Thanks for sticking around to welcome another creative nudge into your day. Last week a care package of fun distractions was administered with a liberal use of adhesive bandages. Did you come away from these activities better able to see your vulnerable side as a place of strength and growth?
This week’s nudge, admittedly, is a pet peeve of mine: the typo. As a writer, I dread these mistakes. You’d think that the advent of Spellcheck and GenAI would make that worry obsolete. But no, typos still get past these digital gatekeepers at an alarming rate. I’ve never published a book that didn’t contain at least one.
I take solace in seeing them everywhere—from the proudly self-published ‘zine to Stephen King’s latest blockbuster. There are also local favorites for me like the “Fabulaus” neon sign at The Menagerie and a “Restuarant” along Magnolia Avenue near Van Buren. When I used to walk the Tyler (aka Galleria at Tyler) Mall, I had a love/hate relationship with the weight loss kiosk inviting me to “loose” ten pounds with their supplement. There’s even people who go around fixing this stuff; that seems like a thankless task!
Typos force us to acknowledge that perfection is unattainable and often undesirable. The typo challenges our perception of an error, opening up a secret creative freedom by asking: Isn't all spelling fine if the message is successfully conveyed? After all, look at early American documents; Thomas Jefferson would likely fail the spelling portion of a modern college rubric, yet his words shaped a nation for several hundred years.
By shifting our perception of a typo from a flaw to be fixed to a clue to be examined, we may fundamentally change the types of creative expression we look for and make ourselves. Can a typo move us away from rigid adherence to rules and towards expressive, human communication? Let’s approach the typo not as a mistake, but as a clue in a mystery novel, a moment that welcomes original creative thought via one or more of these un-spellchecked nudges:
Type ‘O Metaphor (Narrative & Symbolism): Find a typo in your day (a sign, an email, even a newspaper). Instead of correcting it, treat it as a metaphor for the subject matter it describes. For instance, if you saw a sign for a “Sale” that read “Slae,” write a short piece about how the confused spelling symbolizes a chaotic or overly aggressive marketing strategy.
No, You’re a Typo! (Linguistic & Play): Take a common word and intentionally create a typo (e.g., “teamwork” becomes “teamwirk”, so when someone says “There’s no ‘I’ in teamwork,” you can prove them wrong! Now, define the new word as if it were a legitimate term. Think of it as George Orwell meets Mr. Rogers.
Mr. Typo’s Opus (Narrative & Personification): Imagine a typo has a life of its own. It's a character that wants to be correct but always fails. Write a short story about the life of a specific letter that is always misplaced—say, the extra 't' that turns "commitment" into "committment." What is its motivation? Does it feel shame or pride in its rebellious appearance?
Pro-Typo (Conceptual & Freedom): Challenge the notion of error. Write a short manifesto or poem declaring that there are no typos, only "alternate spellings" or "unique linguistic expressions." Argue that as long as communication is successful, the rules of spelling are irrelevant. This is a chance to let go of the fear of judgment and embrace linguistic anarchy.
Historical Edit-duh (Design & Retcon): Choose a well-known historical text or document; imagine one word has been misspelled in a humorous way. How does that single, accidental typo change the entire meaning, tone, or historical interpretation of the document?
Consider the typo as a signature from a human hand, a flash of imperfection that reminds me there's still a person, not (just) a machine, behind the text. It should not be a source of fear, but a secret door to creative freedom. Its ability to communicate successfully, despite breaking the rules, is a powerful lesson: Pursuit of perfection is the enemy of genuine connection.
This week, go forth and look for those delightful, accidental signs of humanity. When you spot one, let a wave of creative liberation wash over you. And post it in the comments for the rest of us. That tiny mistake is not a flaw in the system; it's a drumbeat of non-conformity, inviting you to let your own work be a little more human, a little less perfect, and a lot more free.
This column was written with the help of Google’s Gemini Advanced, a powerful generative AI writing tool.
