On Orthography and Pet Peeves

        Centuries-long debates have attempted to rate the relative evil of misspelling a word.  Are all misspellings inherently heinous, or do they matter only if they confuse the reader?  What does a misspelling imply—or not—about the writer's intelligence and reliability?  Participants on every side of the debate have relatively sound reasons for supporting their conclusions--whether they promote traditional orthography, standardized spelling reforms, or free-form spelling.  Permit me to drop my two cents atop this dragon's horde of pennies.

        From a historical perspective, orthography has always been—to varying extents and depending on one's point of view—arbitrary.  Alphabets, syllabaries, and logograms are, after all, man-made constructions, invented to represent sounds or ideas, which change over time.  In the English language—and I would venture to say in most (if not all) other languages, as well—spelling once varied widely according to regional accent or personal preference until some fellow thought to publish and popularize a dictionary.  Even once dictionaries became accepted authorities on spelling, orthography has often morphed (though sometimes belatedly or not at all—consider the Great Vowel Shift) to keep pace with changing pronunciations and vocabulary, or—on rarer occasions—to emphasize a new nation's distinctiveness, as with England's former colonies in what is now the U.S..
        Considering how language and accepted spellings change, some people feel it makes little sense to propagandize prescriptive orthography nor to lament "creative" spelling, provided readers can still sound words out and get the meaning.  Furthermore, with PC thoughts of diversity and tolerance, it hardly seems right to penalize people who have learning disabilities for their bad spelling.
        Opponents point out that, although learning spelling may be difficult for the learning disabled, it's not impossible for most to improve with regular effort.  (See this article about teaching spelling to dyslexics.)  They could always borrow or hire an editor when needed, so there's no reason to let everyone get sloppy with spelling just because some in the population struggle with it!  Standardized spelling makes it so readers don't have to take time to puzzle out a writer's meaning.
         Ah, but standards can change, can't they?  What's wrong with easing people's way by making irregular verbs regular or removing unarticulated letters?  "Mass confusion," proponents of traditional spelling would argue.  "Old texts would become almost unintelligible."  Like Chaucer, you mean?  But we still make students read his original words, and they manage (if sometimes only with the help of SparkNotes).  Reforms could be introduced gradually, and books could be reprinted with "modernized" spellings.  ...Yet there are so many logistical problems with that!
        Though spelling is, to an extent, arbitrary, both reformers and traditional orthographers agree that spelling is an arbitration codified in dictionaries and in years of usage.  Just as a law only applies to the people who live under that body of laws, codified by lawmakers, they contend that a spelling only truly applies if it is codified in a dictionary.  (Though, to confound matters, not all English dictionaries include the same new forms, and some note multiple correct spellings for a word.  The majority of the content, however, agrees.)
        If we think of spelling as a codified law, we'll also remember that a law can be amended, so why not do so when a majority of orthographic "lawmakers" agree?  This does happen in a way, but the process, some complain, is too slow or needs to be reversed.  Currently, dictionaries revise their spellings to reflect popular usage, but revisionists feel dictionaries should dictate popular usage, instead.   Laws are also useless unless followed and enforced.  Is that the case with spelling?
        Although police may not arrest a business owner for posting a sign reading "Wellcome" or "You're Video Store," couldn't one view customer criticism or reduced patronage as a form of enforcement?  Educators, certain employers, and peers may enforce spelling through grades, performance reviews, hiring choices, praise, and mockery.  Indeed, most of us do tend to use spelling (fairly or not, and intentionally or not) as one way to judge the writer's intelligence and reliability.  What do you think when you read this: "I want to the carpanter and asked hi to billed me a woden closet with a big mirror and speachieal drawers to put my showas." (From Ghotit.com. It took me a while to figure out the last word!)

        It looks and feels delightful to read a well-written document or story, but even with mundane words, correct spelling helps readers comprehend the meaning, as illustrated above.  This is especially true in the case of homophones and between nigh-unintelligible spoken dialects.  One must note, however, that poor spelling often goes hand-in-hand with poor grammar, which further damages clear, quick communication.  There is, therefore, undisputed value in perpetuating a standard orthography and grammar. 
       Even so, reformers argue that our oral language has changed since some of these spellings were first established, so we have words like "knight," which is no longer said as "kah-knee-kt" or "ka-ni-git."  Consider also the words February, Wednesday, colonel, through, phlegm, knock, queue, and others in which sounds have been dropped or changed over the years.  Is retaining such spellings entirely necessary?  Learning to read and spell such words becomes an extra challenge to those not verbally inclined.

        So the arguments fly.  Myself, I see no harm in a few reforms, starting with standardizing abbreviations like "tho," "thru," and "info."  (Think there's any chance we could popularize "brev" to replace "abbreviation"?  It'd need to be in common use before the spelling could officially change, but consider the irony of the long version!)

