about, and laughed out loud at several passages (no, not because they were bad, but because they were hilariously funny!). I can’t wait for Tami to finish this project and publish it, so we—you and I—can all read it again, in one sitting.

This first major copyediting project has been a real eye-opener. I’ve edited several chapters of Feather Path for Iris Harper, as well as Bre’s short story, Waking Iris, but Choose is at least as large as the preceding, combined. And because I’m looking at the entirety of the document at one time, rather than just a few pages, I’m approaching this from a completely different perspective. It really makes me want to go back to those earlier manuscripts, and give them the same attention I’m devoting to Choose. However, I have projects for both ladies pending, and I promise to give them the same, more in-depth treatment that Tami’s manuscript is receiving.

• “Passive and Possessive—Pronouns for Pros” – Blog Article – 773 words
• “Two-Minute Drill: Coulda, Shoulda, Woulda, and More” – 706 words
• Choose: Volume 1 – Copyediting – 20,000 words @ 10 percent – 2,000 words
• Style sheet for Choose – Copyediting – 531 words @ 25 percent – 133 words

Total: 3,612 words. Considering I’ve been hitting 1,500 words per week without really trying, I’m going to raise the bar to 2,000 words, despite leaving on a 3-week vacation on Monday. While that increase may not seem like a lot, had I not been editing Choose, would I have hit 1,500? I’d like to think so.

Raising the goal to 2,000 words will also give me the incentive to maintain two or three blog posts each week, as well as do some creative writing each week. I’d like to see that goal bumped up to 3,000 words, but I also know that spring (and summer) will eventually arrive, and I’ll be outdoors more, instead of in front of the computer all day.

Short Grammar Quiz

Over the past couple weeks, I’ve collected a few examples of what not to do, as I’ve been reading various and sundry blogs. I’m going to show you some of those, and let you determine why I’ve selected them. If, by chance, you happen to recognize the snippet, please understand that in no way is my intent to disparage the authors or their blogs; simply to illustrate “real-life” examples of errors in grammar or punctuation. With that, take look at these and see if you can determine why I included them. Feel free to answer in the comments. Also, be warned: The errors are not all that difficult to spot; there are no “gotchas.”

1. … prevent them from dieing …
2. You’ll commonly hear “bring the player, not the class”.
3. If someone is moving better then I [am]
4. some 3/32th inch elastic cord
5. The traffic to the server is increased massively since Christmas, it looks like there are no end of people
6. See if your a Canadian or … can count on always having on in your party

Weekly Word Count: January 22 is a post from: Kestrel's Aerie

Of course, if I’m writing dialogue, I can do such things, if the character’s vernacular is such that he’s from the Lower East End or South Jersey. For example, here’s the classic line by Marlon Brando’s character, Terry,  in On the Waterfront (1954): “I coulda been a contender. I coulda been somebody.” You can be sure the script does not say “could have been.”

Clearly, none of us is going to write “coulda” in normal prose, even though that’s how we often hear it said. No; instead, what we see is, “I could of been a contender” or “I should of left before it got ugly” or “I would of bought you that if I knew you wanted it.”

So what’s wrong there? They all sound right, when we speak them (quickly), but that’s exactly how people get into trouble: They write what they hear (or think they hear), instead of what is correct. But how do we know whether could have or could of is correct?

Could, should, would require helping verbs, not a preposition!

Could, should, and would (as well as have) all belong to that group of words called “helping verbs” (also known as auxiliary verbs). Helping verbs are followed by either another helping verb (“could have seen”), a verb (“could see”), an adverb (“could barely see”), or a negative (“could not see”).

The word of is not a verb (nor is it a helping verb); it’s a preposition. And, because it is a preposition, it needs to be part of a prepositional phrase, and in the construction “could of been a contender” there is no prepositional phrase.

So to avoid confusion when using could/should/would, remember to keep your helping verbs close to each other, and away from that naughty preposition!

"Divorcé" is the future imperfect form of "fiancé"

Now, we’re not going to merely shift gears, we’re going to shift parts of speech as well.

