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castle window

Other Worlds is proud (er…kind of proud…almost proud…OK, so we’re a little ashamed) to bring you another “hysterical fiction” blog on the English language, from the past. This blog originally appeared on my old Myspace page back in ’07 and appears unaltered in all its splendor (save a quick spell-check) for your reading pleasure. Enjoy!

Long has it been held, by certain linguistic (albeit naïve and dangerous) scholars, that the origin of the word “window” comes from a simple mistake made by a half-deaf simpleton, who, in passing, overheard, with his good ear, a conversation, between two stone masons repairing a hole in a nearby wall. There are several variations and sources to this rather dubious etymology, including one in which the simpleton is in fact half-blind and tone deaf, and an even more erroneous tale in which the alleged hole is in a hedge (What two stone masons would be doing, patching a hedge is beyond me.), but the conversation is generally reported to have gone something like this:

“What’s making that moaning sound?”
“The wind.”
“Oh.”

Needless to say, that the above explanation, while having the virtue of being short and simple, was simply not sufficient for your scholar. Thus I embarked upon yet another lengthy, exhaustive and expensive investigation to find out the truth for myself. The following is the result of my extensive research; scouring seven continents, six major cities, five minor cities, four townships, three towns without ships, two one-horse towns, and a partridge in a pear tree, and, oh yes, forty-two and one-half libraries for the answer.

I must also add, that during my scholarly adventure, I was harassed, cursed, chased, accused of heresy, ran out of one one-horse town on a rail (they didn’t actually have a rail, so they used the towns only skateboard), and sought for advice by several rebellious teenagers. In addition, I was threatened in Quebec (although not effectively) and in Chicago by the Window Washer’s local, squeaked through numerous attempts on my life in Europe (not including scrapes with death while competing for taxis in Paris), and narrowly escaped a stoning in Dearborn, Michigan. All of this was orchestrated by a dark and secret organization of linguists, known as “The Conspiracy,” whose roots go back to the founding of Rome; a group so secretive yet pervasive that the mere reading of this report will probably land you on their dreaded “white list”*. So be warned! All of this, I, your humble servant, have endured for your enlightenment.

Now, without further ado, on to my findings…

Certain scholars would have us believe that the word window comes from the Old Nordic word vindauga, which literally translates to “wind eye.” Now of course the wind has no eye since it is simply air in motion. However, these supposed scholars are right in assuming that the word window comes down to us from two root words. Those words however are not wind (moving air) and eye!

Let’s tackle the first part of this word; wind. While we have grown accustomed to thinking of windows, as something that wind passes through it does not have the exclusive on passage through said opening, now does it? In fact, if the window has a fixed, glass pane there is no wind allowed to pass at all. And these two facts form our first clue to the inaccuracy of moving air playing any serious role in the creation of our subject word, aside from the breath used in its utterance. No, instead we should be looking to the dim reaches of recorded time, when windows were first invented.

In those savage and dusty days, the only good purpose for a hole in one’s wall was to shoot arrows through, at the other savage and dusty creeps outside your abode, trying to get in to steal your venison, beer, pretzels and television set. They weren’t yet after your coasters in those days, since they hadn’t been invented yet, but I digress…

The windows in that time were remarkably slimmer (and of course without glass, since you can’t, and never could, shoot an arrow through a pane of glass accurately or without an expensive repair bill. One can only imagine the cost (in goats) of replacing a duel-pane in those days!). In fact these early defensive openings were nothing more than slits. These later were incorporated in castles and other corporate edifices for the protection against the still ravaging savages and angry stockholders outside. There were many adjustments, such as angled stonework, additional cross slits and, of course, ashtrays and cup-holders, but essentially they were the same arrow vomiting egresses. We now know these later advancements as “arrow slits,” but at the time they were known as “that arrow-launching hole-in-the-wall thingy,” which of course was awkward and much too long to enunciate during the heat of battle. So something had to be done.

That’s when Thompson of Gattlingshire, a friar, was called in by his local liege to solve the problem. Unfortunately, there was a misunderstanding and instead of working out a better name for the arrow-launching hole-in-the-wall thingy, Thompson came up with a much improved opening in the wall, and implemented it throughout the knight’s castle, while he was away on holiday. This new hole was much wider and open, allowing for a better view of the surrounding, serene countryside, however not very good for hiding behind. The knight who had brought Thompson in on the case was furious and demanded that Thompson do something about his new and larger arrow-launching hole-in-the-wall thingy. So the friar thought and thought and prayed and prayed. He paced for days around the courtyard and eventually wandered into the smithy to tinker. After a few hours at this, he came out of the shed with a startling new invention, the windlass crossbow, which allowed the knight to smite his enemies with greater vigor.

