Editor's Corner

Good morning, readers! Today’s article is a gift I borrowed from Richard Lederer, the original San Diego verbivore. This is an excerpt from his article from December 7, 2024. For the full version, see:

True confessions of a dyed-in-the-wool verbivore

Carnivores eat meat. Herbivores consume plants. Verbivores devour words. I am such a creature. My whole life I have feasted on words — ogled their appetizing shapes, colors, and textures; swished them around in my mouth; lingered over their many tastes; and felt their juices run down my chin. During my adventures as a fly-by-the-roof-of-the-mouth user-friendly wizard of idiom, I have met thousands of other wordaholics, logolepts, and verbivores — folks who also eat their words. What is there about words that makes a language person love them so?

…Some word people of etymological persuasion are intrigued by the birth and life of words and phrases. They love the fact that when a candidate for office went to the Forum in ancient Roman times, he wore a bleached white toga to symbolize his humility, purity of motive, and candor. The original Latin root, “candidatus”, meant “one who wears white,” from the belief that white was the color of purity and probity. The Latin verb “candere” “to shine, to glow,” parents the English words “candid,” “candor,” “candle,” and “incandescent.”

While many fabrics and garments are colored or printed after they are woven, wool is sometimes dyed before it is ever woven or made into cloth. The color of that wool is through- and-through and impossible to remove completely. So when we say someone is a “dyed-in-the- wool” conservative, liberal, environmentalist, animal-rights supporter, Padres fan, etc., we mean that their beliefs are steadfast and permanent….

Then there are the grammarians, who enjoy trying to transmute the briar patch of pronoun cases, subject-verb agreement, sequence of tenses, and the indicative and subjunctive moods into a manageable garden of delight. Such devotees of correct usage often explore the nuances of confusing word pairs — “lay” vs. “lie” (“lay” means ”to put”; “lie” means “to repose”), and “podium” vs. “lectern” (you stand on a podium; you stand behind a lectern). Other wordaholics experience the joy of lex by prowling the lunatic fringes of language. These recreational word players ponder why we drive in a parkway and park in a driveway and our nose can run and our feet can smell.

Finally, there are the legions of pundits, punheads, and pun pals….

When I say “language,” I mean by and large that glorious, uproarious, notorious, victorious, outrageous, courageous, contagious, stupendous, tremendous, end-over-endous adventure we call the English language. That’s because in matters verbal, I am unabashedly lexist. Just as many would say the Italians do food well and the French do style and fashion well, I believe we English speakers and writers do language well. One might say we do it lexicellently.

Kara Church | Technical Editor, Advisory | Technical Publications

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