Pet Peeve: Email Subjects

You know how when January 1 comes around--a completely arbirtrary day, by the way, by any stretch of the lunar or solar calendar--you take stock and rethink your life? You make promises to do better--eat better, exercise more, learn Swahili, whatever.

Well, here's something to add to your to-do list: Label your emails with something useful.

I'm surely not the only person on the planet wading through waist-high floods of emails. I actually don't mind getting them, unless they're shopping me a Russian bride or offering to enlarge body parts that I don't possess. If you're writing me, great! Love to hear from you! But I'd love it more if I knew what the heck you were about to say. Here are some examples of poor email subject lines:

From: x
To: Claire
re: you

From: x
To: Claire
re: me

From: x
To: Claire
re: from your mom

From: x
To: Claire
re: that thing

Believe it or not, blogfrogs, these are examples from actual emails. Names have been redacted to protect the whomever, but you know who you are. How about this?

From: x
To: Claire
re: that new YA book we discussed

From: x
To: Claire
re: your kid's failing grade

From: x
To: Claire
re: want to do lunch?

Get the idea? Also, if we've started a side conversation off a group thread, it's nice to stop using the group thread's topic as a subject line, as in:

From: member of group x
To: Claire
re: want to do lunch? (NOT: next week's meeting; I'm no longer getting updates about that)

Not a huge deal, folks, but I suspect you'll all get more response out of your emails if you're very specific about what the email entails. Oh, and a final tip: Don't use Russian Brides as your subject line. That will end up in my junk box.

Just FYI.


image: Vladimir Putin and his bride, Lyudmila Aleksandrovna Putina, now divorced. Courtesy of Wikipedia.

Pet Peeve: Desert vs Dessert

Blogfrogs, let's make this short and sweet, because I have Christmas shopping to do, and no doubt you have something else you should be doing too.

So: Speaking of sweet, dessert is that lovely course that comes at the end of the meal. Because it's so sweet, it deserves two s's. (See how I threw in that pnemonic? Aren't I just the bee's knees?)

But desert is so arid and dry, it's soaked up one of its s's and is left with only one. Also, it's a verb, as in "to abandon." Because, see, it abandoned one of its s's, and ...

Well, you get the picture.

This lovely bûche de Noël is a dessert:

This superdry place is a desert:

Got it? Swell. Back to the mall, after which I expect you'll have a nice cup of eggog generously laced with something nice waiting for me when I return.


images: Top: my very own photo of my very own bûche de Noël, which I make every Christmas.
bottom:  Desert near Marsa Mubarak, Egypt. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. Photo by Marc Ryckaert (MJJR). This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported license.
 

Pet Peeve: More Unique

Friends, writers, random people who happened on this post, I know that we Americans love our superlatives. It's why we're gaga about exclamation points. Nothing is just enjoyable; it has to be

or we can't say we've gotten any pleasure out of it. I'd love to launch what might be called a moderation campaign, but my reasonably pitched voice would be lost in a sea of grinning emoticons and boldfaced adjectives.

And yet.

We do have to keep in mind what certain words mean, which brings me to this month's peeve (finally, they sigh): unique. Here's Webby's definition:

being without a like or equal :  single in kind or excellence :  UNEQUALED : SOLE

So if you think something is particularly unusual, distinctive, what have you, you might call it unique, but is that in fact what you mean? Unique means one of a kind, so something or someone can hardly be more unique than someone or something else. Unique is thus a word than can have no comparitive. You could say:

That's the strangest-looking dog I've ever seen.

But you couldn't say:

That's the most unique dog I've ever seen.

That implies that you've seen unique dogs before, but not one quite that unique. 

Think about another word--best--that can have no comparative. Or fastest. Only one horse in a race is the fastest. No one says:

The palomino was pretty fastest, but the chestnut was definitely more fastest than he.

