Much like eating a pint of ice cream while watching guilty-pleasure television, using adverbs, tempting as it may be, is best done sparingly. Just ask author Stephen King, who declared, “The road to hell is paved with adverbs,” in the writing guide/memoir On Writing. Where did King get the idea that adverbs are such a negative part of speech? And despite his feelings on the topic, isn’t it possible to use them in a manner that adds color and intrigue? Let’s examine why King might have his curious opinion and how adverbs are used — for better or worse.
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Adverbs are similar to adjectives, which are used to describe nouns. Adverbs, however, can describe verbs, adjectives, entire sentences, and even other adverbs. Generally, adverbs end in “-ly” — and “generally” just so happens to be one. But there are plenty of exceptions to the “-ly” rule, including words such as “soon,” “almost,” and “often,” just to name a few.
The most common use for adverbs is to modify verbs and describe how a certain action is performed. You may say, “They jogged happily down the street,” or “The musician sang beautifully.” “Happily” and “beautifully” are adverbs that modify the verbs “jogged” and “sang.” King’s complaint isn’t without merit, though. While they can provide detail and context, as in the examples above, adverbs are often superfluous. For example, “Beatrice yelled loudly” is redundant, given the word “yelled” already implies loudness.
When modifying adjectives, adverbs are intensifiers that add strength to the descriptor. For example, someone may be “exceptionally strong” or a hill could be “very large.” King might give the writing advice that if you’re using “very” or “really,” chances are there’s a more descriptive word you can choose instead of a clunky adverb/adjective combo; rather than “very large,” say “enormous.”
If you’re using an adverb to modify a complete sentence, the adverb should appear at the start: “Clearly, she didn’t study for the test.” Other examples of this kind of adverb usage include “actually,” “basically,” “fortunately,” and so on. Lastly, adverbs can alter other adverbs, as in, “She never fully accepted the truth,” or “The kid ran around the room very energetically.” These add extra emphasis when you’re trying to hammer home a point.
In general, using adverbs is straightforward in a grammatical sense. In King’s diatribe against adverbs, he goes on to say, “Good writing is often about letting go of fear.” To make your writing stronger and more interesting, let go of your fear and take the red pen to those adverbs. Replace them with stronger nouns and verbs that convey your meaning better than a basic adverb such as “very” ever could.
Bennett Kleinman is a New York City-based staff writer for Optimism. He is also a freelance comedy writer, devoted New York Yankees and New Jersey Devils fan, and thinks plain seltzer is the best drink ever invented.
As a lover of historical dramas, I’m captivated by elaborate costumes, immersive details, and poetic dialogue. However, I’m easily disillusioned by inaccuracies. It’s frustrating to be pulled out of the moment by a mismatched accent or a faulty turn of phrase, and a common offender in period dramas is the use of words, phrases, or idioms that don’t quite align with the historical setting.
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These thoughts arose while I was watching an episode of the TV series Outlander, set in 18th-century Scotland. In a tense exchange, protagonist Claire Fraser greets one of her adversaries, the Duke of Sandringham. Upon expressing his delight to see her, Claire replies, “I wish I could say the same.” Visibly stunned, the duke responds, “You cut me to the quick, but I suppose I deserve it.” This made me wonder: Is this idiom accurate for the time period? And what does “cut to the quick” mean?
After a bit of research, I can confirm: The idiom was historically accurate for the time, and it’s actually older. “Cut to the quick” describes the act of deeply hurting someone emotionally. For example, “His petty insult about her personal life cut to the quick.” This phrase uses a long-lost definition of “quick.” Instead of meaning “fast” (as we use it today), this version of “quick” hearkens back to an archaic usage meaning “alive” or “animated,” derived from the Old English word cwic, meaning “characterized by the presence of life.” While rare today, this definition has been in use since the 12th century.
By the 14th century, “quick” also referred to the sensitive flesh beneath the fingernail, still called that today. This hints at the idiom’s usage; it involves “cutting” through the dead skin until you reach the “quick,” that is, the living, most sensitive part. Metaphorically, “cutting to the quick” causes an emotional injury so severe that it reaches the deepest, most sensitive parts of a person.
This idiom became mainstream in the 16th century and has remained popular ever since. It’s an excellent example of how language evolves while preserving echoes of its past. While Outlander may take historical liberties, at least in this case, the use of “cut to the quick” was spot-on.
