Writing 101: Common Phrases Are the Hardest to Spell

Some phrases are so common that we never even think twice about them...not even when we have to write them down. Is Christie a shoe-in for Prom Queen? Or is Edward a shoo-in to win the election? Should I wrack my brain to find the answer...or rack yours? The most common and oft-heard phrases can be the worst ones to spell. Now, find out whether I have a deep-seeded or deep-seated love of proper grammar...

Improper Phrasing

Microsoft Word, and other computer spell-checkers, may not catch your mistakes when you're writing your phrases incorrectly. Because all the words are still spelled the right way, the automatic checkers may not realize that you're actually not making any sense whatsoever. Make sure you double-check your phrases, even the ones you think are very common, because you might be surprised by how often you're actually getting it wrong. 

• Shoo-in/Shoe-in. The phrase means something like "a certain victory," though it's always used with a noun (like I did in the examples at the top of the post). The only correct way to write it is shoo-in. It's derived from an old racing term, actually -- something about "shooing in" the winning horse at the track across the finish line. Shoe-in means nothing, because shoes go on your feet; they don't go in them.
• Wrack/Rack my brain. When you wrack or rack your brain, you're trying to think of or remember something -- like maybe the correct spelling of a common phrase. The phrase rack my brain is especially hard, because both rack and wrack have distinct meanings. Wrack was once used to describe wrecked ships, but today it usually refers to seaweed. A rack is a framework of some sort, used to display or store various items. The phrase rack my brains is derived from the use of the rack in torture. Try to remember that racking your brains is torture, and it'll be easier to remember the correct usage of this phrase.
• Deep-seeded/Deep-seated. When something is deep-seeded or deep-seated, it usually refers a firm conviction, principle or belief. Both phrases look like they could make sense. Deep-seeded sounds like it means planting something deeply, but it actually means nothing at all. Deep-seated is the phrase you're looking for, though this is probably the most improperly used of all the phrases on my list. Even respectable publications get this wrong all the time.

The above phrases are the ones that have, historically, troubled me the most. While looking around the Internet, I found several more:

• For all intensive purposes. The phrase sounds, and looks, like it would make sense. Intensive comes from the word intense, which means passionate or earnest. Saying for all intensive purposes might sound like your motivations are strong and deeply-felt, but it's an improper turn of phrase. For all intents and purposes is the phrase that's actually used. Intent means there's a plan in place, so when you say for all intents and purposes, you're saying practically, yes. You aren't saying anything if you use the other, improper, phrase. 
• Home in/Hone in. Do you hone in or home in on something when you're writing phrases? Both sound like they might work. Home is where you live, hone is a tool you use to sharpen a blade. But you are not a bee, so you can't home in. You can only hone in, which means that you're concentrating sharply and intensely focusing on a goal.
• Moot point/Mute point. Am I making a moot point, or a mute point, when I write about grammar (I hope not!)? Mute is in everyday language, and you know it means to completely silence something. Moot means that conversation is null and void, so of course the phrase you're looking for is moot point. The other choice, mute point, doesn't exist -- even if it sounds like the action you have to use to quiet the TV. 
• Tongue and cheek/Tongue in cheek. Don't let an improper conjunction make your writing look silly! The correct phrase is tongue in cheek, which means to subtly poke fun at something (usually through sarcasm). Tongue and cheek is the stuff that creates your mouth.
• Escape goat/Scapegoat. This is my personal favorite among the incorrect common phrases, because it's hilarious. A scapegoat is the hapless victim in a plot, the person who ends up taking the fall for the real perpetrators of a crime or feat of misbehavior.  An escape goat is a specially-trained magician goat who performs at county fairs -- or, it's just an improperly used phrase that means nothing at all. 

Common phrases are deceptive, because they're used quite often in conversation -- but that doesn't make them easy to spell. If there's more than one way to spell a phrase, take the time to double-check yourself and be certain you're getting it correct. Otherwise, the escape goat might come along and gobble up all your readers.

Writing 101: Setting, Revisited

It's important for writers to do the proper amount of research to present information knowledgeably, and I'm a huge advocate of it, but today I learned a valuable lesson: there's a dark side to it. Storytellers can be a little too diligent in their efforts to keep their work accurate...and end up doing themselves, and innocent parties, a whole lot of harm. I've talked about the importance of setting before, but it's worth looking at the issue from another angle. Sometimes, writing a real location into your work can go very, very poorly. 

Location Writing Gone Bad

Another writer actually called my attention to this, and his post was great, but I'm so fascinated by the topic I thought I'd go a little deeper. 