So do let's stop calling an unusual thing or person very unique or the most unique, shall we? Try using exceptional, remarkable, unusual, or some other adjective. That will help add a few more years to my weak heart. 

Pet Peeve: Between You and I

There are some peeves, gentle readers, that seem pickier than others. No one cares, you might say, about anymore vs. any more, nor does anyone give a rat's posterior about hyphens. (I do, and you should too, but I take your point.) On this particular peeve, however, I yield no ground, because this is just wrong. It's not stylistic, there's no poetic license, it's not a maybe-yes, maybe-no kind of rule.

It's just a rule. And when you violate it, you're wrong.

Sorry to be blunt. Here's the scoop:

It was drilled into our preteen heads from Day One (or Day One of grade school) that when speaking of oneself and another person, one must use I, not me, as in:

Jeeves and I went on a fishing trip.
Jeeves and I had tea at four o'clock. (Or rather, I had tea, which Jeeves served.)

and so on. Only the laughably ungrammatical among us would say:

Jeeves and me hopped a train to Aunt Dahlia's house.

But here's the catch--the footnote to the main memo, you might say--that so many of us have overlooked. This rule only applies when the I in question is the subject of the sentence. You'd never say:

Me hopped a train to Aunt Dahlia's house.

So, no matter how many folks hop that train, I is always I, and never me:

Barmy, Bingo, Stinker, Jeeves, and I hopped a train to Aunt Dahlia's house.

But again I say: This rule only applies when the I in question is the subject of the sentence. Would you ever say:

Aunt Dahlia has been spreading vicious rumors about I.

Of course not. Nor would you say:

Aunt Dahlia had a particularly onerous problem for I to solve.

Instead, you'd say:

Aunt Dahlia has been spreading vicious rumors about me.
Aunt Dahlia had a particularly onerous problem for me to solve.

That being understood, it doesn't matter how many people Auntie D has been spreading rumors about, nor how many heads she needs to solve her problem. Me is always me.

Aunt Dahlia had a particularly onerous problem for Jeeves and me to solve.
Aunt Dahlia has been spreading vicious rumors about Jeeves, Barmy, Bingo, Stinker, and me.

Aha! you say. But it's still between you and I, isn't it?

No, it isn't. Between, gentle readers, is a preposition, like about, upon, of, beneath, etc. Prepositions take object pronouns. If you don't know what those are, don't fret. Take my word for it: Me is one of them. (Here's a list of common English prepositions, if you're interested.)

"That task is beneath me, Aunt Dahlia," said Bertie. (Beneath I? Never!)

And so:

"That task is beneath Jeeves and me, Aunt Dahlia," said Bertie. 

And yes, now we come to it:

"Dash it, Jeeves, but between you and me, I think Aunt Dahlia has too much time on her hands," said Bertie. 

And so it is with all prepositional phrases:

• between you and me
• for you and me
• about you and me
• of you and me

and so on.

Here's the takeaway, and a foolproof rule: When wondering if you should use I or me, ask yourself what you would use if the sentence didn't involve a lot of other people, and go with that.

Here's a picture of Jeeves and me out on our pleasure cruise.
Here's a picture of me out on my pleasure cruise.
"She wasn't talking about you and me, sir," said Jeeves.
"She wasn't talking about me, sir," said Jeeves.
That isn't something you and I would do, is it?
That isn't something I would do, is it? 

 I feel so much better having that peeve off my chest. Time to ring Jeeves to bring something bracing, I should think.

Pet Peeve: Everyday

For some reason, everybody--or at least, a lot of the bodies--has come to the conclusion that everyday is always one word, no matter what you're doing with it or why.

It isn't.

Everyday is an adjective, meaning it describes a person, place, or thing. It means "ordinary, used routinely," according to Webby. Often, you'll see it used in the phrase everyday life:

For Buffy, killing vampires is just a part of everyday life. That's not the case for most of us.

