How Do I Solve Today'S NYTimes Wordle Answer Efficiently?

Bright-eyed this morning, I dove into the crossword and the goddess-of-discord clue popped up like a little mythological wink. For a classic clue phrased that way, the common fill is ERIS — four letters, crisp and neat. I like the economy of it: three consonants and a vowel, easy to slot in if you already have a couple of crossings. If the pattern on your grid looks like R I S or E I S, that’s another nudge toward the same name. What I always enjoy about that entry is the little lore that comes with it. Eris is the Greek deity who tossed the golden apple that sparked the whole drama between the goddesses — a perfect bit of backstory to hum while you pencil in the letters. There's also the modern twist: a dwarf planet discovered in 2005 got the name 'Eris', and that astronomy tidbit sometimes sneaks into longer themed puzzles. If you're filling by hand, trust common crossings first but keep 'ERIS' in mind — it’s one of those crossword classics that appears often. I still get a kick seeing ancient myth and modern science share a four-letter slot in a daily grid; it makes finishing the puzzle feel like connecting tiny cultural dots, and I like that little bridge between eras.

If you’ve stared at a grid and the clue reads small salmon, my brain immediately flips to the juvenile term 'smolt'. I get a little thrill when a short, specific biology word shows up in a puzzle — it's the kind of tidy, nerdy nugget crossword constructors love. A smolt is the stage when a young freshwater salmon undergoes physiological changes to head out to sea; in puzzles it's the handy five-letter fill that fits a lot of crossings. I usually check the letter pattern first, and if the enumeration is (5) or the crossings point to S---T, 'smolt' locks in cleanly. That said, puzzles can be slippery and setters sometimes go for other options depending on length or tone. If the clue expects four letters, 'parr' is another juvenile form of salmon or trout, recognizable by the vertical bars or spots along its sides. You might also see species names like 'coho' or 'pink' clued simply as types of salmon, but those are species rather than size/age descriptors. Then there’s 'kelt', which refers to a spent salmon that has spawned and survived, so it’s the opposite lifecycle-wise but pops up in fishy puzzles too. Context matters: if the clue reads small salmon (4), think 'parr'; if it’s small salmon (5) or young salmon (5), 'smolt' is the usual suspect. I personally keep a tiny mental list of these terms because they repeat across themed puzzles, nature-themed crosswords, and British-style clues. When I’m solving on a commute and can't remember whether it was 'parr' or 'smolt', the crosses usually nudge me into the right wildlife term — and I always enjoy the little ecology lesson tucked into a Saturday puzzle. Seeing 'smolt' in a grid makes me smile; it’s compact, a bit obscure for casual solvers, and just specific enough to feel rewarding when it clicks.

I find it fascinating how modern preachers rework the parable of the Good Samaritan to speak to today's messy realities. In a lot of contemporary sermons I've heard, the Samaritan isn't just a moral exemplar but a radical neighbor who crosses social, racial, and political boundaries. Speakers will place the story next to homelessness, immigration, opioid addiction, or even the ethical mess of social media — asking who we consider 'neighbor' when our communities are fragmented by echo chambers and zoning laws. Some sermons call for direct aid like soup kitchens and harm-reduction programs, while others push the congregation to lobby for policy changes that prevent people from being left on the roadside in the first place. What I appreciate is the balance between tenderness and accountability: the Good Samaritan model can affirm personal compassion while also pushing churches to confront structural injustice. Hearing it that way makes me want to actually show up in practical, sometimes uncomfortable ways, not just nod along in the pews.

For most puzzles I reach for the six-letter fill 'ELATED' as my go-to — it's the crossword workhorse for 'overjoyed'. If the grid gives you six squares, ELATED almost always fits the tone, the letters are common, and constructors love it. If the pattern suggests eight letters, 'ECSTATIC' is the natural leap: it carries a slightly bigger emotional boom and matches longer slots well. For a tight four-letter slot, I check whether 'RAPT' could be intended; it has that older, literary flavor and crops up in British-influenced clues. I also like to walk through the thought process aloud: scan the crossing letters first, then match the intensity. If the clue's surface hints at a very high degree — words like 'utterly' or 'simply' — lean toward 'ECSTATIC' or 'EUPHORIC'. If the clue feels casual or contemporary, 'THRILLED' (eight), 'GLEEFUL' (seven), or even the colloquial 'OVER THE MOON' (if the puzzle allows multiword entries) are possibilities. In quick daily puzzles you'll usually see ELATED or RAPT; in themers or themed Sunday grids, constructors might prefer the flashier ECSTATIC or EUPHORIC. I like picturing scenes from books when choosing fills — someone receiving a long-awaited letter in 'Pride and Prejudice' might be described as ELATED rather than ecstatic, which feels too modern. That little linguistic instinct helps me lock the right word. Personally, ELATED still gives me the most crossword joy when it clicks into place.

