Words Are All We Have

I'm reading the brilliant wordsmith, Robert MacFarlane's Landmarks.  I found MacFarlane quite by accident a few years ago, when I read a review of his book, Lost Words.  It sounded lush.  I had to possess it, immediately  It is lush; a feast for the eyes; a manuscript of great beauty with words that rise off the page and linger on the tongue like an aria's last note gently fading into the vastness of the sky.  Pure poetry.

In the beginning there was The Word ...

My first spoken word is lost in the muddle of time.  With three children to keep organized, my mum didn't have time for the small details!  But my first written word is enshrined in memory.  It was witnessed by my Auntie Rosalie.  Sitting at the dining room table, armed with my Dad's Parker pen and wads of paper, I was scribbling away, probably writing a letter or something like that, when a word popped out on to the page.  "Hey," said Auntie Ros, "you just wrote a word!"  I remember staring at that word, thrust out unconsciously, staring back at me in a sea of scribbles.  "Can you read that word?" she asked.  I could.  I had my first known word on paper.  Adults came running from the four corners of the house, and I was pronounced precocious - I had no clue what that meant, but it sure sounded good!

I arrived at Kindergarten as a reader.  As a teacher, I groan inwardly when such children land on my doorstep.  Inevitably, it means that the child in question is a sight word reader, or a memorizer.  The child has few phonic skills in his or her reading tool-kit and I'm going to have to work hard to fill in the gaps with a child who, "Already knows how to read, so why do I have learn this funny way of breaking words into spelling sounds to blend back together to read? Thank you for your concern, but No!"   I was certainly in that camp.  I learned to read by following my mother's finger as it tracked the words of hymns and Bible verses during church service.  I vividly remember "rereading" the lyrics and looking for words I remembered to while away the time during the sermon.  One thing this taught me was that if you add music to words, you can read note by note, word by word.  So, when I arrived at school, I was already reading Dick and Jane.  

Malaprops and Other Unlikely Words

At school, I found reading instruction a bit mystifying.  My teacher's name was Miss Mann, and she was the most feminine creature with the gentlest voice you could imagine; all flowery frocks and pearly pink nails.  I adored her!  Every morning, during playtime, she'd pull a small group of us, and flash word cards before our eyes.  I memorized all those flashing words.  They were useful additions to my lexicon, but how they related to the act of reading a book was a little puzzling.  This was during the height of Whole Language Instruction, a reading strategy widely practiced in the 1960s but which is now deeply discredited for obvious reasons.  Whole language does not focus on explicit phonic instruction and so you end up with kids like me who can read like the wind, but cannot spell!  (You may have noticed this while reading my work, and I can tell you that I have dictionary handy at all times!)   

The Whole Language phase aside, I was a reader, so it was in short order I became a productive writer.  Lists of words copied out of my Dad's theology books (sometimes as marginalia, which annoyed him no end!).  Formulaic letters to my grandparents inquiring how they were and informing them that I was fine.  Shopping lists scribed for my mother as she burrowed deep into the pantry to see what was needed in the way of food for the week.  And my own private thoughts that I kept hidden under my pillow.   Writing became an important expression when my own spoken words failed to do the job.  I've often wondered why this is so, but it is so that's that.

In adulthood, that lack of phonics instruction has plagued me in some comical ways.  Back in my college days, The Thornbirds was on the television.  Each night, my friend Diane and I would watch the episodes with the volume down low.  TVs were contraband in our conservative Christian college dormitory, with immediate confiscation and fines if caught by the RA or worse, the girls' dean.  Sometimes the sound was down so low, we couldn't actually hear the words, but no matter, Rachel Ward and the lovely Richard Chamberlain's acting skills left little to the imagination.  Anyway, during that time, I went to lunch with a friend of mine.  He was a devoted non-TV watcher so I told him all about this miniseries that had Diane and I completely captivated.  It was also in book form, so I thought he'd like to read it.  He kept looking at me as I miniseries-ed away, and finally interrupted, "What is that word you are saying?" I repeated the word.  My kind friend asked me to spell it. I spelled it the way it sounded, "min-IS-er-ree."  He looked puzzled.  And suddenly he understood, "Ah, mini-series.  That's how you say that word."  Because I frequently misread/mispronounced words, I was not embarrassed, merely thanked him for the correction and filed it away for future use.  However, min-IS-er-ree has become standard English in our household, because really, it's perfect - often these series are all about misery, not often resolving in happy endings!