The peeve comes in when folks use everyday when what they mean is every day--meaning "continually, day after day":

Every day, Buffy finds a demon or vampire who needs vanquishing.
Every day, I find a dirty sock that needs washing.
My everyday life doesn't look much like Buffy's, I guess.

See the difference? If you can't put a noun after your use of everyday/every day, split it into two words.

I knew you'd get it. Now I won't have to come after you with Mr. Pointy.

Pet Peeve: Farewell to Direct-Address Commas

I hardly feel right even being peevish about this error because everyone I know commits it. Or perhaps I should say that everyone who emails me or texts me commits it.

And yet.

Well, darn it all, it does bug me: the casual casting off of my dear friend the direct-address comma. What the heck am I yammering about? So glad you asked. Compare these two greetings:

Hello, Holmes. How are you doing today?
Cheerio Watson. Not at all well, thanks.

According to Chicago and every other style book on the planet, Watson has written his greeting correctly, while Holmes slacks off in his usual comma-hating manner. (Unfair. Yes. Sorry.) Holmes ought to have written:

Cheerio, Watson.

Just as when someone types an email to me, it should open with:

Hi, Claire,
Hi, Claire!
Hey, Anal Grammar Lady!
Hello, you stuck-up so-and-so,

But everyone omits that comma. And while I'm willing to let it slide (really? Is that what you're doing?), I'm afraid this habit may leak into other forms of prose. So even if your emails aren't perfect--and whose are?--make sure your more formal prose is correct:

"I think I've solved the case myself, Holmes," said Watson proudly.
"Don't be ridiculous, Watson," Holmes answered. "You couldn't have, old chap. That's my job."
"I'm sorry, my friend, but you're wrong this time. While you were off at the bookshop, I compared the prints I lifted with your database. And I think, dear boy, that the killer is ..."
"Oh, do be quiet, you nattering hobbit. If I wanted the help of amateurs, I'd have consulted the cat."

And so forth.

Pet Peeve: Anymore vs. Any More

I'm betting there are quite a few folks out there who think these are the same thing, right? Or maybe we can just choose to stick a space in between these two words if we feel like it. After all, we do that with all right and alright, and no one seems to mind.

Yeah, you're right. I'm the one who does mind.

anymore = any longer; currently/now (has nothing to do with a physical measurement)

Isn't Doctor Who on television anymore? In the summer, it was on every Saturday night.
I'm sure that Billie Piper isn't in the cast anymore.

any more = a quantity; additional

Do you have any more jelly babies?
No, the Doctor ate them all. I don't have any more Jammie Dodgers, either.

Note that anymore is used with a negative construction:

I don't sit home Saturday nights anymore.

You will (of course) see it used with a positive construction, but be aware that it annoys yours truly and she may not bring you a cuppa and a Jammie Dodger if she hears it:

Anymore I just go to the pub instead.

In that instance, anymore means "these days" or "at the current time."  It may be used colloquially if you don't mind setting yours truly's teeth on edge, but it should be avoided in writing. Because I don't want to scribble on your paper.

photo: Matt Smith defies the Daleks as Doctor #11. Learn more about the show here.

Pet Peeve: All Ready vs. Already

Okay, grammar fans (usage fans, whatever): This is a misusage I see all the time. The down and dirty of it:

all ready: Completely ready. You couldn't be readier. Or: Everybody in the room is ready. No one's left out.

"Are you all ready to go?" asked Mrs. March.
"Hardly," Amy said. "Beth, as usual, is too shy to stick her nose out the door, so we'll probably miss the fair."

already: Previously. Before. Been there, done that.

"It doesn't matter," said her mother. "After all, Beth has already been out this week. Let's leave her to her piano."

Already is also used to express frustration:

"Just go already!" Beth fumed.

Think of all ready as meaning all set. You'd never write alset, right?

I didn't think so.

image: By Trailer screenshot (Little Women trailer), via Wikimedia Commons

Pet Peeve: Lay vs. Lie

I haven't written a grammar peeve for a long time, mostly because this blog has been up, down, live, dead--you name it. But this point does peeve me from time to time.

