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.

How to Punctuate Dialogue

When you’re trying to decide which punctuation to put in your dialogue and where, start by looking at your sentence as a whole.

"That's not my ocelot."

For stand-alone dialogue, punctuation is pretty easy: just throw everything inside a pair of quotation marks.

• “That’s not my ocelot.”

When the dialogue is part of a larger sentence (for example, when it’s joined by an attributive phrase like “she said,” also called a dialogue tag or speech tag), put a period at the end of the sentence and put a comma inside the quotes where you’d otherwise put a period.

• “That’s not my ocelot,” she said.

You can only use one period per sentence, so save it for the grand finale. On the other hand, your dialogue should always start with a capital letter, even when it’s in the middle of a sentence.

• She said, “That’s not my ocelot.”
• Salomé drawled, “Fancy meeting you here,” and dove out the window.

In the first example, the period is doing double duty for the dialogue and the whole sentence, so you only need one. The same is true of question marks, exclamation points, and em dashes (used when speech is broken off or interrupted).

• Ye-jun said, “What the hell’s an ocelot?”
• He yelled, “That’s a wild animal, not a pet!”
• Ye-jun asked, “Is that—” He was abruptly cut off.

Unlike periods, however, these marks can also sit in the middle of a sentence.

• “Do mermaids get pruny fingers?” asked Rhyddian.
• “Don’t stay in too long!” he yelled.
• “Can mermaids—” he began, before thinking better of it.

“Do mermaids get pruny fingers?” asked Rhyddian.

Dialogue Plus Action

Sometimes speech tags muscle into the middle of a piece of dialogue. Set off the interruption with commas, the same way you would in a sentence without quotation marks.

• Kansas, she says, is the name of the star.
• “The map,” said Javier, “is incomplete.”

Note how the commas stick to the preceding word, as commas are wont to do, tucking themselves inside the quotes with map and outside with Javier. Also note the lower case is. The word isn’t starting a new sentence of dialogue, so it isn’t capitalized.

• “The map,” said Javier. “Is it complete?”

Now Javier’s dialogue has been broken into two sentences: “The map. Is it complete?” This gives his speech a faster pace and more abrupt tone.

• “The map.” Javier frowned. “It’s incomplete.”

“Javier frowned” isn’t a speech tag—you can’t frown words—but a description of Javier’s action. So it can’t piggyback on the dialogue; it needs to be its own sentence.

• “The map is incomplete.” Javier frowned.
• He stood and began to pace. “We’ll need Salomé’s tattoo to find the Lost Kingdom.”

Suppose we wanted Javier’s action to happen in the middle of his dialogue. Then we could set it off with a pair of em dashes.

• “The map”—Javier frowned—“is incomplete.”
• “We’ll need Salomé’s tattoo”—he stood and began to pace—“to find the Lost Kingdom.”

Note the lack of commas. The em dashes are enough punctuation here—commas would be overkill.

“The map,” said Javier, “is incomplete.”

Period or Comma?

A speech tag will hitch itself to a piece of dialogue using a comma, while an action phrase needs either its own sentence or a pair of dashes. But it’s not always easy to tell the difference between a speech tag and an action phrase. If you’re not sure, look at the verb. Is it some kind of verbalization—a way of speaking, no matter how unintelligible?

• “No cherubim are allowed in the bathroom,” Mira grumbled/mumbled/muttered/stuttered.
• “No cherubim are allowed in the bathroom.” Mira winced/shuddered/smiled/rolled her eyes.

The actions in the second example all happen apart from the dialogue, so they must form a separate sentence. If you want to convey action and dialogue happening simultaneously, you can combine your action with a speech tag.

• Mira rolled her eyes and said, “No cherubim are allowed in the bathroom.”
• “No cherubim are allowed in the bathroom,” said Mira with a wince.
• Smiling, Mira said, “No cherubim are allowed in the bathroom.”

Of course, some verbs can convey either action or speech.

• “I’m no adventurer,” he sighed.
• “I’m no adventurer.” He sighed.

The first example describes sighed dialogue, the second, dialogue followed by a sigh. A period or a comma creates a different sequence of events.

In your literary explorations, you may come across actions unrelated to speech being used as dialogue tags. Is this kosher? Can a character, for example, shrug a sentence?

• “I dunno,” he shrugged.

Call it artistic license. Part of creative writing, after all, is using language in unexpected ways. But we’re not all Shakespeare, so if you want to use this type of construction, be sure you know what rules you’re breaking—and that you have a very good reason.