Featured image credit: Farknot Architect/ Shutterstock
Rachel is a Washington, D.C.-based freelance writer. When she's not writing, you can find her wandering through a museum, exploring a new city, or advocating the importance of the Oxford comma.
I love a good flea market. The thrill of perusing stalls of vintage clothing and finding quirky knickknacks and long-forgotten books is a favorite weekend pastime. While I’ve walked away with some knockout finds — including my favorite reading chair — I’ve never had the misfortune of encountering the tiny pests mentioned in the market name. So, where did the term “flea market” come from, and does it have anything to do with real fleas?
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The origin of the “flea market” title remains somewhat of a mystery, though the etymology almost certainly traces back to the French marché aux puces, meaning “market of fleas.” But how did a market of secondhand treasures earn such an unseemly name? The most likely tale points to a bargain hunter who declared Saint-Ouen market — the largest outdoor bazaar in 1880s Paris — “le marché aux puces.” The market, lined with stalls of upholstered furniture and pre-owned clothing, seemed a natural place for nuisance insects to take up residency, and the eccentric moniker stuck.
This anecdotal etymology is supported by historical references, including an early-20th-century mention in G.S. Dougherty’s book In Europe: “It is called the ‘Flea’ Market because there are so many secondhand articles sold of all kinds that they are believed to gather fleas.” According to the Oxford English Dictionary, this is the oldest recorded mention of the English name.
A second, less on-the-nose theory points to mid-19th-century street renovations in Paris. As boulevards were widened, displaced shop owners lost their storefronts and were forced to “flee” to outdoor market stalls. This theory contends that the markets were initially called “flee markets” in English, and the spelling morphed into “flea.”Regardless of which theory you subscribe to, “flea” and “flee” might be linked by an earlier linguistic root. Some etymologists believe both derive from an Old English word, fleon, meaning “to flee.” This could explain how the name of a tiny jumping insect came to be associated with quick movement and, eventually, the bustling outdoor markets that they (allegedly) call home.
In any case, by the time secondhand markets became mainstream in the U.S. in the 1960s, the name “flea market” had lost much of its negative connotation. Today, no one, myself included, seems to bat an eye while purchasing antiques from a so-called “flea” market, a testament to the evolution of language (and love for a good bargain hunt).
Rachel is a Washington, D.C.-based freelance writer. When she's not writing, you can find her wandering through a museum, exploring a new city, or advocating the importance of the Oxford comma.
Much like we associate “D’oh!” with Homer Simpson or “Good grief!” with Charlie Brown, the exclamation “Bah, humbug!” is forever intertwined with Ebenezer Scrooge, the protagonist of Charles Dickens’ 1843 novella A Christmas Carol. But the word “humbug” existed prior to the work of fiction in which it was popularized, and furthermore, Scrooge’s grumpy message is often misinterpreted.
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The word “bah” has been used since the early 19th century as “an expression of contempt or disagreement.” But “humbug” was coined around 50 years earlier. (If you’re doing the math, “humbug” was 1750s slang, “bah” was from the 1810s, and Dickens wrote A Christmas Carol in 1843.) “Humbug” originally meant “a hoax; a jesting or befooling trick,” and was commonly used around that time to describe a sham or other misleading event.
When Scrooge shouts, “Bah, humbug!,” you might think he holds feelings of hatred toward Christmas. While that could certainly be argued, his use of the word “humbug” in the mid-19th century suggests something far more specific. Scrooge is using “humbug” to imply that Christmas is a sham, where people are tricked into feeling cheerful and giving away their hard-earned money. He’s using “humbug” not to express disdain, but rather to warn others that Christmas is a well-fabricated lie where people embrace false joy. If you’re familiar with the story of A Christmas Carol (the Muppets’ version is my favorite), you know that the ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future bring around Old Ebenezer to change his beliefs and share in the joys of the Christmas season.
Outside of Dickens’ Christmas tale, “humbug” was a favorite word of showman P.T. Barnum, one of the founders of the Barnum & Bailey Circus. In 1865, Barnum wrote Humbugs of the World — a book where he argued against those who criticized his circus as, well, humbug. Barnum said that the term “consists in putting on glittering appearances … to insure success.” In essence, he was arguing that something can’t be a sham if people get their money’s worth.
Bennett Kleinman is a New York City-based staff writer for Optimism. He is also a freelance comedy writer, devoted New York Yankees and New Jersey Devils fan, and thinks plain seltzer is the best drink ever invented.
