Monday, February 28, 2011

Editing for Grammarphobes: Let's Hear It for the Writing Awards

What is your favorite thing about the Oscars?

The fashion? Gwyneth Paltrow’s shimmery dress was gorgeous. Helen Mirren always looks spectacular. Helena Bonham Carter’s black bustle was fun and totally her.

Rating the hosts? Anne Hathaway was good and looked beautiful in every dress she changed into. James Franco, not so much, especially in the Marilyn Monroe costume.

Cheering for your favorite to win? I was rooting on Colin Firth and “The King’s Speech.” Great actor. Great movie. I was glad to see him win after so many years of magnificent performances.

All of this is good fun, but my favorite time of the night is the Writing Awards, when I am known to yell “Whooo! Writers!” and sport a silly smile on my face.

Writing is such a God-awful, gut-wrenching profession, I love when one of us, no matter who it is, receives recognition. I am happy for Aaron Sorkin who won Best Writing (Adapted Screenplay) for “The Social Network.” 

However, for me, the story of the night is David Seidler, who won for Best Writing (Original Screenplay) for “The King’s Speech.” 

Seidler in a London Times photo. 
David Seidler is 73 years old. He began researching this project in the 1970s. He had struggled with a profound stutter as a child and drew strength from Prince Albert’s overcoming his own impediment. 

A November 23, 2010 article on Jewish states “Seidler said he became a writer in part because in writing he could communicate fluently beyond the spoken word.”

The story goes onto state Seidler made contact with Lionel Logue’s son, who had saved all of his father’s speech therapy notebooks and offered to show them to him with the condition that Prince Albert’s widow, the Queen Mother, agreed to the film.

She did not, saying those were too painful of memories, and asked Seidler to wait until after her death to finish the project. He ended up waiting twenty eight years, as the Queen Mum lived to a ripe old 101.

David Seidler is an inspiration to us all. Don’t give up. If you believe in a project, stay with it. Somehow it will come to fruition.

Thank you, Mr. Seidler, for your wonderful story of overcoming personal obstacles and perseverance. Congratulations on a well-deserved honor.

Go writers!

Friday, February 25, 2011

Flash Fiction Fridays: Romance Month Ends

Romance Month ends today with a bonus two stories. Enjoy.

Kismet in the Moonlight
By Cleveland W. Gibson

Rikki Gomez cursed his huge body.

In Zorba’s Bar in Window Rock he cursed again for making beer his God.

“I heard that,” the stranger said.

Rikki turned.

“Your curse? To get rid of fat. You want to slim down? Right?” the man continued.

Rikki leaned back. He noted the black hair shot with grey, long, tied in a plait and hanging at the man’s back. The suited Native American dressed well. The man promoted a good image to impress Rikki.

“Sure. I’m no Don Juan. I’m a slob.” Rikki ordered beer.

“Then let me help,” the stranger continued. “I’m Johnny Tosie, mystic leader of the Nakota tribe.”

Johnny showed Rikki a piece of translucent paper.

“What is it?”

“Human skin,” Johnny replied, “from the nipples of a high priestess. The tiny symbols represent Miakoda, the eternal power of the Moon. Keep this on your person and you will lose weight. Discover your soul mate too.”

“Where did you get it?” Rikki asked.

Johnny tapped the side of his nose.

“A long story.”

“How much,” Rikki asked.

“No charge,” Johnny replied. “When you’ve finished with it pass it on. Miakoda knows your thoughts. So, yes or no, Buddy?”

The stranger’s hand felt rock hard, powerful, as they shook on the deal.

At his next glance Rikki saw Johnny was gone.

A year passed quickly.

“See you’ve transformed yourself,” Johnny Tosie said. “I like the new you.” Johnny indicated the mirror in Zorba’s Bar and clicked with his tongue at Rikki’s fit figure.

“Heck.” Rikki shook Johnny’s hand. “ I owe you a lot. It’s a miracle. In the past 12 months I’ve risen through the ranks and now I’m in management, in my company. I get prestige, money, influence.”

“And love?”

“I’m trying. I’ve seen some nice girls.”

“Chase them. Use Miakoda. You want love; it will get you that. Think the right thoughts and it will all happen.”

When Rikki awoke each day he prayed for a soulmate. His patience became legendary.

