Every creation is a mirror, reflecting something of its creator. If you and I were to paint the same subject, your painting would reflect some of you, and mine would reflect some of me. If we both write stories, each one will carry something of ourselves—our personality, our experiences.

The writer is in the writing. The artist is in the art. The musician's in the music.

Take writing as an example. If we're writing authentically, we can't help but share a bit of ourselves in our work. Our past experiences affect what we notice. Our timidity or confidence is reflected in the tone and style. Our education in the choice of words. Our kindness and patience, or cynicism and frustration, is revealed to the reader. And the choice of what you write or paint reflects you.

Not if we're trying too hard. Not if we're writing to sound like a writer or if we're adopting a "literary" style because we think that's how it should be done. And not if we focus more on pleasing a search engine or ticking off marketing goals than connecting with readers. But if we write honestly and directly, the writer shows through.

This phrasing hit me while reading Brenda Ueland's book If You Want to Write. She calls the writer the Third Dimension. I believe she means that when you read a book, there are the characters, the reader, and also, inescapably, the writer's personality. She writes that readers can tell when writing isn't authentic, when it's not really you, but instead, a performance to meet someone else's expectations of how one should write—or perhaps a creation of an AI's sycophantic personality.

The presence of the writer in the writing, or the artist in the art, leads Ueland to say, "…I have come to think the only way to become a better writer is to become a better person."

I believe this principle also holds true across other creative disciplines, though I thought "the cook is in the cooking" didn't quite have the same ring. Still, it holds a ring of truth if I consider a musician and their music, an entrepreneur and their business, a podcaster and their podcast and others.

It's hard to write this without wondering what I'm sharing about myself (and what gets scrubbed out and cleansed by Grammarly proofreading). In Sketchplanations as a project, I've come to think that sooner or later, everything I know of value will be there. So, in some way, the whole thing reflects me. Shall we go for a beer?

More sketches about writing — it always surprises me, for a designer and product developer, how many I have. 35 at last count.

Here are images for each alone in case you're more one than the other:

In addition to prints of this sketch, I added an individual print of the writer's in the writing and an individual print of the artist's in the art.

The Writer's in the Writing. The Artist's in the Art.

A word spectrum highlights different aspects of a concept from one extreme to another. By arranging words on a spectrum, we can see their subtle differences and nuances.

For example, a word spectrum of happiness might range from "Miserable" on one side to "Ecstatic" on the other, passing through "Gloomy", "Content", and "Happy" along the way.

Or a word spectrum of tiredness might be: Asleep - Drowsy - Groggy - Awake - Alert - Energised

It's not a science, and there's a fair amount of latitude for people to place different words in different positions. Looking at many spectrums, it strikes me that some writers excel at selecting specific and perhaps more intriguing words such as "scrumptious" or "mouth-watering" over the more common "delicious." Roald Dahl often had his characters "guzzle" instead of "eat hungrily," for example.

I became curious about word spectrums when I realised that my understanding of the spectrum of approval was different from that of many of my American friends. In British English, "quite" is often used to mean "a bit less than," but in the U.S., I found it was more commonly used to mean "a lot" or "very."

So, my British English word spectrum of approval would be:

While the word spectrum of approval for many of my U.S. friends might be:

It left me confused several times before I figured it out.

For other variations in interpretation, such as where you might put "awesome", there's an excellent table as a Guide for U.S. students interpreting feedback from faculty trained in the U.K. (and vice versa).

At times, it really matters what someone means with a descriptive word. In the "intelligence" trade "words of estimative probability" relate to specific odds meant by certain terms. For instance, if an attack is "highly likely," just how likely is it? If something is "almost certainly an airfield," how certain is that? Clearly, the choice and interpretation of these terms can be very significant. For a fascinating insight on this, see CIA analyst Sherman Kent's previously classified report Words of Estimative Probability (pdf). Other research has studied individual differences in people's perceptions of probability—and created some fun graphics showing the results.

Estimative probability is also critical in medicine. If exact numbers aren't shared, how frequent is a side effect that occurs "rarely"? Specific guides have been created listing associated probabilities for terms such as "likely", "frequent", "occasional" and "rare".

A reader also shared with me a classic chocolate advert of Fry's five boys, with the face of a boy moving from: desperation, pacification, expectation, acclamation and the realisation "it's Fry's".