Anyway, in my reflective moments, I think about words and word choice and what's the best, most precise one to use to paint that picture in my reader's mind.  There are so many words, so many variations that it really matters to get the right word in the right place.  Take the word "happy," for example.  Lovely word.  No problem with it, but if we are all happy, it doesn't really convey the degree of happiness currently experienced within a group of folks.  It could be a mild happiness, lightly tinged with a hint of melancholy and remembrance; it could be a middling experience, where you're feeling lighthearted and carefree but with the knowledge that such feelings are fleeting.  Or you could be over the moon, joyful and giddy with delight.  See what I mean?  Sometimes "happy" just ain't cutting it!

Occasionally, there is NO word that does justice to the experience.  Then you have no choice but to make-up one.  This words architecture is a peculiar gift of our firstborn, Zoë.  Take "pesticle" for example.  It is a common word used in my family.   If you look it up, Urban Dictionary says it's used to describe that special feeling you get when, "Your nutsack becomes sweaty and sticks to your inner thigh."  Fairly certain that Zoë did not know what a nutsack was when she coined it to mean something completely different.  When you think about it, you will quickly spot it's descriptive perfection:

Pesticle: 

that moment when your pest of a sister grabs your water bottle, takes a deep but messy drink from it, sending a dose of backwash into the formerly clear water, causing it to seriously cloud over, suspending suspicious looking "bits" that could be anything really, but are definitely gross since it comes out of young sister's mouth." 

We have lots of words floating around our home lingo, created by our own resident wordsmith, Ms. Zoë.  She's very good at it, but this is my personal favorite!  

Some words set my teeth of edge.  Their use is like nails on the blackboard.  They hurt my ears.  They are not beautiful or lyrical.  They act like deadweights that drag the sentence down into the muddy depths.  Sometimes I can not bear to read on.  One of these words is "utilize."  Ugh is not strong enough to register my distaste.  To me, it is a decidedly American word, and I mean this in the nicest possible way even though it's not going to sound like it.  Americans tend towards practical word choices.  There's nothing wrong with this.  They say what they mean and they mean what they say.  Utilize means to, "make practical and efficient use of."  That's one of America's strengths- efficient, practical.   While the rest of the world is dithering around, getting in each other's way, taking offense, or acting completely clueless as to what to do next, America has already been and come and gone!  Job done.   It's an Ernest Hemingway word that leaves you in not doubt as to what is means.  But I hate it.  It's ugly and harsh-sounding.  Whenever I come across it, I immediately get out my mental red pen and cross it out to replace it with the more pleasant sounding word "use."  What's wrong with use?  Why can't we use use?  It's meaning is far more poetic:

    to take, hold, or deploy (something) as a means of accomplishing a purpose or achieving a result; employ.

Yes, it's a bit more wordy and flowery, but it does not act as a road bump.  You just glide over it and move on with the rest of the sentence.  I like Use.  I do not like Utilize.  As a matter of fact, I do not like Hemingway either. I have a problem with his views and treatment of women, both on the page and in practice, but that's another story. 

I might be a bit of a word snob.

Some Favorite Words

Let me share some of my favorite words au jour d'hui:

Bluebell (lovely), lush, spicy, gloaming, penumbra, divine, epic, ruminate, euphoric, incandescent, raconteur, angst, gossamer, "saffron yellow skies streaked with cerise," flushed, cerulean, "wine dark sea," Invictus, noble, distinctive, "fresh green-gold." 

Okay, that's enough for now.  But you get my point.  There are words that sing off the page to paint with a vividness that creates an instantaneous recognition, that "Ah ha" moment.   And in that recognition, we create connection.  I think that's the job of a writer.  To create recognition and connection.  For in that space is where our humanity is expressed, defined and understood.  In that space we becomes one.

So I give you this to think about on this gorgeous spring day on which we celebrate St. George's Day and all that it means about Englishness.  And Shakespeare's birthday - the ultimate wordsmith - whose words were so sublime that they stretch down through time to connect the past with the present and the future.  Happy birthday Willie!

Adieu.

Heaven, the treasury of everlasting joy. ~ William Shakespeare.