Words fascinate me. I’m intrigued by the many ways they can be used, beguiled by subtle differences in meaning, tantalized by how they can be joined together to form different ideas. I’m delighted to learn a useful new word I wasn’t previously familiar with.

At the same time, or perhaps consequently, I abhor their misuse.

As a writer, I’ve had plenty of opportunities to misuse words (and phrases and grammar) myself, and as a reader, even more occasion to see others misuse them. And as an editor, I’ve developed some “favorite words to hate.” Many, of course, involve aspects of country living.

At the top of the list is “baby chick.” A baby chicken is a chick. A grown-up chick is a chicken. So to me, “baby chick” is as grating as saying “baby baby chicken.” It drives me up a wall, especially when I don’t have the editorial power to change it. And it seems to be becoming more common, even in ads.

This type of use or abuse first came to my attention with the term “hot water heater.” Why on earth would anyone want to heat hot water? It’s already hot! You heat cold water.

Back on the farm (or more likely, in the classified ads) we encounter such gems as “bails” of hay. Bails are the handles on pails, or what people pay to stay out of jails. Hay and straw are made into bales.

A tricky one for many people, apparently, is the difference between the weather outside and the castrated goat or sheep wether in the barn. (Another question is whether your spell checker knows the difference: Mine won’t accept wether at all. But spell checkers are another topic altogether.)

Apostrophes are in a class by themselves. Sign painters in particular seem to think that every word that ends in “S” deserves its own apostrophe. However, the most jarring transgression involves its and it’s. It’s means it is, plain and simple. The possessive its does not have an apostrophe. This mistake has become so common you’d think that even a grizzled old editor would be getting used to it, but it still has the power to drive me mad.

Some words are hard to spell because we learned them by hearing them spoken, not by seeing them written. My all-time favorite is this category is the lady who wrote about her “toboggan bird” goats. (For you goatless readers, the breed is Toggenburg.)

Does any of this make any real difference? I would have to say yes, not only from the standpoint of having spent a lifetime of stringing words together to convey certain ideas, but also in the interest of clear communications under any circumstances. And then there is the simple question of protocol and propriety: misusing language seems somehow uncivilized, even impolite.

And yet, most people really don’t know the difference. I still do a bit of magazine proofreading, and by force of habit, I “proof” everything I read, which is often maddening. But I recently encountered a paragraph that helps put my problem into perspective. If nothing else, it demonstrates why proofreading is such a strenuous job.

I cdnuolt blveiee ?taht I cluod aulaclty uesdnatnrd waht I was rdanieg. The ?phaonmneal pweor of the hmuan mind. Aoccdrnig to rscheearch at ?Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it deosn’t mttaer in waht oredr the ?ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoatnt tihng is taht the ?first and last ltteer be in the rghit pclae. The rset can be a ?taotl mses and you can still raed it wouthit a porbelm. This ?is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by ?istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe.

Amzanig huh?

What’s even more amazing to me is that I can’t type “Taht’s all for now from byeond the sdiewalks,” without over-riding my computer. The thought of a stupid machine correcting an intelligent human is just a bit frightening to a guy living with as few machines as possible, beyond the sidewalks.—Jd