More word spectrums, including those illustrated here:

Size: tiny - small - medium - large - huge - gigantic

Frequency: never - rarely - occasionally - sometimes - often - always

Talk volume: whisper - murmur - talk - shout - yell - scream

Intelligence: stupid - dim - average - bright - brilliant - genius

Tastiness: disgusting - bland - tasty - delicious

Word spectrum

In a list of names, when should you use "I", and when should you use "Me"?

I confess to having blundered my way through whether it should be Rob, Tom, and I on the podcast, or a podcast with Rob, Tom and me. In other words, in a list of names, of which I am one, should I be using "I" or should I be using "Me"?

A general rule to help you know which to use when is to remember that if an action is being done to or for you, then use "me." Here, you're the object of the sentence. If it's you doing the action, then use "I." In this case, you're the subject of the sentence.

So, in the example in the sketch, the kind owners of the cottage are lending the bike to us both—I'm not the one doing the lending but instead am receiving the bike—so it should be:

"The kind owners lent a bike to Nicky and me."

Conversely, when we cycle off, it's both of us doing the cycling, so here it should be:

To be sure you're nailing it, try removing other names from the list. Often, it makes it obvious which to use. For example, when phrased as "The kind owners lent a bike to I," and "Me cycled to the beach," it's pretty straightforward which is right or wrong.

Also see: Affect effect, less fewer, tandem, by monkeys, Oxford commas

Me or I

RAS Syndrome is Redundant Acronym Syndrome Syndrome. It's when an acronym is followed by a word that's also part of the acronym.

PIN number - Personal Identification Number

ISBN number - International Standard Book Number

HIV virus - Human Immunodeficiency Virus

RSVP please - Répondez S'il Vous Plaît — Reply please

While, in principle, the following word is redundant were we to spell out the acronym, that we tend to include it in everyday speech means it's usually serving a helpful function. Quite often, it's clarifying what you're talking about given many people won't know what the acronym actually stands for (see TLAs).

By the way, ATM is technically an initialism, while PIN is an acronym.

I'd guess you've probably come across RAS Syndrome, too. However, I didn't realise there was a name for it until recently, even though it was coined in New Scientist magazine back in 2001.

Also see acronym or initialism, TLAs, Capitonym, pleonasm

RAS Syndrome

The Pyramid Principle is an approach to getting your message across by starting with the main idea supported by the relevant facts or arguments grouped by linking ideas. In this way, the writer clearly makes their point and shows how each idea supports it rather than having the reader try to piece it together as they muddle through.*

As everyone is different, we can't help others draw inferences different than we intend if we present each point in isolation. Instead, leading the reader through by first showing where you're going then raising and answering questions in turn, helps make the reader's life easier.

Barbara Minto, who presented this idea in her book The Pyramid Principle, distinguishes between our everyday approach of thinking through an issue where we often start bottom-up and ultimately get to, or figure out, our main point at the end. While this may be fine for a memo to reschedule a meeting, it's not ideal for an important proposal. Communicating bottom-up makes the reader work harder throughout and risks losing them along the way. Minto advocates doing the work upfront of organising your ideas and presenting them top-down, in a pyramid fashion, to get to the outcomes you want.

Rather confusingly, a related writing technique for journalism is called inverted pyramid writing.

*I first wrote the last sentence here in reverse while thinking through my point: "In this way, rather than having the reader wonder as they go through what point you're making and how the ideas fit together, you have instead done this work for them." Interesting to compare the two.

The Pyramid Principle

What does biweekly mean to you? How about bimonthly or biannually?

While each of us will have our own, perhaps unambiguous, reaction to it, the word biweekly is interpreted as "twice a week" or "once every two weeks." I know this from personal experience of confusing people en-masse. The dictionary even carefully, if unhelpfully, defines it as meaning either. It's a strange quirk of the English language. But it's so handy, what to do? An excellent, concise solution is the word fortnightly.

Fortnightly has the helpful unambiguous quality that it means "once every fortnight," so "once every two weeks." And it's also just one word. If something happens "two times a week," I think you need to spell it out or use "twice a week" or perhaps "every Monday and Thursday." Or perhaps semi-weekly might give you some mileage.

The same source of confusion applies to the words bimonthly and biannually—to be sure of being understood correctly, it's best to avoid them. Phrases like "every second month," "every two months," "twice a month," or "two times each year" are helpful here.

Ambiguity in how we talk about time is also illustrated in some of my favourite research done by Lera Boroditsky. For example, if I say, "The meeting on Wednesday has been moved forward by two days," when is the meeting now? It turns out that people are split on whether the meeting is now on Monday or on Friday. And I remember a fascinating example of the Kuuk Thayore aboriginal people in Australia who don't use words like left and right, and instead, always use the cardinal directions like north, south, east and west—"Oh, there's an ant on your southwest leg". There's a taster in her talk, How Language Shapes the Way we Think.

