When it comes to spelling, you’ve probably relied on some old rules of thumb, such as “I before E, except after C” (which actually has too many exceptions to qualify as a rule). But sometimes these mnemonic devices get us only so far, and we’re left scratching our heads wondering which letter is next — even if we’ve seen the word written down hundreds of times before.

And it’s not just average people who are plagued by these confounding conundrums. Many professional writers and editors also fall victim to spelling mistakes. Our editorial team is no exception, as we too get tripped up by tricky words from time to time and have to look them up to double-check our work. Let’s look at a few pesky words that our editors struggle to spell correctly.

Spelling “necessary” is a frequent uphill battle for Rebekah Brandes, an assistant editor at Nice News. Her biggest issue is mixing up the number of “C’s” and “S’s,” resulting in common misspellings such as “neccessary,” “necesary,” and “neccesary.”

Sarah Kearns, an associate editor at Britannica’s Content Studio, is among several members of our team tripped up by double letters. This is especially true for the word “recommend,” with Sarah saying, “I always think there are two ‘C’s’ in it.”

Some proper nouns are a headache to spell out; just ask Better Report editor Erin McCarthy, who struggles with “Massachusetts.” She even encountered issues when replying to the question about common misspellings, saying she “had to use autocorrect just now.”

By now you’ll notice a trend of double letters being a particularly common problem area. History Facts editor Meg Neal would agree: She trips up with regard to spelling “occurred,” which ends up misspelled as “ocurred” or “occured.” 

Assistant photo editor Rachel Callahan points to “psychology” as a word whose spelling always gives her pause. It’s not necessarily the silent “P” that’s the issue, but rather the temptation to drop the “H” and misspell it as the phonetically identical “psycology.”

Kelsey Morrison is the editor of House Outlook, a website and newsletter offering home cleaning tips and other essential advice. Given her area of expertise, it’s a bit ironic that she struggles with spelling “vacuum.” “In my heart,” she says, “I feel like there should be two ‘C’s.’”

If you’re wondering whether it’s “publicly” or “publically,” you’re not alone. Interesting Facts editor Brooke Robinson finds this to be her spelling weak spot, saying, “I have to look up whether it’s ‘publicly’ or ‘publically.’ Every single time.”

As the editor of Word Smarts, Jennifer Freeman is our resident expert when it comes to spelling and grammar. But she admits to being tripped up by the spelling of “millennial” and the similar “millennium,” as she always struggles to remember the double “N.”

The word “accommodate” causes headaches for Daily Passport editor Peter Vanden Bos, who forgets to include a double “M” almost every time. On the flip side, Peter gets flustered by the lack of double letters in “pastime,” admitting he feels like it “should be ‘pasttime.’”

Senior managing editor Allie Takeda finds the spelling of “rhythm” to be particularly perilous. She says, “I always want to add an extra ‘Y,’” which would result in the errant spelling “rhythym.”

Nice News managing editor Natalie Stone finds herself perpetually tongue-tied by how to spell the word “tongue.” She says, “I always ask myself if the ‘U’ goes after the ‘O’ or before the ‘E,’” as in “tounge” (incorrect) or “tongue” (correct). 

Editor’s note: Same. — Jennifer Freeman

Last but not least, a spelling that always gives me pause is “pickle” — and I say this as a person who loves pickles and would happily eat a jar of them every day if it were socially acceptable. I often find myself typing out “pickel” before catching the misspelling.

Easter is considered the most important festival in the Christian calendar, commemorating the resurrection of Christ, however the the word “Easter” itself didn’t begin with Christianity. There are a few potential origin stories.. It’s often said that Easter was named after a pagan fertility goddess — but the truth behind that is not nearly as settled as some believe.

The pagan fertility goddess theory comes from the work of the eighth-century Anglo-Saxon monk and scholar known as the Venerable Bede. In his Medieval Latin treatise De temporum ratione (“The Reckoning of Time”), Bede wrote that the English word “Easter” was derived from Eostre (or Eostrae), the name of an Anglo-Saxon goddess possibly associated with spring and fertility, in whose honor feasts were celebrated during the springtime. 

