 A whole lot of scoffing went on this last year, especially in the political realm, so here’s a look into scoff & some of its synonyms. The verb scoff came to English from an un-agreed-upon Scandinavian or German source. Perhaps an Old Norse word meaning mockery or ridicule, perhaps an Old High German word meaning sport, jest, or derision, or a Middle Danish word meaning jest & mockery. In Modern English, scoff means to show contempt by derisive acts or language. To deride is to laugh at or insult contemptuously. Deride comes through French from the Latin word deridere, to ridicule, laugh at, or scorn. Like scoff, the verb jeer, to deride or mock, is a mystery. It may have come from Dutch or German, but we’re not sure. And some etymologists suggest jeer may be an ironic mispronunication of the verb cheer. A near-synonym is the verb revile, to subject to verbal abuse. Revile came from Old French & is related to villain, & vilify, & of course, vile. Another near-synonym is mock, to behave with scorn or contempt, or to mimic derisively. It most likely came through Old French from Latin, though it may have come from a Vulgar Latin word meaning to blow the nose. To ridicule is to make fun of, mock, or deride. This verb showed up in the 1680s from a French word meaning to treat with contemptuous merriment. Contemptuous merriment? Hmmm. And sneer first appeared in English in the 1550s meaning to snort or scorn, though by the 1670s it had morphed to a word meaning to grin or smile contemptuously, & by 1707 it had come to mean to speak derisively or insinuate contemptuously. The meaning to curl the upper lip in scorn joined us in 1775. As the new year dawns, may all sneering, deriding, mocking, reviling, ridiculing, & scoffing be behind you. Big thanks to his week’s sources, Merriam Webster, Thesaurus.com, Collins Dictionary, Etymonline, & Steve Lowtwait Art.
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 As the days grow shorter I find I have an increased appreciation for slumber. The verb slumber comes from Germanic sources & showed up in Old English meaning to doze, drowse, or sleep lightly. Doze came to English in the 1640s from a Scandinavian source & is related to dizzy. Doze means to sleep lightly or fitfully. In 1841, Dr. William Kitchener coined the idiom forty winks, meaning a short sleep. No one really knows why he chose forty over thirty or fifty. The verb nap, a short sleep, has been with us since Old English, likely from a Germanic source. English speakers have used the idiom shut-eye since 1899. It appears to have grown out of either a Hans Christian Andersen story called Ole’ Shut-eye or Eugene Fields’s poem, The Shut-Eye Train. We’ve used the word snooze since 1780. Etymologists haven’t nailed down the source, but many say it’s onomatopeoic for the sound of a snore. Hmmm. Repose came to English in the 1400s from Late Latin through Old French. It translates to to rest oneself. Rest comes from an Old English noun meaning couch. Please excuse me while I restfully rest on this restful rest. And sleep came to Old English from a Proto-Indo-European word meaning to be weak, to sleep. Sleeping is weak? I beg to differ. Any thoughts on all this snooziness? Feel free to comment. Big thanks to this week’s sources: Etymonline, Merriam Webster, the OED, Collins Dictionary, & i.pinimg.com.  I have no idea what generous human gave me a collection of slim dictionaries called The Deadly Dictionaries. Each volume looks into one of the seven deadly sins. This week, I’m appreciating Sloth — A Dictionary for the Lazy.
Here’s a smattering of words interspersed with quotations that are resonating for me this week: somniferous — having the ability to cause sleepiness -- showed up in the 1600s from a Latin word meaning to put to sleep. quiescent — in an inactive state — resting or dormant -- from the Latin word for silent. poky — extremely slow or plodding -- appeared in the early 1800s from to poke along or to poke around. “Science may have found a cure for most evils; but it has found no remedy for the worst of them all—the apathy of human beings.” -Helen Keller otiose — lazy, superfluous or inessential -- showed up in 1795 from the Latin word for leisure. looby — a lazy person, a lout — from the 1300s, an alternate form of lubber. “He that is busy is tempted by but one devil; he that is idle, by a legion.” -Thomas Fuller futz — to waste in an aimless or lazy manner — showed up first in American English, likely from Yiddish. feckless — lacking any sense of responsibility or ambition — born in Scotland in the 1590s by shortening effectless. “The avenues in my neighborhood are Pride, Covetous, & Lust; the cross streets are Anger, Gluttony, Envy, & Sloth. I live over on Sloth, & the style on our street is to avoid the other thoroughfares.” -John Chancellor Anyone else out there feeling a tad slothful? Big thanks to this week’s sources: Sloth, A Dictionary for the Lazy, Quotestrue, Merriam Webster, Collins Dictionary, HTDaSloth.  While working on revisions for a manuscript I hope will someday become a novel, I’ve been thinking about the word revise & its synonyms. Though statistics vary greatly, it’s fair to say that Modern English comes from about 40% Latinate & Greek, and about 40% Germanic or Anglo-Saxon. So, shouldn’t revision synonyms reflect that?