One day, Rikki tripped crossing a road and a car hit him. His concussion worried the hospital doctors who decided to keep him under observation. Rikki awoke to see a young nurse. Her tied up blonde hair caught his attention, as did her chubby cheeks and 280 pounds. He studied her, knowing it was her fabulous “melt me” eyes that bewitched him. He remembered his own fat appearance and the powerful Miakoda spirit.

“Feeling better?” She took his pulse.

“I will do when I know your name.”

She paused, her eyebrows lifted.

“I mean it.” Rikki reached for the Miakoda symbol. He felt the power in his grasp.

“Jennifer,” the nurse said. Her eyebrows lifted as she studied the 170 pound patient. He interested her.

“I’d like some water first. Later comes champagne and dinner... in the moonlight.”

Cleveland W. Gibson was born in colonial India in an atmosphere of colour, mystery and intrigue. In the UK, he worked in the government, trained as a life guard and was a road race director for over ten years. Since taking up writing, he’s published over 200 short stories, poems and articles in over eighty-five countries. Gibson is the author of a children's mystery, Billabongo, and the science fiction novel, Moondust. His current project is a fantasy novel, House of the Skull Drum. To learn more about Cleveland, visit Bewildering Stories and Grey Sparrow.  

In His Love
By Deborah Brodie

On the way to her car the next morning, Sarah saw Daryl waiting for her in Missy’s driveway, leaning patiently on her car. She ignored him as she tried opening the car door without making eye contact. He refused to budge, making her attempts futile.

Instead he pulled away her windswept hair from her face and gently kissed her cheek. She sighed angrily at herself for melting the way she did at his slightest touch.

“Look at me, Sarah,” he whispered.

“I don’t want to,” she whispered back.


“Because I’m mortified!”

“No, you’re not. Your pride is a little bent out of shape, that’s all,” he said in a cavalier manner, which really made her mad.

“You love that, don’t you?” she said bitterly.

With a grin, he replied, “What I love is you, and the fact that you finally opened up and let me catch a glimmer of your emotions, raw and uncontrolled.”

Rendered speechless, she gazed into his hazel eyes, which, when the light struck them, flickered with green and gold.

“What about your girlfriend?” Sarah asked suspiciously.

“What about her?”

“I don’t remember you being this arrogant!”

“I have an adult relationship with her. Are you ready for one of those?”

Sarah’s eyes grew intense, and her lips tightened in anger as she thought carefully of her response. Daryl moved towards her; she stood still until his eyes nearly devoured her by desire, and he placed his lips to where they were almost touching hers. He could feel her tense and pant in expectation.He slowly kissed her and pulled her closer, until he stopped and spoke in a voice soft as silk, “Right around here is when you left last time.”

Pulling away from him angrily, her voice cracking in emotion, she asked, “What do you want me to say Daryl?”

“I don’t know, Sarah.” He paused and stepped away looking up towards the sky and back downwards. He finally looked at Sarah and faintly said, “It’s hard to be told you are part of someone’s dream when you were not part of building it. Back in college I thought we shared a dream, but you decided it was too risky, so you pursued another. And now you expect to pick up exactly where you left us. It doesn’t always work that way, Sarah!” he shouted.

“But I thought we were happy?”

“We were!”

“Why can’t we go back to the way things were before I left?” she pleaded.

“Because things are a whole lot different, and we’re different.” He paused and lowered his voice, “Sarah, you still cannot bear to become intimate with me. There is an invisible barrier resisting me. And I am not just talking about being intimate physically; I am also talking about connecting with me on a deeper level emotionally and spiritually. I am thrilled you’ve invited me back into your life and welcome me to be part of your future dream, but, Sarah, I have dreams and expectations too.”

Deborah Brodie was born and raised in the suburbs of Bergen County, New Jersey. She is a graduate from Faith Theological Seminary and Christian College in Tampa, Florida, and currently resides in northwest Florida with her husband. Her latest novel is In His Love, a Christian romance novel. She also has written a contemporary version of a Christian devotional, The Path that Gets Brighter.

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Editing for Grammarphobes: Did You Know...?

...the word is memento, not momento, when referring to a souvenir or keepsake?

...fortuitous means to be limited to what happens by chance and is not an adjective version of fortunate or lucky?

...disinterested is impartial and should not be confused with not interested in.

Coming Friday

Romance month finishes up with two interesting takes on love by Cleveland Gibson and Deborah Brodie. Next up, comedy.