Lots of writers use real locations in their books. Stephenie Meyer famously used the real town of Forks, Washington, which happily embraced the Twilight phenomenon. There are numerous tours of the town, which is routinely assaulted by eager teenagers throughout the tourist season (Forks now has a tourist season). You can watch numerous documentaries and featurettes about the real-world Forks, which looks just as Meyer promised it would and sits exactly where she wrote that it was. You can even see Bella's truck if you go to the right place. 

But it doesn't always work out so well. Anne Rice ended her iconic Vampire Chronicles, and her character Lestat, in front of an old, abandoned building in New Orleans. But the building didn't stay abandoned. A few months after Rice released the last novel in the series, the property was purchased and turned into a restaurant. Reportedly, Anne Rice was none too pleased when the owner of the building embraced the notion that a famous vampire was living in his building. 

It's not at all the worst-case scenario, but it took another writer to point out the possibility to me. Some books become so wildly popular, towns create tours of various places mentioned in the pages. That's all well and good when the associations are positive -- but what about when they're not?

When Innocent Parties Get Hurt

Thanks to Google maps and the rest of the Internet, any writer can create believable fiction about any real place. You can go to travel sites and find famous landmarks and hotspots; you can even use your computer to move down to street level and get a real look at the locations you use. This is a wonderful tool for writing...and a dangerous one.

Suppose you mention an actual street address in your work (the home of your killer, the domicile of your victim, the place where your character actually lives) and fans start to visit it? It's not at all outside the realm of possibility -- just ask anyone in Forks. Real people may actually live in that home, and they never asked to become a famous stop on self-driven fan book tours. They may feel harassed and uncomfortable inside their own homes, and you may have unwittingly ruined their personal lives. 

That's bad enough for certain, but things could still go one step further: you might get sued. The homeowners could easily file harassment charges against you, and I'm not a lawyer but I'm sure a clever one could dream up several other charges as well. 

It's important to be accurate and realistic in your work...but only up to a point. Don't use real homes with real people living in them; and if you do, don't provide real addresses. Specifics are good, but too many could be your undoing. What's the old saying about having just enough rope to hang yourself? 

Don't let yourself get so caught up in your own fiction world that you forget the real one exists, too, and you won't have to worry about wrecking people's lives or bringing severe legal trouble down on your own shoulders.

From the Trenches: Depressing Rejection

Few things can create as much pressure as being given the label "promising." One success usually isn't enough for any author. Phrases like what have you done for me lately? and you're only as good as your last book leap to mind. Once you achieve something in the world of publishing, you may expect all the doors to fall open for you. So when they stay closed, it can be a pretty brutal letdown. 

This was the case for one very promising poet, flush with potential, who discovered that success doesn't immediately lead to more success...in an very harsh way. 

Sylvia Plath was a very promising and talented poet, and she proved it with the publication of her poetry collection, The Colossus. The book was made up of 44 poems, and it didn't exactly set the world on fire right away...but it did give Plath the motivation to begin her first fiction novel. 

Reportedly, Plath began writing the book in 1961 after being awarded the Eugene F. Saxton Fellowship. It was a rather prestigious grant attached to publishers Harper & Row, and it gave Plath the freedom to work furiously at her literary endeavors.

She was no stranger to awards. Plath went to Smith, where she edited The Smith Review, and won a position as a guest editor at Mademoiselle magazine. She even won a grant to attend Cambridge, and traveled around Europe when classes weren't in session. 

So, after spending many months of working on her first (and what would be only) novel, Sylvia Plath sent a copy to Harper & Row, the benefactors of her Fellowship. 

They hated it. They deemed the book "disappointing, juvenile and overwrought," and pulled her Fellowship.

Still determined to succeed, Plath submitted it to a different publishing house -- this time, under a pen name. The response? Another harsh rejection. The editor who read her work commented "there certainly isn't enough genuine talent for us to take notice." 

Plath quickly responded, this time with the revelation of her real name. "I have now re-read --or rather read more thoroughly-- [the manuscript] with the knowledge that it is by Sylvia Plath which has added considerably to its interest," the editor wrote. "But it still is not much of a novel...there is no viewpoint." Of the plot itself, the editor wrote that "one feels simply that Miss Plath is writing of them because [these] things did happen to her and the incidents are in themselves good for a story, but throw them together and they don't necessarily add up to a novel."

