This week, I’m sort of – maybe – interested in the word, “Milquetoast.” What does it mean?
Adjective: lacking in character or vigor : WISHY-WASHY
Noun: A timid, meek, or unassertive person
It’s a strangely spelled word, introduced in 1924 by cartoonist Harold T. Webster in a comic strip called, “The Timid Soul,” published in the New York Herald Tribune. Webster claimed the character, Caspar Milquetoast, was a “man who speaks softly and gets hit with a big stick.” It slipped into use as a synonym beginning in the mid-30’s.
The word sounds like, “milk toast,” doesn’t it? This dish, popular in the late 19th and early 20th century, consists of toasted bread served in warm milk, sugar and butter…eesh. Seems like the bread would get all mushy. On the other hand, french toast, which is bread soaked in eggs and maybe a little milk, that’s completely different.
Here’s a sentence from Merriam-Webster’s online dictionary: Do we really want a someone who is a milquetoast halfhearted candidate or someone who will defend the Constitution with every fiber of her being? — Dana B. Orr
Here’s mine: I refuse to order a milquetoast breakfast of bread soaked in anything but eggs!
This week, a dear friend of mine, Donna Conrad, gave me one of those “word-a-day” desk calendars. She knows I’m obsessed with words. She’d also enjoyed my Write Away posts and hoped I’d get back to them one day. Maybe the calendar could help?
Well, it seems to have worked! Today, I’m enjoying the word, “Panoptic.” What does it mean?
– being or presenting a comprehensive or panoramic view (derived from the Greek panoptés, meaning “all seeing”)
How cool is that? Panoptic kind of rolls off the tongue. You can imagine it spoken in a deep voice, maybe by James Early Jones. “Luke, I am your father. And the universe is panoptic.”
How cool is that? The word is somewhat fluid. It rolls off the tongue (panoptic…panoptic…). You can also imagine it spoken in a deep voice, perhaps by James Earl Jones. (“Luke, I am your father. And the universe is panoptic.“)
Here’s the sentence from the desk calendar: Loaded with careful details and telling imagery, the documentary is a panoptic portrayal of the lives of traveling circus workings.
Here’s mine: Loaded with books that tell stories from the time of Christ, to modern days, and through an envisioned future, my Kindle account is a panoptic experience of the real and imagined world.
This week, I’m obsessing about, “Kakistocracy,” thanks to a suggestion from Amy Forsberg in early August. It’s not an easy word to twist in fun, or even to say just once (I had to practice), but considering the 2016 presidential race, it’s timely. What does it mean? Let’s see:
– Government by the worst persons; a form of government in which the worst persons are in power (from Dictionary.com),
The origin of the noun is Greek from ~1829. It’s thought to have been “coined on analogy of its opposite, aristocracy, from Greek kakistos “worst,” a superlative of kakos “bad.”
Come on, admit it. With all the cow pies that both presidential candidates keep stepping in, doesn’t this word sound like it might describe our political future? Maybe you’ve shut off the TV news or finished a Sunday article recounting each of the candidate’s failings and thought to yourself, “Oh crap. In some ways both of them stink.”
I know I have.
Here’s a fun fact. According to the Online Etymology Dictionary, kakos may be related to the general word for, “defecate.” Like it feels as if these politicians are going to poop on us, no matter who we elect.
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Note: Amy found the word while reading this opinion piece by Peggy Noonan in the Wall St. Journal. In it, Ms. Noonan highlights her opinion that Trumps tends to be the one dumping caca on his own campaign, and that his antics steal the public attention away from the on-going Clinton email scandal. Noonan closed by introducing the word, with the following assertion:
“We’re on our way there, aren’t we? We’re going to have to make our way through it together.”
It’s actually a derivativeof the Latin word, mollis, orsoft.
Find the full definition for moil at Dictionary.com. (I’ve been trying to use a variety of sources for fun, and had hoped to use Miriam-Webster this time, but Dictionary.com was more complete.)
~*~
Trivia note: Chris found the word on a website about the Johnstown, PA flood (which has been referred to as the Great Flood of 1889.) I’m not sure if I have the same website, but I found a related site here on wikipedia: “Before hitting the main part of Johnstown, the flood surge hit the Cambria Iron Works at the town of Woodvale, sweeping up railroad cars and barbed wire in its moil.”
Railroad cars! It’s an interesting read and a bit terrifying!
~*~
…Bubble, Bubble, Moil and Trouble (hmm, might work).
