A question of first impression comes from Michael Carter, of Charlotte, N.C. What is the difference, he asks, between “meantime” and “meanwhile”?

Semantically speaking, there’s no difference at all. Both adverbs mean “during the intervening time.” The gnomes of Merriam-Webster tell us that “meanwhile” came into popular usage in the 1400s; “meantime” arrived a century later. In contemporary usage, the choice is remarkably a writer’s choice. It depends upon the pace of a paragraph. If the pace is slow, we use three words: “in the meantime.” If the pace is fast, we use one: “meanwhile.”

Constant readers will recall that we’ve dwelled upon this theme before. Sometimes we want to write “slow,” so we turn to languorous words and passive verbs, and we create sentences that depend upon dependent clauses, like this one, and before long we sound like the novelist William Faulkner or the columnist George Will. Meanwhile, the constant reader dozes. This is the best advice I can offer: Be not constantly too long. And be not consistently too short.

Another question of first impression comes from Pierre Bouvette in Davidson, N.C. He objects to what he deems the clumsy use of “parish.” In evidence he cites a news story about the pastor of a First Baptist church in North Carolina and his “parishioners.”

I could use some help on this one. Until this inquiry came along, I would have sworn that the noun “parish” is the exclusive property of the Catholic Church and the state of Louisiana. Now I learn from the American Heritage dictionary that a “parish” is the administrative part of a diocese with its own church in the Anglican, Roman Catholic “and some other churches.” The Encarta dictionary concurs.

My other four everyday dictionaries disagree. Oxford and Random House say that a parish is only an ecclesiastical or administrative district. New World says the term embraces the administrative districts of “various” churches. At Merriam-Webster, they say a parish is “a local church community composed of members or constituents of a Protestant church.”

What do I say? I say, “Help!”

Another stumper comes from Burl Pepper in Manhattan, Kan. He wonders about the verbs “to brandish” and “to wreak.” Do we brandish only “weapons” and wreak only “havoc”?

I would contend, subject to challenge, that “to brandish” must convey some element of menace or at least braggadocio. One could brandish a sword, a piece of firewood, an egg beater or a flyswatter, but there must be some degree of pending unpleasantness, threat or bravado.

As for “wreaking,” I dunno. Has the direct object of “to wreak” ever been anything else but “havoc”? Perhaps a hurricane could wreak punishment on a coast. Does an aggrieved victim wreak vengeance? And why does “wreak” rhyme with “leak” and “speak” instead of with “break” and “steak”? Such is the ineffable charm of English speech.

Faye Joseph, from somewhere in Cyberspace, asks for an opinion on the past tense of “to spring.” She cites a news item last month about a 6-year-old who “sprung into action” when her mother was injured. Shouldn’t the verb be “sprang”? It’s a matter of ear and context. My hungry lion sprang upon the gazelle. Your aging pipe sprung a slow leak. Or vice versa. Once again, the choice is a writer’s choice. It’s your story, your lion, your pipe and your past tense.