It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity

A show of hands from everyone who is thoroughly roasted this week? Thanks, you can all put your hands back in the buckets of ice now.

In honor of my broken air conditioner, today’s post will give a bit of background on a commonly used phrase: “It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity.”

The phrase actually has little to do with heat. Its common use means, “I’m not bothered by the obvious problem, but by a related one.” So in my case I might say, “It’s not the heat, it’s the broken air conditioner.”

Since weather is always an easy topic of conversation, the phrase has been used often throughout history — enough to be included in my good ole Dictionary of Cliches. But one of the earliest public uses of the phrase was in Langdon Mitchell’s 1906 play The New York Idea, which has little to do with weather and more to do with marriage and divorce. Go figure.

While a cliche can be fun here and there, it’s important to try and spot them when they come up repeatedly in your writing. The biggest reason for this is that using a cliche means you’re using someone else’s words — it’s likely that you could come up with a more unique, or even more clever, way to get your point across.

The more I think about this the more I realize that cliches are nearly impossible to avoid. And sometimes they’re pretty fun. After all, I am the owner of an entire dictionary of them. But too many of them can turn a piece to fluff. To give you an idea, here’s a link to a few written pieces that are nearly entirely composed of cliches. They’re good for a chuckle, but if you really want to make a point or communicate a clear message, they’re probably not the way to go.

What I would really love to do someday is coin a phrase (sorry! cliche!) that is so commonly used that it becomes a cliche after I die. How’s that for a dying wish?

While we’re at it, what are your favorite/love-to-hate cliches? Or your favorite ways to describe a crazy-hot day such as this one?

Twilight: Why actions speak louder than adverbs

Unexpectedly, he was on his feet, bounding away, instantly out of sight, only to appear beneath the same tree as before, having circled the meadow in a half second.

“As if you could outrun me,” he laughed bitterly.

He reached up with one hand and, with a deafening crack, effortlessly ripped a two-foot-thick branch from the trunk of the spruce.

… I’d never seen him so completely freed of that carefully cultivated facade. … His lovely eyes seemed to glow with rash excitement. Then, as the seconds passed, they dimmed. His expression slowly folded into a mask of ancient sadness.

“Don’t be afraid,” he murmured, his velvet voice unintentionally seductive.

… He sat sinuously, with deliberately unhurried movements, till our faces were on the same level, just a foot apart.

— Excerpted from Twilight by Stephenie Meyer, pages, 264-265

While camping last week I was sucked in to the Twilight book series. I’m a little slow on the uptake, but after reading the first book I see what all the hoo-rah is about. I was absorbed in the story, reading it in less than three days. But I was also irritated with the author’s writing conventions, as many word nerds are.

I’ve never been a best-selling author, so rather than write a snarky piece about Stephenie Meyer’s writing, I would like to channel my snarkery into a lesson on adverbs, which run rampant in Twilight.

First of all, what’s an adverb? The clearest answer I’ve found is in a cartoon called “Lolly, Lolly, Lolly, Get Your Adverbs Here.” I’m not kidding!

Key points from the Lollys:

• An adjective is a word that adds description to nouns — people, places and things. (Example: I am a slow runner, even when I wear expensive sneakers.)
• An adverb is also a descriptive word, but it has the power to describe or change verbs (action words), adjectives and even other adverbs. (Example: Very unexpectedly, he was on his feet.)
• As the Lollys told us, adverbs are words that help answer the questions How?, Where? and When? They also help show conditions, reasons, comparisons and contrasts.
• Often, but not always, adverbs in English end in -ly. (Examples: Neatly, sloppily, indubitably)
• Adverbs that don’t end in -ly include very, quite and rather.

So why does it matter that Twilight is full of adverbs? Adverbs are useful, but too many can weaken a piece of  writing. As one of my professors hammered in college, if you’re depending on adverbs for description, it means your verbs don’t cut the mustard. Or that you might be burying verbs that would be perfectly effective on their own. Since a verb is an action word and an adverb is an add-on, an verb is often more powerful than an adverb.

Choosing effective verbs instead of relying on adverbs often means you’ll have clearer, more succinct sentences. And in many ways, brevity really is the soul of wit. If you’re using ten words when five would do the job, you’re not impressing anyone — you’re making it harder for readers to see your point.

Here’s my rough attempt at revising the previous Twilight passage, this time with the adverbs toned down and the verbs emphasized:

He jumped to his feet and disappeared, then reappeared beneath the tree, having circled the meadow in a half second.

“As if you could outrun me,” he laughed.

He reached for a two-foot-thick branch on the spruce and there came a deafening crack as he ripped it from the trunk.

