Improving Your Writing Will Improve Your Life

Everyone wants a little taste of the good life, but it’s often difficult to figure out just how to cook it up and savor it. After all, the recipe for success can be more complex than the method behind a Yotam Ottolenghi vegetable dish.

The first challenge, naturally, is identifying the right ingredients. And unless you think the key to a better existence merely opens the door to a Ferrari, you’re most likely part of the crowd that agrees that health, peace of mind, and happiness are critical components.

This trinity has long been at the heart of society’s idea of true richness, and while we can’t guarantee that improving your writing will put each element within easy reach, getting a better grip on grammar, expanding your vocabulary, and showing greater mastery of written communication will put you on the right track.

More specifically:

You’ll be more successful.

At everything, especially when it comes to your career.

According to a 2010 MetLife Survey, 97 percent of executives rate writing skills as absolutely essential or very important. Not to mention, a recent Forbes study found that one of the skills employers most want to see in 2015 graduates is the ability to create and edit written reports.

In a nutshell, writing is a critical part of business communication today, and those who do it well will, at the very least, be viewed as more capable, more valuable employees.

On a similar note, writing has been linked to strong critical thinking and analytical skills, two abilities that form the foundation of powerful decision-making, a trait that goes hand in hand with leadership. Read between the lines here, and you’ll see what we’re getting at: promotion, promotion, promotion!

Finally, even if you’re not part of a traditional business environment, writing well can help you deliver your message clearly and concisely, which will be essential to advancing your ideas, agendas, and proposals.

You’ll be more attractive.

Sure, you could adopt a Jack Kerouac or Donna Tartt look, but that’s not what we’re alluding to. Improving your writing will make you sexier regardless of your style or your practiced ennui.

That’s because it makes you happier and more confident, two qualities that bring in the dates like a dinner bell brings in the laborers at the end of a hard day of farm work.

Our reasoning?

Improving your ability to write expressively, which means jotting down traumatic, emotional, or stressful events, will help uplift your mind and body. At least that’s what social psychologist James Pennebaker found when he asked people to write in this way for three to five sessions of fifteen to twenty minutes over the course of several days.

Taking it one step further, the sense of ease you get from offloading complicated negative thoughts and feelings is an indicator of confidence, which even science has endorsed as one of the most attractive qualities in a person.

Just don’t get so good at expressive writing that your ego overinflates; there’s a fine line between confidence and arrogance.

You’ll have stronger relationships with your family and friends.

Language scientists believe that writing transforms our complex cognitive processing abilities. Putting pen to paper allows us to more clearly think through ideas that were previously difficult or impossible to wrap our heads around.  By extension, it means we can better articulate our notions and feelings even when we’re communicating verbally.

When is this especially useful? When forming and maintaining important relationships, of course.

Interpersonal connections depend heavily on self-expression and our knack for understanding how our own opinions align with those of others. Once you can make sense of the mad jumble inside your own mind, you can engage in a meaningful way with friends and family.

Not to give you any ideas, but it also means your powers of persuasion will likely increase dramatically. What was it that you needed your loved ones to say yes to again?

You’ll have more time to do the things you love.

Improving your writing means you’ll spend less time editing, which means you’ll have more time to look at bugs, go base jumping, or read that classic that’s been gathering dust on your bookshelf for a small eternity.

If the kind of writing you’re doing doesn’t demand editing, that’s even better (then you’ll have loads of time). Jokes aside, writing can make you more productive and more focused. 

As mentioned, your thoughts will have a new clarity, and you won’t need to wade through a tangle of ideas stuffing up your brain.

If you happen to be writing about goals you want to achieve, improving your ability to pinpoint your objectives and your path to reaching them will make you more likely to get results. Clinical psychologist Gail Matthews effectively proved this by conducting a study at the Dominican University of California.

Then you can use your increased attractiveness and your newfound knack for making strong connections to become even more successful! Voilà!

Can you think of an example of when writing helped improve your life? We want to hear it. Tell us about it in the comment section below or via our Facebook or Twitter feeds.

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Stephanie Katz is a San Francisco–based writer who, contrary to the way it may seem, won’t correct your grammar over beers, coffees, or any other normal life interaction. She tells stories about health, history, travel, and more and can be contacted via email at stekatz@gmail.com.

Suppose vs. Supposed—Is There a Difference?