Quick lesson:

To Lie (verb):
1. To tell an untruth : Don't lie to me. You didn't watch the Super Bowl, did you?
past tense: lied : Okay, I lied. I didn't even watch the commercials.
past perfect tense: had lied : If I hadn't lied, you would have made me watch the highlights on the DVR.

2.  To repose in a prone position : If football gives you a headache, why don't you go lie down?
past tense: lay : I lay down for an hour, but it didn't help.
past perfect tense: had lain : She had lain in her room for about an hour before her husband noticed that she wasn't present during the halftime show.

To Lay (transitive verb):
To set an object down: Lay down your book and watch the damned game, why don't you?
past tense: laid : I laid down my book for ten minutes, but the game gave me a headache, so I picked up the book again.
past perfect tense: had laid : If I had laid my book down sooner, I wouldn't have missed that touchdown. Oh well. Big whup.

So yes, I admit, too many of these words sound the same, and the tenses get all mixed up in each other's business. Just memorize a few key phrases that are correct and you'll remember the rule for this verb:

Lay down your weapon!
I must go lie down now, even though I lay down ten minutes ago.

Just remember: You can never "go lay down." Lay down ... what? Lay needs a direct object. You have to lay down a book, a magazine, your gun--something. It means put down, or set down.

And you can never "lie down a book." (Not as many people make this mistake.) Lie down is an intransitive verb; it can't take an object. Just lie down your own damned self and be done with it.

image: Madame Recamier by Jacques-Louis David. wikimedia.org

Pet Peeve: LOL, BTW, OMG, :)

Okay, I’m a major curmudgeon. Who doesn’t use these friendly abbreviations and cute little emoticons? What’s wrong with a little quickie communication in the age of Twitter, when every character counts?

Scroll down the right column of this blog and you’ll see that yes, I do Tweet. (Feel free to follow me.) Like everyone else, I only have 140 characters to make my point (that includes spaces). But I almost never use abbreviations.

As far as I’m concerned, LOL and OMG go hand in hand with the multiple exclamation points (see last week’s Peeve). Whose ass is really falling off when they write [LMAO!!!!!!!]? Mine isn’t. The writer seems to take me for an idiot who can’t tell when he or she is making a funny. It’s rather like that lout who tells the off-color joke at a cocktail party and then roars at his own cleverness. He deserves the icy smile or deadpan look in return.

Or maybe the real culprit is the writer’s laziness. If your words can’t convey a sense of whimsy, you’re tempted to throw in a :) so that your reader won’t take offense. That might be the safest route, but writers seemed to do fine without :), :(, and the rest up until a few years ago. Personally I liked reading between the lines. It made me feel smart.

So don’t ask me to TXT you or ask me WTF? or assure me you’ll BBL. Try English. It’s my native language. :)

Pet Peeve: Pluralizing Proper Names

Before anyone comments on the title of this post, allow me to quote Webby:

pluralize (transitive verb) To make plural or express in the plural form.

Great. Now that we've gotten that out of the way, on to the Peeve. Here's an example of the sort of preprinted holiday cards I received this season:

Merry Christmas from the Smith's!

Do I object to preprinted cards? Hardly. Who has time to print "Merry Christmas" a hundred times? And I love that these sentiments often come printed on nice family photos with a Christmassy border. Do I mind that I've received some of them in January? Not a smidge--send them as Valentines for all I care. I just like getting mail.

The problem is with the blasted apostrophe. It's become so ubiquitous that my dear sister, who knows when to use apostrophes and when to leave them in the rubbish heap, called me in a panic and asked if she's been writing her cards wrong all these years.

She hasn't.

One member of the Smith family is a Smith:

Even after her marriage to Kevin Delaney, Nadine remained a Smith.