For those of us who like to gloss over details sometimes, nothing will ever beat Elaine Benes’ patented phrase “yada yada yada,” but “et cetera” is a close second. From Latin, “et cetera” means “and the other things, the rest,” and it’s often used at the end of lists to imply there are more entries than those explicitly enumerated. But rather than wrap this edition up quickly by closing with “et cetera” now, let’s take a closer look at the phrase’s origins and meaning.
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Though we most often see them together in English, both et and cetera are Latin words on their own. Et means “and,” while cetera is the plural form of ceterus, meaning “the other… which remains.” Today, you’re likely to see the term written as two words, (incorrectly) as a single “etcetera,” or as an abbreviated “etc.”
The abbreviation of “etc.” is so common today that someone is likely to understand its usage even without knowing the full phrase, but there is an earlier abbreviation that has fallen out of use. Going back to the 15th century, there are writings that use the abbreviation “&c.” (The first symbol is the ampersand, which means “and.”) This particular usage was extended to formal letter writing, as it was common to use “&c.” later in the letter to replace the title of the person to whom the letter was addressed. Though far less common today, there’s evidence of people writing “&c.” as late as the 1970s.
You may also come across the Latin abbreviation et al., short for et alii (masculine), et aliae (feminine), or et alia (neuter), but this isn’t a substitution for “et cetera.” The Latin phrase translates to “and others.” Despite similarities to “et cetera,” et al. is mainly used as a substitute for multiple names strictly in a bibliographical context. You’re likely to see et al. in written works with many citations. We hope that helps you sort through your Latin phrases, abbreviations, lists, etc.
Bennett Kleinman is a New York City-based staff writer for Optimism. He is also a freelance comedy writer, devoted New York Yankees and New Jersey Devils fan, and thinks plain seltzer is the best drink ever invented.
Discover how the colors red, green, and yellow became the universal signals for stop, go, and caution, as we trace the origins back to 19th-century railroads and the science of light.
It’s common knowledge that green means “go,” red means “stop,” and blue means you’d better pull over and hope for a warning this time. But before motor vehicles existed and the rules of the road were established, the relationship between “green” and “go” didn’t exist. This connection was established in the 1840s, when British railroads adopted a new color-coded warning system to alert train conductors. Over the next century, it evolved into the green, yellow, and red traffic-light system still used today.
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If we look to nature, we can find answers as to why the color red was originally selected by railroad operators to convey a message of dire warning. According to a physicist, red shades are seen most clearly through fog and smoke and the eye’s receptors for red are located in the center, which will produce the sharpest image, making it a natural choice for the warning. Red also has the longest wavelength of any of the colors found in the rainbow, meaning that the human eye can see it from a far greater distance than other colors. Because of these scientific factors, red was the obvious choice for “stop,” as it allowed for plenty of time for a train to slow down.
Green, however, was initially chosen for a different purpose than “go.” If a train conductor saw a green light, it meant “proceed with caution,” whereas a plain white light meant “full steam ahead.” But various accidents made it clear that plain white wasn’t the best choice. There are stories of conductors who mistook the white stars in the sky and other lights unconnected to the train line as a sign to proceed, causing many possibly avoidable mishaps. In time, plain white lights were eliminated from the warning system entirely and green was reassigned to mean “go.”
In terms of visible light, green falls roughly halfway on the spectrum between red and violet. That means it’s still visible from afar, though not quite as far away as red. This makes green the ideal color for “go,” as a driver can still see it from down the road, but there’s no need for extra time to stop or react quickly. Yellow and orange fall between red and green in terms of visible wavelength, making those colors the perfect choice for alerting people to proceed with caution.
In 1935, the Federal Highway Administration standardized the three-color system for traffic lights across the country to lessen intersection confusion. That act helped hammer home the idea that green means “go” and red means “stop,” which remains a widely accepted truth today.
Bennett Kleinman is a New York City-based staff writer for Optimism. He is also a freelance comedy writer, devoted New York Yankees and New Jersey Devils fan, and thinks plain seltzer is the best drink ever invented.
