Words and Phases

My traveling companion and I hit the road after Malice Domestic. We traveled through early May. Bases needed to be touched. After a bit more than a week knocking about the Eastern Seaboard, we have finally returned to Fort Worth.

If I owe you an email, start the clock now. We've been largely incommunicado these last few days.

Today, I am unpacking the flotsam of a mystery convention. In my briefcase, I discovered that I had tucked the April 27th issue of The Washington Post. It contained an op-ed about the resignation of John Ulyot, the spokesperson for the Defense Department. The piece quoted Ulyot talking about why he'd left the administration. "The president deserves better than the current mishegoss at the Pentagon."

Without getting stalled by the politics, the Yiddish word struck me. According to the Jewish Language Project, mishegoss means foolishness, nonsense, or craziness. The word also describes chaotic actions. I hadn't known the word before I read the article. The expressions I use to chronicle that sort of senseless activity typically involve one or more profanities. I hope to have this gentler word at the ready next time.

I also found a card in my briefcase from friend and fellow short story writer, Mary Dutta. A blog on her webpage introduced me to the French expression l'espirit de l'escalier. She writes that the phrase literally translates to "stairwell wit" and refers to that clever comeback you think of after the moment has passed. Perhaps, as the expression suggests, you find your retort as you descend the stairs on your way out the door. Again, I didn't know the expression until I read her blog. Hopefully, I've tucked it away for future reference.

I don't think I'll be quicker on the rhetorical draw. But at least on future occasions when I'm disappointed by my timing, I'll have a French phrase to explain it.

Mary's blog, by the way, doesn't offer a word for the winded guy who runs back up the stairs and futilely tries to steer the conversation back to the original point so that he can drop the delayed bon mot.

John Ulyot and Mary Dutta got me thinking about words I don't know. In particular, I thought about words that may not exist in English, but we wish they did, so we've swiped them from another language. Schadenfreude is my all-time favorite example.

In the heady atmosphere of a readers and writers convention like Malice Domestic, I get exposed to an array of outstanding short stories. Sometimes I read a story I truly enjoy, but it comes from a place or describes a character so far removed from my experience that I know I could never have conceived of that person or done that place justice. My feelings are full of enjoyment and admiration.

It's when the stories hit closer to home that things get complicated.

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Occasionally, I read a story where the characters, setting, or theme seem to be within my grasp as a writer. My response can easily become a big stew. I still have the enjoyment and admiration. I ask myself how the author achieved the effect I've felt and what I might learn from her for the next time I sit down to type. There is a pinch of covetousness, perhaps, a wish that I'd thought of the particular twist or developed the characters in that way.

But I don't really like covet as the descriptor. I don't begrudge the author. It's a big pool, and there is room for all of us to play in it. Maybe there's a soupçon of self-flagellation for believing I should have thought of it. Perhaps I need a therapist rather than a thesaurus.

Do you ever read a story that conjures up the mix of similar feelings? Do you have a word for it. If you do, I'd love to learn it.

I might think of it myself, but I'll likely be descending a long stairwell at the time and won't be able to write it down.

Until next time.