Since the dawn of writing, grammarians have been irked by sloppy and erroneous written communication. But over the past few years, it’s gotten increasingly difficult to go even a single day without seeing several writing errors. From street signs to Facebook status updates, unfortunate writing mistakes are omnipresent in both the real world and the virtual.
Over the next few weeks, the Grammarly team will use social media to determine the most detestable of all writing errors.
Have you ever finished writing a sentence only to reread it and be completely baffled at its structure? Sure, the sentence might be technically grammatically correct, but it sounds incredibly awkward. In situations like these, it’s best to step back and try to find a way to rewrite the sentence. For example: When you see your new friend, tell him or her that I said hello.
I just wrote this sentence three times—twice to change the direction of my opening monologue, and once to fix some structural errors. I did all that picking and all those rewrites before I even wrote another sentence. It took me about five minutes.
Why did I fiddle so long with one sentence? I have a hard time getting my internal editor to quiet down, so I developed the habit of self-editing as I write.
Any Google News search for “political correctness” will yield three general groups of results: pieces slamming one public figure or another for their lack of politically correct discourse, thinkpieces describing why the “PC police” are ruining free speech, and articles debating whether certain actions or speech patterns are “politically correct.”
While online pundits and thinkpiece authors spend a lot of energy debating whether terms or usages are PC, or condemning certain figures for their use or avoidance of PC language, there aren’t as many discussions about the history of politically correct language.
About three years ago, I decided to take a huge leap of faith. I sold almost everything I owned, packed my Toyota Sienna from floor to headliner with the stuff too precious to part with, and headed 2,000 miles west across rivers and mountains to an apartment I’d rented sight-unseen in a city I’d only ever driven past on vacation once. It’s the single scariest and best thing I’ve ever done.