Most of us know, I’m sure, that a formerly married woman is known as a divorcée. Similarly, most of us know a man’s intended bride is his fiancée. Unfortunately, not everyone is aware that the man to whom a woman is engaged to be married is her fiancé. That’s right: two genders, two words.¹

In case you’re wondering, divorcé is also a word, and indicates a divorced man. It’s the future imperfect from of fiancé. 

Today’s final bit is the distinction between the abbreviations "i.e." and "e.g."

Both are from Latin, but because both are so commonly used in English, they are not considered foreign words or terms, and are normally not italicized.²

"I.e." is probably the more common of the two (possibly because it’s misused more often?), is short for id est, and means, simply, "that is." "E.g." is short for exempli gratia (“for the sake of example”). These are abbreviations, so the periods after each letter are required; furthermore, use a comma on either side of them. Avoid using both in the same sentence.

If the employee is on salary, i.e., paid by the week rather than the hour, the fee is $10.00.

The most common American beers are pilseners, e.g., Budweiser, Coors, and Miller.

Finally, if you start a list with "e.g.," there’s no need to end it with "etc." (the abbreviation for et cetera, "and so on"), because the "e.g." implies the list is not all-inclusive.

Are there other words or word forms you see used improperly? Or are there some you aren’t sure about how to use properly? Post in the comments, or email me using the contact form , and I’ll address them in a future article.

Two-Minute Drill: Coulda, Shoulda, Woulda, and More is a post from: Kestrel's Aerie

First, let’s be sure we’re all on the same page with respect to what pronouns are. They are words we substitute for nouns, generally to avoid repeating the nouns each time we want to refer to those people, places or things.

Pronouns are used in first–, second–, and third–person, and in singular and plural forms. They can be active and objective, or passive and subjective.

Before we get down to cases, let’s look at pronouns in tabular form:

Pronouns never, EVER have apostrophes.

The first thing I want you to notice about the table above is this: There is no apostrophe in that table. Anywhere. There are few absolutes in this world, but here is one: PRONOUNS NEVER, EVER HAVE APOSTROPHES.

Unlike pronouns, nouns generally use an apostrophe to indicate the possessive case:

Tom’s book is on the table.

The book on the table is not Mary’s.

The cat’s toy is under the davenport.

New York’s skyline is one of the most recognizable in the world.

Another thing you should note that is if we were to diagram these sentences¹, each of the possessive nouns above would be identified as an adjective. That’s a confusing topic we’ll save for another day.

Now let’s substitute pronouns for the possessive nouns:

His book is on the table

The book on the table is not hers.

Its toy is under the davenport.

Its skyline is one of the most recognizable in the world.

If you’re comparing the sentences to the words as laid out in the table, you probably noticed that one of these things is not like the others. If you haven’t done that comparison, I’ll give you a moment to figure out which is different.

Hopefully, you determined the second sentence is the oddball. Why? Because in this case, the pronoun is the objective form. Remember, the classic form of the sentence in English is Subject – verb – object. The subject and object are nouns or pronouns: The subject performs an action (denoted by the verb), while the object has something done to it. (And just to complicate matters, when we make the object into a subject, we end up with passive voice. Yet another Topic To Be Addressed Later.)

However, I do want to address passive voice here at least in terms of pronoun use. Let’s look at a situation that occurs around my house each time my wife bakes:

I eat the cookies.

Steve eats the cookies.

He ate the cookies.

The cookies were eaten by me.

The cookies are also eaten by her.

In the first three sentences, "the cookies" are the object of my action (eating). The last two are classic examples of passive voice. The key here, if you must use passive voice (and it’s rarely wrong, just awkward), is to be sure you use the proper pronoun form. In the examples above, “the cookies” are the subject of the last two sentences; thus, the objective pronouns “me” and “her” are correct, rather than the subjective “I” and “she.”

Never, ever join a subjective and an objective pronoun with a conjunction

If you keep a mental copy of the table above in your head, you won’t find yourself ² using such combinations as her and I, she and him, he or us: When joining pronouns with a conjunction, both (or all) pronouns must be the same type, either subjective or objective.