Modern scholars, however, have questioned that claim. Encyclopaedia Britannica notes, “In the modern era the connection between Eostre and spring has been disputed; she may have been a local protective deity rather than a fertility figure.” The Oxford English Dictionary extends the dispute: “This explanation is not confirmed by any other source, and the goddess has been suspected by some scholars to be an invention of Bede’s.” 

The problem is that Eostre is not mentioned in any other ancient writing, and there appear to be no shrines, altars, or documents testifying to her worship. It’s possible that Bede extrapolated the name of a goddess from the Old English name for the month of April, Ēastermōnað, potentially because some figure was celebrated during that month, and he wanted to name it.

So why do we call the Christian holiday Easter? In modern scholarly circles, there is now widespread consensus that the word comes from in albis, an ancient Latin phrase that is understood as the plural of alba (“dawn”). When it became connected to the Christian celebration of the resurrection of Christ, the word went through a transformation to become eostarum in Old High German, which later changed again to become the modern German Ostern and the English “Easter.” In other words, the name Easter may simply reflect, etymologically, the dawning of spring, during which the Christian resurrection festival fell — without the influence of any pagan goddess. The exact date of Easter changes every year, as it is celebrated on the Sunday following the first full moon after the northern spring equinox.

In an English translation of a poem by the 13th-century Persian poet Rumi, the speaker observes, “Inside each of us, there’s continual autumn. Our leaves fall and are blown out over the water.” The poem emphasizes cycles of transformation and growth, akin to the changing seasons. Here, “continual” refers to a recurring event: autumn. The adjective is often used this way, as a synonym for “recurring,” to describe something that happens frequently or cyclically, with pauses in between.

The term “continual” has two uses: first, as a reappearing action or event (as described above), and second, as something that continues indefinitely without interruption. The latter definition is quite old, dating to the 14th century. But can a similar word — “continuous” — take the place of “continual”? In certain contexts, yes.

“Continual” and “continuous” sometimes overlap in meaning, both deriving from the Latin continuus, meaning “joining, connecting with something; following one after another.” “Continuous” also describes an action that continues indefinitely, though it emerged later, in the 17th century. By etymology standards, either word can describe uninterrupted action or events.

However, since the mid-19th century, many commentators have recommended distinguishing the two, favoring “continuous” for a nonstop action and “continual” for repeated actions with pauses. Consider this example: Rain might fall continuously (the adverb form) during a long storm, but continual showers occur again and again throughout the wet season. 

So, when describing an action that recurs with interruptions or in cycles, as seen in Rumi’s poem, the preferred term is “continual.” For something nonstop, use “continuous.” While the two words share historical overlap, being mindful of this distinction can improve your writing. 

When describing someone’s appearance, you might refer to their build as athletic or their facial structure as handsome. And while these familiar adjectives are effective, they are also relatively generic and don’t paint a very detailed picture.  

Instead of defaulting to the same old descriptors, it’s worth broadening your vocabulary by adding a few more expressive and interesting alternatives. Here’s a look at 10 appearance adjectives to give your verbal portraiture more color and specificity.

In relation to physical appearance, the word “sanguine” is defined by Merriam-Webster as “having a healthy red complexion.” It’s often associated with a cheerful temperament — think Santa and his rosy cheeks. “Sanguine” was coined in the 14th century from the Latin sanguis, meaning “blood.” It’s also related to a common belief from the Middle Ages that having well-balanced levels of blood resulted in being strong and confident and boasting a healthy reddish glow. While science has since disproved this, the idea gave us “sanguine,” which remains in use today.

English speakers have been using “fastidious” since the mid-15th century, though it now has a different meaning than the Latin from which it’s derived. It comes from the word fastidium, meaning “aversion or disgust.” In fact, “fastidious” once meant that something was disgusting. But over time the adjective shed that unsavory connotation, and we now use it to describe something “excessively careful or detailed.” As an example, you might refer to someone who takes great pride in their personal grooming routine as fastidious, especially if they carefully shape their beard or always wear perfectly pressed clothes.

