Language – The Writers in Residence

Litters of Letters

by Jill Amadio

Were there ten fewer consonants and only three vowels in the English alphabet, here’s how two of the Bard’s indelible lines would have been written:

“Fr n mr th het f th sn…”

“Th ly’s th thg…”

Much of our English is derived from other languages, including Latin, French, Greek, Italian, German and the aliens for all we know. In fact, our precious alphabet initially descended from the Egyptian Pro-Sinaitic alphabet around 1,800 B.C. The Phoenicians took it up, followed by the Greeks, then the Romans, who brought it to the British Isles during their disgraceful occupation, only to be shunted aside by the bloodthirsty Anglo-Saxons. By the 13^th century, we are told, the “modern English alphabet had emerged from the Old English alphabet.”

Earlier, the Chinese, other Asians, and Russians had invented their own enigmatic images to represent words, adding to our confusion. The strokes used to appear to bear no relation to letters as we know them, but then the vice-versa is also true.

Some writers are rather taken by the French influence whereby we tend to add acute and grave accents over certain letters, and also by the German umlaut of two tiny dots placed over specific vowels.

My keyboard doesn’t provide any of these extra elegant little marks although to the left of my number 1 in the top row there is a funny little squiggle that resembles a drunken letter N: ~. I am sure it has great significance but the meaning escapes me sand I have never felt compelled to use it, even as an April Fool’s Day joke.

So, by the 13^th century the Normans generously presented the Brits with their very own alphabet, and many of the world’s most remarkable English writers went full-tilt into turning out their extraordinary literature.

In my Oxford Dictionary of Quotations, a 1,000-page tome, there is only a single reference to the alphabet. It is from Charles Dickens’ The Pickwick Papers. He had one of his characters, Samievel, being advised that although “there were many things you don’t understand now, but…as the charity boy said when he got to the end of the alphabet, it’s a matter of taste.“

I think Dickens was indicating that knowing the alphabet was a choice but something a poor person may not have the opportunity to learn, if, indeed, he could even read English.

That should be the end of this saga but I became fascinated with my research. It turns out that we have been cheated. There were originally 29 letters in the English alphabet although three other letters were left out entirely: J, U, and W. I also read that NATO has its own phonetic alphabet to help members pronounce English words during their lifelong luxury residence in America.

What’s so interesting now is how our words have come to mean something else entirely, such as “swatting,” “hacking,” and many others.

I wonder how these words translate into other languages, and if the message changes with the wind. Their double meanings will undoubtedly show up in dictionaries although the editors might want to wait a couple of years in case an even different and additional meaning pops up.

At least we still have our five vowels and 21 consonants with which to create characters, settings, plots, and strategies.

THE WEIGHT OF WORDS

by Miko Johnston

Words have become a frequent topic for my posts. I often say they’re a primary tool in the writer’s toolbox, and like all tools they need to be kept sharp as well as up-to-date.

When I read, I’ll occasionally come across a word I don’t know or might be unsure of its meaning, whether in English or another language. Whether plots or articles, writing that includes corporations or government agencies and bureaus often use acronyms, and thanks to texting, so does modern fiction. We all know FBI, CEO, LOL. If the mystery is set in the fictional Gotham City, we can figure out what GCPD stands for. When the unfamiliar term is foreign, an acronym or other modern slang I’ll search for it online. I don’t mind doing this, as I enjoy learning new words, terms and expressions to expand my vocabulary, even if I never use them.

I used to keep my dictionary and thesaurus handy when I write. Now, I prefer to look up words online when I’m not sure of the proper meaning, or if they’ve changed over time. I google “(language) to English” if I need a translation, or the reverse if I need the word or phrase in another language. If I’m uncertain if a word I want to use is best or if another would be clearer, I check the thesaurus. I often understand the meaning better from similar examples than dictionary descriptions. If the synonyms don’t relate to what I want to express I delete the word and find another. You could say the dictionary “tells” me the meaning while the thesaurus “shows” it.