Fortnightly

Writing has power. Power grows through repetition. And repetition, should you reuse the last words of a sentence at the start of the next, is called anadiplosis.

Like the amazing addition of alliteration, anadiplosis is a simple device to give more oomph to your words. Words that are barely changed but pack a lot more punch.

Even if you can't remember the specifics, there's something about Yoda's wisdom that make the logic sound impeccable and irresistible and the message deep. Deep, at least partly, from anadiplosis.

"Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering."

I learned about anadiplosis—and pleonasm, and ordering adjectives—from the entertaining and educational, The Elements of Eloquence by Mark Forsyth. Anadiplosis is from the ancient Greek ana meaning again, and diplous meaning double. The Greeks were fond of their techniques for persuasive speeches.

Anadiplosis

Braille is a tactile writing and reading system for the blind and visually impaired. It was invented by Louis Braille when just 15 in 1824. Respect! I don't know about you, but when I've tried braille on signs occasionally, it's always seemed difficult to train my fingers to differentiate the shapes and the dots. Perhaps it would have helped if I'd known how it worked.

Braille is based on a pattern of 6 dots, like a 6 on dice, with different letters, numerals, or sounds being different combinations. It doesn't match the shapes of written letters though, instead breaking the alphabet up into groups of 10. The first 10 letters are combinations of the top 4 dots. The following 10 letters repeat the combinations and add dot 3 in the bottom-left. Then the remaining letters, except w start again adding with dot 6 added. W wasn't in Louis Braille's original French alphabet so appears tacked on at the end.

Since its invention, it's gone through multiple iterations and languages, and there are combinations for punctuation (some common ones formed by shifting down the original 10 combinations), numbers, accented letters, maths symbols, and more. There is also agreed-upon shorthand where a letter may mean a common word eg l for like, and there are contractions where a symbol may mean a sound or set of letters like 'ch'.

The sketch shows the Latin alphabet for modern English braille.

Braille

Is it advise or advice? Devise or device? And if you're using British English, license or licence, practise or practice?

Handily, the general practice is to use an 's' for the verb, and a 'c' for the noun. So advise is something you do, and advice is something you give.

In American English, there is only license and practice for both verbs and nouns. However, in British English, you would you use license if you were licensing someone and what they received would be a licence — with a 'c'. And in British English, you would practise when you went to practice.

Some places suggest thinking of the '-ice' at the end as ice, which is a noun.

A reader suggested another way to help me remember it think of:

License/licence and practise/practice are homophones

Advise vs advice and other s and c's

A pleonasm is the use of redundant words, often in established phrases or idioms.

I tried to write something, but it's hard to beat this excellent excerpt by the comedian George Carlin from When Will Jesus Bring the Pork Chops — spot the pleonasms:

"My fellow countrymen, I speak to you as coequals, knowing you are deserving of the honest truth. And let me warn you in advance, my subject matter concerns a serious crisis caused by an event in my past history...At that particular point in time, I found myself in a deep depression, making mental errors which seemed as though they might threaten my future plans. I am not over-exaggerating.

I needed a new beginning, so I decided to pay a social visit to a personal friend with whom I share the same mutual objectives and who is one of the most unique individuals I have ever personally met. The end result was an un­expected surprise. When I reiterated again to her the fact that I needed a fresh start, she said I was exactly right; and, as an added plus, she came up with a fi­nal solution that was absolutely perfect.

Based on her past experience, she felt we needed to join together in a com­mon bond for a combined total of twenty-four hours a day, in order to find some new initiatives. What a novel innovation! And, as an extra bonus, she presented me with the free gift of a tuna fish. Right away I noticed an immedi­ate positive improvement. And although my recovery is not totally complete, the sum total is I feel much better now knowing I am not uniquely alone.”

Other examples people have shared with me include one-year anniversary, and revert back. The other day, I wrote "new discoveries", which Grammarly helpfully suggested shortening to "discoveries." I also wrote "we haven't met before" before deleting "before" along with a face-palm.

Pleonasm

The magic of a first draft is that the first draft is always perfect. It doesn't matter if it's rubbish, if it's messy, if it doesn't flow, if it lacks personality, or if it won't work. The job of a first draft is to be a draft and get the process started. So however it turns out, the first draft has done its job perfectly.

