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Grandpa Reminisces about Homonyms He’s Crossed
Ever start thinking about a subject and have your brain reply to a thought with an eyeroll and, “Yes, Grandpa, you have told us about that before.” I was thinking about homonyms, never mind why, and thinking how they must be the bane of most writers’ existences. They are certainly mine.
Now, everyone who writes knows to watch for the common combinations. They’re the ones people get berated for most often on Farcebook and Twender. You know the ones: they’re/there/their and your/you’re/yore. (In days or you’re we used that word a lot.) But there are so many more homonyms that writers stumble over. It’s (ooh, another pair: its/it’s) just the way the brain works while we are composing a bit of text. Once we learn to type at a decent speed, the brain starts to go on semi-automatic. Pull the trigger by thinking of a word and the hands type it out. Or they type something like the word out. Usually it is a homophone.
Homonyms come in two types: homophones and homographs. (“Yes, Grandpa, we know.”) Homophones sound alike, but are spelled differently, like the metal “lead” and the action an army officer might do in the past (passed?) tense, “led.” That is opposed to homographs, which are spelled the same, but are pronounced differently. But what really can drive a writer to drink is the homophones that have homographs and vice versa. Like “read” and “read.” These two words are pronounced just like “reed” and “red.” And then there is the truly dreaded combination of desserts/deserts. Desert is actually a pair (or technically a quadruplet) of homographs. There are two related words that have the first syllable accented, such as the Gobi Desert, and there are two words that have the second syllable accented, meaning either one’s deserved reward (just deserts) or the action of getting out of the area and leaving your buds to face the music without you. Then there is the treat we have after a meal, which is spelled “dessert,” but pronounced like the latter pair of “deserts.”
Some of my favorite things that I discovered to my horror that my brain and fingers have misaligned on were typing “clamor” when I meant “clamber” and “climate” when I meant “climb it.” To be fair, the ladder* (heh, heh) was during the Great Climate Hoax of the Twenty-First Century when we heard and saw that word, climate, every day multiple times per day. Have I ever mentioned that before? (“Yes, Grandpa.”)
What are your most troublesome sets of homophones?
* Note to Editors: If you correct this spelling, the joke goes away. Don’t be that editor.
Published in Group Writing
This makes up for my not finishing the
short story, uh,novella, uh,novel, uh series of books that I started intending to use as May First’s entry in Group Writing.There’s great and grate. Sun and son. Wood and would. Road and rode. I could go on for hours, since I’ve goofed with every one of them. I’ll stack up a few and go again.
Those are grate!
Raze and raise.
Britain is a country (well, by some definitions it’s a set of countries under one crown). A resident of the place is called a Briton. The difference in pronunciation is microscopic.
I’ve had problems mixing up “averse” and “adverse”, mostly because of the similarities, but also because they both refer to something you shun or shy away from.
Chevy makes fenders by putting metal in a mould. But if you leave the seat fabrics out in the rain, they get moldy.
When I got write their I thought eye would sea: pear and pare.
Interesting! Wikipedia disagrees with you on this (emphasis and comment mine.)
(I was taught the same as what Wikipedia says; your definition is one I’ve not heard of before. Not to say there’s only one definition in common use.)
You’ve already mentioned “read.” Sometimes I hit it when I’m reading, pick the wrong version in my head, and discover that by the end of the sentence that I have departed controlled flight.
Hole and whole. I just made that mistake recently, believe it or not. Some kind Samaritan set me straight.
Better to raise a child than raze a city?
Nobody asked, but I like nouns that are verbs and verbs that are nouns–gorge and gorge, wax and wax.
That is a fine triplet with some dialects.
How about nouns turned into verbs-impact and impact?
Well, the homophones such as rose and rose (or desert and desert or desert and desert) don’t cause problems. It’s only the ones with the same pronunciation and different spellings that lead us down the wrong road. But, yes, to be complete, those are also homophones, but they are also homographs. All I care about is the heterographic homophones.
Are you ever in controlled flight? You probably need some spinach to correct that. Preferably on a pizza.
When you’re digging in that hole, it can get you in a whole lot of trouble.
As long as it’s not “Don’t disrespect me.”
Just as long as you don’t think a verb is a noun when there is a perfectly good noun out there. We could have a serious disconnection over that.
Is there going to be a test??
Menace.
Plenty of room for mistakes.
Oh, Lordy! The problem is often that the noun and verb homographs don’t necessarily have the same meaning. Impact/impact, effect/effect, affect/affect are all examples of that.
Well, what do you expect from a redneck Georgia cracker hillbilly?
We’d all fail it if there were.
Are you from Georgia? Florida (cracker)? Or Michigan (hillbilly)?
I expect a lot from Georgians.
‘hant, how about this trio?: I, aye, and eye.
Aye, aye, sir. I have a mote in my eye.
I have a few fairly odd permanent glitches. One is a complex involving the numeral 8 and the capital letter E; it may have happened when I encountered the “there exists” symbol which is a mirror-imaged ‘E’. When counting, I’m very likely to make an error at 88.
Oh, aye. And then there’s the aye-aye.
Degenerate.
Not quite a crossed homonym, but I once worked with someone who had a habit of saying “blown a casket” — as in, “When Jerry found out that I ate the last scoop of ice cream, he blew a casket!”
I’ve heard of grave-robbing, but never grave-bombing.