Monday, February 21, 2011

Editing for Grammarphobes: Adventures in Punditry

Here are some words I have heard thrown around by television political pundits and the comedians who mock them. I thought it might be handy to list their definitions as a continuation of Wednesday’s vocabulary post.

Again, all definitions are taken from Webster’s Ninth New Collegiate Dictionary and


This word means “government by the wealthy” or a “controlling class of the wealthy.” It also can mean a group of people exercising power or influence by virtue of its wealth.


Slightly different from plutocracy, an oligarchy is a government in which a small group exercises control and has all of the power. Government by the few rather than the majority. Webster adds this small group usually wields their power for selfish and corrupt purposes.


Capitalism is “an economic system characterized by private or corporate ownership of capital goods or investments that are determined by private decision rather than by state control, by prices and production and the distribution of goods that are determined mainly by competition in a free market.”

A capitalist is defined as one who has capital, especially invested in business or a very wealthy person.


Socialism is “any of various economic and political theories advocating collective governmental ownership and administration of these means of production and distribution of goods” by the community as a whole.

A socialist is one who advocates the practices of socialism. This is not to be confused with socialites, who usually are unaware these words exist.


Communism is “the governmental system which advocates the elimination of private property and in which all good are common and available as needed.”

A communist is an advocate of communism. Although sometimes it describes someone one who is a revolutionary or engaged in subversive activities, that usage is not correct.

And Now, To Lighten Things Up a Bit... 

The deadline for "Flash Fiction Fridays" comedy-themed pieces is Monday, 2/28. There are some really great stories coming in. I hope yours will be one of them.

So remember, 500 words or less. Send it to me at, and put “Flash Fiction Fridays” in the tagline. Don’t forget to include a short bio and links. The only thing I ask of you is to sign up to follow Bibliophilic Blather so we can build up our online writing community.

And speaking of our community, over the weekend, Bibliophilic Blather welcomed our 100th follower. YAY! Thank you all so much for reading. If you have any suggestions or topics you would like to see covered here, please send me an e-mail at the address above.

Thursday, February 17, 2011

Welcome. Would You Like Some Punch?

Today, I am excited to be participating in the SheWrites B&W Blogger Ball. Thanks so much to Meg Waite Clayton for organizing this. 

For those who are here for the first time, thank you for stopping by. Here's a bit of information about my blog. Bibliophilic Blather features "Editing for Grammarphobes" every Monday and Wednesday, plus "Flash Fiction Fridays," which showcases authors of various genres interpreting monthly themes in 500 words or less. Feel free to check out the themes and deadlines on the right side of the page, if you are interested in participating. 

My tip for bloggers is this: create a niche for yourself. There are so many blogs, all competing for readership and a chance to get noticed. Think about what you have to offer the world or your genre that maybe someone else cannot. 

Again, thanks for visiting. Have a seat. Grab a beverage. Make yourself at home. I look forward to visiting your blogs.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Editing for Grammarphobes: What Does It Mean?

Some words have enjoyed a resurgence in recent years and are now tossed about freely, sometimes almost overdone. But what do they really mean?

Get ready. It’s vocabulary time. (Don’t worry. There will not be a quiz on Friday.)

All of the definitions are courtesy of the Webster’s Ninth New Collegiate Dictionary and


Zeitgeist means “the general intellectual, moral and cultural climate of an era.”


John Steinbeck captured the zeitgeist of migrant workers in The Grapes of Wrath. 


This word is “stodgy, narrow and often ostentatiously or pretentiously learned.”


Some people dismiss grammar rules as pedantic, yet fail to remember they need them for effective communication.


Esoteric means “designed for or understood by the specially initiated alone;” such as those who have special knowledge of the topic.


Poetry is filled with esoteric allusions, including those from Greek or Roman mythology. 


From the Greek, pedagogue originally was a “slave who escorted children to school.” It has since been broadened to its present definition of “teacher, schoolmaster or tutor.”


The pedagogue lectured on Edmund’s subplot in Shakespeare’s King Lear. 


A cacophony is a “harsh discordance of sound, dissonance, or a discordant and meaningless mixture of sounds.” “A harshness in sound of words or phrases,” if you will.


The constant cacophony of the traffic below drove Zelda to shut her windows. 