In the illustrated art collection by Dr Seuss you can see some of the first drafts and iterations of text and images that go to refine the seemingly effortless rhythm, rhyme and combination of text and images from his wacky illustrations.

Donald Schön, in his classic The Reflective Practitioner, goes further by sharing his analysis of design as a reflective conversation – observing each mark sketched on paper informs the next you make. You don't know how it will turn out until you put pen to paper. Seeing what comes out allows you to adapt and modify as you go in a back-and-forth of discovery and evaluation.

Don't worry about your first draft — it'll be perfect.

I read this for the first time in an article by Casey Fowler that's no longer live. Most likely, it originates from the novelist Jane Smiley:

"Every first draft is perfect because all the first draft has to do is exist. It's perfect in its existence. The only way it could be imperfect would be to NOT exist."

The first draft is always perfect

Happy talk is fluff and often self-congratulatory promotional talk, usually intended to be friendly but generally just getting in the way of people trying to get a job done.

On the web, and to be honest, in most places, happy talk must die.

Brenda Ueland, in her book If you Want to Write, put it perhaps the best I have seen:

'Oh, this over-explaining! It is the secret of all boredom. It is like this: You, the writer, go slowly and laboriously with many words, while the reader gropes through it, saying impatiently: “Yes, yes, hurry, hurry up! I see it—I get it! Go on to the next."'

Happy Talk Must Die is a gem from Steve Krug's legendary book on usability, Don't Make Me Think. Here's an excerpt on Happy Talk.

Also from Don't make me think: Omit needless words

Happy talk must die

Whenever I find that I've accidentally written 'proceed' instead of 'carry on', 'affirmative' instead of 'yes', or 'convene' instead of 'meet' I try to remember Churchill's wise words:

"Short words are best and old words when short are the best of all."

Don't be like owl in Winnie the Pooh. Short, old words give power and clarity.

As an illustration of the remarkable power of Churchill's writing, I highly recommend the quick read of We Will All Go Down Fighting to the End, an eye-opening and stirring short collection of Winston Churchill's war speeches.

Short words are best

The Rhyme As Reason Effect suggests that we're more likely to consider something as accurate or truthful when it rhymes. In a lovely study that asked people to consider the accuracy of both rhyming and non-rhyming aphorisms, "Woes unite foes," or "What sobriety conceals, alcohol reveals," for example, were considered more accurate than "Woes unite enemies," or "What sobriety conceals, alcohol unmasks."

A classic example outside of old sayings is OJ Simpson's trial where the defense attorney memorably noted "If the gloves don't fit, you must acquit!"

You can read the study in the delightfully titled paper, Birds of a feather flock conjointly: Rhyme as Reason in Aphorisms (pdf), by Matthew McGlone and Jessica Tofighbakhsh.

In a related note I was always curious how "Beer before wine, you'll feel fine," tallied up with what I heard in the US: "Beer before liquor, never been sicker," or even "Grape or grain but never the twain." It turns out from a neat 2019 study that, whichever way round you rhyme them, they have no effect on your hangover despite how persuasive the Rhyme As Reason effect may be — even after a few beers.

The Rhyme As Reason Effect

When writing for the web every word counts. We scan pages, instructions, and emails, sometimes skipping reading completely. So it's key to make sure that every word is doing a job. Over the years I find there are words that I routinely trim from web copy to save space and keep focus while preserving intent. While context always matters and these can't be cut everywhere, here are a handy few that regularly get the cut from web copy:

Obviously, clearly, of course and the like — if it's obvious then don't write it, if it's not, then it's not relevant. If it's obvious to you and not to me then no need to make me feel stupid reading it

Note, please note, note that, notice — we're noting it by writing it so trim the noise by leaving out reminders for readers to note things. If you really want someone to notice you can use the extra space from removing it by making it bigger or bolder

That — can often be trimmed without changing the meaning of a sentence

Exact — very often makes no difference to a sentence

Famous — if it's famous then maybe I've heard of it. If I haven't, then perhaps it's not so famous

Current — if someone asks for my age or job then it's normal to assume they're not asking for what it used to be

Successfully — it's always nice to trim a long word that doesn't add a lot

Have — like 'that', it can often be removed without changing the meaning of a sentence

All, total — when I take these out I often find it's the default assumption anyway

Interestingly, surprisingly and the like — it may be interesting or surprising to you, but I think it's polite, and briefer, to let the reader decide if it's interesting or surprising for them

If you're writing for the web, try removing some and see if it still works.