Two members of the Smith family are Smiths:

I'd love to have the Smiths over for dinner, but you know they'd eat us out of house and home.
The card read: "Merry Christmas from the Smiths!"
The Smiths are a lovely family, but they do misplace apostrophes.

Tricky Names

Last names that end in s or sh are treated just like other nouns that end that way. You add an -es at the end to form the plural. Here are some nouns:

mess -- messes
dress -- dresses
brush -- brushes
push -- pushes

The same applies to last names:

Jones -- the Joneses
Meyers -- the Meyerses
Ness -- the Nesses
Greenbush -- the Greenbushes

If your name ends in -se, add an -s only, just as you normally would:

Lachaise -- the Lachaises
Maise -- the Maises

When to Use an Apostrophe

An apostrophe denotes ownership, as in:

Fiona Smith's party extended into the morning hours.
Lyle Birchman's car is stuck in a snowdrift.

Put the apostrophe after the plural name if something is owned by more than one person in the family:

I love the Joneses' new house.
The Smiths' Christmas card was lovely this year.
The Meyerses' Rottweiler is friendly.

If you are one of those families that included an inappropriate apostrophe in their holiday cards, believe me, I'm still thrilled to have heard from you. Just don't confuse my sister any longer, okay?

Pet Peeve: Affect/Effect

Don’t worry, folks: All is forgiven. I’m not going to name names or point fingers at the perpetrators of this week’s Peeve. Let’s start from scratch and learn the difference between affect and effect.

Most commonly, when you’re using a noun, it will be effect. When you want a verb, it’s usually affect. But to be fair, I have to admit that both can be used two ways. Let’s start with the most common usage for both.

Affect: The Verb
To affect something is to act on it and change it somehow:

The weather affected her mood.
(It changed her mood, or at least influenced it in some way. It was sunny and that made her happy; or maybe it was rainy and that made her angry.)

It can also mean to touch or move someone emotionally—as in, to rouse affection:

His letter affected me deeply.

Effect: The Noun
An effect is a change brought about by something else.

I hope Dad’s lecture had the right effect on you.
Within minutes Angie felt the effects of the poisoned dart.
The actor’s soliloquy had an immediate effect on the audience.

It can also mean an impact or impression, as in special effects or

The whole street blazed with Christmas lights; the effect was spectacular.
Wanda paused for dramatic effect before announcing the murderer.

Here are the less common ways of using both words:

Affect: The Noun
This is the least common use of the four meanings we’ll discuss. A person’s affect is the outwardly demonstrated manifestation of his or her emotional state. Psychiatrists use this term a lot; how is a patient acting? What is her demeanor? Does she seem calm, happy, distressed, angry? What can we see on her face that reflects her emotions? That’s her affect.

Effect: The Verb
In this sense, effect means to bring about, to cause to come into being, or to accomplish:

Throughout his long career, the senator effected real change.

Pet Peeve: Climatic vs. Climactic

I’ll make this short and sweet. There’s no such word as anticlimatic.

Okay, I guess there could be. But what would it mean? The word climatic refers to climate—as in, the weather of a particular region.

Seattle’s climatic conditions make it difficult to schedule a picnic.

Climactic—note the interior c—refers to climax, as in the highest point of dramatic tension or, well, any other sort. Never mind—we won’t go there.

The commercial interrupted the climactic scene of the movie.

And back to the word anticlimatic, which would mean—what? antiweather? I’m not sure I know of anyone who is anticlimatic, but the word anticlimactic (again, interior c) refers to something that should have been really exciting but turned out to be a big letdown.

After the high stakes of the blackjack tables, our midnight penny-ante game must have seemed anticlimactic.

Pet Peeve: Less Is More

True confession time, blog readers. This isn’t my pet peeve; it’s Hubby’s. And here’s the true confession part: It’s his peeve about me.

I’ve told you before that my grammar isn’t perfect—not in writing, and certainly not in speech. Here’s a gaffe I make so often it sets Hubby's teeth on edge:

I wish less people would mow their lawns on Sunday morning.