Well, the knight was so pleased with this new device that he completely forgave Thompson for not coming up with a better name for the hole-in-the-wall thingy.
However, this does little for solving our mystery. Now I can hear you right now, saying, “They probably named it after the windlass, you long-winded fart!” but you would be wrong. While the windlass does play a part in the creation of our word, it is not the direct source for the “wind” in window, because, as you see, they did not yet call it a windlass in those days, but a cranking crossbow. I only used the word windlass, as it was convenient. If you insist on grabbing hold of every word and trying to decipher the entire English language in one sitting then I must ask you to do so on your own time. You might want to pack a lunch.

Now where was I? Oh yes…This new cranking crossbow allowed the knight to dispense death from his new, larger arrow-launching hole-in-the-wall thingies than had previously been imagined. In fact, the noted historian, Norwit of Neverwood stated that, “ne’er had I seen such blatant disregard for human life as did I witness at Gattlingshire, where upon three large companies of knights laid siege to the castle there, and were utterly defeated by that castle’s liege from his cranking crossbow. He was really cranking them out. He was winding his demonic contraption like the wind, and his missiles filled the air with tangible death, and there was much suffering and haranguing and bleeding and cries cut short by a quick second tap to the crotch or head. And they snuffed it.”

It was the expression “winding…like the wind” which really caught the attention of the knight of Gattlingshire. And he decided at that point to dub his stone domicile “Winding Hall,” and the arrow-launching holes-in-the-walls he then called “winding holes.”

Eventually, as the cranking crossbow caught on, so did the winding holes and before long everybody had one. As a side note: It was sometime after this that the cranking crossbow was named a windlass, after the winding hole, except of course in Gattlingshire where they were still called cranking crossbows. Of course, with the advent of Heinrich Fjord’s crossbow manufacturing plants, in Lower East Sutton, the windlass crossbow became available to just about anyone with a winding hole and a few pence.

Winding holes soon gave way (as a term) to the earthier slang of the day and became wind-holes and eventually descended into wind’oles as Cockney influences took root. Shortly after this, some ignorant peasant, completely unaware of the laborious work of those who came before him, decided to pronounce the first syllable of the subject word in much the same manner as we do today, “wind” (as in the moving air). And since, most people would rather knowingly mispronounce a word rather than come to blows over it, the new pronunciation soon stuck.

As time passed, in much like its usual manner, the “windoles” became the location for peaceful activities and practices, such as spying on the neighbors and cooling off baked goods, and the warlike arrow launching days were forgotten, along with the illustrious roots of the word “windole.” This lack of historical awareness led to the most interesting twist in our story.

Along with the influx of many good, honest poor into the cities of medieval Europe came an influx of thieves. These clever swindlers and cut-purses developed a secret language all their own, known as Thieves Cant, so as to throw off the authorities who might be listening in to any alleged conversations concerning past, concurrent or future heists of note. Since these thieves were frequently quite poor, they constantly needed to steel food to feed themselves. One such favorite food was freshly baked bread left in windoles to cool. Since they couldn’t very well say they were going to steal bread from someone’s windole, without raising suspicions and none too few eyebrows, they incorporated a new term “wind-dow” into their Thieves Cant vocabulary. In those days, dough was spelled “dow” and rhymed with bow, like the thin, bent branch used to launch arrows. As the thieves became more affluent and influential, they slowly crept into politics and soon made their words part of the official language, exactly like the politicians of today.

Now I know a great many of you must be saying, “We’re almost there! We’re almost there! We’ve got wind-dow and that’s almost the same as window!” But first, let me say that you are undoubtedly an excitable bunch and you should consider less caffeine and a career in lawn manicure. Second, let me tell you that “wind-dow” and “window” are not, by a long shot, the same. Beyond the dropping of the hyphen (any Tom, Dick or Harry can drop a hyphen; after all a hyphen makes no sound, no indelible imprint upon the eardrum, except while typing), you’ve still got two d’s, and two d’s do not become one d overnight. And it didn’t. It took a great number of nights, and one long night without coffee. That is when John Tittle, an overworked scribe in the bureau of beheadings and fish-head tax (there were a lot of beheadings and a lot of taxes then) inadvertently missed the second d in window (notice the hyphen was already missing) and the new spelling was born.

