Bajiggity

Adventures in Logophilia, Day 188:

bajiggity

You may not have heard this word before because I first heard it from my mother, who invented it.  You can imagine it took me a while to figure out the proper spelling of this word. Bajiggity is one of those words you find yourself saying to describe a feeling or a state of being that no "real" word can accurately describe.  Bajiggity is an adjective in the vein of "going berserk," describing (as far as I'm concerned) a state of agitation or hyperactivity brought on by excessive caffeine, stress, adrenaline, or related anxiety issues. This is pronounced ba-JIG-ity.

My mother says: "The definition is unknown, but we all know what it means."

by Samantha T

You might say I'm bajiggity because filming for Sherlock Series 3 begins today.  My cat is usually bajiggity in the evenings, when her nocturnal senses are piqued and she wants to play (using her teeth, of course), resulting in the occasional hippity (another word from Mom), or jaunty little skip. 

Ombrifuge etc

Adventures in Logophilia, Day 187:

ombrifuge

Anything that provides shelter from the rain - from an enclosed porch to an umbrella to a gazebo.  Any word beginning with ombro- will relate to rain, as ombros is the Greek word for rain shower.  On this note, one of my other favorite rain words is ombrogenous which describes a bog or that icky stuff called peat which depends on large amounts of rain in order to form.  Spring is by nature ombrogenous. 

rain in scotland by Nicolas Valentin

Neverwhere on BBC4

I have just finished listening to the BBC Radio production of Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere.  It is exciting to hear one of my favorite novels transformed into such drama; nothing unlocks inspiration quite like hearing a story unfold, and letting the visuals come to life inside the imagination.  Neverwhere, though it has its short-comings, is one of the richest worlds ever created... from the streets of London Above to the sewers Below, to conversations with rat lords and the bustle and chatter and chaos of the floating market.  It has its own rules, legends, and dangers.  The first episode made for an excellent, transporting hour that I was sad to see (or rather, hear) end. 

Episodes will be broadcast in 30 minute episodes this week through Friday, and then they will be available until the end of March.  Neverwhere features the voice talents of James McAvoy, Benedict Cumberbatch, Christopher Lee, Bernard Cribbins, David Harewood, Sophie Okondeo and Natalie Dormer.  Visit Mr. Gaiman's blog for a fun cast photo.

Click on this cast photo for a link to the program website!

Trust me - you want to make yourself an artist date and lose yourself in London Below this week!

Whirligig

Adventures in Logophilia, Day 186:

whirligig

This is a child's toy that operates in a whirling motion, like a pinwheel, a weathervane or the seed pod from a maple tree blown by the wind.  More generally this means one that continuously whirls or changes or is constantly in motion.  A whirligig more universally can describe a whirling or circling course of events, particularly those out of our control.  This describes my writing life 80% of the time.

Doff

Adventures in Logophilia, Day 185:

doff

To remove an article of wear (clothing: jacket, hat etc) from the body - taking off ones hat as a sign of respect.  In a more general sense it means to rid oneself of something or put it aside.  Think of Mr. Darcy taking off his hat to Lizzie Bennet.

British gentleman doffing his hat by Alistair

Panache

Adventures in Logophilia, Day 184:

panache

A dash of individual flamboyance and style in one's actions or creations; a flash of distinct personality, i.e. writing style and voice, a pair of red shoes with a grey dress. This came into English from French and Italian versions of the Latin word pinnaculum, which means "little feather" referring to the ornamental feathers and tufts worn on the helmets of soldiers, perhaps Roman soldiers.  What does your panache look like? 

malias gideon on flickr

Jejune

Adventures in Logophilia, Day 183:

jejune

This adjective describes something that is lacking in any sort of nutritive value, or (aside from food) without significance or interest, or something that is generally simplistic, naive or superficially rendered.  This is from the Latin jejunus, meaning "barren or fasting".  Somewhere along the line this came to mean "not intellectually nourishing." (Oxford Dictionaries)

It's important to be conscious of how we're feeding ourselves intellectually, because that will feed into the writing we produce.  The things we read - from novels to newspaper articles to tweets - can either amount to tons of cake or a bowl of highly nutritious blueberries.  Too much television is comparable to a surfeit of caffeine. Are we going for the superficial and the sugary or the vitamins and antioxidants?  Are we learning?  Or are we merely being entertained?  Are we energized or left feeling tired?  Believe me, I struggle with these things all the time.

