One of my Twitter followers (I can’t bring myself to refer to them as tweeps in public, sorry) emailed me with a question about the proper use of the Latin abbreviation “ca.” It seems she’d worked with an author who claimed he had never encountered it before despite being “someone with a graduate degree, [who has] written thousands of papers, read 100s of books.”
Forgive my incredulity, but all right; he says he’s never seen it.
I’ve seen it plenty and I don’t have a graduate degree. I see it in periodicals like National Geographic and Smithsonian. I see it in resources like encyclopedias. I see it all over.
Grammar, Usage, and Mechanics. And we’ll throw in Syntax and Style for good measure. And no, those won’t be capped for the entire post. That’d be silly. First use is plenty, because now you readers know what the Important Terms are going to be for the rest of this discussion. (That’s a style thing. You’ll learn more about it later.)
We can’t write or speak—we can’t use language—without at least four of those things. Grammar tells us the rules that explain how our words work. It tells us about nouns, verbs, adverbs, adjectives, pronouns, prepositions, and more. It tells us what we need for a complete sentence (a subject and a verb). It tells us how to form a question. Grammar is a set of rules. Not suggestions, not guidelines. Rules. And you know what? Most of us learn these rules by osmosis. We absorb them from hearing other people talk; we are exposed to them when we read. (Sadly, we may read poorly-written material and learn the wrong things, but that’s another post for another time.) Continue reading →
I just wrote a fairly long post at G+ in which I dissect an article from People Magazine. In it, the grammar checker Grammarly takes E.L. James’s Fifty Shades of Grey to task.
To no one’s surprise, I hope, it fails miserably. Mechanical checkers cannot possibly parse the nuances of writing, grammar, usage, mechanics, and style. The proof’s right in the article, linked from my post there.
And I’m linking to that post from here, because writing it once was enough.
I saw it again today: “phase” for “faze.” Let’s look at these words, folks. I know I can straighten you out.
If you want to tell me that something didn’t upset you, didn’t bother you, you’ll say “That didn’t faze me in the least.” FAZE. The word, an Americanism, dates to 1830 and can be traced to Kentish dialect, Old English, and Proto-Germanic. You can look it up for yourself at the Online Etymology Dictionary. Likewise, you can be “unfazed.” Whatever it was didn’t bother you. You’re unfazed. “Yeah, that truck nearly sideswiped me when I skidded on black ice, but I was in control. Didn’t faze me at all.” (You’re a bald-faced liar, but you’re using the correct word. I’ll let it slide. Heh.)
If you’re Kitty Pryde, you can be unphased—but the preferable term is “out of phase,” honestly. Ask Marvel Comics. They’ll set you right. PHASE. This word can be traced to both Latin and Greek. Again, don’t take my word for it. Look here for yourself. There’s phase as in “she’s going through a phase” and phase as in “we’ll phase this in over time.” Phase. A much newer meaning from science fiction and comics has to do with being out of sync, literally; that’s what happens with Kitty. She phases by dropping out of (or is it into?) sync with time and space. Are you a mutant like her? I didn’t think so. (You might be weird in your own wonderful way. I can’t say, as I don’t know you.)
I’m delighted to see that this error is only given a Stage 2 rating on Garner’s Language Change Index. It’s not too late to stop the trend. Just because “everyone says it” doesn’t make it right. And so far, we’re still a long way off from “everyone.” Frankly, the confusion fazes me every time.
Just a friendly reminder that in English, there are precious few rules and a metric ton (which is a tonne) of guidelines. Style guides do not agree. Dictionaries might not even agree. Grammar guides will agree on most things but not on everything.
What’s a rule?
“Start a new sentence with a capital letter and end it with terminal punctuation.”
That’s about as close to a rule as you’re going to get. And even here there are exceptions. If the sentence is in dialogue, it might NOT begin with a capital letter (it could be an interruption of the previous speaker’s words). The terminal punctuation might NOT be a period, a question mark, or an exclamation point, if the speaker’s drifting off into thought or being interrupted — then it might end with an em dash for an abrupt intrusion or with suspension points to signal the drifting.
No one HAS to follow the guidelines YOU like. And they’re not WRONG if they don’t. They’re making their own choices. They get to do that, and so do you.
Here’s another rule. “An independent clause contains a subject and a verb.” A complete thought contains a subject and a verb (or a noun phrase and a verb phrase, to use different terminology for the same thing). But what about “COME HERE!”? That’s a complete thought, and there’s no noun phrase in sight. That’s because the subject/noun phrase is understood to be “YOU.” “YOU COME HERE!” The subject is clear but it doesn’t appear in print.
If you’re new to this writing thing, do yourself a favor. LEARN THE RULES of grammar before you go breaking them. Having to relearn grammar SUCKS. Learning it and THEN choosing to break the rules? That can be a lot of fun.
Generally speaking, a coach is closed and a carriage is open.
Think of a stagecoach. It’s closed. There are doors, and a seat up front for the driver. Or, think of a coach of state like the royals ride in from Buckingham Palace to Westminster or to Parliament. Closed.
Then, think about the carriages in Central Park, NYC. They’re open, with a bench for the driver. No doors, no roof, nothing. Open.
Think about it for a moment. How can one speak one’s peace? Peace is quiet, isn’t it? If you’re speaking, you’re not quiet. And what you have to say might well disturb the peace. I can hold my peace at a wedding (“speak now, or forever hold one’s peace”) to maintain the decorum and not embarrass the bride or groom (or their parents, or their aunt Maisie, or the dog . . .).
I can speak my piece, though. Perhaps it’s a piece I’ve memorized, or perhaps it’s a piece that just comes to mind during a heated conversation. Usually when we say someone spoke their piece, they weren’t necessarily being kind. “I went to the board meeting last night and spoke my piece about their stupid plans.” A common variant of this is “say one’s piece.” The meaning’s the same. You speak. It’s anything but peaceful.
Conscious: Awake; aware and knowing that something exists.
Conscientious: “Governed by or conforming to the dictates of conscience”; concerned with doing something correctly.
Before I can be conscientious about taking a specific action, I need to be conscious of the possibility. Here’s an example: Before I can be conscientious about recycling batteries, I need to know (be aware) that there are special rules in place for that. I can’t be concerned with following the rules until I know they exist.
First, I need to be conscious of the recycling statutes in my community.
Then, I need to be conscientious about adhering to those statutes.