Shortly after, Tittle’s mistake was discovered and he ended up on the same books he used to tend — without a head, but not before word of his invention got out. The single d spelling of window spread like wildfire across the land, as did word of Tittle’s unfair punishment. And in recognition of his “courageous contributions to the English language,” the King made Tittle’s spelling official, before an angry, torch-bearing mob of single-d spellers from Stratford, who had surrounded his carriage.

But before we slip by the simple spelling of dough as “dow” in the ancient tongue, let us briefly examine this oddity in our own modern spelling. As stated before, the word for unbaked bread was spelled “dow.” This spelling stayed with us for many centuries, all the way into the 15th century. Many people are not aware of this earlier “dow” spelling, however, they are well aware of the now common “dough.” For those unfamiliar with the origins of the spelling of “dough,” I have prepared a brief history below.

As we all know, the spelling of “dough” was invented by Jonathon Longbow a royal herald, to confuse the French during Henry V’s very successful 1415 campaign in France. The success of which is in no small part due to the confusion this brilliantly conceived spelling caused the French, who granted were already pretty confused. This, in turn, has lead to another point of confusion and is the reason for the longbow (not Jon Longbow) mistakenly being credited with the victory at Agincourt**.

More to the point, the entire “dough” incident became a favorite joke among the English, especially in pubs, where most of the official spelling of English was firmed up. Precisely when it stopped being a punch line and became the official spelling is uncertain. (As, I’m sure you’ve observed many of these things are.) However, it must be observed that at the time of its acceptance, the English countryside was crawling with unemployed French scribes, having been laid-off in the fallout following the adoption of “cliché” into the King’s English and the entirely too bloody “vogue debacle.”

*The Conspiracy’s dreaded “white list” is reserved for those individuals the organization wishes to be “erased.” The name of their intended target is written (very lightly, in pencil) on the list and then symbolically erased until there is no trace of it (thus the reason for the delicate pencil strokes). This secret (blank) list if then left, bi-weekly, in a secret location shared by the organization’s Sicilian connection, which is paid up front to “take care of” the problematic individual. To date, there is no evidence that these Sicilian associates have actually ever completed one of these contracts. Whether this is due to an inability to actually read the name of the intended target, or whether they are so professionally competent, is unknown. However, I have learned through my sources that I, your humble scholar, have been put on the list a number of times. Oh, the things I endure for you!

**Further proof of the immense confusion among the French, comes down to us in a little known report on prisoners from the Battle of Agincourt. One of the few surviving nobles, being held for ransom, under stern questioning (which is the extent of really brutal English torture) was asked to spell several words, one of which was the subject of our lesson today. The nearest thing this educated Frenchman could come up with — “windeaux” — was only produced after several quickly scribbled attempts, following an offer of “tea and spotted dick.”

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Morpheus (& Neo) - The Matrix

As promised in an earlier post, here are a few items to consider when naming your science fiction characters. (Some part of this will be a repeat of what I covered in naming fantasy characters, so if you read that post, please bear with me.)

Before you start:

It is important to start from a position of knowledge (rather than ignorance) about the science fiction world (galaxy, universe, etc.) your character inhabits.  This means you’re going to have to engage in some world building (something I’ll discuss more in later posts). The point is, that your character is a product of the world in which she lives. In order to be consistent with her environment (world, galaxy…), her name should reflect this fact.

Race:

Like fantasy characters, the race and racial culture of a sci-fi character can play a big part in naming them.  Also characters raised by aliens will likely have names from the alien culture. In science fiction, race is often a matter of what planet, solar system, or quadrant of the galaxy you were born on, more than what part of any planet. The scale can be enormous! Therefore, the differences between races can be quite vast. They don’t have to be all that different, but logically, sentients from different planets would be quite different, not just in how they look, but how they move, speak, and interact with their environment. Just look at the biological diversity on our little planet of Earth. Now, multiply that by thousands of variables.  You get the idea.

The point I’m making is the differences between alien races will not stop with the surface appearances.  Even if an alien race looked much like us, their racial culture would be nothing like our own, sharing little if anything in common with our experience. Even thinking patterns, logic, philosophy and emotions are likely to be very different. Keep this in mind when designing your alien race(s), but remember that your readers have only their limited experience as humans living on Earth their entire lives; whatever differences exist must be relatable to them using this primitive method of communications called writing.

Remember too that an alien race could be entirely artificial or augmented by technology (mechanical, electronic, biological/genetics, etc.). Their experience and knowledge base could be inherited from their creators or could (with ”artificially” extended lifetimes) be so advanced that their creators knowledge is now as quaint as ancient cave drawings are to us. All this will contribute to their means of communication and individual identification.