Micro-editing redundant words

Sentences that have been written in a passive voice are generally less powerful than sentences that have been written in an active voice.

Active writing hits harder than passive writing.

It's easy for passive writing to slip in. Here's a handy technique to help you spot passive writing in your sentences. Try adding "...by monkeys" to the end of the sentence. If it still makes sense, then there's a good chance it's passive.

In the example in the sketch: "The bug will be fixed" you can tack on "...by monkeys" and all makes sense. It's passive. Passive writing is an easy way to distance ourselves and our opinions from what we're writing. Active writing takes ownership and responsibility and connects with the reader. "We'll fix the bug. Sorry about that."

I love the "...by monkeys" example for spotting passive writing as it vividly shows how responsibility disappears.

This super example and technique is from Monzo's excellent tone of voice guidelines. Handy for writing copy on the web, for your brand, and for everyday life.

You might like the excellent Hemingway app to spot other non-Hemingway slips in your writing. I ran this post through it and cut out a lot of fluff.

I also love the classic The Elements of Style by Strunk and White.

By monkeys

Remarkably, when we describe a noun we almost always, unconsciously, arrange adjectives in this order: opinion, size, age, shape, colour, origin, material, purpose.

If you try mixing them up in a different order it just doesn’t sound right. Compare, for example, a super little Italian coffee, to an Italian little super coffee. Or as Mark Forsyth points out in The Elements of Eloquence: How to turn the perfect English phrase, you can have a great green dragon, but not a green great one.

Ordering adjectives

A capitonym is a word that changes meaning and sometimes pronunciation when capitalised.

For years as a kid, no joke, I couldn’t understand why there was a polish club at the bottom of our road. Yes, it was a Polish club.

Capitonyms are also heteronyms when they change pronunciation as for polish and Polish.

Capitonym

We all know that you make an acronym by taking the initial letters of a set of words and putting them together. So Random Access Memory becomes RAM, or the United States becomes the US. But I only found out recently that these two examples are actually different.

An acronym is when the initials of a set of words are said as a word, like laser (light amplification by stimulated emission of radiation), radar (radio detection and ranging), sonar (sound navigation and ranging), NATO (North Atlantic Treaty Organization) or NASA (National Aeronautics and Space Administration).

An initialism, by contrast, is when a set of initials are pronounced as letters when you say them, like FBI, CIA, US, BBC or CD.

This sketch was revised for my book Big Ideas Little Pictures. Here's the original.

Acronyms and initialisms

This one rewards a little close attention—looking at each of the words and figuring out their different meanings or sounds.

I’ve always loved heteronyms and how we can have a single word spelt the same and yet pronounced quite differently — like read — and how that clearly makes English a crazy language to learn. And, as you probably do too, I pretty much woke up at night thinking how you could sort words into groups of the same or different spelling and the same or different sounds and begin to make sense of these curious groups of words like homographs, homophones and heteronyms.

Words with different spellings and different sounds generally just mean different words.

There are nice buckets of other words too, like, contranyms — words that can be their own opposite. And also aptronyms (good for nominative determinism).

I did think a third axis of the same or different meaning may give the complete picture but would probably just serve to confuse things.

Some Greek: homo—same, hetero—different, graph—written, phone—sound

Mad props to the incredible poem The Chaos by Gerard Nolst Trenité. The poem gives an amazing number of examples of some of the craziness of the English language. Here's an excerpt from the start:

Dearest creature in creation
Studying English pronunciation,
   I will teach you in my verse
   Sounds like corpse, corps, horse and worse.

I will keep you, Susy, busy,
Make your head with heat grow dizzy;
   Tear in eye, your dress you'll tear;
   Queer, fair seer, hear my prayer.

Pray, console your loving poet,
Make my coat look new, dear, sew it!
   Just compare heart, hear and heard,
   Dies and diet, lord and word.

Sword and sward, retain and Britain
(Mind the latter how it's written).
   Made has not the sound of bade,
   Say-said, pay-paid, laid but plaid.

Now I surely will not plague you
With such words as vague and ague,
   But be careful how you speak,
   Say: gush, bush, steak, streak, break, bleak...

Homonyms, homographs, homophones, heteronyms… 

A handy journalist technique whereby you write in such a way that even a cursory glance at an article gives the key facts, and the further you read down you increase your knowledge with the next most important facts. As opposed to say, a chronological account of an event where the important stuff may be at the end. The BBC at least are great examples of this, for instance in a Premier League match write-up.

Given how people read on the web generally, it’s pretty good to keep in mind for anything you write on the web too.

