1. Shrive (from Latin for write, as in write off) can mean to confess, to hear confession, or to forgive. If you didn’t get this write off, we will grant you absolution, so you’ll be shriven of your sin.
2. Shoplifting. A kleptomaniac (from Greek kleptein, to steal, and mania) steals obsessively, regardless of financial need.
3. An abacus, a frame with beads mounted on rods, is used for counting (chickens or whatever). The word comes from Hebrew (via Greek and Latin) for dust, because a dust-covered table was once used to mark numbers in counting or tallying. Maybe even more than once.
4. E. coli (E. from Ger. Physician Theodor Escherich, coli from Latin for colon) is the name of bacteria commonly found in intestines of people and animals.
5. Unhampered by rules, especially those regarding sexual behavior. She was surprised to find that her parents consider her boyfriend, Sater, a licentious person. (From a Latin term for unrestrained.)

Those two little Latin abbreviations, i.e. and e.g., are easy to mix up.

But they’re easy enough to keep straight—if you have a good memory hook to help you.

Part of the confusion comes from the fact that these two look a little alike. What’s more, they’re somewhat similar in meaning, and are found in similar-looking sentence constructions.

Most people have at least a vague idea of what they mean. But because they stand for Latin terms, learning the words they stand for won’t give us their precise meanings. We need to know what they mean in English, and we need a good memory hook to hang them on after we’ve learned them.

This is a case where it helps to fudge a little. First we learn the Latin meanings, then we make up our own translations, using plain-English terms that will work better. For example, take e.g. It stands for exempli gratia , but knowing the full Latin terms isn’t much help unless we happen to know the language.

So why not create our own translation, something inaccurate but effective—something that’ll tie in to the “ for example” meaning? Maybe something like “example given,” or “example gratis.” And for its mate (that is, i.e.), we can circumvent the Latin id est (“that is”) and plug in some simple words that do have matching first letters, like “it equals.”

So if we’re giving an example, we’d use the e.g. form—as in “Let’s send someone to the spelling bee who’s really good (e.g., Albert).” The “example given” helps us remember that Albert is an example of the kind of person you’d like to send, and implies that there are other qualified folks.

But if Albert really is the one and only person you want to recommend, you could say something like “Let’s send our best speller (i.e., Albert) to represent us in the bee.” Albert equals the best speller, so you’d use i.e.

Some people seem to have the mistaken idea that i.e. is used when talking about only one person or thing, and that e.g. is used with more than one. That’s not the case. In the sample sentences above, we could have said “Let’s send two or three of our best people (e.g....” and “Let’s send our three best spellers (i.e....).”

Using (or teaching) the fudged plain-English words can be a big help to remembering.

Note: Although there are variations, here’s the way these abbreviations are usually written. The abbreviation itself (i.e., e.g. or i.e.) is usually placed just inside the first parenthesis, followed by a comma, then by a word or some words to fill out the meaning, then by the closing parenthesis.

Give this method a try. Id est really easy.

1. Pacific (from Latin pācificus, peacemaking) means peaceful, soothing, conciliatory. Her pacific demeanor helped keep tempers in check during the negotiations.
2. Pugnacious (from Latin pugnāx, combative) means quarrelsome, ready to fight. (A pugilist is a boxer.)
3. A pastiche (from Italian pasticcio—medley, pastry cake) is an incongruous combination of things: Her outfit was a pastiche of garments from different eras.
4.  A monetary fine. Pecuniary (from Latin pecūnia property, money) offenses are more of a hardship on the poor than on the middle class or the wealthy.
5. To parlay (probably from Italian parole, words or promise) is to exploit to advantage. She kept reinvesting her winnings from the word-quiz contest, and parlayed it into a modest fortune.

“The Bill of Rights comprises ten amendments.” Or should that be “is comprised of”? Today’s question comes from a young woman named Donna, a bright student in one of our classes of working adults. “What about this word comprise?” she asked.

She’d been using it all her life in sentences like “The Greek alphabet is comprised of twenty-four letters.” But she’d been “corrected” by someone who insisted that the word does not mean “made up of,” that it’s properly used only in the sense of “includes” or “consists of.”

According to her self-appointed editor, she should have said that the alphabet “comprises twenty-four letters.” And she should definitely not say anything “is comprised of,” ever.

So who’s right, and who’s wrong? As with lots of language questions, it depends.

For one thing, it depends on what Donna and her accuser are right or wrong about. If we’re talking about the definition of the word, both have some evidence on their side. The Webster’s New World Dictionary lists both definitions, adding that the way Donna used it is still regarded “by a few” as a “loose usage.”

Which leads to the other thing they may be right or wrong about—the insistence that one of the uses has to be correct, the other incorrect. That’s just not true. Thousands of smart, knowledgeable writers and speakers regularly use the word the way Donna does. They’ll keep using it that way, as well they should.

And of course those who see it differently are entitled to use comprise the way they want to. But they aren't entitled to inflict their opinions on others.

Fortunately, the International Society of Nit-pickers is comprised of a relatively few people. 