Of course, that doesn’t prevent the following:

Me and her went to the movie.

Shudder. Twitch.

If you’re going to use one or more pronouns as the subject of a sentence, use the subjective form(s). Similarly, if the pronouns are the objects of an action, use the objective forms. Don’t combine forms with a conjunction.

I hope this article has been enlightening, as well as helpful. If nothing else, perhaps we’ve saved a few more of our collective readers from future mistakes of our’s.³

Passive and Possessive—Pronouns for Pros is a post from: Kestrel's Aerie

I was reading a blog article yesterday, and the following sentence caught my eye. Then it made me grit my teeth. Fortunately, I have a dentist appointment Thursday for a new crown. (Okay, just kidding about the crown.) Here’s the offending statement:

Why people find this concept so difficult to understand simply alludes me.

You may be wondering why I didn’t include allude and elude in yesterday’s article on homophones. The simple answer is, they aren’t. Homophones, that is. Yes, they sound similar, but it’s a long way from “similar” to “identical.” The first syllable of allude is pronounced as “ah,” while the initial syllable of elude sounds like “eh.”

Having cleared that up, let’s¹ move on to the difference between the two words under discussion.

Allude is a verb meaning “to refer (to)” while elude is a verb meaning “to evade.” Not even remotely close in meaning, are they? Then why do people continue to confuse them? I could construct a pretty elaborate theory on why it happens, but that would be a lengthy tangent we don’t need to explore here.

People don’t take time to proofread and edit before they hit the "publish" or "send" button

What I really think is that a lot of people (mostly bloggers, I’m sad to say) don’t take enough time to proofread and edit before hitting the “publish” or “send” button. The unfortunate consequence is they come off appearing to be less knowledgeable and less authoritative than otherwise might be the case. Furthermore, when I see such egregious errors, it really throws off my ability to focus on the actual point of what I’m reading.

By way of analogy, imagine driving down the highway on a nice spring day, really enjoying the drive, when suddenly you have to swerve quickly to avoid a crate in the middle of the road. I don’t know about you, but I’d be a bit shaken by that. The same sort of thing happens when I see words like these misused. (Well, okay, my blood pressure doesn’t spike and my heart rate doesn’t climb, but you get the idea, I hope.)

While we’re talking about allude,  we should probably bring in its noun form, allusion, and the similar-sounding (but again, not homophonic) illusion.² An allusion is a (possibly vague or veiled) reference to something, while an illusion is an act of deceiving, or a misleading image presented to one’s vision.

Once again, careful proofreading should catch errors involving these words, as long as you know which is the correct one in the first place. But that’s why you’re reading this!

Two-Minute Drill: Allude and Elude is a post from: Kestrel's Aerie

Before I list some of the more commonly confused homophone pairs (and triplets), I want to be sure we all understand the differences among homophones, homonyms, and homographs. An excellent article at the Copyediting blog goes into more detail, but since we have a lot to cover today, let’s keep this discussion relatively short.

• Homophones are words that sound alike (or identical) but are spelled differently; e.g., their, there, and they’re.
• Homonyms are words that are spelled the same, sound the same, but have different meanings; e.g., the right side of the road, and the right to peacefully assemble. Often, as in the preceding example, the words are different parts of speech (adjective and noun, respectively, in this case); but they can be the same part of speech. For instance, bank of a river and savings bank are both nouns.
• Homographs are words with the same spelling, but may not sound the same: The verb refuse is accented on the second syllable, while the noun refuse is accented on the first.

So what are some commonly misused homophones? Obviously the example I gave above of their, there, and they’re is a classic one. Compounding the error, how often have you see something like these abominations:

• “They had to return the money because it wasn’t there’s.” Ouch! Not only the wrong form of their, but now the writer has tried to make a possessive with the apostrophe and “s.” (If you can give me a proper example of their’s, I’ll…well, you can’t, so never mind.)
• Believe it or not, I actually saw “they’re’s” the other day. I wish I’d thought to copy the entire sentence. Yes, really: two apostrophes in the same word! (The intended word was “there’s,” the contracted form of “there is.”)