        I can overlook the occasional typo, but consistent spelling errors drive me batty.  Among the various, vexing vagrancies that some villains venture to commit with our written language, and with homophones in particular, these are a few of my pet peeves.  (I wonder how many of you read that expecting "these are a few of my favorite things...?"  My thoughts digress.)

• Yea—1) even more so; indeed ("Yea, verily.") 2) a somewhat archaic "yes" ("I can't say yea or nay.")
• Yay—1) exclamation of joy; "Hooray!" ("Yay!") 2) an indicated amount ("It's yay high.")
• Yeah—yes; ja; sure; absoballylutly  ("Want some chocolate?"  "YEAH!")      (Extra Note: "Yea" and "yay" are homophones that rhyme with "way."  "Yeah," however, is a unique diphthong that doesn't seem to rhyme with anything.  Its final "a" sound resembles the "a" in "at.")

• Supposed to (not suppose to) and used to (not use to)    ("I used to try to eat things that I was not supposed to, like my sister's arm.")

• Could've, would've, should've, etc. (not could of, etc.)—the abbreviated word is "have."   ("I should've moved to Texas for the winter!") 

• A lot (not alot)—as in a bunch, a great amount.  ("A lot of people write badly!")

• Cannot (not can not)    ("I cannot believe you forgot that!")

• Then—an adverb of time ("First brush your teeth, and then you may kiss me.")
• Than—a comparison ("He has more wit than wisdom.")

• You're—a contraction of "you are" ("You're from the lunar colony?")
• Your—a possessive form of "you" ("I find your lack of faith disturbing.")

• There—a pronoun for a place; an exclamation of satisfaction ("Sit there in the sun... There, isn't that warmer?")  Note how the locations "here" and "there" have similar spellings?
• Their—a possessive form of "they" ("Their pfeffernuse tastes great with chai.")
• They're—a contraction of "they are" ("They're great bagpipers.")

• Two—the number 2 ("Two cats strolled along the fencetop.")
• To—toward, for the purpose of, etc.  ("She went to great lengths to humor those cats.")
• Too—also; excessively so ("I, too, want a cat so long as it's not too destructive.")

• Write—to inscribe words or music on a surface     ("I hope to write a novel.")
• Right—1) dexter rather than sinister ("Turn right!") 2) correct  ("You were right to write that.")
• Rite—a ceremony or customary practice

• Any kind of misused or unnecessary preposition: ("We are considering on doing that." "Where are you at?")

• The following are other commonly-remarked upon errors that I (unrealistically?) expect people to know by the time they reach high school: site/sight, fill/feel, aspect/respect, weather/whether, which/witch/wich, who/whom, angle/angel, wear/ware/where/were, break/brake, foreward/forward, due/do, dessert/desert, decent/descent, counsel/council, aisle/isle, its/it's, throne/thrown, close/clothes, breath/breathe, advice/advise, accept/except, affect/effect, choose/chose, lose/loose, coarse/course, conscious/conscience, diary/dairy, device/devise, different than/from/to, dual/duel, hoped/hopped, hole/whole, see/sea, role/roll, sit/set, through/threw, wreak/wreck/rack/wrack...

The list could go on, but I think you get my meaning.  
This "rant" comes across as a bit myopic even to me; certainly, from a larger perspective, spelling has little bearing on the important things in life, which we may sum up as as "love God" and "love your neighbors."  Even so, clear written communication, as well as the respectability attached to polished format and content, are incredibly useful tools, especially when interacting with our neighbors. 


What do you think about spelling?  What are your pet peeves?  Write a note below.



See other articles on this topic:
brunerbiz.com "I Judge You When You Use Poor Grammar"
Wikipedia.org "English Orthography"
Spellingcity.com "Importance of Spelling"
Huffingtonpost.co.uk "Best-Funniest Spelling-Grammar Mistakes"
Not about spelling, but funny: Instruct.westvalley.edu "Writing Sample" 

On Self-Hate

Self-hate is a deadly habit.  And like all habits, it’s hard to break.  I know--I’ve been trying since at least junior high.

From what I’ve observed, self-hatred assaults introverts more than extroverts.  We’re the ones who “live inside our heads” more, and yes, familiarity breeds contempt.  We know humanity as a whole is in a bad way, but we’re the specimen we observe the most.  

But it’s more than that.

There’s a certain frame of mind, an expectation of perfection.  We know the ideal self we want to be and hate when we don’t measure up to our standards.  We find our self-worth in our accomplishments and the praise of others.  We’re extra sensitive to criticism and embarrassment, less able to cope with the fact that we’re fallible and that our products don’t always match the picture in our minds.

