Writing Effectively

Truly helpful – NOT! 

I love getting emails about this column. Even when I make mistakes, the reader emails are fantastic.

When I made the mistake a while back using the adverb badly instead of the adjective bad, my inbox was bursting with helpful corrections. Most of them were tremendously kind and read more like apologies than corrections. Others were more critical, but there’s no harm in that. I made a pretty basic mistake, so I deserved to be called out on it.

Last week, however, I got the most hilarious email I have ever received in regard (I think) to this column. I have to share it with you. The message line read, “Your article is wonderful!” This is the body of the email (italics are mine):

(NOT)You have made many mistakes in your recent articles.  Overall your articles have to many mistakes to be an efficient read, and a good use of time.

How truly helpful and beneficial to receive such a well-worded and specific critique of my work! I was pleased to get some constructive advice for improving my writing.

Okay, I’ll stop with the sarcasm and get to the grammar.

If you read, see or hear something which prompts you to write a letter to the responsible party, there are a few guidelines you need to keep in mind in order to be effective and in turn to keep from wasting your own and someone else’s time.

Be clear. Any time you feel the need to critique or compliment someone in a letter or email, it’s important to be as specific as possible. I write more for Current than this column, and I also do some other freelance writing. It’s entirely possible the email is criticizing something I wrote for another publication entirely. But who knows? The critique isn’t specific about the article, column or publication. It also doesn’t point out any specific mistakes. That could lead the reader to believe the complaint may not be based in fact.

Be professional. Using a decades-old single-word taunt isn’t the best foot to put forward. It’s important for your recipient to take your concern seriously and not double over laughing before making it to your first complete sentence. I realize I’m not setting a great example here with my heavy-handed use of sarcasm.

Be correct. I’m not saying I haven’t made any mistakes in recent articles. I’ve noticed typos and some formatting issues that I’m working to correct. What I mean here, though, is you should use correct grammar, spelling and punctuation. I notice at least four glaring errors in the text of the complaint.

Sign your name. Unless you feel threatened by the party in question (and I hardly think I am a threatening force), your signature shows that you are serious about the critique in question. Failing to sign is akin to heckling at a huge event: it probably won’t interrupt the show, and hecklers are rarely taken seriously by anyone – even those who may agree with them. And make certain the party you address can contact you for more information, an apology or a word of thanks. In this case, I have a rather anonymous email address, but it’s something.

And please, readers, keep the emails coming. I always enjoy thoughtfully written emails, even when they disagree with me.

Double Negatives

Ain’t No Mountain High Enough

You may be surprised to learn that I scored higher on the SAT in math than I did in language.  Quite a bit higher, actually.  It just so happens that I disliked math and put little effort into it.  Writing and literature, though?  Loved them.  Still do.

Still, I grasped math concepts with relative ease, so I performed well.  Take for example, the concept of two negatives making a positive in multiplication.  See there?  I know some math.

The double negative concept holds true for language, too, but unlike math where no one will do you bodily harm for putting two negatives together, two negatives in language can be deadly – at least to how people interpret you.

Here’s how the double negative works in language: I don’t have no explanation actually means that you must have some explanation.  Not having nothing means having something, right?  But people using double negatives rarely mean what their words really state.  In using a double negative, the speaker or writer actually winds up saying the exact opposite of what is intended.  Unless what is intended is to make oneself appear to be a fool who uses double negatives when, in fact, one is just a fool trying to lead one’s audience astray.

I haven’t the vaguest notion how the double negative came about.  Its relative commonness, however, indicates that it has been in existence for a long time and that it is a widely accepted construction in certain groups.  I know it was a problem for a number of students at my former school, and I hear double negatives used in situation comedies with relative regularity.  And it’s somewhat pervasive in music.

I have to say, though, that in the case of music, sometimes songs just work better with the inclusion of the double negative.  Hit me with the grammar stick, if you like, but I think that The Rolling Stones’s “Satisfaction” would be much less satisfactory if the lyrics were, “I can’t get any satisfaction.”