Here are some more homophones that are frequently misused (or abused).¹

• The word to is a preposition; too is an adverb meaning “also.” And two is a number (generally, an adjective, in case you’re wondering) which, while rarely substituted for either to or too, is too often replaced with one of the other forms.
• Wear is a verb, ware is a noun, and where isn’t really pronounced like the other two (and it can be an adverb, conjunction, or noun).² Unfortunately, this particular situation gets even more muddled when careless writers misspell “wear” or “where” as were. Or vice versa. “But I spell-checked it!”
•  Carat, caret, and carrot.Very rarely is the third form substituted for either of the other two, but when it happens, the result is usually hilarious. A carat is a measure of fineness of gold or weight of gems³, while a caret is a typographical mark (^) indicating an insertion point.
• Alter means “change,” while altar is where marital problems begin.⁴
• If you’re waiting with baited breath, just stop: It smells like worms. Instead, try bated breath, which means restrained or reduced.
• Dual means two or twin; duel is a formal combat between two persons.⁵
• Once more, for good measure: Its is a possessive pronoun, like his, hers, and ours. It’s is a contraction of “it is.” There is a very simple way to avoid confusing the two: always try to write out “it is.” If it doesn’t work, use its. If it does work, leave it alone. “I wanted to put the picture in it is place.” In other words, eschew the apostrophe. Or risk having your editor chew on you.
• On the other hand, lets is a verb meaning “allows” or “leases.” Let’s is a contraction for “let us.”
• Peak, peek, and pique. No, that third form is not pronounced “pee-KAY.” All three can be verbs: “The Cardinals peaked [rose to their highest point] going into the playoffs.” “John peeked [took a quick or surreptitious look] into the nursery to be sure the baby was asleep.” “The descriptions of 3D-TV from the Consumer Electronics Show piqued [raised or aroused] my interest.” The usual confusion with these words is to use peaked in place of piqued.

Bridal has to do with getting married; bridle has to do with controlling a horse. DO NOT make the obvious joke

• Bridal has to do with getting married; bridle has to do with controlling a horse. Guys, don’t even think of making the obvious joke.
• Speaking of horses, reins are attached to a bridle; rains are what fall in Spain (mainly in the plain); reigns are what monarchs are known for.
• Following the current stream of consciousness, a plain is a (generally) flat, fallow area of land, while a plane is a conveyance, woodworking tool, cooking gadget, or geometrical construct. “Plain Jane” is rather homely, but “plane Jane” is probably a pilot.

I could go on, and on, and on, and on. But I think my time is up for this round. Let me summarize by reminding you that your spell-checker won’t save you from homophonic crimes against grammar, but a good dictionary will. I know there are literally hundreds of homophones I could present here, but what are some I didn’t address, which you find particularly egregious?

Grammar Potpourri: Homophones is a post from: Kestrel's Aerie

The Rules

There are some conventions to be followed when using capitals. As far as I can tell, there are no differences between American and British usage; however, if any of my non-American readers are aware of any, please let me know. One thing to keep in mind is that for all the rules below, in general I’m talking about initial capital letters; i.e., the first letter in a word. If I address ALL CAPS, I’ll make that quite explicit.

1. Capitalize the first word in a sentence.

2. Capitalize proper nouns. “Proper nouns” include names of people (Steve, Kestrel) and places (Rapid City, England, Mount Rushmore).

• Capitalize titles when used as a form of address or part of a name. Senator Thune, Father O’Malley, Pastor Jones, but “the senator” or “the pastor.”
• Capitalize full forms of university degrees. This is a subset of the previous rule. Bachelor of Arts or Master of Science, but “bachelor’s degree” or “master’s degree”

3. Capitalize the “key words” in a title. Or not. This is a matter of style, and as such, is somewhat open to interpretation. I put this as a “rule” because the question will come up (in fact, it did, from Krizzlybear and @JustAnna), so I want to address this when we talk about specifics below.