Supposed to is part of a modal verb phrase meaning expected to or required to. Although suppose to crops up frequently in casual speech and writing, it should not be used in that sense. Suppose (without the d) should only be used as the present tense of the verb meaning to assume (something to be true).

When to Use Supposed To

To be supposed to is a common phrase that functions the same way a modal verb does. Modal verbs, also called auxiliary or helping verbs, add meaning to the main verb in a sentence by expressing possibility, ability, permission, or obligation. Supposed to, like have to, can fall into the “obligation” category.

I have to be home by midnight or my coach will turn into a pumpkin.

I am supposed to be home by midnight or my coach will turn into a pumpkin.

It can also be used to indicate what a person (or thing) is likely to do or is reputed to do.

It was supposed to rain today.

She is supposed to be the best poodle breeder in town.

Whenever it is used in either of these senses, supposed to will be preceded by a form of to be and followed by a verb.

He is supposed to turn in his homework on Friday mornings.

Were we supposed to be here so early?

The Verb To Suppose

On the other hand, the verb to suppose means to presume, in theory, that something is the case without certain evidence.

Max isn’t here yet, so I suppose his train was delayed.

The committee supposes that the decline in profits is due to a faulty product design.

As an imperative, it can mean the equivalent of what would happen if.

Suppose my coach really does turn into a pumpkin. What will I do then?

Supposed To, Have To, and Ought To

Some English language learners are easily confused by the modal verbs to be supposed to, have to, and ought to. While all three function similarly in a sentence, their meanings are subtly different.

To be supposed to do something implies that the subject is obligated and expected to do the main verb’s action, although there is a possibility it won’t happen.

The magician is supposed to pull a rabbit out of his hat.

Here, there is an expectation that the magician will be able to perform his trick correctly, but there is always a chance that he won’t succeed. The sentence conveys this expectation and the reader must now wait to see if that expectation will be fulfilled.

Has to means the same as must; it implies that the subject has no choice about performing the verb’s action.

The magician has to produce the rabbit to earn applause.

This sentence conveys that if the magician does not produce the rabbit, there will be no applause. He simply must do it to get the result he wants.

Ought to is more of a suggestion. It conveys what would be best for the subject to do, but the subject is not compelled to do it.

The magician ought to slip his rabbit a carrot before the show.

To ensure that he has a compliant, content rabbit in his hat, the magician should give his rabbit a carrot, although no one requires it of him. It would simply be a good idea.

If you only remember a single grammar factoid about suppose, let it be that you can confidently expunge “I am suppose to…” from your literary repertoire forever. That’s just how it is supposed to be.

Where Do Ninjas, Zombies, and Robots Come From?

English is a language made up almost entirely of other languages. Between the fifth and seventh centuries, tribes from lands that would become Germany, Denmark, and the Netherlands showed up in Britain. The languages they spoke developed into Middle English, butted heads with Old Norman (pre-French), and, in Shakespeare’s time, got a dose of Latin and Ancient Greek. Along the way, individual words from a host of other languages were added to the mix.

Nowadays, we use all sorts of words we don’t even realize come from other languages. And with the amount of communication, travel, and migration across great distances happening today, the evolution continues.

Here are ten loanwords—words “borrowed” from other languages and incorporated into English, often with a slightly tweaked meaning—to illustrate the huge amount of non-English in the English language.

1 Aiyo Originating in the Dravidian languages of southern India (that’s Tamil, Malayalam, Kannada, and Telugu), aiyo is one of the newest English additions. It was adopted by the Oxford English Dictionary in October 2016 and defined, simply, as a phrase “expressing distress, regret, or grief; ‘Oh no!’, ‘Oh dear!’.” But according to commentators from southern India and Sri Lanka, where the phrase originates, “Oh dear!” doesn’t come close to capturing the range of meanings it can convey. Many extreme emotions can be expressed with these sounds, from disgust to fear to joy. So many meanings in one exclamation—aiyo!

2 Alcohol In Arabic, al-kohl (الكحل) originally meant a fine powder of certain chemicals, and Latin adopted the word alcohol in the thirteenth century. Since fine powders were thought of as being “distilled” from other things (based on how people thought about alchemy and medicine in the Middle Ages), the meaning merged with other things that had been distilled. The word showed up in English in the sixteenth century, and by the mid-eighteenth century the “spirit of wine” was in full swing.