The gaffe isn’t, of course, with the assertion, because Sunday morning is for me a time of quiet reflection (and sometimes sleep). The problem is with the word less.

Less is an adverb relating how much. But it can only be used when referring to amounts, not numbers. In other words:

I would like less than half a glass of juice.
No, I’d like less than that, please.
Sheila’s car has less than half a tank of gas.
John has less hair than Nigel.

Because I’m speaking of volume, not number, I correctly use the word less. But in the case of the annoying lawn mowers, the word should be fewer:

I wish fewer people would mow their lawns on Sunday
morning.
I would like fewer than 3 eggs.
Fewer than fifty people attended the concert.
Nigel has fewer pimples than John.

For volume, use less. For numbers, use fewer.

Sorry, dear.

Pet Peeve: “Literally”

Okay, class. Who knows what the word literally means? Agnes?

“Really. Truly. Actually.”

Lovely. Well done, Agnes. As for the rest of you, who might blithely write, “Whenever Jeremy talks to me, I literally have butterflies in my stomach,” I’m sorry to hear you’ve ingested insects. But that’s no excuse for misusing this word.

If Candace feels like she has butterflies in her tummy when Jeremy talks to her, then that’s what she should say. To say she literally has them means she “really, truly, actually” does. The opposite of literally is metaphorically—i.e., “what I’m saying is just an expression, a metaphor.”

Here are some other examples:

The thief literally tore the mattress apart looking for the hundred dollars.
(Correct. The thief took a knife and slashed the mattress open.)

The thief literally turned the room upside down looking for the hundred dollars.
(Really? The floor is now the ceiling? Huh.)

When Romeo asked Juliet to the prom, she literally stared speechless at him for two full minutes.
(Lame, but possible. She stood there, agog, until her vocal cords remembered how to work.)

When Romeo asked Juliet to the prom, she was literally struck dumb.
(Ummm ... did he somehow confer laryngitis? Is she permanently mute?)

Get the idea?

One final note: It would be unfair not to mention that Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary, 11/e, revered by writers and editors alike, claims a meaning (2) for literally:

2. in effect : VIRTUALLY

Venerable Webby goes on to quote Norman Cousins: “...will literally turn the world upside down to combat cruelty ...” and adds this note:

usage Since some people take sense 2 to be the
opposite of sense 1 [“actually”], it has been frequently criticized as a misuse.
Instead, the use is pure hyperbole intended to gain emphasis, but it often
appears in contexts where no additional emphasis is necessary.

For shame, Webby! Bowing to the masses! Well, grammar hounds, I say stand up to this shameful pandering. The hyperbole is in the metaphor; it never needs the addition of literally, which only confuses the matter. I don’t care who you quote. Cousins should have said, “ ... will turn the world upside down to combat cruelty.” Why stick literally in there and make yourself look like a baboon?

Literally.

Pet Peeve: !?!?!!!

Why does everyone feel the need to exclaim and question with such ferocity? An exclamation point means I’m shouting! Or, at the very least, I’m saying something very strongly! Question marks mean I’m confused. Maybe I’m not very bright.

The other day I walked into the coffee shop and saw a jar on the counter. The note taped to the jar read:

Tips Are Appreciated—THANK YOU!!!!

Guess what? I didn’t leave a nickel.

I don’t need anyone screaming THANK YOU!!!! in my ear. In fact, a sign like that doesn’t need any punctuation at all. It doesn’t even need a smiley face, though I guess I’d prefer that to my eardrums shattering. How much nicer if the sign read:

Tips Are Appreciated—Thanks

Or even:

Thanks for Tipping

Or, God forbid, forget the sign. Just let the blasted jar sit on the counter with a few coins in it. We’d get the idea.