In a very literal sense, a patrician was a member of the original families of ancient Rome. But since 1533, the word has been used as a more figurative adjective to describe physical features that give the impression of nobility. For instance, prominent cheekbones and a furrowed brow are considered patrician, as they’re similar to the characteristics seen on ancient Roman statues depicting great statesmen and others of high rank.

If someone is drop-dead gorgeous, they could aptly be described as pulchritudinous. While the sound of it doesn’t quite match the meaning, this adjective is derived from the Latin pulcher, meaning “beautiful.” The noun version, “pulchritude,” dates to around 1400, but according to the Online Etymology Dictionary, it was made into an adjective more recently. “Pulchritudinous” was coined in 1840 in a humorous piece found in a Boston-area newspaper.

“Voluminous,” from the Latin volumen, dates to the early 17th century. The Latin word referred to a rolled-up wreath with writing on it and later came to describe works that contained many written volumes — nothing to do with appearance. Today it’s defined as anything “marked by great volume or bulk,” including the luscious locks found on a thick head of hair, or the impressive muscles of a bodybuilder.

In Latin, the word aquila means “eagle” — a bird defined, in part, by its lengthy, hooked beak. By the late 16th century, this gave rise to the term “aquiline,” used to describe any human with a nose possessing a broad curve and slight hook, much like an eagle’s beak.

If someone is bald or just returned from the spa after getting a fresh wax, they could be described as glabrous. This term, meaning “having a surface without hairs,” has been used in that context since 1640. It comes from the Latin glaber, which translates to “bald.” The word is also frequently used in more clinical scientific contexts, in reference to skin that was never covered with hair to begin with.

The word “alabaster” means “usually white and translucent gypsum often carved into vases and ornaments.” While that usage has been around since the 14th century, a more figurative definition came about in the 1570s, according to the Online Etymology Dictionary. People began using “alabaster” in reference to pale, smooth skin with a similar texture and tone to those alabaster vases and ornaments.

“Euryprosopic” describes a short, broad face, derived from the Greek words eury (meaning “wide”) and prosōpon (“face”). It’s the opposite of “leptoprosopic” — a term for a person with a long, narrow face (lepto is Greek for “thin” or “slender”).

When we’re in kindergarten, or perhaps even preschool, we start learning about the sounds the letters of the alphabet make. Vowels are big and open, “S” has a hissing sound, and “D,” “B,” “T,” and other consonants have firm, confident sounds. Then we start to put those letters together to make words, using the principles of phonetics. But as we learn to read, we inevitably come across words that don’t fit standard phonetic rules. For example, the “B” is silent in “doubt,” and “through,” “though,” “tough,” and “thought” don’t rhyme, despite their similar spellings. 

Why do some English words have spellings and pronunciations that seem at odds? Answering that linguistic question requires a history lesson, or several history lessons: on the impacts of the Norman Conquest, the invention of the printing press, the Great Vowel Shift, a spelling fad to Latinize English words, and the multitude of loanwords English adopted from other languages.

In 1066, forces of Normandy, a province of northern France, overthrew the government of England, led by William the Conqueror. As a result of the Norman Conquest, thousands of French words entered the English lexicon, mainly focused on law, government, nobility, and culture. 

French spelling is inconsistent with English spelling, and so many of the words from that time period are spelled in ways that don’t match the phonetic rules we’re used to.

Here are some examples of English words with French influence: court, parliament, castle, servant, fashion, attorney, council, bailiff, chancellor, soldier, dungeon, siege, sergeant, guard, poultry, veal, biscuit, fashion, mirror, castle, clothes, and cuisine.

In the mid-15th century, Johannes Gutenberg invented the mechanical movable type printing press, enabling the mass production of books, increasing literacy, and revolutionizing information sharing in Europe. William Caxton then introduced the printing press to England in 1476.

