One letter can make a big difference
Just in case someone is poring eagerly over maps in search of the “beer trail” mentioned in a headline in Thursday’s Times Colonist, I should point out that the phrase, concerning smuggling booze across provincial boundaries, should have read “beer trial.”
A misplaced letter or two can make all the difference, something worth noting in this age of casual spelling.
Spell-checking was supposed to catch those errors, right? And sometimes it does, but that’s only if the misspelled word isn’t in the software’s dictionary. It doesn’t do any good if “trial” is spelled “trail,” as the beer headline clearly illustrates.
Just as we can’t depend on automation to catch everything, we also need to be wary of functions that autocorrect our words as we write, or finish words after we have typed a letter or two. The results can be embarrassing, to say the least.
“I never had any large respect for good spelling,” Mark Twain wrote in his autobiography. “That is my feeling yet. Before the spelling-book came with its arbitrary forms, men uncon- sciously revealed shades of their characters and also added enlightening shades of expression to what they wrote by their spelling, and so it is possible that the spelling-book has been a doubtful benevolence to us.”
Perhaps people’s spelling can reveal shades of their character and add enlightening shades of expression, but mostly, misspelled words miscommunicate.
Years ago, I was participating in a conference with the software developers who provided the program we used to edit our stories and lay out pages. We were early users of the software, and so the developers were looking for suggestions for improvements and enhancements.
I asked if we could have a function in the spell-checking dictionary that would allow us to flag obscene words. That sparked a tirade from one of the owners of the company, who chewed me out for wanting to limit freedom of expression. He said he would not be part of censorship. We were in the middle of a meeting with a long agenda, so I shrugged and let it pass.
Later, I was able to meet the man and explain that what we wanted — a way to catch those painful slips that can happen when the misspelling of an innocent word turns it into something with scatological or anatomical connotations. For instance, I said, the software could alert us to a certain word so that we could decide if we really meant to use that word, or did we mean to write “shirt”?
I can think of several instances when a missing or misplaced letter has resulted in cringe-worthy errors. An article about hair styles springs to mind, in which the word “tints” came up a letter short.
We never did get that function in the software, but at least my point was understood.
Like Mark Twain, many people today sneer at spelling purists. I’m with them when it comes to arguments over such things as “theater” versus “theatre,” or “labour” versus “labor.” In those instances, no meanings are in doubt.
But accurate communication demands accurate spelling. You don’t want to write “stripped” if you meant “striped.” If you are writing about “shipping fees” and it comes out “sipping fees,” the boss might think you stopped at the bar on the way back to the office.
If you text your friend that she’s “a real gem” and it comes out “a real germ,” be prepared for a cool response. One the other hand, if she tells you she’s looking for “a place of my own” and writes “a palace of my own,” it might be a Freudian slip.
One small letter differentiates a Swedish massage and a Swedish message, but it’s a significant difference.
It matters whether you pull a “sturgeon” or a “surgeon” out of the river. If it’s the former, your fishing friends will be impressed. If it’s the latter, the police will want to talk to you.
Spelling in English can be complicated, but it’s not usually the complicated words that cause us problems. It’s the little words we overlook, the letters we leave out or transpose, that can cause us grief. Or make us laugh. Or both.