One day last week, I was typing away, trying to get something checked off my to do list. I don’t remember which project it was or which word I was typing, but I came to a screeching halt when the wicked, red spell check line appeared under the word.
Backspace. Backspace. Backspace.
Try again. Still there.
I must have retyped that word 6 times, but it was still wrong. Finally, I clicked on the actual spell check tool so that I could at least select the correct spelling. Nothing. Not one stinking suggestion.
Finally, I resorted to my almost 13-year-old.
“I thought you wanted me to be quiet and let you work,” says he.
“Don’t be cute. Just shush up and tell me how to spell it.” No one makes sense like a mom who wants you to quit sassing and answer a question.
Fortunately, he has inherited Dad’s spelling gene so once I got a bit of cooperation I could continue on with my article.
But I also realize that I depend far too much on my spell check. The evidence? Here is the sentence I meant to type:
Dura clung to the horse’s back as it galloped down the game trail.
The sentence I actually typed?
Dura clunk to the horse’s back as it galloped down the game trail.
Forevermore, this character, my hands down favorite, will be known by my critique group as Dura Clunk.
Spell check. What a pain in the keister.