People Lie, Things Lay

Not two paragraphs into a great article on why some people (like myself) just can’t seem to achieve a runner’s high (or love exercising, period), and I have come across one of my biggest pet peeves: an author or editor who doesn’t seem to understand that things, ideas, concepts, clues–lay. They don’t lie. They can’t lie. They’re not people. They’re not living, breathing beings.

Let me explain.

The example here from Ask Healthy Living: Why Don’t I Get a Runner’s High?, by Sarah Klein, on Huffington Post, reads: “The first clue lies in exercise selection.” A clue, here, is a concept. It can’t lie, as in tell a lie, nor can it lie, as in put itself in motion to take a rest or nap.

Talk to any English or grammar teacher worth her salt, and she’ll probably start to help you understand this lay/lie conundrum by laying terms on you like “transitive” and “intransitive” verbs to explain why Sarah’s sentence is wrong. Your eyes, of course, will roll back into you head, and a glazed look will come over your face. You’ll smile. You’ll listen, but you won’t hear a thing–just like back in sixth grade. It is true, though, that if you can, one, recall those words from your distant schooldays, and two, remember what they mean, you probably won’t ever find yourself making this mistake.

You see, “transitives,” to get back to the teacher’s explanation, need objects to make actions make sense. “Moved,” for instance, is a transitive verb. For “moved” to make sense, you’d need to know what was moved, the “what” being what you’re trying to communicate (your sentence). “He moved the car into the garage.” See how that worked? Something was taken and manipulated.

“Intransitives” don’t need objects. “The sun rises.” “Rises” is an intransitive verb. The sun doesn’t need anything to be manipulated to help it rise, it just does it on its own.

So, back to Sarah’s sentence and lay/lie. How should it have been corrected? It should have read: “The first clue is in exercise selection.” Why? Because a discerning a clue is a brain function, so a clue is in the category of a thing. A thought process. No wires or cranes or hardware needed.

Now, if you count yourself among those who have trouble with choosing lay and lie, you’re not alone. Sarah aside, rarely is there a show on the History Channel, National Geographic, or Discovery Channel where within the first few sentences, a narrator (not his fault, he’s reading a script) tries to explain how a reason “lies” somewhere. It drives me out of my mind. Even the great Bob Dylan got it wrong when he penned the title and song, Lay, Lady, Lay. For his lady to do what his song is asking, she’d have to have an out-of-body experience, grab herself by the shoulders, and physically lay herself down on that big brass bed.

To help you remember which word to use remember, use one of these:

People lie; things lay.

People lie down; chickens lay eggs.

If it breathes, it lies; everything else lays.

Lie down to rest; lay the blanket on top of yourself.

“Lay, Lady, Lay,” by Bob Dylan, should have been “Lie, Lady, Lie.”

“Transitive” is like “tangible,” so it needs an object, so your choice is “lay”. “Intransitive” is like “invisible,” so your choice is “lie.”

 

 

 

Three Stages of Ability – May, Might, and Can

You may remember his name.”

Thank you, NBC, for allowing me to remember Hannibal Lecter‘s name. Had the powers-that-be on your mega-broadcasting company’s brilliant marketing team not been so gracious, I would never again be able to recall the fictional serial killer‘s name.

That was my knee-jerk reaction upon hearing the tag-line for the new television series, Hannibal, which is scheduled to air Thursday, April 4th, at 10:00 p.m. EST.  “May,” I thought to myself, implies permission is needed to do something. Of course, as quickly as that thought left my mind, my mom’s voice echoed in my head. “I don’t know, can you?” It’s what she unfailingly replied whenever one of us would ask, “Ma, can I (enter standard childhood want)?” That was her way of letting us know we should have asked, “May I?” instead of, “Can I?”

Now, back to the Hannibal trailer. Turns out, “may” was used correctly in this instance. Here’s why:

May” is a helping verb called a modal. Modals give context to verbs, let the reader or listener in on the attitude or mood of the verb. You would use “may” when you kind of know, but don’t definitely know, the response to a question.

For example, say you’re sweetie wants you to go to a baseball game. You like baseball. The game is on a weekday. You have to work. The day has come to buy tickets. He calls and asks you, “Do you think you’ll be able able to go?” You have just one more thing to do to complete some world-changing project. It’s more likely than not you’ll be able to get away, and you want to do so . Since that’s the case, the outcome is likely, so you can respond, “I may be able to meet you there. I just have one more thing to finish. I’ll know more by lunch time.”

So, when would you use “might?”

