Instant Quiz

Can you improve the sentence below? Scroll to the bottom of today’s post for the answer.    

The college will offer two tracks for new students, i.e. conventional face-to-face classes and self-paced, independent study.

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Here they are: restive, enervated, and fulsome. (Were you expecting naughty words? Sorry to disappoint you!)

There’s nothing wrong with these words, of course. But they’re in transition right now  and developing new meanings. How will you (or your readers, if you’re a writer) know which meaning was intended?

It might be wise to avoid this trio of words altogether: restive, enervate, and fulsome.

“Restive” originally meant restless, fidgety, or out of control.  But because it contains the word “rest,” some people think it means restful.

“Enervated” originally meant drained or exhausted. But it sounds a little like “energetic,” and that meaning has caught on.

“Fulsome” originally meant exaggerated praise. But now it’s often used to mean sincere praise.

It’s fun to learn new words! But be careful when using an unfamiliar word. Make sure you know the current meaning.

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Avoid i.e. Familiar English words and expressions are usually the best choice. Substitute “that is” for i.e. – or omit it altogether.

The college will offer two tracks for new students – conventional face-to-face classes and self-paced, independent study.  BETTER

In the last couple of weeks I’ve come across the same bad writing advice twice. What’s really interesting is that the contexts were different.

Here’s the bad advice:

1. You should avoid semicolons because they don’t indicate the relationship between the two ideas. (This is Michael Kinsley’s position) 

2.  You should avoid dashes because they don’t indicate the relationship between the two ideas. (This is Lionel Shriver’s position.)

Bosh! Our brains are perfectly capable of figuring out those relationships. In fact our brains enjoy doing that. It’s more active and interesting than just imbibing information.

Take a look at these two sentences:

We enjoyed our visit; Susan is a wonderful hostess.

Raindrops began to fall – we needed to hurry.

No one could miss the connections between those pairs of ideas. We enjoyed the visit because Susan is such a good hostess. We had to hurry because we didn’t want to get wet.

Why not simply use “because,” then? The answer is sentence variety. You don’t want to keep using the same sentence pattern over and over – a string of because sentences, for example.

My husband has been the garden writer for a newspaper for 32 years. His first editor was a pleasant young woman who — unfortunately — had some odd ideas about writing. One of them was her belief that because was a bad word.

It’s surprising but true – the everyday words I and me cause endless confusion.

Although it’s easy to use these two words correctly, our English grammar insists on making them seem difficult. I just came across this hopelessly complicated explanation from Grammarly:

Use me when you’re talking about an action done to, toward, for, with, or without you. And use I whenever you’re the one doing the action.

Do you find this explanation helpful? I don’t. There’s a better way: just shorten the sentence.

Jill invited Carl and I/me to her party.

Get rid of Carl – just for a minute. He can still come to the party!

Jill invited me to  her party.

It’s obvious, isn’t it? Jill invited me to her party. So: Jill invited Carl and me to  her party.

Let’s try another one:

Carl and I/me enjoyed Jill’s party.

Get rid of Carl for just a moment:

I enjoyed the party.

Again, it’s obvious: I enjoyed Jill’s party. So: Carl and I enjoyed Jill’s party.

Use your language experience to solve these problems – and stay away from the grammar gobbledygook. You can download a free handout about pronouns at .

I was taught not to capitalize prepositions (in, by, for, with, to) in a title. Here’s how I would write the title of Margaret Mitchell’s famous novel: Gone with the Wind.

But I just found out that the Chicago Manual of Style has an exception. If you’re using a phrasal verb, you can capitalize the preposition (which -the experts say – might actually be an adverb. Don’t you just love grammar?).

A phrasal verb has two words that go together: fall down and pick up are examples. Gone with is not a phrasal verb. That’s why you don’t capitalize with in Gone with the Wind.

The two words in hang on really do go together. So we have this song title: “Let’s Hang On to What We’ve Got.”

Watch out is another phrasal verb. Eric Clapton has a song called “Watch Out for Lucy.” You should capitalize out.

But what about watch over? I don’t think those two words go together. They don’t sound like a unit to me.

There’s a gorgeous Gershwin song called “Someone to Watch over Me.” Technically you shouldn’t capitalize “over.” And there’s another old song called “Moon over Miami.” Same thing: don’t capitalize “over.” Moon over isn’t a common expression.

But I’m struggling here – for several reasons. First, I think the rule is shaky.

Go on is obviously a phrasal verb. But what about Go forth, as in “Go forth and multiply?” If you’re familiar with the Bible, it sounds like a phrasal verb. But if you didn’t grow up in a Bible-reading household, you might not think those two words together.

Another issue (for me, anyway) is that I hate grammar gobbledygook like “phrasal verb.” Gack.

It gets worse. Recently The Chicago Manual of Style decided to lower-case out in the title of a recent book: Getting out of Saigon. They didn’t think getting and out went together.

But several people wrote in to say that they think getting out is a phrasal verb after all. The Chicago Manual of Style backed down (sort of). You can read more about it here.

That means some very smart people are voting for Getting Out of Saigon. Other equally smart people are sticking with Getting out of Saigon.

And I am getting out of this argument.