But it’s not just the “incident of the week” that causes grief.  I’ve had a lot of years to collect memories that still mortify me to this day, even incidents from elementary school that most people would look back on with a chuckle and a shake of their heads, saying, “I was just a crazy kid, then.  Oh, well.”  My response is to call myself names and look for the nearest surface on which to bang my head.

Recollections of errors and humiliations from yesterday, last month, or ten years ago invariably come to mind multiple times a day, triggered by innocuous sights and keywords.  Sometimes I wasn’t even at fault, but someone said or did something hurtful, and it stuck with me like a burr on a sock that pokes my ankle when I step just wrong.  This translates into a lot of self-directed anger--sometimes quickly snuffed by reason or productive activity, but sometimes lowering me for much longer and encouraging a retreat into unproductive escapism to get away from myself.

Funny thing is, we critical types often defend this tendency to be overly critical.  We think (that is, hope) that it spurs us to improve, become better people.  But it doesn’t always.  Sometimes we get so sick of trying and failing to do right that we give up--for a time or forever--and hate ourselves even more for it.

I’ve had several people tell me over the years, as if it would remedy everything, that all I needed was a thicker skin.  First off, that’s another insult to a sensitive mind--one more way in which I can castigate myself for being deficient.  Second, that gives a person no constructive way to go about getting a thicker skin.  

I can imagine how it’d work, based on the metaphor: A callus is built when a patch of skin gets roughed up over and over.  So it sounds like people are telling me I should suffer more so I suffer less with each insult.  Really?  The amount of insults I give myself, you’d think I’d be as thick-skinned as a dragon by now, and just about as friendly.  Thankfully, I don’t think I’m the unfriendly, but though the wisdom of age has thickened my skin more than it was, I still can't be called "thick-skinned."  A similar metaphor is “Let it go, like water off a duck’s back.”  That one’s a little more constructive, but how can I grow a metaphorical feather barrier?  Water is a bit adhesive to skin, you know--and unlike negativity, water evaporates with relative speed. 

I have found four techniques that help to decrease my self-hate:

1. Keep a wide perspective of the problem.  What’s the whole situation, exactly?  What may have motivated the other person (or yourself) to say what was said?  Who’s affected, and how much will this problem really affect people’s lives a year or ten years from now? (Avoid the slippery slope fallacy!)  If needed, can you fix it or make restitution?  Can you learn from it?  If nothing can be or needs to be done, clear your mind, take a breath, and think about something else.
2. Stop looking inward so much.  Escapism into fiction or puzzles may help a little.  Taking care of pets can help a little more.  But better yet, turn your gaze on other people. Socialize, volunteer, or do things that help other people.  Consider their needs, their problems, instead of fixating on your own.  Helping others, aside from just being the neighborly thing to do, will also help you feel better about yourself.  
3. Surround yourself with people who support and affirm you.  Demand hugs when needed instead of self-medicating with chocolate, which produces calorie guilt.
4. Most importantly, give yourself grace. Forgive yourself; stop judging yourself for what you’ve done or failed to do, and start looking at who you are--or to put it another way, whose you are.  Define your worth by God’s love for you.  When you forget to do that, when the baggage of your past clings and makes it hard to walk forward, then stop, ask God to take your baggage, and re-center your life on your relationship with Him. 

 
 

On Relating to Other Intelligences, or On Numbers

It's common knowledge that people's minds tend to be inclined toward different sorts of knowledge and understanding: musical, mathematical, linguistic, spatial, kinesthetic, interpersonal, and so forth.  While people can generally function in the other areas, they are typically less proficient than other people so inclined.  Unfortunately, we often forget to account for this difference in understanding when we communicate.  The result (aside from poor communication) may be impatience or scorn on the part of the speaker—and confusion, frustration, or anxiety on the part of the listener.  How, then, does one develop a sensitivity—or might we say bilingualism—for other intelligences? 

I would venture that the first step to improving communication requires basic empathy—insight into the other person's struggles.  Part of this requires acknowledging intellectual differences as, well, differences rather than a sign of stupidity.  Empathy may not help much with the nitty-gritty of how to explain ideas better, but it can improve one's patience with the effort of communicating and thus ease some of the listener's stress.

First, an important note on what not to do: When conversing with a person weak in one's favored area, one ought not think that speaking with this person is akin to speaking with a child.  Yes, one needs to simplify concepts and word choices or to try different approaches, but this perspective tends to make one's tone come across as condescending.  The parallel is also imperfect because a child's mental processes differ from an adult's beyond a mere difference in areas of intellectual strength; young children, for instance, cannot grasp figurative language or abstract concepts well.  But that topic is a whole 'nother kettle of fish.

