Coming and Going

Eight words about what arrives, what departs, and what stands in the way.

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

1. 1 export noun
2. 2 obstacle noun
3. 3 migrate verb
4. 4 withdraw verb
5. 5 versatile adjective
6. 6 abrupt adjective
7. 7 abruptly adverb
8. 8 remotely adverb

Nelson's word

noun

Export. As a noun, I file it under a good that a country sends out to be sold in another place: coffee, grain, timber, whatever leaves the harbor bound for a foreign market. Picture the crates stamped and loaded, the record of what departs. But mark this carefully, because export keeps two identities in the ledger. Say the export, and you name the thing, which is the noun, and it is mine. Say they export the grain, and you name the action of shipping it out, which is the verb, and that belongs to Vinny. Same six letters, two entries. We sort those hats in Practice. State it precisely: an export is what a country sells abroad.

Coffee remained the nation's most valuable export for over a century.

Nelson's word

noun

Obstacle. A noun, and I file it under a thing that blocks your progress or stands in your way: a fallen tree across the trail, a locked gate, a wide river with no bridge. It need not be a wall of stone; a rule, a doubt, or a shortage of time can each be an obstacle. When a report says the team cleared every obstacle, it means they got past each thing that stood between them and their goal. Note the root, from a Latin word for standing in the way. File it near barrier and hurdle, and you will always know what an obstacle is: whatever stops you, until you get around it.

A fallen tree became the one obstacle between the hikers and the summit.

Vinny's word

verb

Migrate! To pack up your whole life and MOVE, region to region, habitat to habitat, chasing the season or the food or the warmth! When the geese migrate south, they do not wander; they travel with purpose, thousands of miles, and they arrive. That is the verb, and it is mine, and it takes courage to leave one home for another. Whole herds migrate, whole peoples migrate, and every one of them is on a heroic journey. Watch the word travel across a sentence, and you will feel the distance in it.

Every autumn the geese migrate south before the first hard frost.

Vinny's word

verb

Withdraw! To pull back, to remove yourself, to retreat from a place or a situation before it turns against you! When the troops withdraw, they do not flee in panic; they fall back on purpose, and sometimes the bravest step a hero takes is the step backward. You withdraw a hand from a hot stove, you withdraw money from the bank, you withdraw from a fight you cannot win. That is the verb, and it is mine. Look at the shape of it, with plus draw, to draw yourself away. Learn where it comes from, and you will never mistake it.

The troops withdraw from the ridge before the storm traps them.

Jake's word

adjective

Versatile. Oh, I love this one, and it is mine. As an adjective, versatile describes a thing, or a person, that can do many different jobs or be used in many different ways. A versatile tool works for a dozen tasks; a versatile player fills any position on the field; a versatile coat suits a hike or a snowstorm alike. Its Smile is adaptable, and its Frown is limited, the thing that does only one job. Could we be more specific than saying a jacket was useful? We could say it was versatile, and tell the reader it does not just work, it works everywhere. Magnifique.

A good coat is versatile enough for a hike, a city walk, or a snowstorm.

Jake's word

adjective

Abrupt. An adjective, and mine, describing a thing that is sudden and unexpected, with no warning at all: an abrupt stop, an abrupt change, an abrupt end to a pleasant afternoon. Its Smile is sudden, and its Frown is gradual, the thing that eases in slowly. It comes from a root meaning broken off, and that is exactly the feeling, a moment snapped clean in two. Could we be more specific than saying the halt was fast? We could say it was abrupt, and let the reader feel the jolt of it. And when you need the adverb form, my friend Benny is waiting for you with abruptly.

The train's abrupt stop threw every standing passenger forward.

Benny's word

adverb

Abruptly. This is my word, an adverb, and I own it the way Nelson owns his nouns. It tells you HOW something happens, and abruptly means it happens suddenly, sharply, with no warning. The music stopped abruptly. The car turned abruptly. See how it snaps the action shut? Now here is your coaching: do not settle for she stopped talking. Make it sharper. Tell me she stopped talking abruptly, and now I feel the silence land. That is the difference an adverb makes. You can always do better, and abruptly is how you do it here. Watch it clip onto the verb and tighten the whole sentence.

The music stopped abruptly, and the whole room fell silent.

Benny's word

adverb

Remotely. My word, an adverb, and a clever one, because it works two ways. First, it means from a distance: the team operates the rover remotely, controlling it from far away. Second, it means in the slightest degree, and you hear it in the negative, as in that answer is not remotely correct, meaning not even a little bit. Both come from the same idea of distance, one across space and one across likelihood. Here is your coaching: when you want to say something is barely true, or not true at all, remotely sharpens it. Not close. Not remotely close. Feel the difference? Reach for the precise word, and remotely is it.

The scientists operate the rover remotely from a lab on another continent.