Apparently not. Here’s Merriam Webster’s list of revise synonyms, with any Germanic or Anglo Saxon word parts in red: Modify, change, alter, remodel, rework, transform, recast, redo, remake, refashion, revamp, & vary. WordHippo offers most the same options, plus: Amend, correct, adjust, edit, adapt, reorganize, overhaul, emend, redraft. restyle, update, rephrase, upgrade, debug, recalibrate, rescript, rebrand, rehash, redraw, scrub, cut, make over, copy-edit, & blue-pencil. And neither of these sources offers the word fix. Does this imbalance suggest that Latin & Greek speakers were more focused on getting things right? Or might this reflect a prejudice that developed after 1066 when English upper classes (who had time for such things as revision) conversed & wrote in French (a Latinate language), while hardworking peasants spoke that terribly low-class language known as English? No idea. But I’m nonetheless pondering it. Big thanks to this week’s sources: Stack Exchange, WordHippo, Etymonline, Word Origins, & Vecteezy.  Murmur is a fine word — a fun word to say. Try it out loud right now, a few times: murmur murmur murmur murmur.
Murmur came to English in the 1300s through Old French & Latin from an imitative Proto-Indo-European word — the same word that became in Greek, to roar or boil, in Sanskrit, a crackling fire, & in Lithuanian, to murmur. An online search for synonyms for murmur can be frustrating. The “closest match” suggestions usually include fuss, lament, whine, rumble, hum, buzz, complain, grievance, grumble, undertone, croak, & moan. Really? Closest match? Murmur means a continuous flow of words or sounds in a low indistinct voice which may express satisfaction or dissatisfaction. I have a hard time connecting murmur’s meaning with most the offered online synonyms, but in my good old 1959 Webster’s New World Dictionary, murmur’s synonym list includes only two words — mutter: angry or discontented words or sounds, & mumble: to utter almost inaudible or inarticulate sounds in low tones with the mouth nearly closed. These work better for me. Perhaps because, like my Webster’s New World Dictionary, I am mid-century. And these two words pass the out-loud-right-now-a-few-times test. They are fun to say. But undertone? Grievance? Complain? I think not. Thanks to this week’s sources: Merriam Webster, Power Thesaurus, Webster’s New World Dictionary, 1959, Inspired Pencil, & Etymonline.  Whether we’re using the beginning of a new year as an opportunity to set goals, make resolutions, establish plans, or not, it’s still the start of a new year. I’m hoping you’ll consider these many synonyms and near-synonyms for start, & perhaps let one flavor your year. launch open start commence dawn kickoff opening outset embark initiate enter lead off birth takeoff countdown commencement ignite Tss (from the sound of opening a beer) I imagine that if I were launching into a new year it might look & feel a little different from commencing a new year, embarking upon a new year or igniting a new year. Or for that matter, kicking off a new year or tssing a new year. May you begin your new year exactly as you’d like to. Big thanks to this week’s sources: Merriam Webster, thesaurus.com, mavink.com, & Urban Dictionary.  In modern America it seems awfully easy to confuse what one wants with what one needs. And so…
To want is to feel need, to crave. Want came to English in 1200 as a noun, meaning insufficiency, shortage, deficiency. Some near-synonyms include: To desire — to long for something with intensity or ardor. To wish for -- weaker than desire, sometimes referring to an unrealizable longing. To crave -- the strong desire to gratify a physical appetite or urgent need. To covet — to ardently desire. Though all the above words involve feeling a need, the need isn’t necessarily essential. I may want, desire, wish for, crave, or covet a $5000 guitar, but when it comes down to it, the three guitars I've already got are already taking good care of me. To need something is to experience an urgent requirement of something essential. Need appeared in English about the same time as want. It came from early Germanic sources originally meaning violence or force. Need broadened on its way from Old English to Middle English to mean distress, peril, hardship, necessity. Some near-synonyms include: To require -- to experience need of something that is indispensable to a particular end or goal. To lack -- to experience an absence or insufficiency of something essential. Dear readers, do you ever struggle with the delineation between want & need? Big thanks to this week’s sources: Merriam Webster, Etymonline, Collins Dictionary, Webster’s 1959 New World Dictionary of the American Language, & Wordnik.  The news seems able to cover endless stories regarding dishonesty, shooting, manipulation, graft, harassment, & systemic inequality. These stories rightfully spark significant emotion, but we Americans aren’t famous for our facility with emotional vocabulary. This week’s Wordmonger post asks, What are we really feeling about all this?
