Free Words Fail Me by Patricia T. O'Conner Page A

(
lightly
) to follow the verb it belongs with (nap):
After lunch, clients nap
lightly,
lift weights, and shower.
There's no way a reader would misunderstand that sentence, even skimming lightly.
    A phrase that's placed inappropriately in a series can contaminate all the items that follow. Here's a sentence you might find on a Web page for gardeners:
Fungicides are useless against bacteria
that infect plants,
viruses, and insects.
    Exactly how helpless are these fungicides? Are they useless only against bacteria—the kinds that infect plants and viruses and insects? Or are they useless against three different plagues: bacteria, viruses, and insects? If we assume the writer means all three plagues, the solution, again, is to move the confusing phrase,
that infect plants
, to the end of the sentence:
Fungicides are useless against viruses, insects, and bacteria
that infect plants.
Superfluous Redundancies
    For some writers, once is not enough. They don't beat a dead horse; they beat a
totally
dead horse. They use modifiers that say the same thing as the words they modify. For them, every fact is a
true
fact. They don't expedite; they
speedily
expedite. They don't smell a stench; they smell a
malodorous
stench. In other words, they're redundant. Or as they might put it,
superfluously
redundant.
    You might receive a business memo like this from one of these writers:
My
final conclusion
is that
preliminary planning
and
exploratory research
by
qualified experts
have
assuredly guaranteed
the
successful triumph
of our
latest new
product. Now that it's
completely finished
, and the
initial debut
is
imminently approaching,
I'm
happily elated
to report that any
perplexing problems
have been
definitively resolved.
Our only competitor of
major significance
is
rigidly inflexible
and
indifferently oblivious
of
market demand.
It's not an
unexpected surprise
that consumers are responding to our
campaign drive
with
positive affirmation.
I suggest that we not only
doggedly persist
in our
prearranged strategy
but also
widely expand
it by offering
free gifts. Don't you feel like that totally dead horse by now?
When Words Collide
    Back in junior high, my friends and I used to trade Tom Swift jokes. The pattern was always the same: a remark by the fictional Tom Swift, followed by the punch line—an adverb. One in particular had me rolling on the floor: "
That's the last time I'll put my arm in a lion's mouth," said Tom
offhandedly.
(I was easily amused in those days.)
    Tom Swifties were funny because their modifiers could be read two ways, one of them apparently unintentional. The more outrageous they were, the funnier. But if you don't intend to be funny, beware of descriptive words or phrases that could seem ridiculous if taken literally. Readers will do a double-take if you describe a painting as
priceless
and then give the price it sold for at auction. Likewise, don't say that an invoice is generally
specific
, or that a stock fund has gradually
skyrocketed
, or that a squabbling committee is wholly
divided
. Unless you're making a play on words (
Canapès
lead a hand-to-mouth
existence
), be on the lookout for collisions like these:
    You may leave the table, Dennis, when your plate is
fully
empty.
    Fashion models are
largely
size four.
    Dad
clearly
misunderstood.
    Kirstie finds acupuncture
intensely
relaxing.
    The gnat is
vastly
minuscule and its brain is
immensely tiny.
    Yves likes his coffee
mildly
strong.
    Little Ricky will grow taller
shortly.
    Boris's intentions became
vaguely
clearer.
    Marcel will
presently
fill us in on the past.
    The Blandingses bought the house
completely
unfinished.
    For the Cratchits, poverty was
richly
rewarding.
    Madalyn
religiously
attended Atheists Anonymous.
    The computer crash was a
minor
disaster.
    Miss Pym offered us a slice of
twelve-ounce
pound cake.
    In October 1929, the market plunged in an
unparalleled
spiral.
    Unless you're curiously indifferent,