Language is slippery. When I was in school, I had beloved teachers who insisted that language questions always have a right answer if you search hard enough.

But experience has taught me that language is a human invention, not a divine one. Often there isn’t a right answer. Mistakes are built in.

In future posts I’m going to be showcasing some inconsistencies – usages that sound right but blatantly break the rules.

Let’s go back to those capital letters. What should we do?

You’re reading this post because you’re curious about language. I would bet serious money that you’re a busy person with many interests.

Do not – please – waste your precious time worrying about putting a capital letter on a preposition (which – it turns out – could also be an adverb) in a title. Go eeny-meeny if you have to. Nobody is even going to notice – honest!

I’m reading a brief but intriguing book: How to Write a Sentence – and How to Read One by Stanley Fish. The first chapter includes this excellent advice: “Just get the first sentence right, everything else will follow.”

Here’s Fish’s explanation:

If my first sentence were written with a full comprehension of all the twists and turns it introduced…following its lead would guide me to the right order of my arguments and examples. 

The advice originally came from one of Fish’s college professors. Fish added this comment: “He was right, of course.”

Ummm…no, he wasn’t. That’s not why your first sentence is so important. And that advice won’t help you write your first sentence. At that point in the writing process, many writers don’t even know which “arguments and examples” they’re going to use. 

But Fish is on to something important. I like to compare it to throwing a ball. The more energy you use to launch that ball, the farther it will go.

Sentences work the same way. If there’s a lot of energy packed into your first sentence, your writing won’t sputter later on. The energy will be there for you.

* * * * *

I have another point to make. I think Stanley Fish made a grammatical mistake when he wrote this: “If my first sentence were written with a full comprehension….”

Here’s my version: “If my first sentence was written with a full comprehension….”

I use were constructions only when I’m talking about something that couldn’t possibly be true: If I were younger, I would study law.

If something might be true, I use was: If your payment was late, you will have to pay a penalty.

And there’s one more thing: Fish used a comma to join two sentences. Wrong! He should have used a period or a semicolon instead:

Just get the first sentence right. Everything else will follow.

Just get the first sentence right; everything else will follow.

Heck, he could even have used a colon!

Just get the first sentence right: everything else will follow.

But it’s still good advice.

Recently my friend Mike Goronsky and I had an interesting discussion about the term expletive. I’ve always thought that an expletive was a swear word or vulgar expression. In 1974, when the Watergate story broke, President Richard Nixon released transcripts of taped conversations in the White House. Nixon often used swear words, and the transcription was full of notations like “expletive deleted.”

But thanks to Mike, I learned that expletive can also mean “an unnecessary word or phrase”: there is, it is, indeed, and so on. Getting rid of those lazy words can make your writing stronger:

There are going to be hundreds of people attending the party.  WEAK

Hundreds of people will attend the party.  STRONG

I’m sure many writing instructors routinely tell their students not to start sentences with there is and there are. It sounds like a sensible rule, doesn’t it?

But writing “by the rules” is risky. You’re relinquishing your power – letting a rule make the decisions instead of using your own eyes, ears, and brain.

Compare the two versions below. Which sounds stronger to you?

1. There are many opportunities for promotion.

2. Many opportunities exist for promotion.

I would choose #1. “Many opportunities exist…” turns me off. Exist is a weak verb.

You might disagree, and that’s fine. The point is that you’re processing the sentence yourself – listening to it carefully and making up your own mind. That’s what good writers do.

Rules are only guidelines.

I have another example. Some time ago my friend Jane Brumbaugh wrote a marvelous article about a community that came together to start their own library. Here’s her first sentence:

There was no library in Lake Alfred in 1961.

A writing textbook might tell you that this version is better:

Lake Alfred didn’t have a library in 1961.

Nope. I like Jane’s original sentence.

Who’s right? I don’t claim to be infallible. But here’s my reasoning: the most important word in that sentence is library. Starting the sentence with “Lake Alfred” sends the wrong message: this is going to be about a small town in Central Florida.

The article was about creating a library with practically no resources. I want the word library to be close to the beginning of the sentence. 

It’s easy to forget how precisely our brains work. Tiny shifts in a sentence – even if they break a rule or two – can add power to your writing. Trust yourself!

I just read an article that clears up some confusing points about apostrophes.  I wish I could say I’m pleased, but I’m not. I have a feeling I’m going to be cranky all day.

Here’s what’s bothering me: The author wants us to use the term pronomial pronouns. That’s supposed to help us remember a group of words that never get apostrophes: his, hers, yours, ours, theirs and its.

Why make apostrophes so complicated? I have a Ph.D. in English, and I can’t remember ever seeing the word pronomial before.

I’m going to suggest a much simpler way to learn how to use these pronouns. Here it is: Think about the word his. No apostrophe, right?

All these pronouns (his, hers, yours, ours, theirs and its) work the same way: no apostrophe.

These examples are correct:

That book is his, not hers. 

The dog buried his bone.

The dog buried its bone.

His is the blue Subaru.

Ours is the blue Subaru.

If the wallet is his, he can claim it in the office.

If the wallet is yours, you can claim it in the office.

No apostrophes! Easy, isn’t it?