Harsh...and stupid. The novel that Plath wrote was, of course, The Bell Jar. Today it is considered a classic, and it's been indelibly ingrained into popular culture as a representation of depression, suicide and teen angst, among other themes that deal in femininity and the pressures of having potential. It's still selling on Amazon to this day, and it's required reading in many high schools and institutes of higher learning. Plath's own sad story is hopelessly entangled with the book, of course...she died by her own hand very shortly after it was first published. Since The Bell Jar is about suicide, the parallels are inescapable. But Plath's voice lives on in the book, and it happens to be one of my very favorites. 

Many brilliant minds struggle with emotions; genius and raw feeling do not make for happy bedfellows. Sylvia Plath worked in the fiction trenches and battled depression the best way she knew how: by writing about it. In the end, she couldn't overcome her own demons...but lucky for the rest of us, she managed to put them down on paper quite beautifully before she left. She weathered harsh rejection and suffered staggering defeats, and even after she died she was still winning awards for her brilliant work.

Writing 101: Explain it to Me

I'm not afraid to admit that I don't know where Antigua is, or that I can't name any other city in Australia but Sydney. The difference is, I'm a lot more tactful than most readers are going to be when they have this problem. When you're writing a book, don't assume I know what couscous looks like, what tiramisu tastes like or what kiwi smells like. When you're writing, make sure you're explaining it to me. Otherwise, I'm just getting frustrated, and when there are new indie books cropping up on Amazon every day I'm simply not going to waste my time with a book that forces me to guess with every other page. 

What's That Mean? 

How many Caribbean islands can you name? Did you know that they have different names? Hawaii, which is also made up of multiple isles, also has different island names. But if you walk down any American street and ask people to start naming different islands, chances are the majority of them aren't going to give you an accurate answer. So if your novel largely takes place on Molokai, and you never explain to me that this is one of the Hawaiian islands, your book might as well be set on the moon as far as I'm concerned. I might even think it's a place that you simply made up, and spend the rest of the book in a lagoon of confusion.

How many times have you eaten foie gras? It's the liver of a foul (commonly duck) that is usually presented in a sort of soft, spreadable substance that's not quite a liquid or a solid. It's a very high-dollar delicacy, and lots of people may have a vague idea of what it is but not how it tastes, what it looks like or even how it's eaten. So how frustrated am I going to feel if you're giving me a scene where everyone's standing around eating it, and I can't even come up with the appropriate mental picture? 

You can write that a building "looks Japanese in design," and some people will conjure up an image...but others will have only a black space in their minds. Tell me how it looks, why it looks Japanese -- explain it to me. 

What I don't want to do when I'm reading is continually think to myself, what's that mean? I shouldn't be sighing and struggling when I'm reading, which is something that's meant to be for entertainment, education and inspiration. What are the chances that your readers are going to take the time to look something up in Google maps, pull out a dictionary or start searching for information on something you didn't explain properly? Isn't it a whole lot easier to simply close the book, and read one of the other millions that are available to them?

Always remember that the average American reads at an eighth grade level. This doesn't just extend to language skills and grammar knowledge; it also applies to the amount of information they've retained through education. Don't take geographical knowledge for granted, and assume that everyone knows where Melbourne is located. Don't assume that everyone understands that a souffle is a delicate custard dish. Don't make me work or it. People read to learn new things, so if you're presenting them and not explaining them I'm not getting anything out of your book.

Justice on Goodreads

"When I thought I had figured out what would happen next, Jade would throw in another twist that caught me completely off guard."

Justice (Deck of Lies, #1) has received another positive review on Goodreads. Go check it out, and don't forget to add the book to your lists!

Writing 101: When Do You Capitalize The?

Proper capitalization is something that I struggle with every single day. Words like with and it are endlessly confusing when it comes to writing titles correctly, but more than any word the one that gives me the most pain is the. Is it a title? What if it's not? Suppose I need to mention the White House in the middle of  a sentence, and not at the beginning? Just when the heck are you supposed to be using a capital The, and when aren't you? 

How Do I Hate The? Let Me Count The Ways...

Without a doubt, the is my least favorite article. Since there are only two articles in all of English (a and the), I realize this isn't saying much -- but the depth of my hatred supersedes the general lack of choices. The is a problem for me personally because I can never seem to figure out just how to treat it when it comes to capitalization.

And frankly, neither does anybody else. The is treated all kinds of ways by all kinds of writers, and in looking for information about capitalizing the it's much easier to find condescending advice than something remotely useful (tons of grammarians, for reasons unknown, feel like it's necessary to explain in great detail that the first letter of any sentence should be capitalized).

After absorbing a mind-boggling number of capitalization rules, I still hate the. But at least now I know how to treat it -- and you can, too. 