As a result of the invention of the printing press, printers, rather than scribes, determined the spelling of words, and they sought to standardize these spellings.

Around this same time and for two centuries thereafter, the pronunciation of English words changed in what is known as the Great Vowel Shift.

That shift, with vowels pronounced higher in the mouth, likely occurred as a result of a mixing of regional dialects, the rising middle class in London, and increased contact with French and Latin. Even though spoken English evolved, the spelling of words after the invention of the printing press did not.

As a consequence, the pronunciation of English words became unmoored from their spelling. That’s why, for example, reading aloud Chaucer’s The Canterbury Tales (published from 1387 to 1400) sounds so foreign to our ears. The main difference between Chaucer’s language (Middle English) and our modern English is the pronunciation of the “long” vowels. For example, in Middle English, “sheep” sounded like our word “shape,” “read” sounded like “raid,” and “loaf” sounded like “lawf.” 

By the end of the Great Vowel Shift, those words were pronounced the way we pronounce them now, yet the spelling of the words remained frozen in time. The Great Vowel Shift is a primary reason for the mismatch between modern English spelling and pronunciation.

There were so many disjunctions between English spelling and pronunciation that in the 16th century attempts were made to reform English spellings. For example, in 1569, linguist John Hart devised a new phonetic alphabet to remedy what he considered a fatal flaw in our language system. His philosophy was that “we write as we speak” and “the writing shuld have so mani Letters, as the pronunciation neadeth of voices, and no more, or lesse.” (It didn’t catch on.)

In a more successful spelling revolution, American lexicographer Noah Webster published The American Spelling Book in 1783, followed by the American Dictionary of the English Language in 1828, which established notable differences between British and American English spelling. Webster’s primary aim was to standardize spelling in accordance with pronunciation, and as a result, he created a uniquely American set of vocabulary. Changes include omitting the “u” in “ou” words such as “colour/color” and “honour/honor,” and turning words such as “travelled” and “defence” into “traveled” and “defense.” 

In the 15th century, some printers added letters to words to reflect their Latin roots. To this day, those letters remain silent. Here’s a sampling, capitalizing the added letter and referencing the Latin root (in which the added letter would have been pronounced): deBt (debitum), douBt (dubitare), musCle (musculus), iSland (insula), receiPt (receptus), saLmon (salmo), reiGn (regnum), columN (columna), solemN (sollemnis), autumN (autumnus), soLder (solidare), and indiCt (indictare).

Printers did the same with Greek-based words. Some examples: asthma (in English originally asma) from the Greek asthma;diarrhea (in English originally diaria) from the Greek diarrhoia; and phlegm (in English originally fleme) from the Greek phlegma.

About 80% of the English lexicon consists of loanwords from over 350 other languages. As a result, the spellings of many of those words don’t match their pronunciation. For maximum effect, read these words aloud, contrasting the phonetics with the spelling:

From French: bouillon, vinaigrette, protégé, ballet, bouquet, boutique, silhouette, etiquette, faux pas, hors d’oeuvres, and rendezvous.

From German: dachshund, pinochle, kindergarten, doppelganger, zeitgeist, kitsch, poltergeist, sauerkraut, Rottweiler, wiener, leitmotif, and schadenfreude.

From Spanish: burrito, mosquito, guerrilla, vigilante, coyote, daiquiri, guacamole, marijuana, merengue, mojito, peccadillo, piñata, quesadilla, tequila, and tortilla. 

From Native American languages: caribou, moccasin, raccoon, succotash, toboggan, papoose, jicama, llama, quinoa, buccaneer, canoe, and piranha.  

From Asian languages: emoji, tycoon, kudzu, bonsai, karate, shiitake, chow mein, ketchup, and kumquat.

The English language is a melting pot of influences, seen clearly through spelling. It can be tricky to remember all the rules and exceptions, but when you dig into the etymology of every outlier word, you uncover a piece of history.