So, are you ready to incorporate any of these into your vocabulary? They are great words, don’t you think? I will be doing another vocabulary lesson on Monday, which will include words the political pundits blather on about every day.

We Have a Winner 

Congratulations to Jeanne Tomlin who won the I HEART Books giveaway and will be receiving a Kindle copy of A Whisper to a Scream.

Coming Friday 

Flash Fiction Fridays will feature a lovely story by Margaret Lake. You will not want to miss it.

Monday, February 14, 2011


I hate Valentine’s Day with all of its obnoxious pink and frills. Obviously, marriage has made the holiday a lot easier by eliminating old anxieties such as “Will I get a Valentine?” or “Does he really like me?” No and no. Just kidding. But enough about my personal life.

This Valentine’s Day, I would rather focus on something that has been a constant in my life since I was a wee tot and still am very much in love with today — books. Besides my children (and sometimes despite my children), nothing makes me happier than settling into a comfortable chair with a good book and my beverage of choice beside me. Hot in the winter. Iced in the summer.

What are your favorites?

Post them in the comments section for a chance to win a Kindle copy of A Whisper to a Scream. It’s my Valentine to you.

Here are some books that affected me profoundly.

A Room of One’s Own 
Virginia Woolf struck a chord with me in this brilliant analysis of women and writing, which is as relevant now as when she penned it in 1929. 

Back When We Were Grown Ups 

For every woman who feels she does not make a difference in her family’s lives, Anne Tyler offers this piece to prove otherwise. 

Moby Dick 

Herman Melville’s epic adventure also has enough symbolism to make any English major leap with joy. 

Moby Dick, or, the whaleA Room of One's OwnBack When We Were Grownups: A Novel
The Oxford Illustrated Jane Austen: Volume II: Pride and Prejudice (Oxford Illustrated Austen)The Elements of Style (4th Edition)Complete Works of Shakespeare, The (6th Edition)

The Complete Works of Shakespeare

This tome, which contains many of the greatest pieces of theatre ever created, is my bible: revered and referred to on a regular basis. The language, the phraseology, the wit. My life is enriched because of this genius, and I am forever grateful.

The Elements of Style 

One cannot be an English major or editor without consulting Strunk and White’s guide on a regular basis. It is a great handbook to good writing.

Pride and Prejudice 

The magnum opus of the master. What else can one say?

I look forward to reading some of your favorites. Happy Valentine’s Day.

Friday, February 11, 2011

The Romance Continues on Flash Fiction Fridays

Today, Bibliophilic Blather is fortunate to have two romance flash fiction stories. Love is in the air for these couples, whether they be living or dead.

Under the Glass 
By Victorine Lieske

Steven Ashton squeezed Emily’s hand as the elevator lifted. “You’ll be fine.”

Her wide eyes stared up at him. “I feel naked.”

Heat rose to his cheeks, and he fiddled with his tux. “We could have kept looking…”

Emily shook her head. “It’s not the dress. Although I still think you shouldn’t have spent so much.” She ran her hand down the shiny material. “It’s the bug-under-the-glass feeling.”

Sympathy for her arose, but he knew there was nothing he could do about it. Social functions were a part of his life. If he didn’t bring her to this one, the next would be even worse. “I’m sorry. If it’s worth anything, I think you look beautiful.”

She smirked and brushed a golden curl from her face. “Thanks, but your credibility is waning after what you said last night.”

“Hey, you were beautiful when I first met you.”

“I’m sure I was a beauty queen after spending ten hours in a hot car with a four-year old and…”

Her voice caught, and Steven put his arm around her shoulder, but didn’t say anything. Nothing he could say would take away her pain. The elevator doors opened.

Emily’s heels clicked against the marble floor as they walked down the hall. No sooner had they entered when Penelope spied him. She had even more diamonds on than usual.

“Stevie,” Penelope said, taking his arm and completely ignoring Emily, “I haven’t seen you in ages. How have you been?” He tried to pull his arm back, but her grip was firm.

“Excuse me, Penelope,” he said, as politely as he could, wiggling away from her. “I’d like to introduce you to Emily,” he said, “my fiancĂ©e.” He took Emily’s hand and pulled her close. “Emily, this is Penelope.”

“Emily,” she said, her lips stretched thin across her teeth. “Nice to meet you. I’ve heard all about you.”

Emily gave her a polite nod.

Penelope’s eyes narrowed. “I heard about your awful experience, dear. How was jail? I can’t say I’ve ever been to one.”

A few heads turned in their direction. Emily’s face flushed scarlet, and she fled the room.

“You disgust me.” Steven turned to follow Emily, pleased with the look on Penelope’s face.

He saw Emily slip down the hallway and rushed to catch up with her. “Emily. Wait.” When he caught her arm she turned, and he saw mascara running down her face. “I’m so sorry, Em.”

“This isn’t going to work, Steven,” she said, looking down at her shoes. “I can’t marry you.”

“Forget her. You’re the only one that matters.” He slid his arm around her waist and drew her close. “I love you, Emily. I don’t care about the past.”

He wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb, and pressed his lips on hers. He didn’t hold back his hunger for her. When he broke away, she smiled. “Do that a few more times and I won’t care about the past either.”

Victorine Lieske is the author of the Not What She Seems. She and her husband live in Nebraska, where they own and operate Victorine Originals Rubber Stamps from their home while raising their four children. Lieske has a bachelor’s degree in art from BYU Idaho and designs many of the rubber stamps they sell. 

Dead People
By Edie Ramer

Luke stared at the ghost the way teenagers stared at rock stars, and Cassie knew why. Joe looked too alive to be dead. Like a regular guy in his leather jacket, dressed retro, down to the Elvis haircut.

“What’re you staring at?” Joe hooked his thumbs in his belt. “Haven’t you ever seen a ghost before?”

Cassie fanned her hand in front of her mouth and choked.

“What’s the matter?” Joe’s aggression turned to concern and he zapped down the stairs to Cassie’s side.

“I’m having trouble breathing,” Cassie said. “The testosterone’s getting too thick.”

He gave her a slow smile. “Live with it, doll-face. I don’t plan on going anywhere.”

Cassie turned to Luke instead. His expression had changed, as cold as winter. “Luke, meet Joe. Joe, meet Luke, my former client.”

Joe floated closer to Cassie, not quite touching her. Glancing at him, she saw a challenge in his hooded eyes.

Luke skewed his gaze to Cassie. “How the hell does a ghost have testosterone?”

“Joe’s exceptional.”

“It’s not my stuff polluting the air,” Joe said. “I didn’t fire a woman because I couldn’t control myself.”

Luke didn’t reply, but his neck broadened, a cord standing out, and his jaw tensed as hard as his fists.

“Joe.” Cassie reached out, but pulled back before touching him. “It’s okay. I’m glad I’m not working here anymore.”

“You sure?”

Cassie looked Luke straight in the eyes, giving him the message that she meant every word. She wanted out of this roller coaster that was eating her alive. These stupid, stupid, stupid feelings she had for him. “Yes. Let’s get out of here.” Get the hell out and far, far away.

Striding toward the front door, she was aware of Luke’s eyes on her back, her skin prickling.

She exited the house, not looking back. Not this time. This time it was bye-bye-baby-goodbye. 

Edie Ramer loves her cat so much, she made her the heroine of Cattitude, her first paranormal romance. Her second book, Dead People, book one of her "Haunted Hearts" series, was a finalist in the American Title V international romance writing contest. She lives in Wisconsin with her husband, two dogs and the original Belle the Cat. To learn more about Edie and her books, visit her website


Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Editing for Grammarphobes: Still More Common Word Errors

Today, I present five examples of words that are misused every day.


The word,
unique, means one of a kind. It is unique in and of itself. One cannot write or say something is truly unique or very unique. It is unique, period.

Toward and Afterward

Those are the correct words, not
towards and afterwards, which do not exist in American English. They have been misspoken so often, even I had to look up toward this week. Gasp!


The definition of
random is having no specific pattern or purpose. Consequently, this word should not be used in conjunction with people. It is rude. 

A random man asked me if I had the time. 


Since the man clearly has some purpose in life, even if it is not evident to you, random is the wrong word. He was not random, but rather a stranger.


Most of the time, when writers use the term anti-social, they really mean
asocial, which is someone who does not like to hang out with others.
Anti-social means going against everything in society. Someone who might not want to go to a party on Friday night is probably not shunning all of society. Rather harsh, don’t you think?

Coming Up on Flash Fiction Fridays 

Best-selling authors Victorine Lieske and Edie Ramer serve up two romantic tales.

Monday, February 7, 2011

Editing for Grammarphobes: More Commonly Misused Words

There are so many, I could go on with this topic for pages and pages, but let’s go with five for today. I like to sprinkle them in every few weeks.


A premier is serves as the first minister in a national government that has a council of ministers. Prime minister is a synonym of premier.

Premiere is a first performance, whether it refers to a movie, play or symphony.


Alumnus is a male graduate of a school, college or university. The plural is alumni.

Alumna is a female graduate. The plural is alumnae.

If there is a mixed group of men and women, alumni is used.


Capital refers to a city in which the seat of government is located. It also describes money and resources used by a business or individual.

The Capitol is the building where lawmakers meet in Washington, D.C.


Acute means sharp, or when referring to an illness, one that worsens quickly and reaches a crisis.

Chronic means long-lasting or lingering.

Immigration is arriving at a country.

Emigration is leaving a country.

Friday, February 4, 2011

Flash Fiction Fridays: It's Romance Month

Our Place 
By Jeanette A. Fratto                       

I slid onto the stool at the counter of Duke’s Diner, a neighborhood eatery convenient to my office. Today I was there out of habit more than hunger. I had an important meeting this afternoon and didn’t want to go on an empty stomach, but last night’s argument with Jeffrey kept repeating in my head, killing my appetite.

We were approaching our third wedding anniversary. Instead of plans for a happy celebration we seemed to be disagreeing over too many things. Last night it was whether we should buy a house or continue renting for another year. A week ago we couldn’t agree on where to take a short vacation this summer, one we both needed badly. I loved Jeffrey and I knew he loved me but we were acting like two mismatched people heading for a divorce. 

“Do you mind passing the cream?”

I hadn’t noticed the elderly lady seated to my right, so engrossed had I been in my thoughts. “Of course,” I answered as I gave it to her.

“Thanks. Do you come here often?”

I chuckled to myself at what sounded like a pick-up line. “It’s near my work so I sometimes come here for lunch. What about you?” I really didn’t care but thought it polite to ask. 

“This is the most special place to me. The first time I came here I met my future husband. We sat next to each other just like this. When we started dating we’d meet here for lunch on our work breaks. He even proposed to me here.” She smiled at the thought. “We called it ‘our place’.” 

I gave her a quizzical look.

“I know, it’s not the most romantic place, but it meant a lot to us. I even told my husband I was pregnant with our first child at that very booth over there.” She pointed towards the back.

“How long have you been married?” I asked.

“Forty years when my husband died. Last year. A sudden heart attack. We still had so many plans. When I come here I relive such good memories. Are you married dear?”

“Yes, almost three years.”

“Oh, you’re so lucky. Still in the honeymoon phase, aren’t you?”

If she only knew.

“I’d give anything to go back again, start over. Some of the silly quarrels we had, you know, those little power struggles when you’re first married, would never happen. I’d compromise more. What’s the difference who’s right or has the better idea? You won’t even remember it months later.”

Could she read my mind?

“If you’ve got a good man, cherish him. Life is so short. Anyway, this will be my last time here. I’ve come full circle. My daughter’s convinced me to live with her and she’s 100 miles away. I leave tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” I said, tears brimming my eyes. I squeezed her hand.

Now she looked quizzical.

I left quickly. I couldn’t wait to call Jeffrey.

Jeanette A. Fratto is a Michigan transplant now living in southern California. She has bachelor’s and master’s degrees from California State University-Fullerton and worked for twenty six years with the Orange County California Probation Department. Her first novel, No Stone Unturned, is available through Outskirts Press. To learn more about Jeanette, visit her blog, JeanetteWrites.

Photo courtesy of

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Editing for Grammarphobes: Islam

Today’s topic deals with words I have heard used incorrectly multiple times in conversations. We owe it to the more than 1.2 billion Muslims around the world to get this right.

The major world religion founded by Muhammad is Islam. People who follow Islam are called Muslims. “Muslim” is not a religion. There is no such thing as “Muslimism” and no people called “Islamites.”

The adjective version of Islam is Islamic, but Islamic should not be used when referring to the followers of Islam. The proper word is Muslim.

The sacred scripture of Islam, the Quran, is in Arabic.

Although Arabic is the language of the holy book and prayers, not all Arabs are Muslims and not all Muslims are Arabs.