Besides that, the lyrics are so true if you interpret them as written: Mick Jagger, possibly one of the ugliest men on the planet, is not exactly short of satisfaction, I feel quite certain.  He just isn’t capable of getting no satisfaction.

Funner is Not a Word

Grammar fun at Disney

I recently returned from a terrific vacation in Disney World. My family and I had a fantastic time, and I had a reprieve from worrying about grammar – or so I thought.

On a late evening bus ride back to our resort from Downtown Disney, I noticed the flashing marquee for Pleasure Island. Its message to passers-by included the word funner. Seriously. My husband thought I was going into full cardiac arrest: “It’s okay, honey. I’m sure that sign is controlled by unschooled elves or something.”

Funner? This bothered me for two major reasons: 1. Dozens of kids would see that sign, which made it seem as though using a non-word is perfectly acceptable, and 2. Since this was the first time in my visits to Disney that I believe English was spoken by the minority of visitors, it seemed to me an ostentatious display of how Americans feel the need to butcher their own language for a world of non-English speakers to see.

Don’t even get me started on the new iPod touch commercial featuring funnest.

*sigh*

I’ll step down from my soapbox now and catch my breath. Certain misuses really get me riled up. I’m a bit of a traditionalist when it comes to the word fun. I don’t use it as an adjective, and I don’t like to hear it used as an adjective. So in my book, you can have fun, but not a fun time. But technically, if you look it up in the dictionary, you’ll find that in informal conversation or writing, using fun as an adjective is acceptable.

So what’s a guru to do? Here’s the thing, folks: grammar and language are fluid things. They change over time. I cringed, for example, last year when Webster decided to add ginormous to its dictionary. To me, it’s a parody of a word, but it’s recognizable nonetheless as a word. On the other hand, snarky is one of my favorite words, and it’s a relative newcomer to the vernacular of the average American, as well.

The same thing happens with usage. Over time, usage changes. Consider, for example, the word text. Until just a decade ago, text was a noun only, and few people would have questioned that. Now, however, with the advent of text messages, text has become a verb, with the jarringly awful-sounding texting and texted forms. Personally, I prefer He sent me a text message to He texted me, but I’ll lose that battle as time goes on.

My advice to those who hear words used in unfamiliar ways is this: try to keep an open mind – more open than mine, anyhow. While blatantly incorrect non-word usage (see funner and funnest above) is irritating, that’s part of how language evolves. I’m certain the first few times ginormous appeared in print it was looked at by many with disdain, but it became commonplace enough for Webster to recognize it as a real word. And Webster doesn’t add words in a willy-nilly fashion; they’re pros, you know.

Commas and Essential Information

Comma Chameleon

When the song “Karma Chameleon” by Culture Club came out in 1984, I was relatively young. And I was just certain that the lyrics were not, “karma, karma, karma, karma, karma chameleon,” but, “comma, comma, comma, comma, comma chameleon.”

I guess I’ve always had punctuation on the brain.

In any case, the chameleon is a good representative of the comma, because commas are tricky. There are literally dozens of rules about commas; I could do a ten-part series on comma use and still not cover all the bases.

That said, I do have a comma usage rule to share that you may not know. Most people know to use commas to separate items in lists and to set off words or phrases that otherwise interrupt the flow of a sentence. A comma rule of thumb that many people do not know refers to essential and non-essential phrases and words in a sentence. And it’s whether those words are essential that determines whether or not to use a comma.

For example, I have two daughters. Because both of my children are the same gender, if I write the sentence, “My daughter Emma is really excited about kindergarten,” placing Emma’s name in the sentence is essential to the meaning of the sentence.  Otherwise, you wouldn’t know which daughter I am referring to.

On the other hand, I only have one husband. If I write a similar sentence, “My husband, Bill, played college football,” I need the commas. If I don’t use the commas, it indicates to my readers that naming my husband is essential, thereby giving the idea that I have more than one husband and am breaking the polygamy law. And that’s not the impression I wish to give.

