Inactivity

Consequences, if survived, are the best teachers.

This growth of this manual slowed and eventually stopped after I retired from teaching and became amused and fascinated by ignorance, rather than thinking it was up to me to do something about it. More often now, when I see ignorance or stupidity around me, I enjoy waiting and watching to see the consequences.

Don't say begs the question.

For one thing, it's likely that you don't even know what it means. And if you do know, it's likely that your reader does not.

On the high plains of academia, in such lofty locales as philosophy and rhetoric, "begging the question" means leaving it begging for an answer (another form is "beggaring the question," or making a beggar of it). A common way to beg a question is to answer by simply restating the question in different words. [Question: Why does opium make you sleepy? Answer: Because it is a soporific.] Another common way to beg questions is to answer them with circular arguments. To add to the confusion, academics often use the phrase when there is no question, referring, for example, to any circular argument as "begging the question." So simply understanding this confusing phrase is a challenge. 

In recent years, many writers and speakers have tried to sound erudite by using this phrase, but they misuse it to mean "raises the question". ["Discovery of one catalytic RNA begs the question of whether RNA catalysis is widespread."]  The same misuse of the phrase occurs in a fiction story in the latest New Yorker—so it's very fashionable right now, which is never a good sign.

So what should you say?

A good replacement for the misused phrase is raises the question. ["Discovery of one catalytic RNA raises the question of whether RNA catalysis is widespread."]

A good replacement for the properly used phrase is simply to state how and why the purported answer fails to answer the question. There are all kinds of ways to beg a question, so tell your reader what, specifically, the problem is. It's always better to be specific.

You don't want your writing to look as if you are laboring in vain to sound erudite, do you? Then avoid the phrase begs the question. Avoid it altogether. With either the original or the new trendy meaning, it has no place in clear, understandable writing.

The dreaded missing that.

Try reading this sentence, spoken by Michael Wood in the PBS production The Story of India: "It's easy to forget the great voyages of Columbus and Vasco de Gama were to find India."

Did you stumble when you got to were? That's because you were expecting voyages to be the direct object of forget (it's easy to forget the voyages). Instead, the object of forget is the phrase the voyages... were to find... . If Michael had made proper use of the little word that, my wife and I would not have needed to rewind the DVR in order to figure out what he said.

When the helpful little word that follows a verb, it alerts readers that the direct object of the verb will be a phrase, not a noun. Omitting that in such situations misleads readers, often forcing them to back up and reinterpret what they have read thus far.

You won't stumble this time: "It's easy to forget that the great voyages of Columbus and Vasco de Gama were to find India."

That, preceding the great voyages, prevents you from reading voyages as the direct object of forget.

You don't want your reader stumbling around, having to back up and re-read, do you?

In your worthy quest to omit needless words, don't omit that when it can escort your readers more smoothly through your sentence.

When in doubt, use that.

Don't say at this point in time.

Do I really need to explain why?

What's wrong with now?

Don't say in close proximity.

Have you ever heard of distant proximity? Writers who use this phrase are inebriated with the exuberance of their own verbosity.

You are not that kind of writer, are you?

Say near.

Don't say due to the fact that.

Whenever you can, seize the opportunity to omit needless words (thank you, Strunk, and thank you, White). The favorite habitat of this phrase is wordy, jargon-filled, pretentious writing.

That's not your kind of writing, is it?

Say because.

Don't say orientate.

One unnecessary syllable turns a melodious word into something grating.

You don't want your writing to be grating, do you?

Say orient.

Don't say problematic.

Usually, problematic is nothing more than vague jargon. It is an example of borrowing from the often unsavory jargon of philosophy or education in order to sound erudite. Perhaps the word is justifiable when you mean "of uncertain outcome" (things could go one way or the other, as in an election), but that still doesn't give it a place in graceful, precise language.

Use—well, use a word that says what you mean. When people say that something is problematic, they usually mean something more specific. Pick the word that describes the problem precisely: ambiguous, arduous, arguable, challenging, complex, confusing, debatable, difficult, disputed, doubtful, dubious, equivocal, questionable, hard, knotty, moot, puzzling, uncertain.


You want your reader to know exactly what you mean, don't you?

You probably mean one of the words I suggest; tell your reader which one.

Don't say for free.

Be the first writer lately to eliminate this silly phrase from your vocabulary. You say, "Admission to the Portland Museum of Art is twelve dollars." So on Friday, you should say, "Admission to the PMA is free."

Free means "without cost." For free, therefore, means "for without cost." Makes no sense.

You want your writing to make sense, don't you?

Say free.

Don't say utilize.

It must be one of the language's ugliest words, it's pretentious jargon, and it's the pet peeve that started this manual.


You don't want to write ugly, pretentious jargon, do you?


Just say use.