How Many S’s are in Mississippi?

Professional Writing Sample - This article was originally published at Writersdigest.com.   

I have a confession.  I can't spell embarrassment unless I use spell checker.  This may be a common problem in high schools and county jails.  But I have a degree in English and Writing.  I should be the Donald Trump of spelling.  Instead, I'm more like Donald Duck, spitting double T's in all directions.

I'm speaking out now because I know other people are terrified of words like conscientious.  They understand the word.  They just can't spell it.  If it were spelled my way, it would look something like conchientchus, depending on my mood.  But colleges and places of business insist on standardized spelling.  For me, a lousy speller, even the simplest hand-written tasks become a chore.  I become paranoid, defending mistakes with cries like, “There shouldn't be a T in Christmas,” or “Banana DOES have 3 N's.”

I admit, spell checker has made it easier for me to hide among the able-spellers.  Maybe I could remain happily anonymous by secretly checking on-line dictionaries and re-copying misspelled phone messages.  But the Bossy Spelling Geniuses (BSG) won't let me live in peace.

For people with memories like Ipods, spelling is a cinch.  These people find delight in spelling words like hierarchy.  Problem is, hardly anyone gets rich or famous by being a great speller.  Because the BSG are attention starved, they constantly swoop around their habitat looking for spelling mistakes to correct.  No piece of paper is too small for their inspection; office memos, birthday cards, and even hastily written grocery lists are all fair game.   When they discover a person like me, they rejoice.  I make their lives worth living.  While pointing to my checkbook, they will give me a twisted little grin, and say, “Melody, I learned to spell twelfth in second grade.”

I'm sure you can see how sad and lonely we Misspellers are.  But in case you don't see how serious this issue really is, I will tell you a humiliating story to gain your sympathy.

One day during college, I was taking notes for our literary magazine meeting.  My attention was unevenly split between our adviser and the ruggedly handsome college guy who sat beside me.  Mr. Gorgeous gave off tidal waves of sex appeal.  I became half conscious that our advisor was using BIG words (translation – unspellable.)  I wrote down my version of the words, and then continued trying to smell my companion's cologne.

Unbelievably, I began to sense a pair of dreamy brown eyes focused in my direction.  The Greek God leaned closer to me.  I could feel his breath in my ear.  I swallowed hard and felt like Cinderella.  I was finally going to be noticed by a hunk of burnin' love.

Then I heard him whisper, “Melody, that's not how you spell restaurant.”

By Melody Platz
October 2004