In thirty years of earning my bread as a writer and editor I’ve identified a few principles of fundamental importance.

The one I wish to address at present I could have learned by heeding the repeated asides of the Spanish swordsman in The Princess Bride. Namely, that failing to ascertain the proper meaning of a word is one of the quickest ways to lose credibility as an auteur.

Unfortunately, there are a plethora of ways to commit this faux pas. A common method is to confuse those pesky homophones, an error that often arises due to a simple misspelling. Pity the poor editor, for example, who fails to note that Accomack (the county on Virginia’s Eastern Shore) is not the same as Accomac (the town in the county on Virginia’s Eastern Shore).

A miscue involving a single letter, of course, can also materially alter the meaning of words that don’t sound the same. I’m reminded of a joke attributed to Stephen King about the priest, the minister, and the rabbit who walk into a bar, after which the rabbit pauses to wonder whether he’s really just a typo.

From Saint to Something Else Entirely

Another way to end up sounding tone deaf in the use of words is by not accounting for trendy connotations that haven’t yet wormed their way into the established lexicon. Consider the given name Karen. Several sources on the internet will tell you that, historically, it derives from the broader appellation Katherine and is associated with the eponymous fourth-century saint. It is said to denote purity.

In other corners of the internet, however, you will learn that in our century Karen has lapsed into something of a pejorative. It now serves as a descriptor for any officious female—a shrew, a scold, a harpy, a fishwife. It’s not something you would use for the heroine of your new novel, especially if she’s supposed to be a paragon.

Bottom line? If you have any questions about a word’s meaning, consult a colleague, check your sources, crack open a dictionary.

I speak from experience.

Baring Your Soul—And Other Things

Years ago, when I was a night editor for a morning daily in Maryland, I encountered a conundrum of the kind we are now considering. I was proofing an op-ed by the managing editor in which he expressed that the all-too-frequent sight of shopping bags littering the landscape distressed him to no end. The reason for this, he explained, was because he considered himself an inveterate naturist.

I was unfamiliar with this term. At first I thought I would let it pass unchecked, seeing how the piece was the work of the top man in the newsroom. But for whatever reason, something prompted me to thumb through the dictionary. What I learned left me chagrined.

My boss had identified himself as someone who prefers to prance around without any clothing. In other words: nude, naked, starkers, in the nutty.

Protocol dictated that I call my boss to let him know I intended to amend his work. Instead, I changed naturist to nature-lover and sent the piece on for typesetting without bothering my superior.

Maybe I just didn’t want to see his cheeks turn red.