Think of it this way: If I remove Bill from the example sentence, the sentence still makes complete sense and you know exactly to whom I am referring. If I remove Emma, however, it leaves doubt.

It’s not just people’s names that need to be treated this way when it comes to commas. Any number of other things need the same care. Consider the following examples:

            Cold Play’s song “Viva la Vida” is one of my favorites.

            Michael Crichton’s first book, The Andromeda Strain, came out in 1969.

           

Cold Play performs dozens of songs, so the title of the song is necessary to the sentence and does not require commas. And although Michael Crichton published 25 books in his life, he only had one first book, so that title, when mentioned as above, needs the commas because it’s not essential to the meaning of the sentence.

This same rule of essential versus non-essential use is the drive behind another grammatical issue: restrictive and nonrestrictive relative clauses. Those probably sound intimidating, but they’re really not.

Capitalization of Job Titles

For the Sake of Vanity

Have you ever had a boss who thought he was more important than he actually was (or is)?  Even if you haven’t, you probably know the type: He values his own opinion above those of all others, he considers certain tasks simply beneath him, and he wants his job title capitalized all the time.  He, by the way, could just as easily be a she.  This shoe comes in peep-toe pumps, too.

As much as this person might annoy you, there is really only one thing you can do: stop capitalizing his (or her) job title.  In fact, with the information I am about to give you, you could stop capitalizing his job title almost all the time with just an adjustment to where it falls in the sentence.

Bwa-ha-ha-ha!

That’s a maniacal grammarian’s laugh.  Use your imagination.

Seriously, though, there are only a few times when job titles should be capitalized.  Most of the time, they shouldn’t.  And when someone insists that his (or her) job title be capitalized all the time, we grammarians refer to it as vanity capitalization.  Capitalizing your job title when it doesn’t require capitalization is like laughing at your own joke.  Only in this case, the joke is really lame.  It’s an attempt to make something appear more important than it really is.

So when do you capitalize a job title?  When it precedes the persons’s name, essentially becoming a part of the name.

            Executive Vice President Michelle Williams will attend.

            Please forward all correspondence to Chancellor McAdams.

            All poo patrol volunteers should report to Head Poop Scooper Pam.

And even if the title precedes the name, if the title is preceded by an article (a, an, the), the title does not get capitalized.

            The head of mechanical engineering, Bob Cotterpin, is a nice guy.

Now, there are a few exceptions to these rules, but they are few and far between and not necessarily widely agreed-upon.  So stick with this as your basic guide.  If you need a more in-depth analysis, drop me a line, and I’ll try to help you out.

Oh, and if you want to make sure you never have to capitalize your boss’s title, just make sure it always follows his (or her) name.  Unless it’s part of the signature line of a letter – that’s one of those exceptions.

Adverb Abuse

How do you feel?

I knew that this was bound to happen eventually. Even gurus are not infallible. I made a grammar error in my own column. And my readers called me on it.  Lots of them.  Thanks, all!

The mistake in question occurred in my September 30 column, “Can’t We All Just Get Along?” In the final paragraph, I told readers not to feel badly if they have been treating certain singular indefinite pronouns as if they were plural. I should have told them not to feel bad. My bad (pun intended). A classic case of adverb overuse.

Anyhow, I thought I would let you know why I was wrong – in terms of grammar, anyway. Feel is one of those verbs that can function as either a linking verb or an action verb. There are a bunch of these tricky critters, among them grow, smell, seem, appear, and become (this is not an exhaustive list by any wild stretch of the imagination). When you use any of these two-function verbs as linking verbs, they are paired with adjectives: bad, good, quick, and so on. If you are using them as action verbs, they require adverbs: badly, well, quickly, and so on.

So if I say, “He smells bad,” I’m referring to his need for deodorant or other personal hygiene, but if I say, “He smells badly,” I’m letting you know that he has trouble recognizing when his kids have dirty diapers – or at least that’s what he wants his wife to think.

