Just now, I was working on an email that includes a lesson about when to use "awhile" and when to use "a while." And after... well, a while, that "while" and "awhile" business started to look mighty weird. Almost like they weren't words at all but just a meaningless collection of letters.

If you've ever experienced such a phenomenon, then you've felt semantic satiation. Instead of paraphrasing the Wikipedia article, I will simply point you there, should you want to learn more about it.​

​If you didn't know the sensation of semantic satiation before, I'll bet you do now. :)

I just returned from a full seven days in Seattle—my first time visiting. I was attending CreativePro Week, a fantabulous conference I highly recommend for graphic designers. (Next year's will be held in Austin.)

Here are a few things I loved about it.

• Within my first fifteen minutes at the conference, I ran into one of my favorite former colleagues from Publix Super Markets, Inc., dynamite designer and lovely human Neal Mitchell. As you can see, we were a good distance from the office we used to work in together. Small world and all that.

​

• I gave an Ignite talk (20 slides auto-advancing every 15 seconds over 5 minutes) about the history of "lorem ipsum" placeholder text and many other topics having to do with English, etymology, printing, and the like. I learned SO MUCH preparing this talk. Did you know, for example, that the man who gave Timex its name, according to his son, liked to read Time magazine and used a lot of Kleenex, so he put the two names together? (This is a slide from my presentation.)

That photo is a pretty good representation of my trip: just lovely. I'm so glad I went, and I'm looking forward to CreativePro Week 2020!

We live in a time when I need to say this: Nazis are bad.

And I could use this space to analyze when the word "Nazi" has managed to qualify as amusing, and when it hasn't, and why. But that's not what I want to focus on.*

Let's leave the word "Nazi" aside for a few minutes and instead talk about the common prototype of  a dictatorial, hairsplitting, pedantic, shrill, strident curmudgeon who haughtily corrects everyone around her. Call it a grammar cop. Or a grammar dominatrix. A grammar fire-breathing dragon.

I'm none of those things.

What I am is a language lover. I'm a fan of clear, well-crafted sentences. And yes, I've been known to cringe when I hear or see errors of grammar, spelling, punctuation, and the like. But I'm not going to push anyone's nose in their mess and shame them for making a mistake.**

Instead, I try to give everyone the benefit of the doubt and assume that all of us are doing our best. We've all had different upbringings and educational opportunities, and we all have different kinds of brains. (Some people, for example, are predisposed to utter spoonerisms or misspell words. You can blame your genes.)

For those who want to write and speak more clearly and correctly, I will happily share what I know and try to provide assistance. Almost daily, I post little spelling and grammar hints (many of which you can see here) on LinkedIn, Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter. I want to help people distinguish between "me," "myself," and "I" and know their "they'res" from their "theres."

Essentially, my attitude toward language is one of fascination and appreciation. I want to share my enthusiasm. I want spread the love. And there's nothing Nazilike about that.

I keep several lists of words.

One is called "words I can never remember," and I reach for it when aphasia strikes me. (One time, I couldn't remember the word "aphasia," and I knew the universe was mocking me.)

One list is called "words that sound good." This includes "Kinshasa" and "calliope."

My "words I like" list includes "hobgoblin" and "calamity."

My "more good words" list has "perfidy," "calumny" and "shamble."

Then I have this list that I add to when I read. It's for all those times I encounter a word and think, "I should use that word! It's so great." ​

Notice anything about the words I appreciate? Lots of them are negative in some way. Contempt. Depravity. Pernicious. Degrading. Debauchery.

Is this proof that I'm twisted?

I don't think so. I believe that negative words tend to be powerful. Dramatic. Amusing. They tap into the darker side of life, where all sorts of visceral emotions lie.

I think "diabolical" beats "angelic." "Dastardly" is better than "upright." "Malevolent" wins over "innocent."

​What do you think? What are your favorite words?


​

 "Aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it deosn't mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoetnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteer be at the rghit pclae. The rset can be a toatl mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe."

I grabbed the previous statement from this article, but you can find countless similar passages online. Most of them have a congratulatory angle about how "You msut be a gneuis if yuor'e albe to udnretsnad tihs srcamelbd txet."

But you're not a genius. You're doomed.

Because when your brain automatically makes incorrect words seem correct, then how the heck are you supposed to identify misspellings? And don't say "autocorrect." Autocorrect is a conniving backstabber. If you write, "Libraries serve the pubic good," for example, autocorrect will just whistle nonchalantly and look the other way.

I am a professional copywriter, and a perfectionist by nature. And yet, I overlook spelling errors quite often. Too often. And I hvae olny my gneuis brian to blmae.