My thesaurus also comes in handy when I need a substitute for an overused word, or if I can’t think of the right one to use. However, it’s old and doesn’t reflect modern speech. If I want the language to be au courant, I google the word, or the idea I want to express, and add synonym. The results help me decide whether to stick with my original word, choose a better one from the list, or pick a different word that more closely expresses what I want to say.

I also search for the etymology of words, phrases and expressions. As a writer of historical fiction, I must know when they came into usage to avoid anachronisms. The reverse is true as well. A word or phrase that brings authenticity to a period in history would sound ridiculous spoken out of time – who says 23 skidoo, groovy, or gag me with a spoon anymore? Then, I consider who will use the word. For example, I wouldn’t have a fusty old person use hipster (for the time) jargon, or vice versa.

Sometimes I must use an obscure word. When it’s foreign or an historical reference, I often describe it in the sentence following its usage. Sometimes the meaning can be gleaned by context, such as when my characters lit a yahrzeit candle to commemorate a loved one’s death. However, some terms can’t be explained without a dictionary-like entry – for example, plastron, which I used in my first novel, set in 1899. I expect most readers had to look that word up to find it meant “an ornamental front of a woman’s bodice or shirt consisting of colorful material with lace or embroidery, fashionable in the late 19^th century”. Hardly something that could evolve naturally in dialogue. Certain genres, such as historical fiction and hard sci-fi, as well as unique careers and hobbies of the characters, give the writer some leeway for the occasional obscure term. So does a post on a writer’s blog.

Even so, I sometimes question the use of vocabulary that may be unfamiliar to the average reader, like etymology or anachronisms. I don’t want to oversimplify the subject, nor do I want to write over the reader’s head. I wonder – should I find another way to express myself? Is there a better way that won’t send readers rushing for their dictionary? Or is that necessarily a bad thing?

Some believe using more complex terminology – what we used to call “hundred dollar words” – makes them sound smart, while others find it pompous and pretentious. A wise person can explain complex ideas in complex terms, but a wiser person can do the same using plain language. I wouldn’t consider that “dumbing down.” I’d call it making the information more accessible to more people. Even so, the best word may be foreign to some, including me. As a reader, I will look up a word I don’t know or am unsure of its meaning in the context of what’s on the page. If I have to do that once or twice, I will, but too many unfamiliar words put me off.

Some writers must use foreign words, terminology, slang, or acronyms related to the time period, profession, or avocations of their characters. How do you handle challenging vocabulary as a writer and as a reader?

Miko Johnston, a founding member of The Writers in Residence, is the author of the historical fiction series “A Petal in the Wind” as well as a contributor to several anthologies, including the about-t0-be-released “Whidbey Island: An Insider’s Guide”. Miko lives in Washington (the big one) with her rocket scientist husband. Contact her at mikojohnstonauthor@gmail.com

Words!

by Linda O. Johnston

Some of my fellow Writers in Residence inspired me to write this post by mentioning, in past weeks, their enjoyment of, and working with, words–most especially Miko Johnston, who wrote “Wordplay,” and Jill Amadio, who wrote “You Say Potatoe…” I always enjoy our posts here, but those two really jostled a lot in my mind.

Why? I love words! I always have, from the time I was a very young kid, and still do. Reading, spelling, grammar in grade school? Wonderful!

Miko described her fascination with words and their origins and imagery and sounds and more. Jill focused somewhat on the differences between the U.S. and U.K. versions of the same words and their spelling and uses in grammar.

And me, here? Well, let’s just say I do all I can with words in different schemes and environments. Yes, I write. I’ve always written, since I was a child, but I do a lot more now. My undergraduate college degree was in journalism, and I worked in advertising and public relations before becoming an attorney–and a published novelist. They all involved words!

Besides writing these days, I also do a lot with word puzzles, especially crosswords, cryptograms and acrostics. It keeps me fresh with the words I use as well as learning how others can play games with them, literally. Yes, I sometimes check the answers if I don’t otherwise figure them out, since it’s a good method to learn not only words but different and sometimes strange usages–although I’d much rather figure them out myself.