If you aren’t sure whether the verb in question is functioning as a linking verb or an action verb, replace it with a form of to be. In the first example above, smells is functioning as a linking verb; I could replace it with is and still have a logical sentence: He is bad. In the second example, smells is an action verb, proven by the replacement method: He is badly. Yikes.

I wasn’t trying to tell my readers that they need not have a deadened sense of touch if they make mistakes with indefinite pronoun agreement. That is, however, what I did. I think this issue stems from learning from a young age that adverbs modify verbs: we just get adverb crazy. Linking verbs are an exception, as you see.

Speaking of exceptions, you may be wondering about well and good. That, my friends, is an exception. It is grammatically correct to say, “I am good,” when referring to your general overall state of being. It is also correct to say, “I am well,” when you are speaking specifically of your health. Exception noted.

Comparatives and Superlatives

As best as possible

One of my sweetest and most loyal readers sent me the idea for today’s column.  It seems that another local publication recently printed a story containing the phrase, “as best as possible.”

Excuse me for a moment.  That’s so awful that I need to have a convulsion just to recover.  Thank you.

I didn’t see the article myself, so I’m hoping that the paid writer didn’t put together that doosey.  I hope it was a statement made by someone in the heat of the moment.  Someone whose emotions overrode his good grammatical senses.  Or something like that.  That sort of excuse would even give the editor an excuse for not editing out such a horror.  Otherwise, that copy editor is in serious danger of being fired.  Or he should be.

You see, when you construction the phrase “as ______ as possible,” an adjective or adverb in the blank cannot be comparative or superlative. 

Did I lose you with those fancy grammarian’s words?  Sorry about that.

Comparative adjectives and adverbs are ones that generally show the relationship between two things: better, worse, flatter, squishier, more, less.  Superlative adjectives and adverbs show something in relationship to several other things: best, worst, flattest, squishiest, most, least.

Because most comparative and superlative adverbs are formed by adding more or most (or less or least) to an –ly adverb (more slowly, less likely), the error with those is hardly an issue.  I mean, seriously, can you imagine constructing something like, “I want to move as more slowly as possible.”?  You’ll hit your head from the convulsion that construction induces.

And really, most adjectives and adverbs ending in –er or –est aren’t going to make it into that construction, either:

                as flatter as possible

                as squishiest as possible

                as less as possible

You’d have to be medicated in order to stop the convulsions.

But for some reason, some people put comparatives and – more often – superlatives into the “as _____ as possible” construction.  But not you, my faithful readers.  If you didn’t know better before, now you do. 

And the convulsions?  I’ll have as few as possible.

More Pronunciation-caused Woes

Effective Usage

Ah, the Midwest.  It’s a lovely place to live.  The change of seasons, the nearly universal love of football, the vague pronunciation of certain vowel sounds which causes regular misuse of certain word pairs.  Marvelous.

What’s that?  That last one seems a little off?  You’re right.  It’s not one of the marvelous things about the Midwest.  It’s one of the things about the Midwest that drives me a little crazy.  For one reason or another, we Midwesterners tend to mush up our short-a and short-e sounds into either a universal use of the short-e sound or an indistinguishable short-u sort of sound.

One of my favorite examples of this pronunciation problem is in how the Midwestern utterance of then and than confuses people to no end.  Of course, I recently did a column about then (reference to a point in time, most frequently used as an adverb) and than (a conjunction used for comparisons), so I’ll not rehash that here.

That beginning vowel sound also makes affect and effect a tough determination.  Affect is most often a verb: Sunny weather affects her mood positively.  On the other hand, effect is almost always a noun: Sunny weather has a positive effect on her mood.  If we all just pronounced effect with a long-e sound, I think this issue would clear right up.  If you’re looking for a trick for this one, though, my best suggestion is to think of affect as an action and remember that they both start with a.

Another terrific example is the subtle pronunciation difference between accept and except, a difference that in the Midwest is all but lost.  Of course, the words have almost opposite meanings and uses, so it’s important to make the distinction.  Accept is a verb meaning to take or receive; except is a conjunction or preposition used to exclude something.  My little trick for this pair is that except has an X in it, so you can think of it as crossing something out or excluding something. 