Blueberries are better than cake.

I've learned that staying intellectually healthy may include:

• Not letting Twitter run your writing life.
• Reading "new" things - books and stories outside of the comfort zone, whatever that may mean.
• Getting off the internet (ahem, Pinterest) and the computer and basking in some quiet time.
• Taking walks without the aid of an iPod soundtrack.
• Reducing caffeine intake.  
• Keeping a journal and writing by hand (to maintain tactile connections between the act of writing and the connections made in the brain).
• Watching television sparingly.  I don't believe that television is completely bad for us, because it is an alternate form of storytelling... although I find it is not very helpful on terms of craft.  Nothing clears the brain faster after a stressful day than losing oneself in an episode or two of something that makes me wonder about life.
• Getting out of the chair.  We tend to work best planted in a sedentary fashion - there really is no way around that.  But getting up and moving around pushes blood into the brain and keeps us thinking.  Do it!
• Sleep!

Microcosm

Adventures in Logophilia, Day 182:

microcosm

A little world, especially: the human race or human nature seen as an epitome of the world at large or the universe.  Generally, a microcosm is a small community or other unity that in some way mirrors a larger society.  I prefer focusing on microcosms rather than macrocosms.  The microcosm is the immediate setting, the macrocosm would be the era, the year and the country (or planet) in which the story unfolds. 

snow globe = microcosm

Volant

Adventures in Logophilia, Day 181:

volant

This adjective means having the wings extended as if in flight, like a heraldic bird; generally used to describe something flying or capable of flight, or simply quick and nimble - metaphorically, moving as if flying.  This is from the Latin verb volare, to fly.

juvenile least tern in flight by mike forsman

Blackthorn Winter

Adventures in Logophilia, Day 180:

blackthorn winter

Generally, a blackthorn winter is a spell of cold weather at the time of early spring when the blackthorn trees are in bloom.  Though it is not officially spring, we are right on the cusp.  March is that odd time of year when anything can happen with the weather.  Yesterday, temperatures climbed to 60 degrees and I took a breezy walk in the sunshine.  It was warm enough that I had to take off my sweater.  Spring was definitely in the air.  Then, this morning I woke up to discover a world transformed from muddy, nascent spring to blustery, white winter.  The robins seem mightily confused.  But this is a good omen, methinks, for a wet spring and a greener summer to follow.

snow crocus by corbeau du nord

 

Sprite

Adventures in Logophilia, Day 179:

sprite

A sprite is an elf or a fairy, an Middle English warp of the word spirit.  The word has also come to refer to flashes of red light in the atmosphere during thunderstorms as electrons clash with other high-energy molecules.  This is related to spright, an alternative spelling.  Someone who is described as sprightly is spirited, vivacious and cheerful lightness about them.  I find March to be quite sprightly, delightfully so after another (inevitably) gray February.

Adumbrate

Adventures in Logophilia, Day 178:

adumbrate

to give off a faint shadow or slight representation of something.  In writing, this is an outline we write out for ourselves to guide the way through a novel, and also the technique of foreshadowing events to come.  This is an art - the ability to intimate by overshadowing, to shed light on other things by putting all the distractions in shadow, to draw what's important out into the light.  A little meta, no?

Coif

Adventures in Logophilia, Day 177:

coif

A girl from Breton (France) wearing a traditional coif.

James Holland.

A coif is a woman's close-fitting cap, now only worn by nuns underneath their veils.  It was also the term for the skullcap men would wear with their armor in battle.  In America, coif is short for coiffure, which means one's particular hairstyle.  

Coifs in general fascinate me.  I went through phases as a kid where I wore a knitted beret over my hair most of the time - not just because I was trying to grow my hair out and thought it looked gross, but because the hat looked cool.  And, you know, it did have the shape of one of those coifs worn by the kitchen staff in Downton Abbey. 