3 Chocolate Let’s face it: “chock-lit” is easier to pronounce than cacahuaquchtl. That sweetest of sweets came to English by way of Spanish, but started out as an Aztec beverage made of cocoa powder (try saying cacahuaquchtl five times fast) and other spices—not the sugary treat we’re used to today. That’s one theory; others postulate that it comes from Aztec words for “bitter water,” or Nahuatl for “beaten drink,” or that cacahuaquchtl was changed by Spanish conquistadors to combine the Maya word chocol (hot) and Aztec atl (water). Why? Because caca can mean another thick, brown thing in Spanish, and no one wants to be mixing up chocolate with feces.

4 Money The thing that makes the world go round goes way back (understandably). Middle English adopted moneie from the Old French word monoie, meaning “coinage, metal currency.” Even farther back, there’s the Latin word monēta, meaning “place for coining money” or “coin,” which comes from the goddess Juno Moneta, who was worshipped in a temple in or near a mint. There’s proof for folks who think money is divine.

5 Ninja In English (and especially Hollywood), a ninja kicks butt in all black and a mask. But in the original Japanese, a ninja was a spy—not a sneaky martial-arts maniac like we’re used to seeing, but one who was supposed to blend in. Today, “ninja” retains its warriorlike connotation, but it’s also used in a range of situations to imply stealth, cunning, and skill. Just ask a kitchen ninja, tech ninja, or gaming ninja if you don’t believe it.

6 Penguin Most penguins waddle their tuxedo-clad selves around the Southern Hemisphere, but the word “penguin” is believed to come from the Welsh pen gwyn, meaning “white head.” Sure, penguins don’t have white heads, but the name was originally used for the now-extinct great auk, which also didn’t have a white head, but did have white spots around the eyes. When sailors rounded the tip of South America around 1580, they spotted a “foule, which the Welsh men name Pengwin”—that is, a bird that resembled the great auk. It’s still known by the name the Welsh sailors bestowed upon it nearly five hundred years ago.

7 Robot A long time ago, in a galaxy over in Central Europe, robots emerged as the brainchild of a Czech sci-fi writer in the 1920s. Long before C-3PO and R2-D2 roamed the galaxy, Karel Čapek’s play R.U.R.—short for “Rossum’s Universal Robots”—introduced the idea of artificial people created to work for “real” humans. And (spoiler alert) they end up rebelling against humanity. Since robota in Czech means “labor, drudgery,” it’s hard to blame them. And that idea clearly sticks in the imagination, since robots are about as common as warp drives and lightsabers.

8 Schmuck In American English, “schmuck” is an insult; it basically means “fool” or “idiot,” but with a slightly harsher and more Yiddish ring to it. However, it derives from the Yiddish word shmok, which means “penis,” so some Jewish communities consider the word extremely vulgar. In another twist, shmok is believed to come from Old Polish smok, meaning “grass snake, dragon.” Maybe that’s where J.R.R. Tolkien got the name for Smaug, who is definitely a smok in terms of fire-breathing deadliness, but not exactly a schmuck—though Bilbo Baggins might not agree.

9 Uber This originally German word, complete with umlauts (über), traveled a windy road before it arrived at its present-day English meaning. Its literal German meaning: “over.” Figuratively, it implies that something or someone is bigger or better (like the Übermensch, a kind of philosophical Superman). It first got used in English to mean “very, super.” For example, “I’m über excited” or “that party was über cool.” Today, of course, many city-dwellers know it as a way to get a ride with a few taps of a finger.

10 Zombie This one’s origin is a little uncertain—but chances are you’re not going to be pondering etymology if one of them is trying to eat your brains. The word probably comes from a West African language: zumbi means “fetish” in Kikongo, and nzambi is a word for “god” in Kimbundu, but the idea arose—not from the dead, but for the first time—in Haiti during centuries of slavery. The idea was that slaves who committed suicide to save their bodies from the cruelty of their masters would be condemned to wander for eternity, undead. The brain-eating part came later.

English has borrowed plenty from other languages, but it’s a two-way street: words like le weekend in French, párking in Spanish, and intānetto (Internet) in Japanese are becoming increasingly common around the world. Whether you see language evolution as uber cool or something to cry aiyo! about, understanding how linguistic borrowing takes place can make you a real language ninja.

Alright or All Right—Which Is Correct?