The a-for-action trick also works for accept and except, but I like the X trick better.  It makes me think of X-Men, which makes me think of Wolverine, which makes me think of Hugh Jackman, and Hugh Jackman makes me smile no matter how he pronounces vowels. 

Being Objective

Pronoun Use Not So Subjective

Nothing grates me quite as much as improper pronoun usage. Well, okay, quite a few things grate me that much, but that’s not to say I’m not seriously irritated by the confusion of subject and object pronouns.

Object what? Who’s objecting?

I am, my friends.  I am objecting to the use of object pronouns in place of subject pronouns and vice versa. Let me clear up those definitions for you before we move on: object pronouns are used as the objects (often of prepositions) in a sentence, while subject pronouns are, fittingly, the subjects of sentences or clauses.

Here’s an abbreviated list of the most common pronouns in each category:

subject pronouns                               object pronouns

I, he, she, they, we, it, who                 me, him, her, them, us, it, whom

And here’s the reason I need to write this column:

Her and I are going to the mall.

I need to go with he and Becky.

Me and him are leaving for Grammar Camp. (And boy, do they need it!)

I could go into a lengthy diatribe about how subject and object pronouns are to be used, but for the sake of ease and column length, here’s the quick-and-dirty reference: if you’re using two pronouns or a pronoun with a noun, take one out to determine which one to use.

I realize that makes no sense.  Here’s what I mean:

You want to say that you’re going somewhere with someone.  Take yourself (or the other person) out of the equation to determine the pronoun. In the first sentence above, you wouldn’t say, “Her is going to the mall,” so you also don’t say, “Her and I are going to the mall.” The I is correct.  Sentence two highlights the opposite problem: “I need to go with he,” would almost certainly never cross your lips. The final sentence has both pronouns wrong (and in the incorrect order, but that’s a different lesson); it should be, “He and I are leaving for Grammar Camp.”

Thankfully, most people only make these errors when using two or more pronouns or pronouns in conjunction with nouns, so this handy reference rule works out most of the kinks for most people.  If you regularly use the incorrect pronoun all by itself (him is going to the park or I gave it to she), and it sounds correct to you, I’m not certain a column in a weekly newspaper is enough help for you.

With Absolute Certainty

Absolutely, overused

I got a request a while back to consider the word absolutely and its frequency of use.  I did a little bit of digging and found that many sources – including Jeremy Butterfield, a lexicographer whose book Damp Squid: The English Language Laid Bare is a jewel – cite absolutely as one of the most overused words in the English language.  Butterfield lists it as the sixth most overused word in the language.

Because I’m not sure precisely when the overuse began, I can’t speculate with much precision why it has become so popular.  My guess, however, would be that because there has been so much uncertainty in so many areas of life in recent years, people are reaching out for a word that expresses absolute certainty.  And what better than absolutely? 

Horrifyingly enough, I am one of the absolutely over-users.  I didn’t realize that I used it with such regularity until I got the email about it, and then I started noticing the frequency with which I had used it when I would go back through digital recordings of interviews I have done for Current.  Good grief!

In my case – and I think in the case of some others – when having a conversation where I want to continue to give verbal and physical cues that I am paying attention and understanding the party doing the speaking, absolutely becomes a way to keep from repeatedly saying yes or simply nodding all the time.  And without sounding as if I’m just saying this to keep myself in the right, I think this is a somewhat forgivable use of absolutely.

For others, though, absolutely is just a way to respond positively to questions:

            Did you do your homework?  Absolutely.

            Do you want syrup with your waffles?  Absolutely.

            Are you being tried for murder tomorrow?  Absolutely.

This is where I take issue.  The problem, I think, is that by using absolutely as a replacement for yes, the former becomes a watered-down version of itself.  It doesn’t change the meaning of the response, but it does make a strong word weaker by virtue of overuse.  And continued overuse of absolutely actually makes it sound less sincere than a plain ol’ yes.  Why else would you use it when yes works just as well?