“Winter” means different things around the United States. Folks in New England can almost guarantee they’ll have a white Christmas, while Floridians might see a few flurries on a day or two in January. On the West Coast, in Los Angeles, temperatures might not even dip below 50 degrees Fahrenheit most days. As regions across the country experience winter weather very differently, they also have special language for their regional winter weather occurrences. Texas has a “blue norther,” for example, and the Northeast might experience a “bomb cyclone.” The Pacific Northwest, meanwhile, is home to “Alberta clippers” and “chinook winds.” Wherever it’s located, winter weather around the United States has proved to be interesting or intense enough to deserve its own jargon.
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Alberta Clipper
We’re kicking off by bending the rules — this low-pressure system is named after the western Canadian province of Alberta, but the storms are known to make their way into the U.S. An Alberta clipper is a winter storm that generally moves southward from Alberta into the U.S., by way of the Plains, Midwest, and Great Lakes regions. It’s characterized by light snow, strong winds, and extremely cold temperatures. If the storm forms farther east in Canada, it’s sometimes called a “Saskatchewan screamer,” after the province of Saskatchewan.
Blue Norther (Texas Norther)
Blue northers are common occurrences for Texans during wintertime. These cold fronts cause a rapid drop in temperatures across the Southern Plains, often accompanied by icy precipitation. The name likely stems from the idea that these fronts are followed by a period of blue skies. Texas’ worst blue norther on record happened in 1899 when temperatures dropped to 23 below zero in the panhandle of the state. Some Texans also call this weather event a “blue whistler,” while in Oklahoma, it’s a “blue darter” or “blue blizzard.”
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Bomb Cyclone
This massive low-pressure system brings with it blizzards, severe thunderstorms, and heavy precipitation. For a winter cyclone to become a bomb, its central pressure must decrease by at least 24 millibars in 24 hours. This process of rapid intensification is called “bombogenesis,” a term coined in the 1980s that combines “bomb” with “cyclogenesis,” a meteorological term for storm formation. Bomb cyclones are most common along the Eastern Seaboard of the U.S., and cause strong winds, storm surge, coastal flooding, and major snowfall.
Chinook
The Chinookan peoples include several groups of Indigenous peoples from the Pacific Northwest, and the word “chinook” has been adopted to refer to a type of helicopter, a variety of salmon, and a warm winter wind. In the Salish language, chinookmeans “snow eater,” which is exactly what these winds do. A chinook is a warm winter wind that blows down the Rocky Mountains (in the U.S. and stretching up into Canada) onto the eastern slopes and prairies, melting the snow. Usually, chinook winds are welcome because they give locals a break from the cold, harsh winters.
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Nor’easter
Nor’easters are powerful storms that primarily impact the Northeastern U.S. during the winter, but they can happen anytime from September through April. The name comes from the fact that the winds blow in from the northeast. These incredibly strong storms can bring high winds and heavy snowfall. In fact, some of the most famous storms in U.S. history have been nor’easters, such as the Storm of the Century (also called the Blizzard of 1993). As nor’easters intensify along the Atlantic coast, they reach maximum strength in New England and Canada, sometimes causing devastating impacts to major cities, including Boston, Philadelphia, New York City, and Washington, D.C.
Polar Vortex
As its name suggests, a polar vortex is a low-pressure winter system that originates near the North or South Pole. Polar vortexes exist at the poles year-round but strengthen during the winter. Northern areas of the U.S. may experience a polar vortex when the vortex at the North Pole expands, sending very cold air southward with the jet stream. These cold surges sometimes result in dangerously low temperatures, and can impact vast portions of the country.
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Scutch
A scutch is a light dusting of snow, also called a “flurry.” “Scutch” is used mostly by Delawareans, but this charming term has been used in English to mean “a slight layer or thin coating” or “a sprinkling” since the early 20th century. The term likely came from Scotland originally.
“Skiff” is another word for a light snowfall, and it’s used especially in the Midwest. It likely came from the Scottish verb “skiff,” meaning “to lightly move across a surface barely touching it.”
Snow Squall
A snow squall is an intense but usually short period of moderate to intense snowfall, known for low visibility and poor travel conditions. While these types of storms aren’t new, this term wasn’t used in official weather warnings until 2018. Because of their short duration (usually less than 30 minutes), they can also be called a “flash freeze.” Squalls differ from blizzards in that blizzards impact a wider area and usually last longer. The word “squall” came into English in the early 18th century as a nautical term meaning “a sudden, violent gust of wind.”
