My much-loved, though occasionally delusional, husband is fascinated by Donald Trump. Therefore, we were watching the latest installment of “Celebrity Apprentice” the other night when I saw yet another example of the “gotcha” that bites.

The men’s team had many problems with its project (an advertisement for The Best Hotel Collection in The Universe — The Trump Collection, as if there were a doubt), including some spelling problems in the rough draft. Their judges smugly pointed out and and circled for the camera, which zoomed in on the text, “discreetly.” The judges chuckled in that superior way and a viewer could almost hear the “gotcha.” Unfortunately for the judges — and why NBC allowed this to remain in the final edit, I have no clue — “discreetly,” as used in the sentence is (wait for it) correct. Apparently the judges have seen “discreetly” misused and spelled “discretely” (also a perfectly good word but with a different meaning) until they don’t know the correct usage when they see it.

I saw the same thing on a blog a week or two ago. The phrase “to whet your appetite” was used. A perfectly good, though possibly overused, expression. Correctly spelled. The first comment was, rather smugly, I thought, “wet, not whet.” The second comment corrected the first. The third, amazingly, was by the first commenter, calling the one who corrected her, and I quote, a “troll.” I’m sure you know what a troll is, one who posts inflammatory ridiculous comments to stir up trouble. No. If anyone was being trollish, it seems to me the incorrect “correcter” was.

What’s the point of all this? I suppose it is just to say we should keep an humble mind. We all make mistakes. There’s a mistake on the back cover of a novel I edited that was published last week. In fact the mistake is in a sentence I actually wrote. I have no idea how it happened. It’s not the type of mistake I normally make — and, trust me, I’m well aware of the types of mistakes I normally make — but there it is. In print. For everyone to see. I’m just hoping it’s not too glaring. And if someone points it out to me, I have a response all ready.

“I know. I’ve already thrown myself on my sword for the author. If you want me to, I’ll throw myself on another one for you.”

Yes, I’m still a bit snarky. But I’m not above making mistakes. And I will do my best to take responsibility for them.

Tags: grammar, Mary Ann Peden-Coviello, publishing, writing

I’ve written about this subject before, but it’s a deep well. So here I go again.

One of the most perplexing words in the English language is the little three-letter word lie. Or lay. And when to use which. I see these words (and other forms of the words) misused and abused in print often enough that I could probably blame some of my grey hair on this instead of misbehaving kids if I wanted to.

Present tense is fairly easy. Use lie without an object. Use lay with an object. Say what? Here are some examples.

1. Susie lies on the bed. (See, no object. Susie does not lay on the bed — well, not in present tense.)

2. Susie lays her head on the pillow. (Susie’s head is the object of the verb.)

Things get a little tricky in past tense because English is such a twisty little language. Lay is, you see, the past tense of lie while laid is the past tense of lay. Oh, English, you minx.

1. Susie lay on the bed. (In past tense, this is now correct. English is fun, right?)

2. Susie laid her head on the pillow.

Last of all we have the even trickier past participle.

1. Susie has lain on the bed all day. (Still no object.)

2. Susie has laid her head on the pillow twice today. (Yeah, that’s a stupid sentence but it gets the job done. The past participle of lay is laid. And it takes an object.)

And why, you ask, should you care? Because it’s not that difficult to get this right, and if you get it wrong, you risk looking as if you don’t know how to construct a sentence. Careless grammar looks like careless thinking.

I must admit that I sometimes use sentence fragments — see the opening paragraph for a perfect example — but when I do I know I’ve done it and I do it intentionally. Mistaking lay for lie in your writing just makes you look like an amateur.

Grammar Girl has a nice explanation and a little chart to help as well on her site. Lay Versus Lie:Grammar Girl

Tags: grammar, Mary Ann Peden-Coviello, writing

“When I grow up, I’m going to be a princess. Princess Ruthie. My dresses will be satin and silk. Pink satin. White silk. I’ll wear pink ribbons in my hair, my long blonde hair. I’ll have a zillion pairs of slippers and they’ll all have silver buckles. With diamonds. And pearls.

“I’ll carry a rod — what they call a sceptre — and everyone will curtsy and kneel. They’ll all have to do what I say.

“Oh! I’ll have a stable of white ponies and the grooms will keep the ponies’ hooves polished and their manes and tails combed. I’ll go riding every day.

“My little fuzzy doggie will be named JoJo and he’ll go everywhere with me.

“Twenty footmen and twenty butlers and twenty tall soldiers will take care of me.

“I’ll marry a Handsome Prince and live happily ever after.

“When I grow up, I’m going to be a princess.”

* * *

“Ruth? Honey, it’s time for bed now.”

Her blank, pale blue eyes turn to him. She still knows her name. She’s still as lovely to him as she was sixty years ago. Before the cruel disease he can’t pronounce stole her mind, leaving just the shell of the vibrant woman he still loves. She hasn’t spoken in months, but he murmurs soft words to ease her way as he gently lifts her to her feet. Such tiny feet barely filling out the soft pink satin bedroom slippers.

His big rough hands, hands that speak of a lifetime of hard labor, tenderly stroke her fluffy white hair. He’s become quite the hairdresser in his old age. He lifts her onto the bed and straightens her pink gown, always mindful of her modesty. With the ease born of long practice, he slides off her slippers and replaces them with warm socks. He covers her wasted frame with a blanket.

She whimpers once.

“Here he is, Ruthie. You don’t think I’d forget little JoJo, do you?” A ragged stuffed puppy tucked into her arms settles her down. The toy had belonged to their older son when he was a child. Now it is one of the few things bringing peace at bedtime.

He seats himself on the edge of the bed, taking her cool, birdlike hand in his. He strokes the back of her hand with his thumb. She always had been a bird in his arms, so tiny. Fragile. But strong. Strong enough to raise two fine tall sons. He croons, “Gone to soldiers, every one.” It used to be her favorite song, before they both did “go to soldiers.”

A rare smile lights her face. For a flicker of time, a moment, a heartbeat, she’s truly there.

“Harold.”

Then she’s gone, her face blank, her mind wandering in unknown lands, her eyes like blue marbles, beautiful but unaware.

Harold leans over his wife. Kisses her brow. “Good night, Princess. Sleep tight.”

* * *

“When I grow up, I’m going to be a princess.”

Tags: fiction, Mary Ann Peden-Coviello

So it’s been forever and a week since I posted anything to this blog. Publishing has completely gone nuts in those years, if I may say so.

What do I mean? Well, Amazon self-publishing phenomenon Amanda Hocking decided to go traditional and signed a four-book deal with St. Martin’s Press. And almost on the same day, Barry Eisler turned down a $500,000 contract for two books to self-publish the books on Amazon.

The publishing world flipped sideways and hasn’t quit buzzing since. Unpublished writers snap at each other on blogs about whether or not self-publishing is legitimate and whether traditional publishing is dead. The venom spewed can be overwhelming.

Seems to me — also still mostly unpublished — so take it for what it’s worth, that there is room for more than one opinion, more than one option. I mean, would you want to eat only cherry topped cheesecake for the rest of your life, even if it is your favourite without ever having, say, chocolate cake again? Of course not.

There is room for us all, the self-published, the ebook, the paper book, the traditional published. Let’s just quit biting each other, shall we?

Tags: Mary Ann Peden-Coviello, publishing, writing