Category Archives: Writing

Here is another pair of words with an identical meaning but subtly different uses. There’s a style warning at the end, too. We like a style warning, don’t we!

Both though and although mean” in spite of the fact that”, “however”, “but”. “Although he’s messy at home, he’s very organised at work”, “She was a plainly dressed woman, though with a flamboyant taste in hats”, “The dogs, though fierce in appearance, were friendly”.

Although is the more formal of the two. I prefer it to though at the beginning of a sentence, which is the traditional way of doing things. “Though he was firm, he was fair” just looks better to me as, “Although he was firm, he was fair”.

You cannot replace though with although in adverbial uses – “it was nice of him to write, though”. or with as or even – “she doesn’t look as though she’s reading that book, even though she says she is”

And finally, you shouldn’t start a sentence with either of these if it’s actually acting as a linking word between the previous sentence and this one: “He was firm. Although he was fair too”, or if it’s making a link between two concepts in the upcoming phrases: “Although he was firm. He was fair too”. Make sure both of the linked ideas are in the same sentence.

You can find more troublesome pairs here and the index to them all so far is here.

Another pair of words that sound the same but don’t mean the same, and that get mixed up more times than I’d care to mention. Read on to find out how to differentiate between pore and pour.

First off, the more uncommon one. To pore (over) something is to be absorbed in the reading of it. “She was so busy poring over the article on semiotics that she missed her stop on the Tube”. A pore is also a minute opening in the skin (etc.) through which liquids and gases can pass. But I don’t think that’s the usage that gets mixed up with this pair.

To pour (over, out, etc.) is to flow or cause to flow in a steady stream. “Water poured down the wall as the shower leaked from above”; “she poured herself a cup of tea”.

Short but sweet. The same sound, but different spellings, meanings and, well, words.

“As she pored over the ancient manuscripts, it began to pour with rain”.

You can find more troublesome pairs here and the index to them all so far is here.

We have an extra value Troublesome Triplet today, with a look at peek, peak and pique. These all sound the same, but not only are they spelled differently, they mean very different things, too.  But this doesn’t stop them getting mixed up – presumably the fact that they sound the same overrides all other factors!

To peek is to look furtively or quickly, and the noun means a quick or furtive look. “I’ll just take a peek at your first chapter but I’ll read it properly later”; “She peeked in through his window and saw him reading a book”. Going along with this shifty, round-corners type of feel, to peek can also mean to protrude slightly so as to be just visible: “the end of the dog’s tail peeked out from under the duvet, revealing his location”.

Moving on (or up) to the peak, this is the pointed top of a mountain (or refers to a mountain with a peak) and in a similar way, a point of highest achievement or activity (“The peak of his achievement in running was winning a gold medal”), point in a curve or on a graph that is highest point, and, well, the brim at the front of a cap (it sticks out/up). The verb to peak means to reach the highest point (“the hits on my website peaked at 229 in one day and never achieved that heady height again”) and the adjective peak refers to maximum or utmost – “he’s at peak fitness right now, just in time for the big athletics meeting”) or characterised by maximum activity or demand – “phone call charges increase at peak hours”.  There is a secondary, archaic, meaning, from the 17th century, to decline in health and spirit – we use this one when we refer to someone as looking a bit peaky, if they look a bit pale and unwell.

Pique has two linked meanings to do with prickings and prickliness: it’s either a feeling of irritation or resentment resulting from a slight especially to one’s pride – “he stormed off in a fit of pique” – or refers to stimulating interest or curiosity, again with a little prick or prod: “he piqued her interest with his fascinating talk of shower sealant, and she resolved to take a plumbing course”.

So, in essence, “She piqued his interest in mountaineering when she scaled the highest peak in the range and peeked at him from behind the cairn at the top”.

You can find more troublesome pairs here and the index to them all so far is here.

Comprise, compose and consist have come to my attention quite forcibly this week, as I keep coming across examples of them being used incorrectly. Or, rather, comprise being used incorrectly. “Comprise of” and, in the past tense, “comprised of” seem to be getting more and more common, and the three words do have a similar meaning, in that they are all about larger things being made up of smaller things. But the way they are used, and the constructions that are built around them, are different and do need care. There is also a subtle shift in emphasis from the parts to the whole, which I’ll describe as I go through them.

The problem creeps in when they are not adequately differentiated in the writer’s mind, in which case the constructions leak across from one to another, causing (gasp!) incorrect sentence structures. And yes, there is a school of thought that says “if you can understand it, it doesn’t matter if it’s a bit incorrect or clumsy”, but I don’t think there’s any need to be incorrect and clumsy if you don’t have to be. There, I’ve said it. Anyway, here goes!

To comprise is to consist of (yes, I know), be made up of: “the country comprises four regions”. But not (please!) “the country comprises of four regions”. If you are desperate to use “of”, then you can turn the verb around and make the country the subject, so: “the country is comprised of four regions”. But I’ll repeat again, it’s not comprises of, and really I don’t much like is comprised of much, either, when it comes down to it, and if you write that in something I’m editing, I’m likely to suggest changing it!

The emphasis here is very much on the smaller constituent parts. We’re talking about what the larger thing is made up of, and they are the important things, rather than the whole.

Note that the large thing comprises the small things. The small things don’t really comprise the big one, or at least we don’t write it that way round.

To consist of means to be made up of – “the country consists of four regions”.  You can use that “of” as much as you like with consist! The emphasis here is on the parts that make up the whole, but also on the fact that they do make up a whole, so there’s an equal balance of importance.

And a little bonus: to consist in means to have as an essential feature – “Bob and Tom look very similar: their difference consists in the way they talk”.

If you can replace “consists” with “lies”, then use in. If you can replace “consists” with “is made up” then use of.

To be composed of, again, means to be made up of, although the emphasis shifts here subtly to the whole: the parts compose the whole, and the whole is what is important. “The work is composed of four movements”.

You can find more troublesome pairs here and the index to them all so far is here.

Having become known as someone who writes about this kind of thing, I was asked on Twitter the other day to explain the difference between unorganised and disorganised. It’s another one of these subtle shades of meaning, with one being more specific and the other more general – we seem to have quite a few of those in English and I do like them!

Being unorganised is all about the specific thing that is unorganised; it’s the acute version, if you like. A party where you haven’t planned any food for people to eat, an essay that has no plan to it and is that bit harder to write – that’s unorganised

Being disorganised is a general, holistic thing, more of a character point than a specific item. Following the medical analogy above, the chronic version of lack of organisation. So a disorganised person is generally chaotic and inefficient, and a disorganised committee or event is not properly planned and controlled. A disorganised desk is one in constant disarray, a disorganised essay has been written from that unorganised plan and is pretty unreadable.

I said it was subtle!

You can find more troublesome pairs here and the index to them all so far is here.

I have to admit that I thought there was more of a difference between persuade and convince than there actually turns out to be, but there is some interesting background that we can look at too.

To convince someone of something means to cause them to believe firmly in the truth of something, or – aha – persuade them to do something.

And to persuade someone to do something means to cause them to do something through reasoning or argument; to cause someone to believe something; to provide a sound reason for someone to do something.

So, all very similar. But here’s the interesting bit, and it does come across a little bit in the above explanations … Traditionally, convince is used in situations in which someone’s belief is changed but no action is taken – “I convinced her to believe in the tooth fairy”, whereas persuade is traditionally used in situations in which someone’s belief is changed and action is taken – “I persuaded him to buy the red trousers, even though he usually wore black”. Feel free to keep that distinction going if you want to!

You can find more troublesome pairs here and the index to them all so far is here.