There are a handful of six-letter verbs that crossword setters reach for when the clue reads 'communicate', and I've learned to spot the likely candidates by tone and crossings. 'Convey' and 'inform' are the two that show up most often for me — 'convey' for getting an idea across and 'inform' when someone is being told something. 'Relate' tends to appear when the clue hints at telling a story or reporting. 'Signal' is the go-to if the clue implies nonverbal or coded communication. 'Impart' has that slightly formal, literary bent and often appears in clues about giving knowledge. I also keep 'notify', 'confer', and 'parley' in the back of my mind: 'notify' for formal notice, 'confer' or 'parley' when the clue leans toward discussion or negotiation. Crossings usually seal the deal, but thinking about whether the clue is formal, conversational, or physical helps me pick the right six-letter fit — it’s a tiny semantic dance that never gets old to me.

Short clues like that usually hinge on letter count and crossing letters, so I treat this like a little logic puzzle. If the grid wants a four-letter fill, my brain immediately jumps to judo or sumo. Judo is extremely common in crosswords because it’s short, internationally recognized, and fits cleanly; sumo also pops up when the clue leans toward traditional Japanese wrestling rather than the more modern martial arts. If the pattern allows more letters, I scan for karate, aikido, kendo, or one of the spellings of jujutsu/jujitsu. Crosswords sometimes prefer the simpler romanizations without hyphens, and sometimes the grid theme nudges you toward a specific spelling. So I usually pencil in judo first, then test crossing letters; if they force a different vowel pattern I switch to kendo or aikido. I love how a few crossings can lock in the right martial art and make the whole section click—it's oddly satisfying.

Diving deep into modern literature, it's fascinating to uncover the themes that resonate most with readers today. One theme that stands out is mental health awareness. Books like 'The Bell Jar' by Sylvia Plath and 'Eleanor Oliphant Is Completely Fine' by Gail Honeyman explore characters grappling with their mental struggles. They shine a light on the importance of discussing these topics openly, helping readers feel less alone in their own journeys. You can feel the weight of their experiences and the triumph in their growth, which makes the reading experience so relatable. Another prominent theme revolves around identity and belonging. Novels such as 'Crying in H Mart' by Michelle Zauner weave personal narratives around culture and self-discovery. This theme speaks volumes, especially for readers navigating their own cultural backgrounds or struggles with identity. Through these stories, we see how powerful it can be to embrace complexity and find one's place in the world. You get so wrapped up in the characters' struggles and victories, it pulls at your heartstrings and leaves you reflecting long after the final page. It’s not just about personal journeys, though. While reading, it’s clear that social justice and activism are also becoming central themes. Books like 'The Hate U Give' by Angie Thomas confront race relations and the quest for equality head-on. The urgency and relevance of these themes add layers to the narrative, prompting discussions that feel necessary in today’s world. You can't help but feel inspired and called to action, tapping into your own sense of responsibility towards change. Lastly, the theme of technology's influence on life is incredibly relevant, especially in the digital age. 'The Circle' by Dave Eggers raises questions about privacy, surveillance, and the impact of social media on our daily lives. This theme speaks to the collective anxieties we all have about our digital footprints, weaving in a cautionary tale that feels almost prophetic. A tricky balance of intrigue and caution keeps the story gripping, making you think twice about your online habits. Such rich themes create a landscape of emotions, pushing boundaries and sparking conversations that matter.

I love flipping through old fitness manuals on lazy Sunday afternoons, and Eugen Sandow's writing always feels like a time capsule. In 'Strength and How to Obtain It' he pushes a pretty straightforward, whole-foods approach: lots of meat, eggs, milk, vegetables and potatoes, sensible breads, and regular meals. He was big on chewing properly, avoiding heavy sauces and stimulants, and keeping meals tempered so digestion wasn't overloaded. There’s a clear focus on protein and solid, unprocessed food — the kind of diet that supports the heavy, laborious lifting of his era. Compared to today, the big differences are scale and science. Modern diets branch into keto, paleo, Mediterranean, plant-based, intermittent fasting, macro-tracking and countless branded plans; plus we have supplements like whey, BCAAs, and creatine. Sandow’s basics actually map well onto high-protein and paleo-style thinking, but he lacked the micro-level knowledge we take for granted: precise macro math, blood lipid monitoring, micronutrient deficiencies, gut microbiome considerations, and the safety data around long-term saturated fat intake. He also didn’t have processed protein powders and ready-made meal replacements — which is a blessing for food quality but a pain for convenience. What I like about both eras is the common sense: whole foods, moderation, and consistency. If you’re chasing muscle now you can borrow the simplicity of Sandow while using modern tools — tracking, testing, and targeted supplementation — to polish the results. It’s a neat mashup: old-school common sense with new-school precision.