Culture/society/family:

Is the character’s race, culture or civilization highly ordered?  Then perhaps names might include numbers or some other series signifier. This is likely if your character is an android, cyborg, robot or member of a similarly “mechanized” race (R2D2, C3P0, 7 of 9). This could also be true of societies which take logic and order very seriously. Keep in mind that such races don’t have to use these devices.  They may be quite human in their predilection for naming offspring. If the individuals of the society are virtually identical, the need for some method of identifying them may be high. This may be less important if they belong to a “hive” civilization where they share a collective consciousness or all members can perform functions interchangeably.

Does the character’s culture commonly use traditional or religious names from their family, history or holy scriptures. Just look at your own circle of friends.  It’s very likely that one or more of them is named after a family member like a father or grandmother, or after a biblical personality, like Mathew, Mark, Luke, John, Paul, James, Caleb, etc.

A name might also signify the character’s importance in their community/society. This could be a name they were given at birth because they were expected to fill a high office upon maturity (Emperor…), or it could be a name taken once the character has matured and taken an important position (High Inquisitor…).

Remember, no matter how badly you’d like to give your character a bad-ass name, it’s really up to the person that named them. The personality and cultural sensitivities of the person who named your character will decide the kind of name(s) he/she will give your character. If that person isn’t important to your story (or your character’s arc) then name them whatever you choose, but realize that the name you give  your character reflects the name-giver’s character too and if you should decide to introduce the namer at some later date, their character should be consistent with a person who would give such a name. In other words, a straight-edge square who wears horn-rimmed glasses and a pocket protector is unlikely to name their child, Rainbow Harmonica Woodstock.

Language/communications:

Does the character’s people speak an alien tongue?  (Just as a note, reserve alien languages for when you have humans or other race interacting with your aliens. Even in such circumstances keep your use to a minimum. A few new words from an alien language can add some interesting flavor, but too many and the reader will stop reading with a bad taste in their mouth. Also, make sure any alien words and names are easily pronounced by the Earthlings reading your story.)

Is your character’s race telepathic? If so, is it a natural psychic ability or is it the result of advanced technology? The society your character belongs to, if telepathic, may be less dependant upon individual names or names that can be pronounced with the tongue, depending on the level of telepathy enjoyed by the people. Think about your own family and work environment. How easy is it for you to ask someone to do something without saying their name? Now how easy would it be if you could transmit clear thoughts and images directly to others?

Also consider giving your character a nickname, which may be the only thing they are known by in your story.  Their nickname or actual name can be revealed later in the story or in subsequent stories. This is especially true for a character from a speechless, all telepathic society.  Such an individual would likely be given a name/nickname by one of the other characters in order to communicate with them.

Personality:

Though I’ve listed personality as the last consideration, it should not be the least of your concerns. Your character’s name should most of all reflect their personality and their part in your story. Their name should be such a natural fit to the way your character acts/reacts that your readers could not imagine them with any other name. As I stated before in an earlier post, the character’s name will become a short hand symbol for everything the character comes to mean to the reader.  Be sure it’s up to the task. They should see the name on the page and immediately have a mental picture of the character (and his actions).

Remember, no amount of language/race/world building can replace a name that is “just right”. If you come up with a name that fits your character “perfectly” – and no one can know that better than you the writer – then by all means go with that name. The lead character in my fantasy novel With a Jester of Kindness has a name unlike anyone else in the book, but that is one of the reasons I chose that name.

Please leave a comment below naming your methods for naming science fiction characters. 

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Gimli son of Gloin - Lord of the Rings

As promised in an earlier post, here are a few items to consider when naming your fantasy characters.

Before you start:

It is important to start from a position of knowledge (rather than ignorance) about the fantasy world your character inhabits.  This means you’re going to have to engage in some world building (something I’ll discuss more in later posts). The point is, that your character is a product of the world in which she lives. In order to be consistent with her environment (world) her name should reflect this fact.

Race:

The character’s race (human, elf, dwarf, dragon, orc, fey, etc.) and any racially identifiable culture should play a big part in naming them.  If however, they were named (and probably raised) by someone outside their race or culture, they should bare a name that reflects the namer’s racial culture (unless of course they possess knowledge about the character’s race).

The values held by each race are different. The traits each places value on will vary depending upon their importance to that race.  For instance: underground dwelling dwarves who depend on mining to survive may value strength, engineering smarts, precious metals and jewels, and superior tool manufacturing.  The names these people give their children could reflect these attributes.  They might name their children something like Anvil, Hammer, Ruby or Steel. These values-names might be in the form of a nickname or epithet [Gimel the Hammer], the character’s actual given name [Steel or Steele] or a part of the given name [Anvilrune, Hammerstein, Steeleye]. Of course this also could apply to family or “last” names (see below) of characters [Nugget Silverpick, Emerald Copperbottom].

