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Indiana Review Staff Tells All: Pet Peeves

We all have our word pet peeves—those words and phrases that catch on us like hangnails, the newly indicted clichés. Here our staff weighs in on some of their word pet peeves, mindful that every one of these words can likely be wielded as the best sword. So it’s worth noting that this is not our attempt at a blanket ban on these words, not a hunt against what might be considered ordinary or mundane. And of course, while these are by no means rules—only preferences—we hope you too consider what some of your word pet peeves are. We’d like to know. Share them in the comments!

 

Paul: “Impossible” (adj. “not able to occur, exist, or be done):

Folks, nothing is impossible. Gay Marriage? Possible. The Crusades? Possible. Look, if Disney can do Mulan on Ice, anything is possible. Now I know what you’re thinking: there is no way Daniel Day Lewis will be in a Disney movie. But you’re wrong. Vin Diesel? Disney Movie. Owen Wilson? Disney Movie. Jackie Chan? Disney Movie. Disney will destroy us all. Us being my family, because we love Disney on Ice, and that shit is expensive.

 

Peter: “Shuffle” (v. “to walk by dragging one’s feet along):

This word can’t, for me, shake its association with awkward prose. It draws attention to itself as language, to the unremarkable act of walking, granting it undue significance. While I can see some argument for how the word might help characterize, sort of demonstrating sluggishness, for me it just can’t do this well enough—so often tossed-around in writing, and so often seeming out of focus, “shuffle” seems to avoid the hard work of functioning as essential, proving detail. Is there an occasion for the shuffle? It seems likely. But so often I find that a simple “walk” would do, and do better, than how I feel when I read the word: a defeated walk out the door, my head bowed, feet barely lifting from the floor.

 

Leslie: “Tears” (n. “a drop of clear salty liquid secreted from glands in a person’s eye”):

At the beginning of the semester, I hand out a sheet of paper to my students with the title “List of Words to Avoid.” At the top of this list: tears—those crystalline drops of saline fluid that dangle mercilessly from tear ducts. Sound melodramatic yet? Truth is the word carries so many connotations that it’s nearly impossible not to feel like a poem has taken a quick pit-stop in a young adult novel and found itself desperately lost in the lyrics of an early ‘00’s emo/acoustic/indie rock band—Dashboard Confessional, anyone? That’s not to say that I don’t enjoy revisiting the glory days of unfettered youth, but there are other ways to conjure those feelings. There’s so much music in poetry that it would be unwise to revisit tired tunes. Let’s write anthems full of merciless metaphors and somatic similes! Get away from abstractions and dwell more within the body. Avoid those pesky bodily fluids, though—that’s also a huge no-no. But you already knew that.​

 

Shayla: “Pomegranate” (n. “an orange-sized fruit with a tough reddish outer skin”):

Writers tend to go through trends of word experiences—sometimes Paris, sometimes bees, often mangoes. Around 2012, the trend tilted toward pomegranate. I have trouble when writers try to hinge the import of their words upon an exotic or symbolic stand-in. Aside from the passion inherent in its color and texture (its inability to divide into licentious pearls), the fruit harbors historical relevance due to its association with femininity and the underworld (the forbidden fruit of Greek mythology). As writers, we are responsible for the legacy of words, and how we choose to carry that into our work. As uncharted as a pomegranate may seem, I would much rather see a writer do something fresh with a banana, chilidog, or peanut.

 

Allie: “Somehow” (adv. “in some way”):

“Somehow,” as in the word I’ve used for decades to imbue specialness onto something I can’t describe. This word feels like one of the ultimate copouts, right up there with Exposition Through Dialogue and Overstated Puns. “Somehow” is the gray space of description in setting, plot, and character—and somehow I can’t stop using it.

4 Responses to “Indiana Review Staff Tells All: Pet Peeves”

  1. tom

    I swear will somehow shuffle
    through my impossible pomegranate tears.

    Reply
  2. tom

    I swear I will somehow shuffle
    through my impossible pomegranate tears.

    Reply
  3. elliott

    “Manage” (v. “to bring about”). I detest seeing the double verbs as in “manage to” followed by the actual verb I care about. The team “managed to” win the game. The hero “managed to” save the day. Manage to adds nothing to the sentence.

    If I could, I would MANAGE TO criminalize the use of the verb manage in said sentence constructions.

    FYI really enjoyed this.

    Reply
  4. Peg

    Any chance of seeing the rest of Leslie’s list? *intrigued*

    Reply

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