4. Capitalize other stuff as appropriate. Such as abbreviations. But not all of them.

Getting Down to Cases

(See what I did there?)

Capitalize the first word in a sentence.

The only people who get this wrong are lazy, or e.e. cummings (but he’s a poet, and poetry is a completely different species). If you break this rule, I’m going to assume you missed the shift key. (Caveat: If you get to be as famous as e.e. cummings, you, too, may do any thing you damn well please with regard to style. Until then, however, it’s probably best if you follow the rules. Such as they are.)

Nevertheless, there is a special case we should address: the first letter following a colon. In this case, the rule is quite simple: If what follows the colon forms a complete sentence, then capitalize the first word. Look closely at the preceding two sentences: Each of them has a colon. In the first, what follows the colon is, in effect, a sentence fragment, hence, no cap. In the second, the colon separates two complete sentences; thus, a capital is used to start the part following the colon.¹ Incidentally, the only time you capitalize after a semicolon is if the word is a proper noun.

After a colon, capitalize the first letter only if the words form a complete sentence.

Capitalize proper nouns.

If the preceding rule was the first one we learned, this one was second. Or vice versa. About the only time names aren’t capitalized when they should be (which is always) is the result of a typo. Again, though, there are some areas where people just aren’t sure whether to use a capital.

Capitalize President Obama, but not "the president"

• A title preceding a proper name requires a capital: Senator Thune, Queen Elizabeth II, Mayor Bloomberg. However, if you’re discussing the senator, the queen, or the mayor, lowercase is the way to go.^{2, 3}
• The formal names of university or college degrees are capitalized, such as Master of Science or Doctor of Philosophy. But don’t capitalize master’s degree in history or bachelor’s in political science. And then there is my graduate degree, properly called Master of Business Administration. Yeah, I agree: “MBA” is so much easier.

The Internet and the Web are places, just as the Matrix is. Caps, please!

• A few specific cases: The Internet is a “great big place” but it’s still a place, so capitalize it. Similarly, the Web is a shortened alternative, so if you’re using it to refer to the Internet, capitalize it as well. However, “website” can refer to any of millions of places on the Web, so it’s a nonspecific, uncapitalized noun.⁴
• And finally, Earth, Moon and Sun. Or are they the earth, the moon, and the sun? The dirt you plant flowers in is earth, or contains earth, which is a generic term for ground. When discussing our home planet, however, things get a bit more confusing. If you’re planning a trip from Earth (or the Earth) to Mars, Earth is almost always seen capitalized. But if you’re talking about earth’s escape velocity, you’ll see the word capitalized sometimes, and sometimes not. My personal preference is to capitalize Earth when I’m referring to the planet, without the preceding “the.” And to be consistent, our Sun and our Moon (but not the sun or the moon) should be capitalized, but that’s even less common. (And why is it “the earth”? We don’t talk about “the Saturn” or “the Mars.” The answer of course, is that “earth” is a synonym for “world.”) Isn’t English wonderful?

Capitalize “key words” in a title.

Hoo boy…this is probably the area where the most questions arise. Each time I asked friends if they had questions about capitalization (and in Tami’s original tweet suggesting this topic), this question was asked. As I stated at the top, determining how to capitalize titles is a stylistic decision. Grammar Girl has a good, short podcast on the topic. The extremes, of course, are to treat a title as a sentence and capitalize only the first letter, to capitalizing the first letter of each word, to CAPITALIZING EVERY LETTER IN THE TITLE. That last may be fine for the cover of a book, but it’s a bit much for day-to-day writing, methinks.

For Titles of Creative Works, Pick a Style and Stick With It

So, let’s address the middle case, and the exceptions to this “rule.” Most of us were probably taught in school to capitalize all the words in a title except articles (a, an, the) and the prepositions “for” and “of.” The exceptions to that, however, are when such words are the first or last words of the title. According to writers.com tips for title capitalization:

The U.S. Government Printing Office Style Manual offers one easy style: "Capitalize all words in titles of publications and documents, except a, an, the, at, by, for, in, of, on, to, up, and, as, but, it, or, and nor."