Language:

Does the character’s race speak a racial language (Elvish, Dwarfish, Entish, etc…) as opposed to a “common tongue”. If you decide to give your various races their own native tongue, you don’t need to create the entire language. In fact I don’t recommend you use these fantasy languages much at all. For the sake of naming your characters, you only need to decide if they are named in their native tongue, and if so, what those names (words) would be, and lastly which version they go by. Most names have a meaning in the language from which they were spawned. In a fantasy setting, as the author, you decide how to construct the language and names.  You decided what their name means (go ahead, I give you permission ).  Two notes of caution: be consistent and keep a list of whatever foreign and/or fantasy words and names you use in your story, and don’t make your fantasy words or names difficult to pronounce.

Culture/society/family:

Does the character come from a society that commonly uses traditional and/or religious names from their family, history or holy scriptures. It’s common in some cultures to give a child the name of their father or grandfather, mother or grandmother, etc. The names of heroes and holy men are also commonly used in one form or another in almost every culture.

Remember, no matter how badly you’d like to give your character a bad-ass name, it’s really up to the person that named them. The personality and cultural sensitivities of the person who named your character will decide the kind of name(s) he/she will give your character. If that person isn’t important to your story (or your character’s arc) then name them whatever you choose, but realize that the name you give  your character reflects the name-giver’s character too and if you should decide to introduce the namer at some later date, their character should be consistent with a person who would give such a name. In other words, a straight-edge square who wears horn-rimmed glasses and a pocket protector is unlikely to name their child, Rainbow Harmonica Woodstock.

Another facet of living in a society that needs a way to differentiate it’s individuals is the “last” and “middle” name. Not all people have a middle name, but aside from celebrities, people also have a family name (sometimes referred to as a “last name”). The family name bestowed upon a child is generally that of the father, but could just as easily be the mother’s family name, especially in a matriarchal society. Again, this is entirely up to what you the writer decide is the tradition of your fantasy society. If the society is small enough given (“first”) names might be enough. Just remember the larger the group population the more they will need additional means to identify individuals.

A name might also signify the character’s importance in their community/society. This could be a name they were given at birth because they were expected to fill a high office upon maturity (like a tribal chief…), or it could be a name taken once the character has matured and taken an important position (like the pope and some kings…).

Personality:

Though I’ve listed personality as the last consideration, it should not be the least of your concerns. Your character’s name should most of all reflect their personality and their part in your story. Their name should be such a natural extension of the way your character acts/reacts that your readers could not imagine them with any other name. As I stated before in my earlier post, the character’s name will become a shorthand symbol for everything the character comes to mean to the reader.  Be sure it’s up to the task. They should see the name on the page and immediately have a mental picture of the character (and his actions).

Remember, no amount of language/race/culture/world building can replace a name that is “just right”. If you come up with a name that fits your character “perfectly” — and no one can know that better than you the writer – then by all means go with that name. The lead character in my fantasy novel With a Jester of Kindness has a name unlike anyone else in the book, but that is one of the reasons I chose that name.

Please leave a comment below naming your methods for naming fantasy characters. 

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Chuck's School of Etymology

Ever since I saw the movie Night Shift [1982], staring Henry Winkler and Michael Keaton, I have had a fascination with breaking down complex words into their components and root words to gain a better understanding of the word and its origins and/or originators. (Actually it was well before this, but it makes for a good story! ) If you haven’t seen the scene where Keaton breaks down the word “prostitution” you’re missing a good laugh. Here is the YouTube link: Night Shift – Prostitution Scene (Michael Keaton)

So, lets take a look at a word that’s very near and dear to all our hearts: etymology!  Taking a cue from the master of etymology, Chuck (Michael Keaton’s character), we will first divide the word into it’s root parts: ET/YM/OL/OGY. (Smile, this should be fun!)

ET - Comes from the Latin et hoc genus omne meaning “And all that sort of thing”, which was promptly shortened to et due to the popularity of the term on copious Senatorial monuments and fast food menus, and a serendipitous shortage of stone chisels in Rome - the fallout of a heated labor dispute between blacksmiths and their employer, the Acme Chisel Corporation LLC (which at the time did not mean limited liability company, but 50/50/100, a reference to either a payment or Senatorial bribery schedule).

