Widdershins. Hareath. Plethora. Words have always fascinate me. I can spend hours browsing through a thesaurus or researching the origin and meaning of a word. I love inventing words, too; putting letters and ideas together to create new concepts. Maybe that’s why I invented Martian Scrabble in college.
We used a regular Scrabble board, didn’t keep score, and there were only two rules: you have to pronounce it and you have to define it. Mikklestein: a container for storing fermented fruit. Cryzkle (craizcul): a green and gold striated stone used in fine jewelry. A couple of girls wandering through the UC asked what we were playing. Then they wanted to know how we knew Martian. “I was born there,” I told them.
English has a plethora of intricately beautiful words, each with its own sense of hue and meaning: house, cottage, shed, shack, bungalow, edifice, home; red, crimson, maroon, scarlet, brick, salmon. Even the spelling can change the meaning of a word. Take the word, gray/grey, for instance. The American version has a softer colour, more mellow and gentle, pussy willows in spring. The English version is darker, more robust, grey storm clouds over a Scottish moor.
Which is why I don’t subscribe to the current trend in writing to limit vocabulary and eliminate so many useful English words: vivid verbs, alternatives for “said,” and adverbs. Said: plain and boring. Gushed, screamed, whispered, murmured, replied, stated. Each word paints a specific picture and allows the writer to spend more time creating dialogue, story, and action instead of wasting time and space explaining to the reader. “Trend? Wait a minute, I thought everyone wrote like this?” Today, yes. Twenty years ago, no. Writers were free to use specific verbs and concentrate more on story. I tire of wading through copious amounts of words when a writer attempts to avoid any word except “said” and tortures the reader by spending dozens of sentences to say what could be said in a shorter, more specific manner. I’m not talking about showing the reader instead of telling. I’m merely responding to a “dumbing down” of our reading material in an attempt to satisfy a current fad.
Don’t believe me? Pick up a copy of Fog Magic, then compare it to any storybook written for elementary school kids today. Double dare you.