I find it interesting that I sometimes also have to figure out what recent slang and other words mean, even though many used to come to me just by hearing them and their usage. For example, I had to look up what the current usage of “woke” means. Yes, I had to become woke in its usage!

My own vocabulary was helped over the years by the fact I used to be fairly literate in the French language after studying it for over ten years as a kid. I rarely use it now, though I can often read French, but I don’t always understand when people speak it in my presence unless…they…speak…slowly. Yes, lack of usage has slowed me down, although I can always come up with a sentence in French, probably an elementary one. And if I see French words on a page, I can often translate them.

Plus, over the years I’ve learned some Spanish words, too. And after spending a significant amount of time in Germany years ago, I can sometimes recognize German words as well.

So… Yes, words and I are good friends. Buddies, chums, mates and more. Amies et amigos und Freunden. Guess I’ll keep talking and reading and listening and solving puzzles…and hope to learn even more words.

Lewk and Other Odd, Ugly New Words

by Jill Amadio

Would you write this in your next mystery: “He awoke woke as usual, wondering if he might be roofied, kettled or lewked today. Then, as he threw back the bedcovers, he remembered it was his turn to rizz.”

How many readers and writers can figure out the meaning of these phrases? I wonder also how these new words translate into French, Italian, or the Baltic languages. Did you know that lollipop is a slang word for money in Britain, Australia, and New Zealand although the word lolly has been in use as referring to money in the UK for a long time.

Fortunately, I have yet to read a modern mystery that includes any of the above, although a recent read did include the work “hacked” to mean a fairly decent way to dispose of a body rather than hacking into someone’s computer (although it is sometimes tempting to want to snatch up a machete and aim it at my screen).

Gaslighting is common these days but to me the word “deceve” has a far more evil connotation due to its hard “e.” How about being roofied? No, not a new roof on one’s house but a slang word for the drug Rohypnol which, in itself sounds rather boring compared to its new version. I must confess I am rather partial to the word “dox” as it sounds medieval but I don’t write historicals so I would have to use it for its modern meaning, which is cyber-bullying, maliciously publicizing private, personal information about someone, and usually posting it online via social media.

Dox is similar to pox so maybe that is the connection. Medieval slang, or descriptive words, were and are scattered throughout historical novels and plays, especially by Shakespeare who wrote in The Tempest: “a pox o’ your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, incharitable dog!” Yeah! That told ‘em. The bard also used the word “cotton” to refer to a lower-ranking peasant. One wonders if peasants were considered lewk back then because of their wearing of cotton garments that distinguished them instead of costly fabrics.

Acronyms are showing up, too, and turning into daily use as words in their own right. For examples, “lewk.” The letters were all at one time written in upper case and stand for Loitering Electronic Warfare Killer. Now, the first and last words, loitering and killer are understandable and fitting for mystery writers. However, the four uppercase letters together refer to, perhaps, a war machine waiting for the signal to attack, such as an army tank. In lower case, the letters form a word meaning a person’s individual fashion style by which he/she/them/their is instantly recognizable. I’d venture a guess that Sherlock Holmes and his deerstalker hat was the first of his generation to be lewk.

Here are a few of my own suggestions for slang in a murder mystery:

Tompt = a double-bladed dental tool for extracting teeth

Willabot = bird seed for large sparrows

Seso = blood-stained blue underwear

Atikul = a cell phone smashed in four places, a vital clue

Culik = a pearl-handled pistol

Daawtul = a female murder victim

Obviously, not a single one of the above, however specific, makes any sense but does lewk or dox?

Are we free to invent new words with the hope that readers can easily gauge the writer’s intent? That would be like writing a mystery within a mystery, and require a glossary like a list of characters at the front of a book as a few of the Golden Era mystery writers, like Agatha Christie, sometimes added.

What’s your opinion of the new additions to our language? Should they taught in writing workshops?

Jill Amadio is a mystery writer, novelist, journalist, and ghostwriter. Her standalone thriller, “In Terror’s Deadly Clasp,” is based on a true 9/11 story. Her award-winning mystery series features an amateur sleuth from Cornwall, UK, Amadio’s former residence before relocating to California and Connecticut.