In general, if you can respond with yes, do so.  Use absolutely much less frequently, and only when you truly mean without a doubt or unequivocally. 

It's versus its

It’s not so tough

I’m not perfect, even when it comes to grammar.  I know that probably comes as a great shock to you, but it’s true. 

When I’m using instant messaging or writing a Facebook status, I am especially prone to grammatical gaffes.  Several weeks ago, I wrote the following Facebook status update: “Its too hot to think.”  I clicked on update before I reread what I’d just written, and then, there for the whole world to see, was a giant grammatical error by a self-proclaimed grammar guru.

Immediately, I replied to my own status: “It’s, not its, is what I meant.”  I followed that shortly thereafter with, “Wow.  I really am a geek.  Who else corrects the grammar in her own status updates by replying to herself?”  Then I’d becoming Top News, so I got all sorts of replies, from, “As long as you don’t correct the grammar in my status updates, you’re fine,” to, “You write a column about grammar, and you’re just now figuring out that you’re a geek?”

I digress.  I have two points: one is that even people who know better sometimes make stupid mistakes, the other is that its is a possessive pronoun.  Let’s focus on that second point.

Although I have discussed its and it’s before, I continually get emails asking me to revisit the subject.  Confusion of the two is both common and – apparently – easy.  I’m not exactly sure why people are so confused by the two words, but I can obviously understand making the mistake even when you know better.

It’s is a contraction for it is or it has.  Contractions always have apostrophes.  Always.  If you are removing letters from a word or words, the apostrophe is there to acknowledge that you know what you’ve done.

On the other hand, its is a possessive pronoun, as I have already stated.  Possessive pronouns, with only one exception, do not have apostrophes: his, hers, theirs, their, ours, our, my, mine, your, yours, its, whose.  Any apostrophes there?  No.  (The exception is one’s.)  Just as you would never – I hope – write her’s or their’s, you don’t use it’s to show possession. 

And on the flip side, of course, you don’t use its as a contraction.  Even on Facebook.

Sentence Fragments

Fragments: Friend or Foe?

A sentence fragment is a basic error that beginning writers make with relatively frequency. By beginning writers, I mean anyone who has not yet started middle school.

Anyone in middle school or beyond that point, however, should be able to avoid fragments with relative ease and skill. They are generally easy to identify because most people know the difference between an independent clause and a dependent clause and the difference between and phrase and a clause, even if such terminology causes a knee-jerk stomach-churning reaction.

Phrases and clauses are the easiest: His big red bicycle with shining wheels is obviously not a sentence because there is no verb. Spun recklessly out of control through the busy street is also not a complete sentence because it lacks a subject.  Clauses have both subject and verb; phrases do not. Put the two example phrases together, though, and you have a lovely sentence about a scary incident.

Independent clauses and dependent clauses are a little trickier, but they differ in only one basic way: the former can stand alone as a sentence, and the latter cannot (hence its being dependent). Most of the time, though, this distinction is fairly plain, too, because dependent clauses often begin with subordinate conjunctions (while, if, after, although, whereas, because). I don’t think anyone would argue that Because he was covered from head to toe in lime Jell-O is a complete sentence.

Disturbing? Yes.

Complete? No.

My favorite kind of fragment, though, is a special little devil called the anacoluthon. Generally, an anacoluthon is created when the writer starts with one thought and ends with a separate thought without connecting the two properly: Emma’s little dog Fluffy, whose barking annoys the entire block, as anyone in the area can attest. Do you see the issue?

And it doesn’t just happen with relative clauses, either: The matter was taken up with the city council held its meeting in the new board room. It’s a miniature sentence implosion, if you will. The anacoluthon is most often created, I think, when a person starts writing a sentence, then breaks for lunch or some other task and comes back to the writing an hour later. Still, it’s easily recognizable and takes only a little bit of creativity to correct.

When you know what you’re doing, however, sentence fragments can add a certain flourish to your writing. I use fragments regularly in this column. Generally I use them to create a conversational tone or to draw attention to a particular point. Occasionally I use them as a comedic device. And for an informal work such as this column, that’s acceptable. Truly formal writing (analytical work, cover letters, formal reports) should not contain sentence fragments.