1. Avarice (from Latin averus, greedy, via French) is another word for intense greed. The adjective form is avaricious.
2. Penurious (from Latin pēnūria) can mean either extremely poor, or very stingy.
3. Risotto (from Italian riso, rice) is a rice dish, usually rice cooked slowly in broth, with cheese added just before serving.
4. The ilium (from Latin īlia) is the hip bone, specifically the broad upper bone of either hip. Caution: the ileum is the lower part of the small intestine.
5. Lucid (from Latin lux, light) means quite clear, easily understood. (It can also mean rational, sane.)

“He left town in early spring, some people think to avoid prosecution.” When I first read that sentence (by a very good writer, in a respected magazine), I thought someone had neglected to put in a second comma, after think. But when I looped back for a second reading, I saw that it was correct—and clear—as written. He did in fact leave town, and some people think his motive was to avoid prosecution.

So is it okay as is? Or should the writer or editor have changed something? It depends on how many people would stub their eyes on it during first reading. I don’t know the answer to that.

But I know that I did, so I’d vote for a change in syntax (arrangement of words in the sentence), which might also mean a tweaking of the punctuation. Maybe some minor emendation like “He left town in early spring (to avoid prosecution, some people think).”

It’s a tough job for the writer (who already knows what is meant) to detect such little problems ahead of time. And it’s often even harder for an overworked editor, who would first have to notice the problem, then decide that it’s important enough to deserve fixing, then decide the best way to revise it, and then either make the change or convince the writer to do it (or at least to agree to it).

As with lots of writing questions, there is no easy answer. But if we can be alert and sensitive to such possible snags, we can avoid many of them in our first drafts, or change them during the revision process. And sooner is better. 

1. Jocular (from Latin joculus, little joke) means humorous. Jane’s jocular comments helped her friends slough off bad feelings from the slough of despond.
2. Animosity (from Latin for mind, spirit, passion, wrath) is a feeling of strong dislike—he felt no animosity toward his political opponents.
3. A nostrum (from Latin nostrum our, ours—because the seller often made the medicine, and referred to it as “ours”) is medicine of doubtful efficacy, as patent medicine or quack remedies.
4. Eugenics (from Greek eu- good + genos birth) is the study, now discredited, of ways to improve living things (often in reference to humans) by selective breeding, control of mating.
5. A magus (from Greek magos, word used for a member of the learned and priestly class) was a wise person (or one of the three magi, wise men).

Some words, like some plants or insects, go through a sudden huge increase in frequency of appearance. One of these is issue. Seems we don’t have problems anymore. We have issues. A New Yorker cartoon some time back showed a couple entering the front door of a house where a party was already in progress. “Sorry we’re late,” they said to the hostess, “but we had traffic issues.” The other day, I was listening to a radio talk show. The guest was responsible for keeping the streets in certain parts of our nation’s capital in good shape. The conversation was informative, both people bright and articulate. When I became aware that I’d heard issue several times in the space of a very few minutes, I began counting. In about eleven minutes, the word was used eight times—mostly by the guest. When he used problem twice, I was relieved and ready to give him credit. Then I realized that—consciously or not—he’d been selective in his choice. All the less-than-desirable conditions that his department might be considered responsible for were issues . Those that were not—including acts of God like really heavy rain—were problems . What can we do about this rampant overuse of issue ? Probably nothing. And although I notice it, and try not to be a party to it, the word doesn’t really bother me. I have no issue with it.

Grammarians sometimes categorize sentences as "loose" or "periodic."

Although "loose" used to be a fairly common term for an immoral person, to grammarians it means something entirely different.

A periodic sentence is one that keeps the reader waiting until the end (the period, or other mark of terminal punctuation) before the meaning becomes clear.  Examples: 1) The salesman, after much hemming and hawing about the car's superior features, finally answered my question about the price. 2) Snowstorms, hurricanes, tsunamis, freak storms—all these may result from our unconscionable tinkering with the atmosphere.

A loose sentence is simply one that is in so-called "normal" or "standard" order:  subject, verb, and (if there is one), complement. Most of our sentences are loose, and that's a good thing—they're more likely to be clear and easy to read. Of course, we want to use some periodic sentences, when they suit our purpose (e.g., emphasis, sentence variety). But they can be distracting, so are to be used with care.

It's not all that important to know the names of these categories—the terms aren't often used, even by English teachers. But it is important to avoid too many of one kind—especially periodic sentences.


 

1. Panache (from French, plume, verve) is a flamboyant manner, verve, style, or flair. The dashing onomatomaniac breezed through the word quiz with great panache.
2. A pugilist (from Latin pugil, boxer, akin to pugnus fist) is a fighter or boxer. Pugnacious, a related term, means inclined to fight.
3. Platonic (from Plato, who described but did not name it) is pure, non-physical love. A character in the play Pamela said, “I am convinced, and always was, that Platonic love is Platonic nonsense.”
4. A petrel is a tube-nosed sea bird. The name is of uncertain origin, but may be related to the story of St. Peter walking on water, because the bird flies so near the surface it may appear be walking.
5. Pentatonic (from Greek penta, five, and tone) means having only five tones, as with certain music scales. Our standard (diatonic) scales have seven tones—the first repeated at the end, as in the Do, Re, Mi…Do scale of Guido.