Effect vs. Affect

The easiest way to tell these homonyms apart is to remember that, most of the time, we use effect as a noun and affect as a verb. In other words, an effect is usually a thing, while to affect usually involves doing something. (Mnemonic tip: affect = action.)

• The effects of the transporter have never been fully explained.
• Geraldo’s love spell had no effect on the handsome gargoyle.
• Carrying the Righteous Sword of Truth within my body does not affect my digestion. 
• Mr. Rogers’s affecting monologue had us all in tears.

However, English being the gloriously contrarian language it is, there are other, less common definitions of both words that don’t follow the same rule.

Carrying the Righteous Sword of Truth within my body does not affect my digestion.

Effect as a Verb

The verb effect is most often seen in bureaucratese as a pompous way of saying “to bring about” or “to make happen.”

• Pipe Kleenerz Inc. was able to effect a change in its fuzziness policies.

This is not to be confused with the verb affect, which means “to influence.”

• EvilCorp affected the environmental legislation through nefarious means. (EvilCorp influenced the legislation.)
• Our municipal government effected its anti-mime legislation last week. (The legislation was put into effect.)

Affect as a Noun

An affect (pronounced AF-fect rather than af-FECT) is an emotion or, in psychiatric circles, the manifestation of an emotion. For example, descriptions of depression or autism will sometimes mention a “flat affect,” that is, not showing visible evidence of feelings.

• As a chef, Mandeep’s usual affect is of barely restrained fury.
• The movie villain’s lack of affect was more disturbing than clichéd moustache-twirling.

Affect as Another Verb

Beyond “to influence,” the verb affect can also mean “to pretend (a behaviour) in order to impress.” This meaning is related to the noun affectation, “a contrived manner.”

• Randy affects a British accent at gallery openings, but no one is fooled.
• At seventeen, Zahra decided to affect a plumed hat whenever she went out.
• Keiko affected a limp so no one would suspect she was a cat burglar.

At seventeen, Zahra decided to affect a plumed hat whenever she went out.

So, you might affect a certain affect in order to create an effect that will affect those around you, thus effecting your master plan.

(Sorry.)

Lead, Led, and Lead: Past Tense or Pencil?

Don’t confuse the past tense of lead, which is led, with lead, which sounds like led but is spelled like lead. Clear?

Of course not. Like a Dickens character, the English language has a convoluted and improbable past. Which is why we have a verb like lead, whose past tense (led) sounds like another word spelled exactly the same as its present tense (lead).

Our sinister guide led us down into the catacombs but gave no promise to lead us out again.

To clarify:

Lead (rhymes with bead): verb. To show the way

Led (rhymes with bed): verb. Past tense of lead

Lead (rhymes with dead): noun. A kind of metal, or the graphite core of a pencil

According to Word Origins by John Ayto, the verb comes from a Germanic word meaning “journey,” while the noun is probably derived from an Indo-European word for “flow” (because the metal is quick to melt). As for pencil leads, when graphite was first discovered, people mistakenly thought it was a kind of lead, and a pencil’s core has been referred to as a “lead” ever since.

• “Lead on, Macduff” is a misquotation of Macbeth.
• Agnes’s practical joke went over like a lead balloon.
• Joachim’s leading lady led him astray.
• “No, chewing on your pencil won’t give you lead poisoning,” said Hélène, “but it’s gross.”
• Our sinister guide led us down into the catacombs but made no promise to lead us out again.

Agnes’s practical joke went over like a lead balloon.

Loath vs. Loathe and Averse vs. Adverse

What a difference a letter makes.

Anoushka was loath to wake the sleeping basilisk.

Loath vs. Loathe

To loathe something is to despise it with every fibre of your being, to hate it with the fiery intensity of a thousand suns, to want to consign it to the lowest circle of hell. In short, to really, really not like it.

• Felix says he loathes suburbia and everything it stands for.

While loathe is something you do, loath is something you are. It means “reluctant” or “unwilling.” To say you are loath to do something means you would really rather not, thank you very much.

• Anoushka was loath to wake the sleeping basilisk.

Averse vs. Adverse

Averse means much the same thing as loath. If you’re averse to something, you don’t want to do it. You’d rather avoid it, or possibly push it away with a long stick. You have an aversion to it—a distaste, a dislike.

• I’m not averse to the occasional prank, but flying monkeys in the cafeteria is taking things a bit too far.

Adverse comes from the same root as adversity, which means “hardship” or “misfortune” (as in “to struggle against adversity.”) Something that’s adverse is causing you harm or making your life difficult in some way.

• The drug’s adverse effects include widespread hallucinations, carnivorous balloon animals, and bagpipe concerts.

The drug’s adverse effects include widespread hallucinations, carnivorous balloon animals, and bagpipe concerts.

Common Spelling Mistakes: The Cockroaches of Language

Some misspellings cling tenaciously to life no matter how hard you try to stamp them out. Here are three words to keep an eye on.

Diner signs to the contrary, there is no Q in barbecue.

barbecue

The abbreviation BBQ has spawned the misguided yet persistent barbeque. While there’s a chance you might get away with the questionable q on a truck-stop sign or a fast food menu, you’d best avoid it in any sort of serious writing. As Bill Bryson put it in Troublesome Words, “Any journalist or other formal user of English who believes that the word is spelled barbeque or, worse still, bar-b-q is not ready for unsupervised employment.”

• From what I gather, Australia is awash in barbecued shrimp.

sacrilegious

Sacrilegious describes the disrespecting of something sacred. Maybe because of the connection between sacredness and religion, a lot of people misspell this word as sacreligious. However, its root is sacrilege, not religious. In spelling, as in life, one shouldn't insert religion where it’s not wanted.

• Hilda’s sacrilegious ditties and shocking Bible marginalia got her booted out of the nunnery.

wring

Wring is often found missing its w in expressions like “through the wringer” and “wring (its) neck.” It has nothing to do with circles or bells; the action is of twisting or squeezing, as in wringing out a wet towel. Before dryers became common, many washing machines were topped with a wringer—a handle connected to a pair of rolling cylinders through which wet clothes were squeezed before being hung on the line.

Putting wet laundry through the wringer

As for wringing necks, I’m told you can kill a chicken by giving its head a sharp twist, though I’ve never had the misfortune to try the method myself.

• Fifi fearlessly tackled the intruders while the rest of us stood around wringing our hands.

Wrack vs. Rack

The difference between wrack and rack is more than a wandering w. Though the two words have increasingly become interchangeable, they have different meanings.

On the rack

To say your nerves are racked is to suggest they have been stretched on a medieval torture device called the rack. Wrack, on the other hand, is an old-fashioned version of wreck that was originally used to mean a shipwreck.

Confusing the two is understandable, as a nerve-racking experience can leave you feeling something of a wreck. Just remember that expressions with rack are not about destruction but about unbearable tension—being stretched until you beg for the sweet release of death. For example, you can be racked with guilt or rack your brain for information.

• She was racked with pain at the sight of the strip mall’s architecture.
• I’ve been on the rack since yesterday’s rain of frogs, nervously awaiting the End Times.
• It’s such a shame he’s let his father’s old teaspoon museum go to wrack and ruin.
• “Ring the alarum-bell! Blow, wind! Come, wrack!”
  

Wrack and ruin

That said, today most dictionaries will allow “nerve-wracking” and “wrack your brain” as acceptable variant spellings. And the expression “wrack and ruin” has been spelled both with and without a w since at least 1599.

No one ever accused the English language of being consistent.