When Lolly Walter recommended a site called Online Etymology Dictionary, I consulted it a few times, mainly to make sure a word I wanted to use in my historical novel meant what I thought it did. That’s how I figured out that a scarf was not a woman’s accessory in Victorian times, something confirmed by my friend Elaine Jabenis who, among other things, authored books on fashion. (While a scarf might seem trivial to you, it figures prominently in my story, so I’ve had to do some scrambling.)
Not until I decided to browse the site did I discover its riches. I can get happily lost there, reading about how words came about and reading such pieces as Into the Words: an editing diary. Here the site’s creator talks about working on dictionary entries, and I realize that letters have personality.
For example, he refers to RE as quicksand. “Any dictionary-writer would shudder at the mere mention of it. Crossing it risks sanity. The Romans concocted it, but the English got addicted to it in the 19th century and affixed it to literally everrything. . . .”
And “W is the insane asylum of the dictionary. Weird, wary, worrisome. . . . By the time you sort out wrack, wreck, rack, wreak, you’re probably ready for a padded cell yourself.”
It takes a little sleuthing to get a peek at the wizard behind the curtain. His name is Douglas Harper, a historian, author, journalist, and lecturer. You can read some of his writings and learn something about what makes him tick at a site called The Sciolist. (That’s an archaic noun meaning “someone who pretends to be knowledgeable and well informed.”)
What do you think? Leave a comment.
Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing.