![]() Since then, he has included “raffia” in the approved word list of several puzzles. One reader was so irate that he protested by sending a seventy-eight-yard spool of raffia to Will Shortz’s house, Godfather-style. Raffiagate, as it is called by Spelling Bee fans, triggered a barrage of angry tweets and emails. “I certainly learned something new that day,” he says. I’d never heard of it, and neither had Sam. It’s what Easter baskets are often made of. Raffia is a shiny, crinkly fiber from a palm tree. He’s got one of the most powerful jobs in all of puzzledom. And the man behind that controversial call is a clean-cut twenty-five-year-old puzzle editor named Sam Ezersky. The official rule of the Spelling Bee is that it accepts “common English words.” But what is a common English word? Ah, that’s more art than science. As Orson Welles said, “The enemy of art is the absence of limitations.” One reason I like the Spelling Bee is that it makes me realize just how arbitrary the English language is.Īnd then, of course, there’s the paradoxical pleasure of getting furious about what words Spelling Bee accepts and those it rejects. Or maybe they are like ingredients (butter, sugar, flour, and eggs) from which come waffles, pancakes, and a hundred other tasty carbs. They are like Lego bricks ready to be rearranged into a boat or a tower. Here are a mere seven letters-but from them spring dozens of words. If I’m feeling generous toward myself, I’ll say that I’m drawn to the Spelling Bee because it’s a metaphor for constrained creativity. Why do I find it so infatuating? Maybe it’s the constant dopamine hits, one for every word discovered, another when the computer gives me encouraging feedback like “Awesome!” Article deadlines? Helping my son find a Spanish textbook? A return call to the dermatologist about the weird mole? Those can wait until I hit the top level, “Genius.” When I wake up for good at 8 am, my first task is to find enough words to reach the highest level. But if addiction consists of an inability to stop doing something that is harmful to my life, the Spelling Bee has qualified ever since my son Zane introduced me to it several years ago. I don’t want to throw around the word “addiction” too cavalierly. The New York Times doesn’t release statistics about its puzzles, but one source told me that it’s more popular online than the venerable crossword puzzle. (For the above puzzle, “theme” is legal, but “gem” and “math” are not).Īnd my Lord, did it take off. Here’s an example: Solvers must find words with a minimum of four letters that include the center letter. But Will made two key changes: He allowed solvers to reuse letters in the same word, and he gave it the cutesy name Spelling Bee. He was inspired by a game called “Polygon” in the Times of London. ![]() The readers we weren’t reaching yet were ones who’d like something easier and more accessible.” As he explained to Times reporter Deb Amlen: “I felt that The Times already had the ‘tough word puzzles’ audience covered with its crossword, acrostic, and cryptic. It was meant to be a simpler alternative to other word games. The Spelling Bee was created by Times puzzle editor Will Shortz in 2016. I’m drawn to the Spelling Bee because it’s a metaphor for constrained creativity. You type in a word full of optimism, press Enter, and the computer snaps back “Not in word list.” How can you not include ‘laird’!!! The Scottish landowner! More on the joy of complaining shortly. And in addition to complaining about waking up early, their other favorite pastime is griping about which words are omitted from the list of approved words. The Spelling Bee fanatics have a name-the Hivemind. One Connecticut woman wakes up, solves the Spelling Bee, and tweets about it, all before 4 am. I’ve met many other puzzlers who confess through gritted teeth that they are middle-of- the-night Spelling Bee players. The crossword at 10:01 pm, the Spelling Bee in the wee hours. Only then can I close my eyes with a mixture of relief and self-loathing. It’s “ Pickled.” Or “Janitor.” Or “Petunia.” for a bathroom break, against my better judgment, against many promises I’ve made to myself, I grab my iPhone and click on the Spelling Bee, unable to fall back to sleep until I find the hidden word that uses all seven letters.Īh, thank God. Which means that when my body wakes me up around 4 a.m. For some reason, the genial sadists at the New York Times puzzle section have scheduled the find-a-word game to appear every night at 3 a.m. To be precise, it doesn’t pop up every day. I speak of the delightful and infuriating New York Times Spelling Bee. No, what robs me of the most sleep is an innocent-looking little grid of seven letters that pops up on my iPhone every day. But if I’m being honest, those worries aren’t the main cause of my insomnia. I worry about rising sea levels and declining democracies.
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