The Power of Precision: How Misused Words Cloud Clear Writing

Evan Swensen
November 15, 2024

On November 2, 2024, BloodHorse reported that Jayarebe, a participant in the Breeders’ Cup Turf, “suffered an apparent heart attack and died after finishing seventh in the 1 1/2-mile race at Del Mar.”

The report stated that Jayarebe “suffered an apparent heart attack.” At first glance, this wording might seem harmless. However, a closer look reveals how the misuse of “apparent” blurs the clarity of the statement, introducing an unnecessary ambiguity.

When journalists use “apparent” in this way, it’s easy to imagine what they mean—that Jayarebe likely died from a heart attack. Yet, the phrase “apparent heart attack” suggests that the heart attack was only a possibility, not a confirmed cause of death. In reality, Jayarebe didn’t suffer from an “apparent” heart attack; the horse either died from a heart attack, or the actual cause was unknown. It’s a subtle but important difference, especially when precise language matters.

In her book Write and Wrong, Martha Johnson explains the common misuse of “apparent” and “evidently” with examples. She writes, “Apparent is a sad case. Journalists and other writers regularly do violence to it.” Johnson’s examples highlight how words like “apparent” and “evidently” often turn up where they don’t belong, muddying what could be a clear statement.

Take, for example, the sentence, “He died of apparent asphyxiation.” This phrasing implies a kind of tentative diagnosis, but people don’t die from “apparent” anything. Instead, Johnson suggests that “The apparent cause of death was asphyxiation” is more accurate, conveying that asphyxiation is the suspected cause without committing to it as fact. The distinction here lies in framing “apparent” as an adjective for the cause, not the event itself. We can have an “apparent cause” when we lack conclusive evidence, but “apparent death” or “apparent heart attack” is confusing at best and misleading at worst.

The same nuance applies to “evidently,” another word often suffering in the hands of writers eager to sound authoritative. In Write and Wrong, Johnson explains how “evidently” can be misused: “She has a high score; she’s evidently the winner.” While it may seem that her high score points to her victory, this statement assumes too much. Without knowing any other scores, “evidently” becomes premature, creating an assumption rather than conveying a fact. A clearer alternative might be: “She scored 100; she’s the apparent winner,” indicating that, based on available information, she seems to be in the lead.

To use “evidently” correctly, there must be some form of evidence backing up the claim. Johnson suggests that a sentence like “The forest is evidently being destroyed by spruce beetles” would imply that tests or studies have been conducted, showing the beetles’ role in the forest’s decline. Without that evidence, the writer might instead say, “The forest is apparently being destroyed by a spruce beetle plague,” which signals that we’re observing signs of damage without a confirmed cause.

In the BloodHorse report, the choice of “apparent” highlights how small word choices can significantly impact clarity. If the cause of Jayarebe’s death was truly unknown, it might have been clearer to say, “Jayarebe collapsed and died, possibly from a heart attack.” This phrasing leaves room for uncertainty without suggesting that a heart attack is only “apparent.”

The misuse of “apparent” and “evidently” often stems from a desire to avoid definitive statements when all facts aren’t available. Yet, there’s a way to maintain precision and honesty without ambiguity. By framing uncertainty more accurately—whether as an “apparent cause” or using “evidently” only when evidence exists—writers can convey the situation truthfully and clearly.

These two words remind us of the power of specificity in writing. Each word in a sentence should carry weight and purpose. When used correctly, “apparent” and “evidently” can enhance clarity; when misused, they only add fog. For writers, especially those in journalism, where factual accuracy is paramount, understanding the nuance of language is more than a stylistic choice—it’s a responsibility.

So, the next time you find yourself writing about an “apparent” heart attack or using “evidently” without supporting evidence, take a moment to reconsider. These minor adjustments don’t just clean up your prose; they respect the reader’s intelligence and trust, allowing your message to come through with the accuracy it deserves.

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