I began typing in high school typing class. On a manual typewriter. One that had the little bell that dinged at the end of the line so you knew you had to zip the carriage back to the left. It made for strong fingers, with those keys that moved about an inch as you typed. The goal was to get up to thirty-five words per minute—without any mistakes.
I never met the goal.
But. Yes, a bell dinged “but.” I could sling that carriage back to the left with the vigor of a man reaching for a hot dog at a baseball game. Ding-ity-Zing-ity.
My mistakes over the years have haunted me. I can read things, and since I write them, I apparently read what my mind says and not what my fingers type, so I do not see the mistakes. Not a good habit to have.
Recently, there is a hiccup in my brain that, for some reason, I have not been able to overcome. It has to do with the word “from.” For some stranger-than-fiction reason, every time—and I mean every stinkin’ time—I need to type “from,” “form” comes out.
Now, if “form” were not a word, my spell check would highlight it and I would zoom in on the boo-boo and fix it. In this case, “form” is a real word, so spell check is not my friend. That means “from” may occasionally stay “form” in my story.
Not good form to have “from” become “form.”
Cha. Cha. Cha.
I have learned how to have my computer read out loud to me. That is supposed to help me find the mistakes in stories and letters. It’s a man’s voice and very straightforward and no-nonsense, which I find rather snotty, as my stories are written to provoke laughter and frivolity.
My computer’s voice is not at all into funny.
To hear my stories without emotion is kind of like throwing out a fishing line without any worm on it. It just lies on the water like a dead worm. A very light dead worm at that!
Oh, there have been other words that I have overcome. Especially ones with those darn apostrophes.
“It’s” and “its.” What’s up with that?
I learned that “it’s” means “it is,” while “its” shows possession. So, naturally, the one that owns something doesn’t get the apostrophe. Whoever came up with that rule was clearly trying to keep us on our toes.
Again. Cha. Cha. Cha.
I have to give my English teacher, Mrs. Miles, many kudos. A woman of patience who earned every gray hair on her head by the time I graduated!
And just look at that word: patience. Then there’s “patients,” as in the people who go to the doctor. Yes, “doctor’s” in that instance has that dang apostrophe!
What about gray? Gray or grey?
Holy Moses—and no apostrophe on Moses. Unless it is referring to something that he owns. Then it becomes Moses’.
This “form and from” thing, though, has me in its clutches.
I thought of something that might put the fix to this one. I sat down and typed “from” maybe a hundred times. Then I did the same with “form.” Then I sat down to write this story.
HA!
In typing just the title, what do you think happened?
Yep. Typed “form” TWICE!
Not “From and Form.”
It absolutely came out “Form and Form.”
I am hopeful, though. I overcame “through” and “thought.” I have learned “spend” and “speed” are two different words. “Come” and “coma” should not be mixed up. Ever.
Oh, and “ever” and “never.”
Yikes and dikes.
There are so many of these silly mix-ups that this little bump of “form” and “from” will also work its way through the channels of dikes and dams I seem to be floating down.
I just hope that, as a writer, I can be as forgiving as my readers might be when a typo is discovered. The tip of the typo, though, is just a form of coming from where its author has a thought and the words come faster than the fingers can keep up.
Again and lastly.
Cha. Cha. Cha.
Trina lives in Diamond Valley, north of Eureka, Nevada. She loves to hear from readers. Email her at [email protected].
Really!
