Drawing Focus

Eight words for the work of pulling ideas, and people, into focus.

Meet each word one at a time, then take the quiz to lock them in.

1. 1 instructor noun
2. 2 perspective noun
3. 3 instruct verb
4. 4 attract verb
5. 5 abstract adjective
6. 6 elusive adjective
7. 7 predominantly adverb
8. 8 explicitly adverb

Nelson's word

noun

Instructor. A noun, and I file it under people who hold a particular office: the one whose job is to teach or to train. A swimming instructor, a driving instructor, a music instructor. Notice the ending, -or, which I keep in the same drawer as actor, sailor, and editor: it marks the person who does the thing. Notice too the front of the word, instruct, the verb Vinny will hand you in a moment, because an instructor is simply the one who instructs. State it precisely: an instructor teaches, and the word names the teacher, not the lesson.

The swimming instructor showed the class how to float before they tried the deep end.

Nelson's word

noun

Perspective. A noun, and one I file with some care, because it does two jobs at once. In an art class, perspective is the trick that makes a flat page look deep, so the road seems to run away from you. In everyday speech, a perspective is a particular way of seeing or judging a thing: your perspective on the argument, a scientist's perspective on the storm. Both meanings share a root that means to look through. When someone asks for your perspective, they want the view from where you stand, and no one else's. State it precisely, and you give them exactly that.

From the pilot's perspective, the whole city fit inside a single window.

Vinny's word

verb

Instruct! To teach, to direct, to build knowledge into another person one clear step at a time! When the coaches instruct the new players, they hand over everything the players need to succeed, and that is a heroic act, because knowledge shared is a power multiplied. That is the verb, and it is mine. Look inside it, in-struct, and you find the root struct, which means to build. To instruct is to build understanding into someone, brick by brick. Learn the root, and you will spot it again in construct and in structure, which is exactly what we do in Word Family.

The coaches instruct the new players on every rule before the first game.

Vinny's word

verb

Attract! To pull, to draw, to bring a thing or a person closer as if by an invisible rope! When bright colors attract the bees, the flowers are not calling out; they are drawing the bees in by their very nature. That is the verb, and it is mine, and it works on more than magnets. An idea can attract attention, a hero can attract a crowd, a mystery can attract the curious. Watch the front of the word, at-tract, from a root that means to pull, the same root hiding inside tractor, the machine built to pull. Learn where a word comes from, and it never fools you again.

Bright colors attract the bees straight to the open flowers.

Jake's word

adjective

Abstract. Ah, a subtle one, and mine when it works as an adjective. An abstract idea is one you cannot touch or weigh: fairness, freedom, courage. You feel them, you argue about them, but you cannot set them on a table. Its opposite is concrete, the thing you can hold in your hand, like a stone or a chair. Could we be more specific than saying a hard-to-picture idea? We could call it abstract, and let the reader know at once that it lives in the mind. But watch this word closely, because it wears a second hat: the abstract of a research paper is a thing, a short summary, and there Nelson owns it as a noun. We sort those two hats in Practice. Magnifique.

Fairness is an abstract idea; you cannot hold it, yet everyone feels it.

Jake's word

adjective

Elusive. A wonderful adjective, and mine, describing a thing that slips away the moment you reach for it: an elusive clue, an elusive fox, an elusive memory you almost have and then lose. It comes from the same family as elude, which means to escape or slip free. Its opposite is obvious, the thing that sits right in front of you. Could we be more specific than saying an idea was hard to catch? We could call it elusive, and let the reader feel it darting just out of reach. Same picture, sharper edges.

The answer stayed elusive no matter how many times she reread the riddle.

Benny's word

adverb

Predominantly. An adverb, and I own it the way Nelson owns his nouns. It tells you that a thing is true for the most part, that one kind stands out above the rest. A forest that is predominantly pine still has a few oaks; a crowd that is predominantly cheering still holds a quiet few. Here is your coaching for the week: when almost but not quite is what you mean, do not settle for mostly and hope the reader guesses how much. Reach for predominantly, and you tell them the main thing rules without pretending it rules alone. Make it sharper, and this is how.

The audience was predominantly students, with only a few teachers scattered among them.

Benny's word

adverb

Explicitly. An adverb, and mine, and a favorite of careful writers. When you say something explicitly, you say it plainly and in full, leaving nothing for the reader to guess. Its opposite is a thing left implied, hinted at but never quite spoken. Here is your coaching: when a direction truly matters, do not hint and hope. State it explicitly, spell it out, and the confusion never gets a foothold. A coach who tells you explicitly what to fix is a coach you can actually follow. Reach for this word when clear is not clear enough, and you will always be understood.

The instructor explained the rules explicitly, so no one could claim confusion later.