Jennifer A. Freeman is the Senior Editor of Word Smarts and Word Daily. When she's not searching for a perfect synonym or reaching "Genius" level on Spelling Bee, she's playing with her Welsh Terrier in Greenville, SC.
Chilly temperatures, throngs of holiday shoppers, and festive family meals can only mean one thing: The winter season, or should we say, wintertide, is upon us. “Wintertide” is a 12th-century word synonymous with “wintertime,” though “wintertide” is probably seen only in literature now. Of course, this isn’t the only archaic winter-season word that’s been lost to the history books. Check out some of these antiquated words for gift-giving, cold weather, and even overeating, to elevate your winter repertoire.
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Algid
The next time you’re walking in the snow, use the word “algid” to describe how you’re feeling — cold. This 17th-century word was documented in Henry Cockeram’s The English Dictionarie of 1623, meaning “chill with cold.” It can be used as a synonym for “frigid” or “arctic,” and it comes from the Latin word algēre, meaning “to feel cold.” However, this once-wintry word is more closely linked with the medical field today. Doctors use “algid” to describe a person with cold, clammy skin and low blood pressure.
Crapulence
While it looks like it should be a rude word, “crapulence” is actually a perfectly cromulent term for holiday parties. This archaic adjective describes a lack of restraint while eating or drinking that ultimately causes headache or illness. (Remind anyone of an extravagant holiday party?) It’s been part of English since the mid-17th century and came from the Latin wordcrapula, meaning “excessive drinking.”
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Ninguid
Millions of people will experience this every winter. “Ninguid” (or “ningid”) means “where much snow is.” It was published in Thomas Blount’s Glossographia in 1661, but it’s unclear when it was first coined. The Latin root nivalis, meaning “snow,” also gives us the adjective “nival,” describing “a place of perpetual snow,” often very high elevations or northern regions.
Apricity
Most people can appreciate the feeling of the sun on their face during a cold winter day, and “apricity” describes exactly that. Though it’s no longer in most modern dictionaries, it was likely first recorded in Henry Cockeram’s dictionary in the early 17th century. Its entry reads: “Apricitie: The warmness of the Sunne in winter.” It was created from the Latin termapricitas, meaning “sunniness” or “sunshine.” It’s closely related to “apricate,” another old-fashioned term that means “to bask in the sun.”
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Doniferous
One of the hallmarks of the holiday season is gift-giving. Though this word is not found in many dictionaries today, “doniferous,” meaning “gift-bearing,” was in use centuries ago. We know it was printed in a 1677 early English dictionary by Elisha Coles.
Brumal
If something is related to winter, it’s “brumal.” The 16th-century word is seen in early English dictionaries, including Cockeram’s, where it meant “of or belonging to winter.” It’s rarely used today, but is still included in some modern dictionaries as an adjective for “indicative of winter.” It can be seen throughout history and literature, such as in Frederick William Wallace’s 1920 book, The Viking Blood, in the line, “On a brumalNovember day, the Sarmania was to sail on her first trip under the Sutton house-flag.” The word comes from the Latin adjectivebrumalis (bruma means “winter”).
Many people have a tradition of generosity and giving to charity during the winter season. There are various words for this, but a popular term in the past was “alms,” a noun denoting money, food, or other donations given to those in need. It’s been around since at least 1000 CE, when it was used in Middle English as “almes.” It was derived from the Greek eleēmosýnē, meaning “compassion.”
Frore
This synonym for “frozen” dates back to the 13th century as an alteration of “froren” in Middle English. It came from the Old English word frēosan, meaning “to freeze.” Irish fantasy writer Lord Dunsany used “frore” in his 1912 short-story collection, The Book of Wonder, in the line, “Her beauty was as still sunsets of bitter evenings when all the world is frore, a wonder and a chill.”
Jennifer A. Freeman is the Senior Editor of Word Smarts and Word Daily. When she's not searching for a perfect synonym or reaching "Genius" level on Spelling Bee, she's playing with her Welsh Terrier in Greenville, SC.
Last year, I was able to snag last-minute tickets to Elton John’s Farewell Yellow Brick Road tour, allowing me the incredible opportunity to see the legend perform his classic hits. The setlist included the ballad “Candle in the Wind,” originally written for the late Marilyn Monroe and later reimagined after the tragic death of Princess Diana. The lyrics (written by John’s longtime collaborator Bernie Taupin) feature the line, “And it seems to me you lived your life / Like a candle in the wind,” elegantly comparing the fragility and brilliance of the women’s lives to a candle’s flickering glow. Taupin’s use of the word “like” to establish a clear comparison is the hallmark of a simile, a literary device that makes comparisons using “like” or “as.”