Semicolons; or A Good Excuse to Quote Jane Austen

The question of how to use semicolons with dialogue is not likely to come up often, but that’s no reason not to quote this elegantly constructed sentence from Pride and Prejudice:

• “Kitty has no discretion in her coughs,” said her father; “she times them ill.”

A little rearranging may clarify this structure:

• “Kitty has no discretion in her coughs; she times them ill,” said her father.

Alternatively, Austen could have used two sentences instead of one.

• “Kitty has no discretion in her coughs,” said her father. “She times them ill.”

But where would be the fun in that?

“Kitty has no discretion in her coughs,” said her father; “she times them ill.”

Punctuation is a powerful tool: used well, it can convey a world of information to your readers without their even being aware of it.

To keep posts like this one coming, support Grammarlandia at patreon.com/grammarlandia.

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.

Capitalization, Honorifics, and Yo’ Mama

If you tell your GP, “Give it to me straight, doctor,” does she deserve a capital letter? Should it be “Give it to me straight, Doctor”? It depends who you ask. When it comes to capitalizing titles like professor or miss (also called honorifics), there is dissension in the ranks of grammarians.

"Dammit, Jim, I'm a doctor, not a sushi chef!"

Direct Address

• “Dammit, Jim, I’m a doctor, not a sushi chef!” protested Doctor McCoy.

We can all agree that doctor should be lowercase here and Doctor McCoy should be capitalized. The first is simply an ordinary noun and needs no special treatment: a doctor, the doctor, my doctor. The second is an honorific in front of a name, and as with Captain Kirk, Mr. Sulu, or Lieutenant Uhura, it should be capitalized.

Things get more contentious when the honorific steps into the shoes of a name. Dr. McCoy’s dialogue is an example of direct address (also called the vocative case): he’s speaking to someone—Kirk—directly. When he says “Dammit, Jim,” the use of a capital for Jim is obvious; it’s a name. But what if McCoy were addressing him as captain? What about buster?

• “Dammit, C/captain, I’m a doctor, not a trapeze artist!”
• “I’ll darn well sass you if I feel like it, b/Buster!”

Up Style vs. Down Style

The Chicago Manual of Style, the bible of copy editors, is firm on the use of capitals in direct address. In an online Q & A column, Chicago’s editors write, “It doesn’t matter what the word is: captain, coach, aunt, joker, brain. If it’s used in place of a name, cap it.”

• “Dammit, Captain, I’m a doctor, not a trapeze artist!”
• “I’ll darn well sass you if I feel like it, Buster!”

On the other hand, well-known grammar arbiter Grammar Girl writes, “In cases where [honorifics] stand alone, even in direct address, they are lowercase.” She offers as examples “Hey, mister, look out for that pelican!” and “Gee, doctor, it hurts when I stick out my tongue.”

• “Dammit, captain, I’m a doctor, not a trapeze artist!”
• “I’ll darn well sass you if I feel like it, buster!”

The generous use of capitalization is sometimes referred to as up style, while using capitals more sparingly is called down style. Manuals like Chicago, which tend to embrace up style for direct address, are generally geared towards formal writing—say, for academic, government, or business contexts. Pick up any popular book, however, and you’ll most likely see down style.

But that doesn’t mean capitalizing honorifics is a matter of personal whim. There are a few words that even the most formal style guides won’t capitalize, and some words that fiction editors would wince to see in lowercase.

Do go haunt someone else, Mother!

Relativity: Family Titles

Mom (or Mum), Dad, Mother, and Father are always capitalized—when they’re used like names. Try substituting a name (we’ll use Spock) for the title in question. If it makes sense, cap it; if it doesn’t, use lowercase.

• My mom said she’d drive us to the rave. (my Spock X)
• Are you going to bake a file into Father’s cake? (Spock’s cake ✓)
• Do go haunt someone else, Mother! (haunt someone else, Spock ✓)
• All the dads are wearing tutus to the barbecue. (all the Spocks X)

You can apply the Spock method to other family members as well:

• Who gave Grandmother a litre of vodka? (who gave Spock ✓)
• Phoebe inherited the time travel machine from her grandpa. (her Spock X)
• One should not take advice from one’s disreputable uncle. (one’s Spock X)
• I already knew you were a witch, Auntie. (you were a witch, Spock ✓)
• Don’t let Uncle bring his Jello salad. (don’t let Spock ✓)

Of course, family titles are always capitalized when they’re followed by a name, in the same way you’d capitalize Doctor Zhivago or Captain America.

• our Grandma Eng (but our grandma, Eng)
• his Uncle Ahmed (but his uncle, Ahmed)
• Flora’s Cousin Judith (but Flora’s cousin, Judith)

Some family titles are less obviously capitalized. Brother or sister, for example, could mean any old schmo.