The issue at hand: Acme had gained the government chisel contract with a ridiculously low bid and was trying to make blacksmiths work overtime for no additional compensation. The Roman blacksmiths eventually won the dispute with help from the Stone Masons local, who had mistaken the lack of chisels for support of their own strike for better medical and more time off for chisel elbow a common repetitive motion injury prevalent among blacksmiths forced to carve out et hoc genus omne over and over again.  On a side note: We owe the irate owner of Acme Chisel, Ferris Maximus, for yet another (derogatory) term which has stuck with us to this day: ”chiselers”, although some scholars contend it was first used by the blacksmith local guild master Fistus Maximus, to describe the owner of Acme Chisel.

Now, you may ask, what kind of word starts with “and”, and what “sort of thing” could they possibly be talking about, when we haven’t seen any other part of the word? I’m glad you asked, though you might not be.  When the term etymology was first coined the “et” part of the word came at  the end, thus ymologyet.  (Originally it was spelled ymologyette, where ette denotes that it was ”all that sort of little thing” because there weren’t yet that many words in anybody’s vocabulary and most of the words were short.  Some academics contend that the best translation of ette is: “a little like that sort of thing”, which had more to do with the lack of certainty than the size of the common vocabulary. - A note of caution: Don’t judge the people of that time for their lack of “long” words in their vocabulary before you try to write a few sentences in marble.)

YM - Like et, ym comes down to us from the Latins (or Romans). The “Y” beginning is itself a clue to its meaning. The letter is not quite an ”I” and not quite a ”V”, which of course were often used for a numbers one and five, and later the letter we know as “U” (where do you think the English got it?). So there you have it, the uncertain “Y-I-V-U” letter followed by the letter “M”, which was of course also used to dubious effect as a letter. Thus: ”UM” as in, “I’m not sure what to say and I’m stalling.” But in those early heady days in Rome, the notion of being uncertain was officially frowned upon and so the true meaning of ”UM” in this context was actually a way of saying, “Hey you! You know all those funny things that have been bothering you, like our inconsistent use of letters as numbers, and who the heck is making up all these little strange sounding words, and how in Hades am I going to learn all the ridiculous rules to conjugating verbs – whatever that is?…This (word) is about that!” Of course, “YM” or “UM” became so popular that it came to refer to anything that was a puzzlement, and led to it’s use in the word “FORUM” (meaning “for–um–”, which of course was the name of the place where their Senate met).

OL - Originally, the Romans did not have a letter “O” for fear of confusing it with their letter “Q”, which I’m sure you’ll admit was the right choice, as “Q” is a way cooler looking letter, though hard to form in cursive (especially in stone). So this first letter is in fact the result of a lazy French translation of the symbol for a circle. The Romans frequently used the circle symbol to draw around their military units in formation on maps to represent a wooden barbican/fort, no matter what the actual shape.  Later on, when generals drew the location of their desired fort they would draw the circle and say, “Everything goes in here.” The circle eventually became a short hand symbol for “encompassing everything”. The letter “L”, not to be confused with the number “L”, when written by itself meant simply ”Latin”.  So the circle-”L” meant of course “all Latin”.  Fortunately, the concept of zero (0) would not be introduced to Italy for a few years, so the combination of something looking like a “zero” and a “fifty” was never in question. Romans being Romans, and quite full of themselves, saw the world as theirs - all theirs - ”all Latin” so the ”OL” also came to mean “all” and that is why we pronounce it that way to this day. To them (the Romans) it also meant “all languages”.

OGY – Again, we are met with another “all-encompassing” circle symbol. Some scholars argue that this symbol is meant only to emphasize the preceding “L” for Latin, but a quick study of the Roman numbering system reveals that the Romans generally had more sense than to modify a previous letter, knowing how confusing that could all be. The following “G” is a mark that the Government officially endorsed the word and was a sort of guaranty by the state that the word was important and followed certain linguistic rules (to date, despite extensive excavations, the complete rules have never been unearthed). So what we end up with is something akin to ”the whole Government approves of this word”, followed by the non-committal “Y”, which was added at the insistence of half the Senate to provide for some legal wiggle room.

So now that we have successfully broken this marvelous word into its root components and explored their rich meanings I know you will feel much more at ease slipping “etymology” into your every-day general conversation without the fear that someone might giggle or spew milk out their nose.

Please feel free to leave your stories of language conquest in the name of etymology.  If you’d like to leave a suggestion - a word that’s stumped you - for your humble scholar to address in a future post, please do so! :)

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Doug Jones in Candy Shop

As I mentioned in a previous post.  Naming characters is an art.