The point is this: sentence fragments do serve a purpose for the writer who knows what to do with them and uses them intentionally. Unfortunately for the fifth-graders of the world, failing to recognize fragments in their work does not constitute purposeful use.

Who, Whom, and That

Who Knew?

One of the toughest questions in grammar deals with a seemingly simple word: who.  There are two facets that frequently confuse people about who: when to use who versus whom, and the lesser-known rule regarding the use of who versus that.  Let’s tackle that last one first and then move on to the real juggernaut.

The who-versus-that issue is really just a matter of remembering about whom or what you are speaking.  Who is reserved solely for human beings.  Any reference to anything else (even beloved pets that we treat like human beings) is made using that. 

This isn’t a particularly difficult rule, but it gets broken frequently and almost solely in one direction: referring to people as that.  For example, how often can you recall hearing someone say, “He’s the one that fixes concrete problems” or something to that effect?  He should be the one who fixes concrete problems unless, of course, he is actually a concrete-fixing Muppet or other non-human being.  The reverse of the error rarely occurs: “Where’s the building who fell down last week?”  See why?

So what about the tougher distinction of who versus whom?  There’s a trick to this one: look at the situation as answering a question.  If you would answer the question with he (or she), then you need to use who.  If you would answer the question with him (or her), then you need to use whom.  Here are examples: Whom did she take to Jamaica?  She took him.  To whom does this shoe belong?  It belongs to her.  Here’s the opposing view: Who needs a pencil?  He does.  Do you know who shot J.R.?  I think she did.

That little trick works for almost every comparison of who versus whom, and it works well as a handy reference when you aren’t carrying a grammar and style manual with you, which I’m guessing you don’t often do.  If you have trouble remembering which goes with which, just remember that whom and him both end in m, so they belong together.

Where it All Began: The Grocery Store

Lesser (or Fewer?) of Two Evils

Being a grammar guru, I have a lot of pet peeves related to grammar. A lot. My husband jokes that if I become any more irritated by grammatically incorrect signs and advertisements, we won’t be able to go anywhere any more, much less shop anywhere. He may be correct.

I tried a while back to boycott all stores that had check-out lane signs that broke the less-versus-fewer rule. It’s a really easy rule that many people don’t even realize exists. So of course it’s a pet peeve of mine.

The problem? Several grocery stores use signs at check-outs that read, “12 items or less.”

Can you hear my teeth grinding?

It’s not just because of the person in the fast lane with four hundred items.

The fast-lane signs should read, “12 items or fewer.” The store that I find has the lowest prices on the items I need most often is one of the offenders. Drat! And I’ve found that none of the grocery stores I boycotted for the erroneous signs replaced them with grammatically correct ones because of my lack of business. Bugger!

But back to the grammar. Why, you ask, should the signs say fewer instead of less? Fewer is the comparative adjective used for items that can be counted. You should use less when referring to something that must be measured. This is a fairly black-and-white rule with few ways to confuse it. Examples are as numerous as you can imagine: fewer cakes, less sugar; fewer miles, less distance; fewer appointments, less stress.

The answer is as simple as, “Do I count them, or do I measure it?”

The other answer is, “No, I should not get in the 12-items-or-fewer lane with my overflowing cart of groceries.” Not all my pet peeves are grammar-related.

An Introduction

My name is Brandie Bohney, and I enjoy grammar.  It's possible that there are meetings for such grammar enthusiasts.  But rather than attend those meetings, I'm starting a blog.

I write a weekly grammar column in order to encourage good grammar; "The Grammar Guru" runs in three central-Indiana newspapers published by Current Publications.  These are reprints of those columns.  Some were printed more than two years ago, and others were printed just weeks prior to my posting them here. 

If you stumble upon this blog and have a specific question, feel free to comment or email me directly at bbthegrammarguru@gmail.com.  I'll do my best to get back to you as soon as I can.