People are often surprised to learn that alright is not an accepted spelling of all right. Although the one-word spelling of alright is seen in informal writing, teachers and editors will always consider it incorrect. To use the expression with impunity, it is best to spell it as two words: all right.

It’s possible that you stared at your paper in wonder the first time your English teacher marked alright as an incorrect spelling. It is equally possible that your English teacher saw nothing wrong with the spelling alright and that you are reading this because a coworker or editor has challenged you on it for the first time. So how did it come to this, and how did you manage to live your whole life to this point without knowing that alright is not all right?

Spelling Evolves Over Time

If you ever want to delve into a subject that is completely engrossing, read about etymology, which is the study of the origins of words and how they have changed through history. Words evolve in spelling and meaning over time, and in the case of the adjective/adverb all right, the accepted spelling is currently in flux. It can take hundreds of years for a variant spelling of a word or a two-word compound like all rightto take root sufficiently before it is considered correct. Alrightseems to have begun to appear in the late 19th century (Mark Twain used it, for example) and slowly became more common in informal communication–both in fiction and reality. This is true in both British and American English.

A good prediction would be that alright will eventually become accepted. Other English compounds beginning with “all” have dropped one l and contracted into one word, such as already, although, altogether, almost, and always. Of course, some of these words changed slightly in meaning, post-contraction, and alright remains perfectly synonymous with all right—for the moment.

Can I Ever Use Alright?

The quick answer is no, for two reasons.

The first is simply that no established dictionary fully accepts alright as a correct spelling. At worst, it is not listed or is flagged as wrong, and at best, as in the Oxford English Dictionary, it is considered a “nonstandard variant.” Respected style guides such as the Chicago Manual of Style and the AP Stylebook forbid its use.

The second reason is that in some contexts, alright will not work, and in all contexts, all right will never fail. Both mean “OK,” “acceptable,” “well,” or “safe,” but all right can have other meanings too.

Chloe’s test answers were alright.

This conveys the sense that generally, Chloe’s test answers were “just acceptable.” But what if that is not what you meant to say?

Chloe’s test answers were all right.

With all right written as two words, the most likely meaning of this sentence is that all of Chloe’s answers are correct, but it could also mean that Chloe answered her questions adequately. Another clarifying phrase would be helpful to resolve the ambiguity, but in either case, the spelling would be considered correct.

Here’s a tip: Thus, use this as your guiding principle: if you use alright in formal writing, you put yourself at risk of being viewed as a below-average speller. If you always use two words, you can never go wrong.

The battle of alright vs. all right is ultimately a no-brainer, because all right is always all right.

If you use alright informally in emails or texts to friends, however, your recipients will certainly know what it means. But when your writing is being published or evaluated, do yourself a favor and avoid this word completely.

10 Wonderful Words to Learn for Dictionary Day

Happy Dictionary Day!

October 16, 1758, was the birthdate of the American lexicographer Noah Webster. If you’ve ever wondered who decided that Americans should write color while the British write colour, Noah Webster is your guy.

To celebrate our love of lexicography, here are ten wonderful words to add to your vocabulary today:

Antipode n. A direct or extreme opposite. Angelica often gets into heated conversations with Duane, her ideological antipode.

Desiccated adj. Dried out or totally drained of moisture. The kitchen was bare, save for a desiccated old orange peel lying in the sink.

Mellifluous adj. Pleasing to the ear; sweetly melodic. Karl’s mellifluous voice enraptured the entire audience until the end of his aria.

Opprobrium n. Harsh disapproval or criticism, especially by a large group of people. Smith decided not to run for office after an ill-advised tweet earned him the opprobrium of half his followers.

Pelagic adj. Of or related to the open sea. As much as I’ve enjoyed our pelagic adventure, I’m ready to get back to dry land.

Pulchritude n. Physical beauty. Sandra twirled at the end of the red carpet so the crowd could take in the pulchritude of her sequined gown from every angle.

Rhadamanthine adj. Severely or inflexibly strict. (Often capitalized) Our Rhadamanthine camp director sounded the wake-up call promptly at 5 o’clock every morning.

Skulduggery n. Dishonest behavior; trickery. After investigators discovered several secret offshore accounts, the president of the bank finally admitted to being involved in the financial skulduggery.

Susurrus n. The sound of whispering or rustling. Claude heard his own name somewhere in the susurrus coming from the antsy crowd.