Also see: the best writing is rewriting, front load names to cue attention

Inverted pyramid writing

Muphry's law states that when criticizing spelling or grammar, you’ll make a mistake yourself.

Muphry's Law is a variation of Murphy’s law which is: "If anything can go wrong, it will."

Muphry's Law teaches me to be humble and more tolerant of errors.

Muphry’s Law

Winnie the Pooh teaches us how to speak plainly and avoid Owl Speak.

There’s a surprising amount of wisdom in A. A. Milne’s classic stories of Winnie-the-Pooh. If you haven’t read them for a long time, you could do much worse than try them again.

As one small example, I find there’s a lot of Owl Speak around as we get older, where we could all probably benefit from a dose of Pooh’s simplicity. Owl Speak includes never using a short, simple word when a long and complicated one would do. For example, in one revealing exchange, Owl explains:

“Well, the customary procedure in such cases is as follows.”

“What does Crustimoney Proseedcake mean?” said Pooh.

…”It means, the Thing to Do.” says Owl.

We learn more and more Owl Speak the more time we spend in school, only to have to work to remove it when we are older.

All the Winnie-the-Pooh books are lovely to read: Winnie-the-Pooh, The House at Pooh Corner, When we Were Very Young, and Now we are Six. Both quotes are from The House at Pooh Corner. Or, if you prefer to have the wisdom called out, you could try The Tao of Pooh, by Benjamin Hoff.

This sketch was updated for my book Big Ideas Little Pictures

How to speak plainly, by Pooh Bear

I find myself linking to this article about why your links should never say click here for links on the web that I thought I should just get it down for easy reference. The solution, generally, is to rewrite your sentence. For more about writing for the web, click here. Only joking, check out more tips about writing for the web.

Also see: Omit unnecessary words, use styling instead of colons, cognitive overhead and the best writing is rewriting. 

Rewrite to avoid click here

— and much nicer than using parentheses (). And —to go the full mile —why not use an en dash when you’re separating your page numbers 1–5 or months May–Sep next time?

Most writing tools and OSes have tricks to do these automatically for you.

Know your dashes: the hyphen, en dash and em dash

A contranym is a word that can be its own opposite.

Contranyms — like a heteronym, portemanteau, palindrome and semordnilap — are neat things to look out for. Like how you can dust something to pick up dust from a surface and dust that surface to remove dust from it.

I learned this from Kathryn Schulz’ excellent article, What part of “No, totally” don’t you understand, about how “no, totally” came to mean “yes.” 

Contranym

The best reference I found on quotations was the quotation section in Larry Trask’s Guide to Punctuation. Alongside clarifications [ ] and suspensions … it contains rules on fun things like quotes in quotes, when to capitalise, dealing with mistakes [sic], adding emphasis [emphasis added], and punctuation inside or outside. On this last point he suggests:

"You may follow your own preference in this matter, so long as you are consistent. If you opt for logical punctuation [putting the punctuation outside the quote], you will have the satisfaction of knowing that you are on the side of the angels, but you should also expect some grim opposition from the other side [that prefers punctuation on the inside]."
— Larry Trask

Quotiquette: The etiquette of quoting

For a long time, I’ve kept my ear (and eye) out for heteronyms: words that are written the same but said differently. Homonyms are easy to spot - things like chip (food, processor), or bark (dog, tree) - but heteronyms are sneaky and you don’t notice them as easily. Fiddly things like windy, present, read, or close.

It always strikes me they must make English a pain to learn - “what do you mean read can be said as red or reed??! How’m I supposed to know that??”

A few other common ones (try to spot both pronunciations, it’s a little like the old out-cube/in-cube Necker illusion): bow, does, dove, import, lead, project, refuse, sow, tear, minute…

Also known as a homograph (homo - same, graph - writing)

Hat tip to Richard Stevens for his nifty vintage-style heteronym list

Heteronym: spell it the same, say it differently

One of the best things we did when on a significant traveling trip was to make our journal as a mindmap. There are all sorts of reasons why we found it better and more enjoyable to do at the time and better and more enjoyable once returned. Get a better idea than this sketchplanation by flicking through our mindmap travel journal

Try a mindmap travel journal

And, ideally, only exclaim exclamations. Woah!

Only quote quotes

Though the words are linked through two simple connections. Books used to be big and heavy, so rather than travelling market stalls the first shops for books were in fact stationary - stationarius. And writing implements, paper and the like began to be sold at these stationary stores. Various sites will explain the history.

Writing sketches