Instead, a more accurate analogy is conversing with a non-native speaker—something to which most people can likely relate in some way.  For the other person, one's jargon and assumptions of basic knowledge may be unfamiliar or may take extra time to process.  

To illustrate this, I can only draw upon my own experiences as an example.  As I do so, I hope the reader will keep in mind that this illustration could be applied to any other area of intelligence, as well.

                                                                    * * *

For me, numbers are a kind of foreign language, one I’m only partially familiar with.  As with a foreign language, I understand some words automatically; I can immediately grasp numbers one through five, for instance, as easily as I understand “¿Cómo estás?” and “adios.”  I can quickly regurgitate memorized answers to basic addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division questions involving numbers under 12.  Given time and perhaps paper, I can answer more complicated questions of the same.  Patterns are also easy to recognize when they’re ascending or descending in ones, twos, fives, tens...  But everything else?  Foreign.

Let's give this some context.  I’ve been studying Spanish off and on for some time.  Perhaps I hear or read a sentence, such as Sus ojos son azules y su pelo es marrón.  My thought process goes something like this: “Okay, azules--that’s blue.  Ojos… ojos… that’s either eyes or ears.  Must be eyes, if they’re blue.  Sus--well, without context, it could mean ‘your’ or ‘his’ or ‘hers.’  Anyway, somebody’s eyes are blue.  And… pelo, marrón… I should know those words… oh, hair!  Marrón… it doesn’t mean blond—that’s rubio.  Must be brown.”   There--translation more-or-less complete… but several seconds have gone by, and if other things have been said in the interim, I either missed them or, by hearing them, didn’t finish translating that first sentence. 

This example mirrors my thought process with numbers—particularly numbers I hear, but also with those that I see.

When I first glance at a page of numbers, it’s gibberish—a foreign alphabet.  As I study individual components, I recognize the “language” as one might recognize Korean, Japanese, Chinese, Arabic, Hindi, or Russian text.  In the same way, I may identify the "language" of dates, times, recipe amounts, temperature, tech specs, construction dimensions, addresses, phone numbers, statistics—and the language of basic math, fractions, decimals, percents, algebra, geometry.  Higher levels of algebra, as well as calc and trig, look more like French or Italian to me—languages I've never studied, but whose cognates and Latin derivations make parts of some sentences recognizable.  

If I care to put in the energy, I may then “translate” the numbers and find their significance or the answer.  I may have to re-read some numbers multiple times so I can remember them well enough to compare them with another set of numbers elsewhere, as when I check out our finances or try to understand a news report that's loaded with comparative statistics.  

With spoken numbers, I have to process each one first into its physical, written shape, then into a sense (like a blurred picture) of the amount—accompanied by a judgement of whether that amount is high or low for the given things to which it is applied.  This judgement is complicated by a certain amount of number confusion.  When translating, I often mix up the words "thousand" and "hundred," so when I hear "twenty-five hundred dollars," I have to think about where the comma would go to get an idea of the amount, whether $25,000 or $2,500.  When given a second number, I often can't recall the first well enough to compare the difference unless they're both rounded or smallish numbers, or unless they're written down and I have a moment to compare the two side-by-side.

Thus, written or spoken, this processing of numerical information takes more time for me than it seems to for others.  Moreover, when time is pressed (as on timed tests or when others wait for me to reply or to finish my turn on a board game), it creates emotional stress—as when a foreign language student faces an onslaught of information in a poorly-understood language.  Self-consciousness makes it all worse; I think of myself as being relatively intelligent, so I hate feeling judged for my slowness—my apparently stupidity.  In consequence, when feeling pressed, I will more likely rush and make mistakes or have frantically muddled thinking that slows me further.  I become tense and irritable and more prone to angry outbursts.

To cope—and preserve my sanity and relationships—when I don’t have to process a difficult number, I don’t bother.  So when Joel rattles off the “really cool” statistics for his latest D&D character, describing stacking bonuses to AC, hit, or damage—or when a student talks about statistics for his research paper—I react based on the context or the person's tone because the numbers don’t register quickly enough in my brain for me to make sense of them.  Unfortunately, when the context doesn’t tell me what importance the numbers hold, I must ask the other person to slow down, repeat, explain their significance... or I change the subject. Again, I imagine foreign language students do much the same thing when they don’t understand a word or words.

    
                                                                          *   *   *

I hope that this parallel helps readers have a little more patience and understanding with people who become stressed whenever numbers (or musical terms or emotions or other aspects of the various intelligences) come up in conversation.  The speaker would do well to slow down or explain it in alternate ways, and the other party will keep up a lot more cheerfully.

Readers, do you experience the same difficulty processing numbers? Following "easy" dance steps? Understanding music? Something else? Share it in the comments below.