What follows is a list of methods and things to consider when creating/choosing names for your fictional characters.

Something old, something new

Some writers use listings for naming children or popular names in different cultures/languages.  These sources may be found in book form at your local library or online.  To look online, simply run a search on your favorite search engine for the language/culture and the type of names you’re looking for, i.e. “Celtic names” or “popular Irish names” or “French female names”.  You can even search for popular names by year or decade (“popular boy baby names 1940′s”). (I’ve done these searches and found a number of great names.)

Something borrowed, something blue

Some writers look in the dictionary or a language-translation dictionary (or similar text) and pick out words that fit their character’s image by meaning and/or sound. (Guilty.)  These can be the primary words being defined or words from its etymology. (This is one of my favorites.)  Others have told me that they put together words or partial words (phonemes) and letters on a page and scramble them around until they see something they like.  This method can render some very unusual names. (I’ve tried this.)  Authors who have the training and/or guts to create a new language (Elvish, Martian, Na’vi,…) will use words from the new alien vocabulary to give their character’s names “authenticity”. (I’ve dabbled in this one too.)

Let’s hear it

I need to pause here momentarily to insist that you say the name you’re creating out loud (especially if it’s unusual).  Make sure it is easily pronounced and sounds in your ears as you imaged it.  This is important as your readers will have an easier time reading and talking about your characters if their names are easy to read and say.  And imagine if you are giving an interview and the interviewer asks you about a character whose name they can’t pronounce or they mispronounce it because you haven’t trained them in the proper inflections of Northern Malgornian Wood-Spritish. (Not an easy language to pick up. )

Quacks like a duck

Key to the name game, in a three way tie with readability and pronounce-ability: the name should sound like it belongs to the character.  This, of course, does not apply to false names given by the character to deceive.  However, his true, given name should be something appropriate to his upbringing culture.  Often the best names reflect some aspect of the character’s persona.  It’s no accident that J.K. Rowling, in her hit Harry Potter series, gave Snape a name that sounds like “snake”.  I gave my character Snegaddrick (from With a Jester of Kindness) his name for the same reason; he’s a sinister serpent of a man.  His brother Ergyfel got his name because he is the villain and a worker of evil, and my protagonist got the name Billy (William), because it is different in sound and weight from all the other characters in the book.  Each of these names helps my readers keep the characters straight and gives them a good “handle” on their personalities.

Looks like a duck

Another facet of name-sounding is imagery.  When  you hear the name aloud, do you see an image in your mind?  Is this image compatible with your character’s image?  You may wish to embed this in your name creation process.

Be curt

Names should be (relatively) short.  Do not use character names that take a line on the page to spell out.  Besides the wrapping problems, waste of space and carpel tunnel you’ll get from typing them, long names are generally hard to pronounce, break the reader’s suspense of reality, and can be accomplished with less letters.  If you must have a character with a ridiculously long name (for effect), give also that character a nickname or a shortened version of her name that is easy to say and read.  Of course if humor is your intent, an impossibly long name can sometimes accomplish a lot.  But remember how much Douglas Adams accomplished with names like Zaphod Beeblebrox and Slartibartfast (The Hitchhicker’s Guide to the Galaxy).  OK, so these are a tiny bit long, but I can’t imagine these characters with better names, can you?

Cut the Cookie-cutter names

One last thing.  When choosing names for your characters, try to use names that don’t all sound the same.  For instance, if you’ve got a character with the name Suzi,  don’t name another character Suzy or Susan or Sushi or Zusi.  Names that look or sound alike can cause confusion.  Keep your name choices unique and distinct.  Avoid names that start with the same letter when possible.  One luxury of writing fantasy and science fiction is that character’s names can be quite exotic.  Why is this a boon?  The ability to give your characters unique names (and still fit the setting) helps to make them more memorable (i.e. Strider, Obi Wan, Elric, Ripley, Pug, Bones, Gandolf, Spok, Hogfather, Morpheus, Mordred).  Don’t go overboard, but by all means use your imagination!

I will be discussing specifics for naming fantasy and Science Fiction characters in later posts.  Please stay tuned!

Please leave me a comment about the names of your favorite characters or anything else related to naming them.

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Keith Richards (Sorry Keith. However, you're a great pirate and still rock!)

Can voice exist without the exercise of style?

Can style exist without expressing voice?

As I searched around the Internet, trying to get a better fix on voice and style, I found that I wasn’t the only one that had trouble defining one term without using the other. Voice and style seemed to exist only in some kind of sick and twisted symbiotic relationship (similar to, but stronger than the relationship of ”sick and twisted” or say Donna Summer and the Supremes).