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Similes and metaphors are figures of speech with similar jobs — drawing connections between two objects while adding clarity or emotional impact — but they employ different methods to make that connection. Similes make explicit comparisons using the words “like” or “as,” whereas metaphors make implicit links by asserting that one thing is another. Choosing which type of expression to use significantly impacts tone and meaning.
“He swims like a fish” and “She is as sharp as a tack” are similes (we could also call them “clichés, but they serve well for examples) that convey excellent swimming skills and intelligence, respectively. The words “like” and “as” are imperative to these expressions. Without them, the phrases “He is a fish” and “She is a tack” are nonsensical.
In contrast, metaphors draw connections by declaring something is something else. “The world is your oyster” is a classic example that suggests you can do whatever you want in life. But metaphors and similes aren’t always interchangeable. Turning this saying into a simile — “The world is like your oyster” — removes the idiomatic power of the metaphor. Similarly, the metaphor, “You are my sunshine,” carries depth that the simile, “You are like my sunshine,” does not.
To better understand the distinction between the two figures of speech, let’s explore their etymology. “Metaphor” comes from the Greek metaphora, which means “a transfer.” Think of how metaphors transfer meaning from one object to another. On the other hand, “simile” comes from the Latin term similis, which means “like, resembling, of the same kind.” It’s this connection of similarities that creates a good simile. The richness of any language, including English, is enhanced by figures of speech. By understanding why and how to use them, you can paint a more colorful picture with your words.
Rachel is a Washington, D.C.-based freelance writer. When she's not writing, you can find her wandering through a museum, exploring a new city, or advocating the importance of the Oxford comma.
Have you ever stumbled across a word and thought, “Surely this must be a typo — or maybe an odd Shakespearean flourish”? Take this line in George Orwell’sAnimal Farm: “When they thought of all this, their tiredness forsook them and they gambolled round and round the windmill, uttering cries of triumph.” Here, the verb “gambolled” (“to run or jump playfully”) is somewhat unusual but still follows the regular past tense “-ed” pattern. The real head-scratcher is the irregular verb “forsook,” the past tense of “forsake” (meaning “abandon or renounce”). Irregular verbs aren’t just spelled differently — they’re representative of an interesting linguistic journey.
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Most English verbs are regular. You can more or less slap an “-ed” on the end of these verbs, and they become past tense. “Danced,” “jumped,” “laughed,” and “loved” follow this predictable conjugation pattern. But irregular verbs, such as “forsake,” don’t adhere to specific rules about past tense conjugation. Instead, they change in quirky and often unpredictable ways, including the seemingly random “forsook,” making mastery tricky.
Here’s the catch: Irregular verbs are extremely important to know. Although they account for only about 3% of the language, the 10 most-used English verbs are irregular. Consider the top five: “be,” “have,” “do,” “go,” and “say.” Their past tense forms don’t follow any regular pattern: “was,” “had,” “did,” “went,” and “said.” While these verbs have solidified their importance in our language, lesser-used irregular verbs run the risk of going extinct, according to some linguists.
Irregular verbs are remnants of older conjugation rules that died out over centuries. A group of Harvard linguists have a “frequency theory” — if an irregular verb is used infrequently, it will eventually be overtaken by an “-ed” version, keeping in line with the natural evolution of the language. This shift has already happened to some verbs, including “creep.” While the past tense “crept” was the norm for centuries, “creeped” has been gaining ground in popularity since the 1970s. In fact, of the 177 irregular verbs that existed around 1,200 years ago, 145 made it to Middle English, and 98 survived into modern-day English. The Harvard linguists have their eyes on “wed,” which they predict could become “wedded,” as in, “They wedded in December.”
Will more irregular verbs eventually align with the “-ed” rule? It’s hard to say. Some might argue that simplifying past tense verbs would make English easier to learn. But this simplification comes with the cost of losing the charm of irregular verbs. Personally, I’m not ready to forsake irregular verbs just yet.
Featured image credit: Lamai Prasitsuwan/ Shutterstock
Rachel is a Washington, D.C.-based freelance writer. When she's not writing, you can find her wandering through a museum, exploring a new city, or advocating the importance of the Oxford comma.
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