And that’s another thing: Multiple exclamation points (or question marks) are insulting. It looks very much like you’ve had to tie yourself in knots to avoid adding “YOU IDIOT” to the end of your thought. If you e-mail a friend and say:

Got your message. What does it mean???

What you’re really saying is:

You fool, can’t you write a coherent e-mail? I haven’t got time to sift through your garbage. Jeez.

I don’t know about you, but I’m not likely to clarify myself to this clown.

Okay, rant over. Just calm down, okay, everyone??? That’s all I ask!!!

Pet Peeve: I Could Care Less

No, the title doesn’t mean I don’t care about this week’s peeve. Actually, it drives me up a tree.

In fact, consider this sentence:

Lloyd could care less if Bill is dating Diane.

Okay ... Right now Lloyd cares a certain amount (but we aren’t saying how much). This is obvious because Lloyd could care less.

What’s the problem? Here’s what we mean to say:

Lloyd couldn’t care less if Bill is dating Diane.

The point is, Lloyd doesn’t care at all. There’s no way he could care less about Bill’s dating habits. You couldn’t pay Lloyd to care about it.

So why do we say “Lloyd could care less”? Because of the big grammar boogeyman: laziness.

When I was a kid, I used to hear this phrase all the time: “So what? I couldn’t care less.”

I thought it was very clever at the time (well, I was a kid). But then I got puzzled because as time passed, the “n’t” disappeared. People got tired of saying the word “couldn’t.” It just had too many syllables. Oh well, they thought; we’ll just knock off one. People will still get the idea.

Sadly, when you play to the lowest common denominator, everyone follows. Together we sink into the muck of grammar confusion.

But you know what I’d say to that—I could care less. (A whole lot less.)

Pet Peeve: They

I’ve got no problem with this pronoun—it does its job admirably—but it simply can’t stand in for whatever you like! Here’s a sentence I hear over and over (with some variation):

If a student needs help, they should ask the teacher.

Okay, I’m trying to contain my temper here. Pronoun basics, folks: they is a plural pronoun. It can refer to a group of males, a group of females, or a mixed-gender group. But it’s plural. Plural = more than one.

In the more grammatical past, that sentence would have read (without question):

If a student needs help, he should ask the
teacher.

They (as well as their) has crept into common use as an attempt to level the chauvinistic playing field of English grammar. Most languages have the same problem. I’m on board with the spirit, just not the execution. Feminism is no excuse for butchering the language. So:

If students need help, they should ask the teacher.

Bingo! Students = plural; they = plural

Or, awkward as it may seem:

If a student needs help, he or
she should ask the teacher.

In some cases, such as a long article in which this construction comes up frequently, an author will switch between he and she:

If a student needs help, she should ask the teacher. The student’s peers may not be equipped to give her the assistance she requires. She can’t always rely on a friend, however well meaning he may be.

Before this paragraph leads the reader to identify a gender too closely with an anonymous example student, the author will switch genders in the next example:

After consulting with his friends, a student may find he’s the class genius.

Whatever method you choose, don’t resort to the lazy use of a plural pronoun just because you’ve heard it or (horrors) read it before.

Pet Peeve: It’s vs. Its

Stop confounding these two! I’ve seen this mistake three times in one week and that’s my limit.

it’s = it + is OR it + has
Examples:
“It’s raining in London this morning,” said Her Majesty with some surprise.
Thank God it’s Friday.
It’s not nice to fool Mother Nature.
It’s been three days since I pulled my hair out and it still hasn’t grown back.
It’s been lovely seeing you again.

its = possessive
Examples:
The zoo was forced to close its doors once the tiger escaped.
The tiger brought its prey to the cinema to eat during the movie.
I don’t see how the bomb exploded if its timer stopped working.
You’ll never open that file cabinet. Its drawers are all double-locked.

Foolproof Hint: Try substituting it’s or its with “it is” or “it has.” If neither one makes sense, you’re dealing with a possessive.

And thank you for letting me rant.

Read more on apostrophes here.