“But aren’t they two different things?” I wondered.

Quite frequently expert literary types talk about “voice and style”, so obviously the two are separate (somehow).  Otherwise we wouldn’t need two words with a big “and” in the middle.  However, because this coupling of “voice and style” was so prevalent, I was convinced that the two must also work together for some dark and sinister and inseparable purpose.  As Mr. Spok said, ”Parted from me and never parted. Never and always touching and touched.”  So there I was…alone…two words touching each other yet not touching each other (awkward).  I had do know what it all meant!

So I used my considerable search engine skills (givin’ her all she’s got), and I read and read and read until ghost-like lines of code began running down the screen (blonde, brunette, red head).  And now that my mind has melded with the net I will attempt to relay what the collective universe has taught me.

First, let’s look at the terms (voice and style) separately.

What Voice is and isn’t:

• The voice is individual.  It’s unique to you, the author, and is what separates you from others, even the greats you attempt to emulate.  If you were to write the same story as someone else (all the same research), your voice is what brands it as yours.  Voice has been compared to musical instruments.  The different instrument sounds (i.e. trumpet vs. violin) are like different authors’ voices, no two are the same.
• Voice conveys something of the writer’s personality, point of view, outlook, beliefs, and attitudes.  Voice is associated with the basic vision of a writer, his general attitude toward the world.  Voice conveys the author’s character.  It contains the feelings and emotions (passions) of the author in a way that the reader can detect and empathise with (whether they know it or not).  Voice should come from the heart.
• Voice establishes a relationship between you and your audience.  It can show intent – like sincerity and honesty.  It is the author’s sensibility.  Voice is adjusted or “tuned” for appropriateness to your topic (possibly your niche), the purpose of the piece, and your audience! Voice is present when you are communicating about yourself, your purpose, and your audience.
• Voice is affected by and, when fully developed and exercised, affects an author’s word choice, tempered by appropriateness to topic, purpose, and audience.
• Voice is not the narrator’s personality- that voice is the voice of a character.  While POV does affect voice, the writer’s voice can still be distinguished from story to story.
• Voice is not “tone” or mood.
• Voice is present when the writer is not just reporting.
• Voice can be “found” or “released” by finding, accepting, and expressing your own independent and unique thoughts.  With your censors turned off, your voice can escape onto the page.
• Voice is what brings readers back!
• Voice emerges gradually as the writer develops.  This may be the most interesting point of all.  It implies that each writer has his own voice already within them.  It just needs to be released.

What Style is and isn’t:

• Style is about the precision and execution of writing.  It concerns correctness, syntax, grammar, diction, punctuation, being clear, being long winded or efficient, writing mechanics, sentence structure, and sentence lengths.
• Style has a great deal to do with organization.  It engineers story structure, organizing the framework of the tale, organizing thoughts, character development, dialog, organizing the story elements, flow and pace, rhythm, cadence, appearance on the page, and general vocabulary.
• Style can be (for example) conversational, but voice is the slant.
• Style is not voice!
• Style can be learned, taught, and emulated.  This is perhaps the best news about style (and voice).  Like voice, style takes time and practice, but there are rules and patterns which are well documented and widely publicized.  There is still hope for me!

Now together.

Voice and Style are:

Together, voice and style do work together in (perfect) harmony.  I found the following exceptional explanation in the introduction of Voice & Style by Johnny Pane (from the Elements of Fiction Writing series, published by Writer’s Digest Books – 1995):

“Voice is the key element in fiction, the one which, in effect, contains and shapes all the other elements of the story.  Style is the voice’s means of expression.  Plot, characterization, setting, theme, dialogue–all of these pieces exist in isolation unless voice makes them into active principles and brings them together.”

Happily, in my search, I also ran into Nathan Bransford, author of Jacob Wonderbar and the Cosmic Space Kapow, who helped me sort out a few things.  According to Nathan’s blog about voice (and I happen to agree with him), among the essential elements (of voice) are: style, personality, consistency, moderation, transportation, authority, originality, and authenticity.  I encourage you to read Nathan’s post.  Its’s a thoughtful, instructive read.  As you can see, Nathan names style as an element of voice.

So, style is an element of voice.  Though they are separable concepts, they are inseparable in practice.  Having a voice doesn’t equal good writing, but good writing will expose or reveal your voice.  The lion’s share of that good writing is style, which, done well, will elevate your voice (bringing it into focus).

Please leave me a comment, expressed in your own voice using your own style below.  And no cheating!