Might,” also a modal, is used when an outcome is something you’d most likely never do or are reluctant to do. You’re less certain, but there’s wiggle room, how ever slight

Take the baseball scenario, but change your affinity for the game. In this case, you know you’re working on a project and, if you buckled down, you could finish in time to go to the game. The thought of sitting in the hot sun for two-and-a-half hours on a rock-hard seat splattered with stale beer, however,  jump-starts your gag reflex. You know you don’t want to go, but you also know that your sweetie has a way of charming you into doing what he wants. In this case, if pressed, you could go to the game, but you could also make a very compelling case not to go. You are on the fence, though, so you could say, “I might go, but I’m still working on the project that’s due tomorrow morning,” or, “I might not go, because I’m still working on that project due tomorrow morning.”

Are there any exceptions?

Of course. This is the English language after all.

In the first exception, you need to be aware that “might” is the past tense of “may.” So, let’s say that the day after the game, your boss asks your assistant if you got to use the box seats. The assistant thinks you probably did, but doesn’t really know, so he would tell your boss, “Yeah, she might have been able to use them.” Here, remember, the conversation is about a game that was played yesterday. In the past. That little fact is what makes “might” the correct word choice.

The second exception is a little strange in that the conversation must be about something that isn’t happening. Again, in the baseball example, you ask your friend, a college pitching coach, what pitch she thinks is coming up, she should say, “He ‘might‘ throw a knuckleball.” If “may” is used, the sentence would imply that the pitcher was just given permission to throw that rarest of pitches that never fails to jelly-leg a batter right back into the dugout.

In summary:

May = likely outcome or permission

Might = less likely outcome or uncertainty, as well as past tense

. . . and “can?”

Well, remember what my mom asked? “Can” refers to ability. “I can put away a hot dog, large pop, and a cup of chocolate chip mint Dippin’ Dots in the course of one game.”

I do have that ability, by the way, and I exercise it whenever I go to the ballpark.

Write the right words, and make them real

“Oh!  That’s so addicting.”  Actually, annoying is the word that comes to mind when I see or hear addictingAddictiveAddictive is a word.  Addicting is not a word, and it’s a teeny-bopper mistake that I am seeing more frequently from writers who should know better.

How can so many writers not know which words are real?  What’s gotten into everyone?  Should I blame IMing or TwitterFacebook, maybe?  I don’t know, but the problem is everywhere I turn it seems.

Progressive Insurance commercial:  “We’re the only ones that do.”  Ahh!  Only ones who do.  Who, not that.  The word ones refers to living, breathing entities, which should be the first clue to the writer of that particular ad that s/he’s made a mistake.

24:  “…safety deposit box…”  Where’s my pencil?  I need to poke out my eye.  Safe deposit box.  A safe deposit box is a box inside a safe, which is how those particular types of boxes got their names.  (I was a credit union executive before I was a full-time writer.  I think you can take my word on this one).

CNN:  “Impact Your World.”  You’re kidding, right?  The moment that show was advertised, I emailed CNN.  Let’s just think a moment about what ‘impact your world‘ means.  Imagine a world.  Now imagine a huge hand smacking the world.  The smack is the impact.  The hand had an impact on the world.  Impact needs to be followed by ‘on’ or ‘of’ or some other appropriate article to make sense.

When I see impact these days, I see it incorrectly used in place of effect or affect.  This tells me I’m working with either a lazy writer or a writer who want h/her work to sound important.  Impact is one of those words that is crisp to the ear.  Short.  Punchy.  This is why it is so often used in advertising and sales.  It’s one of those words that should tell  listeners (or readers) that they’re being sold something.  Someone wants to convince them of something.  Impact has gone the way of jargon, and should be avoided at (nearly) all costs, save when speaking about teeth.

History Channel:  “The answer lies…”  Oh, god, please, not the History Channel.  I love the History Channel, and the more I watch it, the more I hear this mistake.  “The answer lay…” People lie.  Things lay.  That’s your shortcut for today.  My colleague, Mignon Fogarty can give you some more examples, but for now, just remember:  if it breathes, it lies.

Pick your adQuality. Since when does the word quality not have to be quantified?  When you write, “That’s quality work,” what do you mean?  What kind of quality?  Good?  Bad?  Mediocre?

Badly. I leave you with badly.  When this word started to replace bad, I don’t know; but it has to stop.  When you write “I want it badly,” what you are telling the reader is that you don’t know how to want very well.  The sentence should read, “I want it so much,” or “I want it a whole lot.”  If you can want something badly, you should also be able to want something goodly, and we all know that’s just not an option.

Do you have any pet peeve words or phrases?  Share them here.  If you have a question for me on the editing process or just want to know how you can better please your editor, ask me.  I may be crabby, but I am here to help.

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Copyright © 2010 Diane Faulkner.  All rights reserved worldwide, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

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Text:  Copyright © 2010 Diane Faulkner.  All rights reserved worldwide.  Crabby Copy Editor™ and related trademarks appearing on this website are the property of Diane Faulkner.

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