Woke up to this on Monday morning…
Great read! Just finished it last night.
— Ruth Schroeder (@RuthSchroeder18) August 27, 2018
Woke up to this on Monday morning…
In my neck of the universe, and likely in your own, words are prone to losing their meaning.
Take “affordable” as the most recent example of a word I once thought I understood. I looked it up just now to check and found this definition in my go-to online dictionary, Merriam-Webster:
Well OK then. It’s just as I thought, but more vague than I remembered. M-W goes on to define affordable housing as housing that is “not too expensive for people of limited means.”
Again, rather vague. What is “too expensive”? When do means qualify as limited?
Affordable is a relative term that can no longer stand alone and have any real meaning, but the news media and peddlers of sundry goods rarely qualify it as they should.
Take this story about the “wee-Cottages” coming soon to the southeast part of Longmont, Colorado. As if the hyphen and mysterious capitalization weren’t unreal enough, the story says these no-doubt-cute little places will be listed in the low-$300,000s. Presumably they are all at least temporarily affordable, because 27 of the 102 wee dwellings will be permanently affordable in the low- to mid-$200,000s.
Permanently? Nothing is permanent.
This is what affordable actually means in our little piece of Boulder County:
able to be afforded by some people but not by many whose means are actually limited
If a guy tells you something is “affordable,” ask him to complete the sentence.
Some people who write documentation call themselves documentarians (6 syllables), leading me to conclude that they produce documentaries and like to use long words.
To say they are documenters (4 syllables) would be more concise. What they do is document stuff.
I generally use writer. ~ B.J.
Imagine a bull moose, shy and alone, just out of sight to the left, the east. There is no fog to the south, just pine-covered rock piles, gap-toothed hills blocking your view in the near distance beyond the meadows. More distant, through the gaps and barely visible, untold miles away in the sunshine, there are mountains.
As an editor, I like to know that writers use their words deliberately.
If I know that the writer picked her words intentionally rather than carelessly, I can do a better job of editing.
Many sentences that I encounter employ words in a way that my high school English teachers would have considered incorrect, ungrammatical or even immoral (I’m not kidding).
A stickler by nature and training, I revise or suggest improvements to stuff that other people write. More and more frequently, I ask a question that other editors and writers might find useful: Why?
Why did you choose present tense rather than past?
Why did you spell “colour” that way?
Why can’t I find a verb in what you’re trying to pass off as a sentence?
Did you really mean “their pronouns” or should it be “my pronouns”?
Present tense might be the preferred style, depending on the context. “Colour” may or may not be a typo. The missing verb? A quirk, maybe, or a simple mistake.
Pronouns are more complicated than you might think, as I’ve learned in recent years. My pronouns, for example: he/his/him. Few of my readers need to know that, but the concept of gender-neutral pronouns and inclusive language can be critical in some writing and conversation.
“Why?” can help the writer improve. The answers can be surprising and even educational, for writer and editor.