Unctuous adj. Greasy or oily feeling; also, excessively flattering or obsequious in a sycophantic way. Sophie was suspicious of the promises made by the unctuous vacuum cleaner saleswoman.

What words do you think people should use more often? Let us know in the comment section or via our Facebook and Twitter feeds!

Comma Between Subject and Verb

With few exceptions, a comma should not separate a subject from its verb.

My friend Cleo, is a wonderful singer.

Writers are often tempted to insert a comma between a subject and verb this way because speakers sometimes pause at that point in a sentence. But in writing, the comma only makes the sentence seem stilted.

My friend Cleo is a wonderful singer.

Be especially careful with long or complex subjects:

The things that cause me joy, may also cause me pain.

The things that cause me joy may also cause me pain.

Navigating through snow, sleet, wind, and darkness, is a miserable way to travel.

Navigating through snow, sleet, wind, and darkness is a miserable way to travel.

Mistaking a dangling participle, laughter was heard anyway.

If the title of this post doesn’t make any sense, it shouldn’t.

This is going somewhere, I promise! Bear with me.

Today, while scouring Tumblr and various forums for “The Best Picture on the Internet,” I came across the following:

I am certain that most people read to the last frame and, caught up in Johnny Carson’s joke, didn’t think twice about whether or not Dean Martin knew what a dangling participle is. Those who did think about it might assume (wrongly) that a dangling participle is when someone confuses ‘can’ and ‘may.’  A very small group of readers may have gotten so hung up on Mr. Martin’s lack of grammar knowledge that they completely missed Carson’s joke. If you are part of this last group, pat yourself on the back and relax, you probably already know what this post is about. For the rest of the world, read on.

Dean Martin doesn’t really know his grammar. 

While Dean was spot on with his correction of Carson’s question, “Can I?”, he should have stopped there. A dangling participle is neither the confusion of ‘can’ and ‘may’ nor is it something that you can cover with a long coat.

So, what is a dangling participle?

It’s really not as painful as it sounds.

Simply, a dangling participle is an adjective ending in -ing (present participle) that does not correspond logically to a noun in the sentence.

For clarity’s sake, let’s have a look at a couple sentences and identify the parts:

Julie walked excitedly to the diving board.  

(“Diving” is the present participle. It is an adjective ending in -ing that is modifying a clear noun, “board.”)

Walking around the pool, Julie heard someone call her name.

(“Walking” is the present participle. “Walking around the pool” is the participial phrase modifying the noun, “Julie”.  That Julie is the one “walking around the pool” makes logical sense. The participle here is not dangling. This is a correct sentence.)

Walking around the pool, a voice called her name.

(Again, “walking” is the present participle, and “walking around the pool” is the participial phrase modifying the subject. However, here the noun “voice” does not make sense. The “voice” is not the one “walking around the pool.” Since it is not clear who or what is “walking,” the participle is left “dangling.”)

Here are more examples of dangling participles:

Incorrect: Turning around quickly, the ground was wet.

(The participial phrase “turning around quickly” does not make sense modifying the noun “ground.”)

Correct: Turning around quickly, Julie slipped on the wet ground.

(The participial phrase “turning around quickly” makes sense modifying the noun “Julie,” who was “turning.”)

Incorrect: Falling into the pool, the splash attracted a lot of attention.

(It doesn’t make sense for the noun “splash” to be “falling into the pool.”)

Correct: Falling into the pool, Julie made a huge splash.

(Again, setting “Julie” as the noun being modified is more clear and logical.)

Fixing dangling participles

When you have a dangling participle in your writing, it’s likely that the intended and correct noun was used as the subject of the previous sentence or is “understood” by context.  However, when the noun following a participial phrase does not clearly link to what is happening in the sentence, it should be changed. Reword these sentences by clearly restating who or what is being modified by the participle.

Incorrect: Julie walked excitedly toward the diving board. Moving around the pool, a voice called her name.

Correct: Julie walked excitedly toward the diving board. Moving around the pool, she heard a voice call her name.

So, as you see, dangling modifiers don’t have anything to do with ‘can’ and ‘may,’ and Dean Martin didn’t really know anything about grammar. No one is perfect. Luckily, Johnny Carson did know a thing or two about comedy, and we all benefited from the gaffe.

Test your skills:

How would you correct the title of this post?