… I’d never seen him so free of his facade. … But then his expression folded into a mask of ancient sadness.

“Don’t be afraid,” he murmured.

… With care, he inched toward me until we faced each other a foot apart.

OK, I have no idea if my revision is much better than the Twilight original. It’s still a teen vampire romance. But I will say this: The Twilight passage had 129 words. My version had 91 — about 30% less. In theory, this means the 498-page novel could be at least 150 pages shorter. But that’s another blog altogether.

The point of the revision is to show how writing can change with an emphasis on verbs instead of adverbs. Why say that he “sat sinuously” when we already know he has rippling muscles? Why say he “effortlessly ripped” the branch from the tree? Clearly, a guy who can rip a branch from a tree is crazy-strong, no matter how much effort he puts into it.

I could go on and on about this, but I’ll end with a reminder: If you see adverbs pop up often in your writing, go back and identify each one, then see if you can replace it with a strong verb — a solid action word. In many ways, actions speak louder than adverbs.

Snarky

What is it to be snarky? Is it always a negative thing to be snarky? Can you be a snark? Are only women snarks? What does it mean to be snarktastic? Or a snarklepuss with snarkolepsy?

‘Snarky’ is a word that seems to mean different things to different people. I set out to write a post on what exactly this word means, but without access to the Oxford English Dictionary (at the very least!) I’m not going to attempt to be definitive. Especially now that the word is part of our everyday slang, it’s becoming harder to define because it’s being thrown around willy nilly. I personally think it’s gained popularity because it’s so fun to say, but maybe it’s happened because we as a people are getting snarkier (or should it be ‘more snarky’?).

I first heard the word about three years ago among friends from the East Coast. I took it to mean ‘bitingly funny’ — kind of like the mornings when I wake up grumpy and happen to say something that other people find really funny. This was confirmed when I heard Susan Isaacs‘ memoir, Angry Conversations with God, repeatedly described as ‘snarky.’

Another example of written snark (as I understand it) comes from the Fug Girls, bloggers who apparently make a living by chronicling the fashion foibles of the famous. And I quote:

“These are the ugliest harem pants ever created by human hands. In fact, I think they might have been created by INHUMAN hands. Yes, that’s right. I just floated the theory that Satan spends his spare time kicking back down in Hell, stitching wee pieces of picnic tablecloth to diaphanous white material, and cackling about the retina-searing, soul-inflaming, leg-havoc they will unleash on any weak mortal foolish enough to don them, and the accompanying horror that will wash over any innocent bystanders to said donning.”

But I know some take ‘snarky’ to mean ‘irritable’ or just flat-out bitchy, and there are plenty of other loose definitions. I hesitate to only go with a dictionary like Merriam-Webster on this one because it’s slang — it can pretty much mean whatever people want it to mean. So I guess this post is about the possibilities of ‘snark.’

The Urban Dictionary has a huge list of definitions for ‘snarky’ but when there are that many definitions it’s hard to really get a definite sense of what the word means. At the same time, I really dig this site A) because it’s pretty funny, and B) because it shows how this word has spread through our culture and language. One definition says it comes from the words ‘snide remark’ (magically morphed into ‘snark’), another says it’s from British slang meaning ‘to nag, find fault with’, or ‘to snort, snore.’

My favorite part of the Urban Dictionary’s snark page is its long list of ways the word has morphed. Some of my favorites:

• snarking
• snarkery
• snarkastic
• snarkle
• snarklolepsy
• snarkosaurus

The list goes on and on, and I’m sure many of you could add to it. So let the Snarkolypmics begin! What does ‘snarky’ mean to you? What are the ways that you use it or have heard it used? What’s the funniest use of the word you’ve heard?

Other snark links:

• Merriam-Webster’s definition
• A bit on the Oxford English Dictionary’s definition
• A reference to what might be the first printed use of the word

Kudos to Sadie for giving me the idea for this post!

More on affect/effect

I have some very smart readers! Not one, but two of you pointed out this weekend that my general rule for affect/effect does not apply in every case. In fact, the affect/effect boxing match turned out to be even more of a headache than I originally thought! So let me clarify:

Much of the time, ‘affect‘ is a verb or an action word (remember, ‘affect’ and ‘action’ both start with ‘A‘).

• It’s most common use is as a transitive verb meaning ‘to influence.‘

Example: The clown affected the children by making them laugh.

• It can also be used as a verb meaning ‘to show pretense of‘ or ‘to tend toward.’

Example: Clark Kent affected disinterest when the group began talking of Superman’s recent rescue.

It’s my understanding that this use of ‘affect’ could be related to use of the word ‘affective‘ — influenced by or causing emotions. If it’s not historically related, it’s at least useful to remember that they’re both related to emotions.

