Ah, bread. That nourishment which so well sustains us, that satisfies the belly, that fills us up, that gives us the energy we run on. It, as a word, can stand for the actual substance of bread made from wheat, water and yeast. Or it can stand for the money we use to procure our continued existence.

We can today, as we say, know what side out bread's buttered on, but we also know that we cannot live on bread alone. And if something really captures our admiration, we can say it's the best thing since sliced bread.

The actual English word bread tracks back to Old English, coming from the German Brot, which is related to the Dutch brood. And it is, as Martha would say, a very good thing.

It is, also, as is possibly already apparent, my latest obsession. I simply revel in bread and am soon to do more so. My book's on its way: my book on bread, my book on the making of it with so little effort it nearly shames me. The book's called Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day. Google it if you'd like.

And so, from my house to yours, happy eating and may you have a blessed New Year.

In my last post, I examined fact versus fiction, ending by supporting the belief that fiction writers, justifiably, can be termed liars. But if you give the human brain a little time to mull over things, it can frequently find a way to wiggle out of what it deems uncomfortable. So, our words for today are magic and (just for the fun of it) prestidigitation.

Magic originated in Middle English, drifting over from Old French, magique, which in turn borrowed it from late Latin, magica, (noun) and further from the Greek, magike (There should be a line above the e in that word, but alas, I can't get it there with this writing program). 

Interestingly, in Greek, magike "is the art of magus," with the further notation that "magi" were regarded as magicians. However, I have no thoughts to offer on that. I'm simply as flummoxed by that statement as possibly you are.

However, part of magic's meaning is to influence the course of events to achieve a desired outcome or to make things disappear or reappear for entertainment--all through mysterious or supernatural forces.

Aha, back to writing. As writers, we don't manipulate objects through air, but we do use words to draw pictures in readers' minds and to shape the course of events in our stories to a desired outcome. As to our techniques to do so, they seem fairly mysterious or possibly supernatural to me. Few writers, I believe, can tell you, with certainty, just how they accomplish their feats of, dast I say it, prestidigitation--a word which means, as everyone knows, magic tricks performed for entertainment.

Best wishes,

Anna Drake

With a Chicago newspaper yesterday boasting of a temperature which had risen to 70 degrees for the first time within six months, our word for today, folks, is green.

It sounds such a simple word, yet when studied further, it's really quite complex. It's origin is, again, Old English, grene (noun) and grenian (verb). The English word is said to be of Germanic origin, related to the German grun and the Dutch, groen.

It's the color of summer. My grass is green, my trees green-leafed. In fact, I live in an area with wide lawns and numerous trees. So much so that one of my guests once opened my front door, looked out, and exclaimed, "Good grief. It's so green here!" (She is a dedicated city dweller).

But green applies to much more than simply color. One can be green in the ways of the world, meaning naive and gullible. Its signal at an intsection, indicates it's time to floor the gas or tells us in other areas of life that it's time to proceed with whatever plans we've laid. It's often even used to denote safe, beginner runs on ski slopes.

At times it's been used to indicate money, as in folding green, although that use is said to be dated now. Even Physics comes into play, with it identifying one of the three colors of quark. 

I could go on and on with the various ways the word is used. In fact, we're still at it, shaving its meaning and applying it to our present world with today's very popular concept of Green living, be it in housing, food production, or energy alternatives. 

So there it is. Green. A very good and useful word!

Best wishes,

Anna Drake

I have two words for your consideration, today. The first is fog, a mixture of air and water. The second is mud, a mixture of earth and water. Both words track back to Middle English in origins. Mud, they say, probably traces back to the Low German, mudde. Fog's origins are less clear (no pun intended), possibly arising from a second meaning for fog, which is long grass on wet land.

Both, beyond their physical sense, can indicate problems. We can be lost in a fog and mired in mud. We can have mud flung on us by passing wheels or tireless foes. The possible uses for these two words are worth contemplating.  

But just look at what happens when these two simple words are taken up by a master. The following quote is from Bleak House by Charles Dickens: 

Fog everywhere.  Fog up the river, where it flows among green aits and meadows; fog down the river, where it rolls deified among the tiers of shipping and the waterside pollutions of a great (and dirty) city.  Fog on the Essex marshes, fog on the Kentish heights.  Fog creeping into the cabooses of collier-brigs; fog lying out on the yards and hovering in the rigging of great ships; fog drooping on the gunwales of barges and small boats.  Fog in the eyes and throats of ancient Greenwich pensioners, wheezing by the firesides of their wards; fog in the stem and bowl of the afternoon pipe of the wrathful skipper, down in his close cabin; fog cruelly pinching the toes and fingers of his shivering little 'prentice boy on deck.  Chance people on the bridges peeping over the parapets into a nether sky of fog, with fog all round them, as if they were up in a balloon and hanging in the misty clouds.

Gas looming through the fog in divers places in the streets, much as the sun may, from the spongey fields, be seen to loom by husbandman and ploughboy.  Most of the shops lighted two hours before their time—as the gas seems to know, for it has a haggard and unwilling look.

The raw afternoon is rawest, and the dense fog is densest, and the muddy streets are muddiest near that leaden-headed old obstruction, appropriate ornament for the threshold of a leaden-headed old corporation, Temple Bar.  And hard by Temple Bar, in Lincoln's Inn Hall, at the very heart of the fog, sits the Lord High Chancellor in his High Court of Chancery.

Never can there come fog too thick, never can there come mud and mire too deep, to assort with the groping and floundering condition which this High Court of Chancery, most pestilent of hoary sinners, holds this day in the sight of heaven and earth.

See what can be done with just two words?

Best wishes,

Anna Drake

I thought since my craft is fiction writing that a few discussions of words might be interesting, now and again. But, please, don't confuse me with my Blog's title. I care deeply about words, but I do not consider myself a wordsmith. And for those protesting the appellation smithy, well, I use it with whatever poetic license you'll grant me.

Actually, the word, smithy, refers to a blacksmith or his shop. Its origin is Middle English, from Old Norse, and it was originally spelled smithja. (See, can't words be fun?) And at this moment, involved as I am in a close, line-by-line edit, hammering out or at words is a bit on my mind. Therefore, the word smithy seems apt, as it has for the past multiple months since I started my current writing journey.

As to the rest of my Blog's title, I have to confess I like old things. Some of my favorite books date back to the 1800s. Recent titles I've read include: Bleak House, Jane Eyre, and Pride and Prejudice. I like their style. But, actually, I'll have more on style later.

So, if you, too, like words, leave me a post. I'd be happy to hear from you. 

Best wishes,

Anna Drake