• Can you spare a dime, brother?
• You’re a tough cookie, sister.

Even when talking to your actual sibling, you might still prefer a more casual “Nice one, bro.” In some cultures titles like uncle and auntie are applied generally and not just to your parents’ siblings; an author might decide to convey this by keeping them lowercase.

You’re a tough cookie, sister.

Sir, Ma’am, and Nicknames

For reasons lost in the mists of time (or at least not immediately findable on the Internet), the following words are never capitalized when used without a name:

• sir
• ma’am / madam
• my lord
• my lady

(Hard-core grammar nerds can confirm this in section 8.32 of the Chicago Manual.) Even should you happen to speak to the Queen, she would only merit lowercase:

• “Your corgis are eating my shoe, ma’am.”

Nicknames, on the other hand, are always capitalized, since they’re another type of name—Bucky, Stretch, Chewy, Four-Eyes—but sometimes the line between a personal nickname and a generic descriptive term can get kind of fuzzy. Consider kiddo, genius, loser, killer, and sunshine. Of course, up style would cap these in any case (provided they were used in place of a name). If you’re using down style, you might want to think about the difference between a word that’s specific to an individual and one that’s used less discriminately. John Henry Holliday was known as Doc at the O.K. Corral, but Bugs Bunny says “What’s up, doc?” to a variety of characters.

When to Capitalize Direct Address: The Takeaway

Those of you looking for hard and fast rules on this issue are doomed to disappointment. As with so many grammar questions, the answer boils down to context and consistency. What degree of formality does your reader expect—are you writing a business letter or a blog post? Once you’ve chosen your style—up or down—apply it consistently. Remember to capitalize Mom and Dad where appropriate (calling on Mr. Spock for help as needed), and leave sir and ma’am lowercase. After that, dear reader, you’re on your own.

Colon vs. Semicolon: Punctuation Smackdown

When a comma is too wimpy and a period is too severe, you need a colon or a semicolon—but which?

Jeeves the Colon

A colon is like a butler: it introduces things. It holds open the door and says, “Mrs. Herringbone to see you, ma’am.” The sight of a colon raises expectations for what is to follow.

• A spelunker must possess the following: a miner’s helmet, a sturdy rope, waterproof boots, and nerves of steel.
• Only one creature in these woods burbles like that: the Jabberwock.
• “Your plan failed, Count Svitavsky, because you forgot one thing: Fifi is allergic to jujubes.”

A spelunker must possess the following: a miner’s helmet, a sturdy rope, waterproof boots, and nerves of steel.

A colon can introduce a list, an example, an explanation, or a conclusion, but remember this: what comes before the colon must be able to stand on its own as a sentence.

• X Their date consisted of: hot dogs, a walk on the beach, and some light larceny.
• ✓ Their date consisted of hot dogs, a walk on the beach, and some light larceny.

• X Over the course of the evening they stole: hip waders, hubcaps, and hairnets.
• ✓ Over the course of the evening they stole hip waders, hubcaps, and hairnets.
• ✓ They stole only items beginning with an h: hip waders, hubcaps, and hairnets.

Semicolons Are for Lovers

When you have two sentences so intimately related they beg not to be apart, join them with a semicolon. But be sure the clauses on both sides of the semicolon are independent—that is, able to stand on their own.

• It was spring; they were in love.
• Jonas chose the toasting fork as his weapon; Tariq selected the spatula.

Jonas chose the toasting fork as his weapon; Tariq selected the spatula.

Don’t make the all-too-common mistake of using a comma where you should use a semicolon. Commas work with coordinating conjunctions like and or but (see Commas and Conjunctions); without a conjunction, you get a painful comma splice.

• X It was spring, they were in love.
• ✓ It was spring and they were in love.

• X Jonas chose the toasting fork as his weapon, Tariq selected the spatula.
• ✓ Jonas chose the toasting fork as his weapon, but Tariq selected the spatula.

Semicolons as Supercommas

Semicolons are sometimes used instead of commas in long, complicated sentences holding multiple clauses, especially when those clauses are themselves already stuffed with commas. In those cases, the semicolons are like extra-emphatic commas.

• Outside the agent’s door stood an astronaut, sweating under his helmet; a ballerina, patting her bun and fluffing her tutu; a nun, her wimple in danger of poking someone’s eye out; and a sasquatch, whose oversized footprints could be seen up and down the hall.
• You could scale the wall with your grappling hook and creep through the mansion on silent feet, unnoticed by the sleeping baron, until you found the hidden room and, using your hard-won skills, opened its lock with your little picks; but you still wouldn’t have a clue how to get inside the safe.