Occasionally, ‘affect‘ is a noun meaning (take a deep breath for this) ‘the conscious subjective aspect of an emotion considered apart from bodily change.’

• Example: Bob’s mental disorder kept him from displaying emotional reactivity, giving him a flat affect.

This use of ‘affect’ also has to do with to emotions and could be related to the word ‘affective.’

Much of the time, ‘effect‘ is a noun meaning a ‘result,’ ‘outward sign.’

• Example: The fan had a cooling effect on my skin.

Occasionally ‘effect‘ is a verb meaning ‘to bring about.’

• Example: The union effected change when its strike led to a wage increase.

Here ‘effect’ is a verb that has to do with the final results (err, the effects) of an effort.

The more I dig into this, the more of a pain it appears to be. Seriously, the English language could use some strategic streamlining! But since the language has no CEO to affect that change, if you will, I hope this has been helpful. And if it hasn’t been, try these links:

Effect Affect

Thanks, Judey and Craig, for your eagle eyes!

‘Affect’ or ‘effect’?

‘Affect’ and ‘effect’– is there really a difference?

Yes! Yes, there certainly is.

Though they sound nearly identical out loud, on paper they are pretty different. ‘Affect‘ is a verb and ‘effect‘ is a noun. The way I remember this is that ‘affect’ is an action word — both ‘action‘ and ‘affect‘ start with the letter ‘A‘.

If we were on Sesame Street, this is where I’d say, “Today’s post is brought to you by the letter ‘A’!” Oh look, I just said it anyway.

Some examples (which clearly demonstrate my craving for ice cream on a hot July afternoon):

The sun affected the ice cream by melting it. (Here affect is a verb.)

The melted ice cream had a sticky effect on the table. (Here effect is a noun.)

I affected the sticky table by wiping up the melted ice cream, and the effect was a clean table.

On a similar note:

1. ‘Effective’ is an adjective/descriptive word meaning that something produced effects. (Example: Blogging can be an effective way to promote your business.)
2. ‘Affective‘ is also an adjective, but it means that something is influenced by or causing emotions. (Example: Schindler’s List is an affective film set during the Holocaust.)
3. ‘Affective’ is related more to the noun ‘affection,’ which relates to the feelings of love or fondness for a person. (Granny Smith showed her affection for her grandson by pinching his cheeks.)

Thanks, Paul, for a great suggestion for today’s blog topic!

The “who” vs. “whom” showdown

What is the deal with “whom”?

I get this question all the time, and I think that its answer will be something I’m polishing for the rest of my life. It’s a weird one. But knowing how to use “whom” can give you a clearer sense of exactly what you want to communicate.

One of the trickiest things about “whom” is that we don’t use it very often in everyday communication, even though it really can’t hurt if you do use it– especially in writing. Let’s start with a phrase that we still use pretty often:

“To whom it may concern”

This is a great example of “whom” usage because it’s correct and its role in the phrase is pretty clear.

“Whom” is used to refer to a direct object of a verb in phrase or sentence. In less geeky terms, “whom” refers to the person who receives the action. One of my favorite ways of thinking of this is that “whom” (or the direct object) is the victim of the sentence. (It’s weird, I know, but it helps me remember.)

Another trick to remember is that a “whom” phrase will often include the word “to.” As you saw in the example, a letter would be addressed “to whom it may concern.” In this letter “whom” (could be anybody) is receiving the letter and that makes that person the direct object of the phrase. So if you’re choosing between “who” and “whom” and you’re going to precede it with “to,” you’re probably better off using “whom.”

So if “whom” is a direct object, what is “who“? It’s the subject of the sentence. Here’s an example:

Who sent Zara home from school? / Mrs. Klakken sent Zara home from school.

(In the second sentence “Mrs. Klakken” is the subject– the one creating the action– so in the first sentence she can be referred to as “who.”)

Another example:

Whom did Mrs. Klakken send home? / Mrs. Klakken sent Zara home.

(In the second sentence “Zara” is the direct object– the victim, or the one receiving the action– of the sentence. So in the first sentence she is referred to as “whom.”)

BTW (as they say) Mrs. Klakken was my first grade teacher. Isn’t that the best teacher name ever?!

I sort of want to apologize for such a geeky post, but I hope it’s helpful. I know writing some of this out has helped clear up my own understanding. This probably won’t be the last time I write about it on this blog.

If you have other tricks for remembering when to use “whom” I would love to read them! (And five gold stars go to whoever wants to come up with a goofy story about “who” and “whom” fighting in a boxing ring.)

Thanks, once again, to Garrett and his questions that propelled this post!