Folly

Adventures in Logophilia, Day 176:

folly

Folly is the lack of good sense, understanding or adequate foresight; an act of foolishness, or more specifically, a costly undertaking which results in embarrassing or ludicrous ruin.  This word is Middle English, which means it was borrowed from the Old French word folie, meaning "madness." (Oxford Dictionaries.)

The Fool, as seen on a tarot card, is about to fall step off the edge of a cliff.

I actually don't believe folly is all that bad - it is the state you start out in when embarking on a journey.  I've learned that I am still the fool when it comes to this trying-to-get-an-agent business.  The important thing is to realize that blunders will be made.  I will trip and fall several times.  I will have to go back and rewrite that one chapter I thought was perfect.  I will write stupid tweets and worry about what people are thinking, if anything at all.  Folly is a learning curve; I've learned that the Fool on the tarot card is represented as a perpetual youth... and aren't we all?  I don't mean perpetually young, but constantly learning.  How else can we learn but through trying and stumbling and getting scraped up... and picking ourselves up again?  

Embrace the fool.  He's really not that bad.  Or fatal.  Or stupid.  He just has convictions about things that haven't been (but need to be) tested.  He doesn't watch where he's going, but he'll soon learn his lesson.  I'd like to see him after he picks himself from tumbling off that cliff, dusting himself off, examining his bruises and looking up to see where he came from. "Well, that was dumb," he might say, "but I don't regret a moment of it."  

So... write like a fool to write better.  Laugh at yourself.  Move on.  Harbor no regrets.  I think I can handle that.

Hegemony

Adventures in Logophilia, Day 175:

hegemony

the over-arching influence or authority over others, domination. 

Elucubrate

Adventures in Logophilia, Day 174:

elucubrate

 

by louveciennes

to express studious efforts, working (composing, studying, reading) by lamplight.  I suppose this might be where "burning the midnight oil" comes in.  Whether it's late at night or early in the morning, we all put this to practice because art is calling us.  And there is something about a single lamp (whether electric or flame-illumined) lit in the dark, quiet hours that promises peace. 

Burgeon

Adventures in Logophilia, Day 173:

burgeon

to put forth fresh growth, or to grow vigorously, flourish.  

I think we're all about ready for Spring, aren't we?  In another sense, after a week of craziness at work and strange stomach issues on top of that, I am ready to get back into my writing soil and put down roots once again.

 

I remember I saw this word on the cover description of a novel I read a lot as a kid.  I didn't know how to pronounce it, so I took it to my dad who say "maybe, bur-GOYN?" So for years, that was how I said it, perhaps incurring many a puzzled look.   I later realized that it rhymes with "surgeon," and was actually quite relieved.

Intercalate

Adventures in Logophilia, Day 172:

intercalate

to insert a day into a calendar, or to insert between or among already existing layers or elements.  Every four years we intercalate February 29, otherwise known as Leap Day.

Matt Preston

I've always had this strange fantasy of mixing up the months which contain 30 days with the those containing 31 days.  It would be an easy mistake to make, wouldn't it?  I don't know much about our calendar and why certain months were given a certain number of days to total out to 365 or 366.  I imagine that if we had to insert another day into our calendar to, say, balance out dramatic changes in time, adding days to November, February, April, June and September would be an easy change.  There's a science fiction story brewing here.  I just know it.  Dibs!

Tessera

Adventures in Logophilia, Day 171:

tessera

A tessera was a small tablet made of wood, clay or bone, which the Romans used as a ticket, tally-token, voucher or even a means of ID.  These came into play in The Hunger Games, as the number of tessera traded and bargained for by eligible candidates for the Games could mean the difference between surviving and starving under the rule of Panem.  It is just one of many Roman flavors Suzanne Collins gave her series. 

Quincunx

Adventures in Logophilia, Day 170:

quincunx

an arrangement of five things in a square in a square or rectangle, one at each corner and one in the middle.  I always think of five pillars when this word comes up: four pillars holding up a structure at each of the distinct corners, the fifth secretly holding up the middle. 

A series of quincunx from an ancient puzzle.