Semicolons with However and That Is

A semicolon is often used before that is (or i.e.), for example (or e.g.), however, therefore, indeed, or similar expressions.

• You’ve eaten the last olive; however, I won’t hold it against you.
• I’m always a considerate neighbour; for example, I never practise the tuba after midnight.
• His new fairy wings were a great success; that is, they worked brilliantly until he hit the ground.

Again, notice that the clauses on both sides of the semicolons could work as separate sentences if they wanted to. Otherwise, the semicolons wouldn’t belong there.

• Mitzi swore she’d become an evil enchantress however long it took.
• Your grandmother is indeed running naked through the park.
• Your grandmother is naked; indeed, she is running through the park.

Mitzi swore she’d become an evil enchantress however long it took.

Match Decision

Sometimes the colon-or-semicolon question can be tough to answer. Does the second clause illuminate the first, or are they just holding hands?

• The mailbox was empty: there was no squid.
• The mailbox was empty; there was no squid.

It’s a question of nuance, and one that you, as a writer, will have to decide for yourself. Or you could just avoid the dilemma by using a period instead.

• The mailbox was empty. There was no squid.

It’s your call.

Support this blog by becoming a patron at patreon.com/grammarlandia. 

Defuse vs. Diffuse

When you tell a joke to cut the tension, are you defusing or diffusing the situation?

Defuse

The word defuse originally applied to bombs. To defuse a bomb is literally to de-fuse it: to take out the fuse, rendering it harmless. Metaphorically, defusing a tense situation means easing the mood—removing the danger, so to speak.

• Geneviève defused the awkward formality with a well-timed fart.

Geneviève defused the awkward formality with a well-timed fart.

Diffuse

To diffuse something means to spread it around. You know those department-store perfume ladies who used to lie in wait, ninja-like, to douse unwary shoppers with scent? Their spray bottles are also sometimes called diffusers, because they disperse the perfume in a cloud.

• The breeze diffused fluffy white cottonwood seeds across the meadow, evoking delight in some picnickers and allergic crises in others.

A diffuser: the perfume lady’s weapon of choice

How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Singular “They”

Some of you may have noticed a shocking lapse of grammar in one of my recent posts, namely,

• Your reader instinctively expects parallel construction, even if they couldn’t define it on a game show. (Parallel Construction and Why It’s Good for You)

Yes, I used the pronoun they (plural) with the antecedent reader (singular). Cue pearl-clutching.

Thirty years ago my they would have been corrected to he, but today that kind of sexism looks antiquated at best. Most current guides advise using the gender-neutral but clunky he or she, or better yet, making the subject plural so it matches they.

• Your readers instinctively expect parallel construction, even if they couldn’t define it on a game show.

All astronauts must wash their own spacesuits.

The best way to avoid arguments between your antecedents and their pronouns is usually to recast your sentences.

• X Each astronaut must wash their own spacesuit.
• ✓ All astronauts must wash their own spacesuits.

• X If anyone needs ammo, they can use my toenail clippings.
• ✓ If you need ammo, you can use my toenail clippings.
• ✓ Anyone who needs ammo can use my toenail clippings.

However, some sentences stubbornly refuse to be recast. Writers may find themselves creating syntactically convoluted rats’ nests in an effort to avoid either sexism or pronoun errors.

The They Option

Using they as a gender-neutral alternative to he has long been accepted in spoken English, and it has become more useful as folks with unconventional gender identities have emerged into greater cultural visibility. Even in written English, there are signs here and there of a thaw in attitudes. The Washington Post created a furor in grammar circles last year when it announced it would be allowing the use of they as a singular pronoun. Some editors have followed suit, but most are still firmly on the traditional bandwagon, and guides like The Chicago Manual of Style warn against using the singular they in formal writing.

Certainly it would be the wrong choice for a government document or an academic paper, but in the fast-and-loose blogosphere the singular they hardly raises an eyebrow. You could even argue that such usage conveys an appropriate breezy informality. As always, it’s a question of audience and tone.

Shall I compare you to a summer's day?

Here’s a secret you probably weren’t told in English class: language changes. Once upon a time, most English-speaking people addressed each other as thou. You was reserved for groups of two or more, or to show polite deference—much like the French vous. Grammar is important, yes; but it’s not written in stone.

So I’ve decided to embrace the singular they in this blog, and if anyone doesn’t like it, they can go jump off a stack of dictionaries.