That’s good enough for me!

But what about subtitles? What about subordinate elements such as sections, paragraphs, chapters, and the like? You can apply the same rules as for main titles (such as they are), or you can use a different style entirely. For example, for my blog (at least from this point forward) I intend to use the GPO style for article titles. But subsections may (and as is the case in this article) get an entirely different treatment. The most important thing to remember is to be consistent within each type of title in a given document. Not that anyone will break your fingers if you aren’t, but it will certainly give your work a more polished and professional appearance if you do maintain that consistency.

Capitalize other stuff as appropriate.

That’s nice and specific, isn’t it? Let’s look at abbreviations, as an example. Generally speaking (and please note the emphasis as connoted by the italics), if something is capitalized when written out, its abbreviation is similarly capitalized. If it’s not normally capitalized, don’t capitalize the abbreviation.

• a.m. and p.m. These are abbreviations for ante meridiem and post meridiem, Latin terms for before and after noon, respectively. They are not capitalized.⁵ Thus, 8:00 A.M. (or 8:00 AM) is incorrect. (So, too, is 8:00 am.) Incidentally (and I’m going to hate myself later for putting this here, because I won’t be able to find it later), noon and midnight are not capitalized unless they are the first word of a sentence. *sigh* And as long as we’re on the topic, try to avoid 12:00 a.m. or 12:00 p.m. Instead, use midnight and noon, respectively.⁶ Look at that: A whole post compressed into one paragraph and two footnotes. The things I do for you, dear readers!
• State abbreviations. In the United States (U.S. or US; I much prefer the former, but USA over U.S.A. Once again, stylistic convention, but be consistent!), there are almost as many ways to abbreviate state names as there are states.
  
  

  Reserve post office abbreviations for envelopes; use 3-5 letter state abbreviations elsewhere, if you must abbreviate.

  • Take my home state of California, for instance: Cal., Calif., or, per the U.S. Postal Service, CA. N.B.: “Cali” is not, never has been, and never will be an acceptable shortening of the name of the state of California.⁷ Ahem…where was I? Oh, yes….
  • The two-letter postal abbreviations for states (and Canadian provinces) have both letters capitalized; e.g., AB (Alberta), BC (British Columbia), CA (California). Postal abbreviations do not have periods at the end; however, it might be acceptable to abbreviate some states such as Ca. or Co. (Of course, an abbreviation for Canada is Ca. and for county, Co. So why confuse matters?)
  • Finally, while SD is the postal abbreviation for South Dakota, S.D. is perfectly acceptable as well (similarly, N.C., N.D., S.C., R.I., etc.). Generally, postal abbreviations should be reserved for envelopes; other writing should use more conventional abbreviations, if you must abbreviate.
• Multi-word abbreviations. Up above, I mentioned a.m. and p.m., and alluded to U.S. vs. US. Note there is no space after the periods in an abbreviation. This of course begs the question, are periods required in abbreviations? Short answer: It depends. Once again, it’s a stylistic choice. The New York Times, for example, abbreviates National Football League as N.F.L., which, when I read it, sounds like “enn…eff…ell.” “NFL,” on the other hand, which is how it’s abbreviated everywhere else that I know of, sounds like “eneffell.” Similarly, to me, U.S.A. and USA sound like “You. Ess. Ay.” and “YouEssAy,” respectively. But that’s just me. Once again, take your pick, but be consistent. Consistency counts!

Are we done yet?

I hope so, but I doubt it. I’m sure I’ve left out everything you’ve wondered about capitalization, and included only those items that make you go, “Well, DUH!” Ohh…see? What about CAPS FOR EMPHASIS? I realize that in text chat, this is a simple convention to observe. But in serious (or even not-so-serious) writing, realize we live in the age of computers: It’s not that hard to hit Control-I (or Command-I, Mac users) to italicize for emphasis.⁸

If there are other areas of capitalization I omitted, or if you want to take issue with my position on any of these, let’s discuss in the comments!

Capital Ideas is a post from: Kestrel's Aerie