If you tell me that you have never typed it's for its, I will be compelled, reluctantly, to say that you are a damned liar.
It's for its must be one of the most common spelling errors in English, cropping up even in edited prose and the subject of endless fulmination about the supposed decay of the English language, the educational system, and civilization in general.
But we all, amateurs and professionals alike, make typographical errors. Yesterday on Twitter, Kevin Cross, @TheBrownWord, invited me to address the topic: "For your next column: what's a good way to bring typos to writers' attention, or should one bother at all?"
We understand why typos occur. For purely mechanical reasons, fumbling fingers sometimes hit the wrong key. Or the wrong neuron fires and we get a homonym of the word we intended. Or the mind ranging ahead to the next word starts it as the hands are entering the current word. It happens to us all.
That being the case, why do we see typos crop up even in the work of experienced writers? Haste is often a factor. But the way we read also works against us. We do not read letter by letter, but take in clusters of letters at a glance, which the brain interprets as the words we know. If two letters in a word are transposed but it is a familiar, expected cluster, the brain will auto-correct it. Moreover, we are bad at proofing our own writing because we know what we meant to say, and that informs how we see what we wrote.
Assiduous use of the spell-check function will catch a good many typos. Reading the text aloud also forces attention to every word, with the additional benefit of helping to identify language that just sounds awkward. The deeply obsessive-compulsive will read a text backward, which really focuses attention on each word. And, of course, you really ought to have the services of an editor. There's no fully effective substitute.
No matter how careful and thorough you are, errors will creep in. It's salutary to keep in mind the Wicked Bible of 1631, which omitted the word not from the Seventh Commandment.
But let's maintain perspective. Apart from the Bible, typographical errors are almost always of small significance. Readers sometimes gloss over them, their mental auto-correct function acting. And even when they are noticed, typos seldom obscure the writer's meaning. They are minor errors rising from haste and carelessness.
They are, however, easy to spot, even by inexperienced readers. That is why, when publications cut back or eliminate their copy desks and the inevitable profusion of typos comes before the public, a great tide of reader complaints rolls in. The typos are the easiest thing for readers to spot and complain about. They recognize that they are being offered sloppy work. (That diminishing the editing yields articles that are shallow, ill-focused, and dull takes a little longer to recognize.)
We come now to the question Mr. Cross raised, whether to address a writer about typos, and if so, how.
Though typos are minor errors, they remain embarrassing, and yes, you ought to give the writer an opportunity to fix them.
One method is to pluck the typo from the text, wave it about publicly, and crow about having identified it. Readers particularly relish spotting a copy editor's errors, and I do not begrudge them the pleasure. I fix the error and express thanks.
One of my regular readers is an editor with a keen eye. When she spots a typo, she sends me a private message, neutrally and tactfully pointing out the mistake. And she always combines it with an expression of appreciation for what the post says and for the work I do here. (Were I not already spoken for …)
I think you can figure out for yourselves which approach the writer would prefer.