Our default word tends to be angry. Dictionaries tells us anger is a broad term which implies emotional agitation of no specified intensity, aroused by great displeasure. That doesn’t quite nail my emotional response to all this, so here are some options: Fury is an overwhelming rage of a frenzied nature, bordering on madness. When we feel upset we’re experiencing an emotional toppling or disorganization. Ire suggests that our anger & wrath are transforming into keen resentment. When we are vexed, we are troubled, annoyed, irritated, & disturbed. Wrath is deep indignation expressing itself in a desire to punish or extract revenge. When we are enraged we experience uncontrolled anger that often results in violence. Indignation is righteous anger aroused by what is considered unjust, mean, or shameful. Smoldering means fully or partially suppressed rage and fury. When we are incensed we are spitefully or furiously angry. And rage is a violent outburst of anger unleashed through a loss of self control. Any thoughts on these near-synonyms for anger? Even better — suggest how our beleaguered society can constructively respond to these emotions. Big thanks to this week’s sources: the OED, Merriam Webster, & Wordnik, Collins Dictionary & the 1959 Webster’s New World Dictionary of the American Language.  My affinity for old dictionaries should be no surprise to Wordmonger followers. Sadly, I can find no Old Dictionary Appreciation Day, Week, or Month, so I’ve decided to unilaterally proclaim the first week of May “Old Dictionary Appreciation Week.”
An element I greatly appreciate in older dictionaries is the “synonym” feature which closes the occasional entry. This feature takes similar words or terms & parses out the shades of meaning. Here are two synonym entries from my 1959 Webster’s New World Dictionary: Intelligent “Intelligent implies the ability to learn or understand from experience or to respond successfully to a new experience; clever implies quickness in learning or understanding, but sometimes connotes a lack of thoroughness or depth; alert emphasizes quickness in sizing up a situation; bright and smart are somewhat informal, less precise equivalents for any of the preceding; brilliant implies an unusually high degree of intelligence; intellectual suggests keen intelligence coupled with interest and ability in the more advanced fields of knowledge. Laugh Laugh is the general word for the sounds or exhalation made in expressing mirth, amusement, etc.; chuckle implies soft laughter in low tones, expressive of mild amusement or inward satisfaction; giggle and titter both refer to a half-suppressed laugh consisting of a series of rapid, high-pitched sounds, suggesting embarrassment, silliness, etc, but titter is also used of a laugh of mild amusement, suppressed in affected politeness; snicker is used of a sly, half-suppressed laugh, as at another's discomfiture or a bawdy story; guffaw refers to loud, coarse laughter. Is that poetry, or what? Good followers, what bits of dictionaries do you fancy? My thanks go out to this week’s source, Webster’s 1959 New World Dictionary of the American Language  The word lie, meaning to speak falsely or tell an untruth, has been part of the English language since the 1100s. Its roots are buried deep in Germanic languages. Lie’s linguistic cousins show up in Norse (ljuga), Danish, (lyve), Gothic, (liugan), Frisian, (liaga), & German (lugen).
It shouldn’t surprise us that we have an impressive number of synonyms, near-synonyms & idioms available to substitute for that terribly direct & offensive three-letter word, lie. Instead of lying, businesslike folk might reframe, mislead, evade, misspeak, or misstate, while artsy types might buff, burnish, embroider, or fictionalize. We can also whitewash, inflate, dissemble, or spin, and those of us who lie regularly can lay claim to any number of afflictions: necessary disingenuity, factual flexibility, serial exaggeration, or the ever-popular; fictitious disorder syndrome. Ah, but all lies are not equal. For instance, to lie is to make a deliberately false statement, to prevaricate is to quibble or confuse in order to avoid the truth, to fabricate is to invent a false story, to equivocate is to deliberately use ambiguity to mislead, & to fib is to tell a falsehood about something unimportant. Good readers if you have any thoughts on all this dishonesty, I’d love to read them in the comments section. Big thanks to this week’s sources: Ralph Keyes’ Euphemania, the 1959 Webster’s New World Dictionary of the American Language, Disney Images, Wordnik, Etymonline, & the OED. |
I write for teens & tweens, bake bread, play music, and ponder the wonder of words in a foggy little town on California's central coast.
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