The Rules

The is neither preposition nor verb, adjective nor noun, and that's why it's so hard to deal with. The rules of capitalization say that prepositions should never be capitalized, but that doesn't mean you should treat the like a preposition because it is not. Short verbs like are, be and is are also supposed to be capitalized when they belong to titles and proper names (example: the song Flowers Are Pretty should always be written thus). But again, the isn't a verb. 

But the isn't just any other word, either, and that's where the confusion comes in. It's an article, and it plays by is own rules. 

• Proper nouns. In proper nouns, such as exact place names (the Alamo, for example), the first letter of each word is supposed to be capitalized -- unless there's a the involved. It's an exception, and it's one that a massive number of people get wrong. Unless it starts the sentence, the should not be capitalized in proper nouns (so don't do it). 
• Titles. In titles, every first letter of every word should be capitalized -- excluding your prepositions and your articles, of course. In the book For Whom the Bell Tolls, the stays small. However, if the is the first word in a title, it must be capitalized whether or not it starts a sentence. For example, I have to write The Catcher in the Rye with both big and little the, because the first starts off the proper title of the book and the second appears in the middle.

And One More Confusing Thing...

 I know what you're thinking. You're thinking I've broken my own rules with the title above, When Do You Capitalize The? But you're wrong. It's one of those quirky rules of capitalization that I saved for the end, because that's where it belongs. In any and all titles, the last word must also be capitalized. Why is that a rule? I don't know; I don't make them up. Whether it's a preposition or a the, if it's the last word (or the first word) of a title, you've got to capitalize. So, when do you capitalize the? At the beginning of a title and at the end, but never any other time, and certainly not inside proper nouns. 

Writing 101: Ending a Sentence With Is

"It depends on what the meaning of the word 'is' is." 

                                -President Bill Clinton to the Grand Jury, 1998

There are lots of sentences out there that end with is, but the above quote is definitely my favorite. Is it okay to end a sentence with is? Like Clinton says, that all depends on your definition. 

The Meaning of Is

For reasons unknown, there seems to be some confusion surrounding the meaning of is. When discussing it's viability at the end of a sentence, many people point to the preposition rule. The rule says that prepositions shouldn't end a sentence, but a) that's already been debunked here; and b) is isn't a preposition.

Is is actually a form of the verb to be (third person singular present, to be exact). To be is one of the most oft-used verbs, but it has so many different forms you may not know when you're using it. Is is one of the them, and by all rules of English it's perfectly acceptable to end sentences with verbs -- and Shakespeare's famous for it (to be or not to be).

Some sentences, in fact, would be lot more cumbersome if you felt like you couldn't use is:

Is that where it is? 

How long did you say it is? 

I don't know what that is.

There are plenty of occasions when you can re-word a sentence to eliminate the use of the word is at the end, but do so only if it improves readability. Like the preposition rule, fear of ending on is is another one of those strange grammar myths that you just can't believe. Lots of sites say it's an abomination, but that's just silly. Always go by the first rule of good grammar: if it sounds right, it probably is.

Books on Film: Gone With the Wind

Even if you haven't read it, or seen it, or pulled down your grandmother's curtains and paraded around the house (what? I didn't do that), I know you've heard of it. It's Gone With the Wind, and it's both a literary and film juggernaut that you just can't stop -- not even 75 years later. It also happens to be my personal favorite, and it's why I'm making it the first selection for the new Books on Film feature. 

The Book

Gone With the Wind was published in 1936, and it was most definitely an immediate success. It was already a bestseller before the reviews appeared in national magazines. Almost instantly, author Margaret Mitchell was awarded the Pulitzer and the novel's film rights were snapped up by one David O. Selznick (more on him later).

 

Set in the south during the Civil War and the Reconstruction era that followed, Gone With the Wind revolves around the life of Scarlett O'Hara. It's not often called a coming-of-age tale, though that's exactly what it is. Scarlett becomes shrewd and hardened during the war, the whole of which she spends pining away for a man who is married and who does not love her romantically. 

Rhett Butler, the book's hero (or maybe anti-hero), is passionately in love with her. But Scarlett, obsessed with Ashley Wilkes, doesn't really care. She loathes and envies Ashley's tenderhearted and loving wife, Melanie. For spite, and to make Ashley jealous, Scarlett marries Melanie's brother Charles. After he dies in the war, she marries her sister's somewhat long-in-the-tooth beau Mr. Kennedy. It isn't until he dies -- arguably, because of Scarlett -- that she finally condescends to marry Rhett. He does all he can to please her but it's never enough, and when Melanie dies he finally decides he's just too fed up with his wife to carry on. Besides, she'll certainly be running after Ashley harder than ever now. So Rhett leaves, and in one of the most climatic and tragic scenes ever written, Scarlett O'Hara Hamilton Kennedy Butler realizes that she really loved Rhett all along, and Ashley could never be a decent companion for her. She runs after Rhett, but it's too late...and he walks out. The book ends, as does the film, with Scarlett's iconic line: "After all, tomorrow is another day." 

Try not to judge the book on my brief summary; it took Mitchell over 1,000 pages to describe these same events, which she does much more wonderfully and poetically than I.

The Film

Upon purchasing the rights to the novel in 1936, David O. Selznik immediately went to work. He started taking meetings with Hollywood's biggest stars, both male and female, though from the outset public opinion was quite strongly settled on one actor, and one actor only, for the role of Rhett: Clark Gable. Debonair, drop-dead handsome, and oozing masculinity through ever pore, Gable was pretty much Selznick's first choice, too. Gable didn't want the role. Through much negotiation and deal-making, he was secured to play the part. The search for Scarlett would span two years and two continents.

Half a world away, a London stage actress named Vivien Leigh was also in love with the book. She told a friend as early as 1937 that she would play the role on film, but she had some extremely stiff competition. Just about every actress in Hollywood with any box office value screen-tested for the role, and Bette Davis rabidly coveted it. But Leigh was also on her way to Hollywood, and through her various connections scored an introduction to Selznick through his own brother, a well-known agent at the time. On the night when the studio burned up several massive sets used in former productions, to film the epic scene when Atlanta burns to the ground in the film, David O. Selznick met his Scarlett O'Hara. Leigh was introduced by this name, and after her screen test the producer was convinced. 

Selznick was well-known for doing book adaptations on film, and he'd earned a reputation for staying true to the author's original work. But Gone With the Wind was a 1,000-page monstrosity covering years and years of truly epic history, and the project became overwhelming right away. By all accounts, Selznick was a veritable madman on set. He oversaw every single stage of the production, and it created some tension. One person involved with the film complained that everything had to be done and re-done again. 

The opening scene alone was filmed four times, complete with costume changes and location changes, before it was finally deemed fit for the flick. Two directors were fired, one was re-hired, and Selznick edited the movie in full at least twice. The way the story goes, studio representatives literally had to take the reels for the film out of his hands because if the movie was delayed even one more day it would miss its premiere date. 

Selznick's obsession and attention to detail paid off. Gone With the Wind became the highest-grossing film of all time, in its day, and remains in the top ten of the American Film Institute's Greatest Films of All Time. It has been released and re-released endlessly, in every possible format, and you can still catch it on television at least once a year. The movie practically swept the Oscars and made a quick star of Vivien Leigh. Fashion trends immediately developed, and anything associated with Scarlett O'Hara was an instant hit in the late 1930s and early 40s.

But any movie can be popular. The real question is: did Selznick succeed? Did he transform a massive book into a marketable movie, without too much loss of story? 

What Got Adapted? 

My verdict: yes. Now that's a controversial answer, because the film version of Gone With the Wind is certainly missing a ton of story elements. In the book, Scarlett has multiple children. In the film, there is only one. The movie also leaves out a huge chunk of the story that revolves around Scarlett's family; both her sisters come to rather ill ends, and movie watchers won't ever know of their tragic fates. Much of what happens to Scarlett in the years immediately after the war is skipped over quite neatly by Selznick, though that could be due to the fact that the original scriptwriter was fired. A parade of successive writers came along behind him, until he was eventually re-hired to clean it all up (the list of people who were fired from Gone With the Wind is quite impressive).

However, Gone With the Wind has a mind-numbing running time of 3 hours and 44 minutes for a good reason: a strong effort was made to capture the whole story. When you adapt a gigantic book, you end up with a really long film. The flavor and major plot points of the book are most definitely captured by the film, the actors are all well-casted and very suited to their roles, and despite the omissions of the more racy material that the book doesn't shrink away from, what's left unsaid in the movie is still pretty clear.

For a book on film, Gone With the Wind is one of the best adaptations you can find. The movie does just what it's meant to do: it turns text into live-action images. There are some discrepancies, of course. According to legend, while Margaret Mitchell and her husband watched the film for the first time, he turned to her during the famous train station scene and remarked, "If we had that many soldiers, we would have won the war!" But overall, it remains one of the best examples of a book on film and it's well worth watching.