Do you remember that wonderful smell of freshly cut grass from childhood? I do. Sunday mornings after Dad mowed the lawn. Monday at recess, kicking a ball around. Eating barbecue and throwing frisbees at a place we called, “Hart Park.” (It’s technically, William S. Hart Ranch and Museum.) Living in the city of Seattle today, I don’t often catch the hint of Petrochors, but the thought of the fragrance still evokes memories of warm and innocent youth.
I wanted to convey that feeling in a section of my current book, so I did some research. It turns out Petrichors come from trauma. A Mental Floss article notes that, “It’s the smell of chemical defenses and first aid. The fresh, “green” scent of a just-mowed lawn is the lawn trying to save itself from the injury you just inflicted.” This release of what’s actually naturally chemicals helps to “close the wounds” and prevent infection!
This week, I’m obsessing about, “Canting” (No, not catting). Here are 3 of the many definitions:
– To bevel; form an oblique surface upon.
– To put in an oblique position; tilt; tip.
– To throw with a sudden jerk.
– Origin 1560-1570
Find the full set of definitions for canting at Dictionary.com.
I especially like the verb when used to describe a head toss by a human. It’s different from a jerk or a nod, and the word, “nod” shows up way too often in my current manuscript!
~*~
Her: “I’m buying a new dress, so there!” She cants her head in defiance.
Him: Seeing the head toss… “Hmm, I see you cant.”
Her: “Yes, I can!”
Him: “I didn’t say you couldn’t.”
~*~
I saw this word used much more cleverly in a blogpost called, “Sin on a Plate,” from one of my favorite sites for writers, thrillwriting.blogspot.com, by Fionna Quinn. Check it out!
From Facebook, and the community, Tuna Salad is Gross
Do you believe tarragon, pickle relish and tuna salad can make a difference in someone’s life? They can, and they did for me.
From the Placerita Jr. High School Page.
At my ninth grade commencement from Placerita Junior High, I gave a speech that began with, “Veni, Vedi, Vici.” I then co-opted the phrase to mean, “We came, we saw, we conquered.” I added the Latin because it sounded smart and back then, surviving junior high was the equivalent of conquering the world.
After the ceremony, my mom took me to a small cafe in “The Valley” for a special lunch. And being fourteen, I ordered something familiar, dependable. Tuna salad. With four+ kids at home, we made the mixture quite a bit and we always followed the same recipe.
From the Facebook community, Tuna Salad is Gross,
– Canned tuna (with salt)
– Lots of mayo
– Lots of pickle relish, until the goop morphed into mayo-relish.
– Slather more mayo on squishy bread and then spread the tuna in a thin layer.
Imagine my shock when the sandwich I’d ordered for lunch was different! Served in a croissant, the salad had no pickle relish and just enough mayo to coat the fish and the roll, all topped with tomato slices. My tastebuds could actually pick out both the flavor of the tuna and the buttery, chewiness of the croissant. Plus, I noticed an unfamiliar spice.
It got me thinking. I’d always been a literal kid, did what I was asked, believed what I was told. And tuna salad was made one way (see previous family recipe). But if this staple of life could be altered, what else? Realistically, my teen brain probably worried, “Holy Partridge Family! We’ve been making this wrong all along. Are we even less cool than I imagined?”
Looking back, it seems a little silly, but the gist of the realization set in. I remember the moment, and the knowledge eventually helped me understand how things I’d assumed were set-in-stone might be open to change.
Note: This is not the actual sandwich from long ago, just a recreation using sustainable tuna.
That aha should have been enough for one lunch. Or maybe not. I also complained to my mom about never knowing the name of the mystery spice. This was, after all, in the chef’s secret recipe.
And then she surprised me. Mom suggested I simply ask the waitress to ask the chef. He might answer or he might not. When the waitress reported the spice was tarragon, I learned that little ol’ me could speak up – outside of home and school – ask questions of adults and expect to have them answered.
Had this option been explained to me before, but I’d only clued in after this tuna experience cemented it into my brain? Honestly, I don’t know. I probably never will.
Okay, tarragon is technically the only spice in this story, but when I chose to include pickle relish as a spice, it gave me a better title for my blog post. And that’s part of what I learned that day. Not only could things be changed, but I could drive that change and maybe use it to my advantage. And if that doesn’t give a kid going into tenth grade a little self-esteem, I ask you, what would?
Are you hooked on the Candy Crush Saga? Have you been swimming in the Lemonade Lake?
Recently, my friend Chris St. Clair completed her schooling to become a Nurse Practitioner (Congrats, Chris!). She also made a rare trip to Seattle before starting a new job. With an opportunity for free medical advice, I asked about an ache in my hands, which she suggested might be tendinitis. And when I wondered how this happened to me, she pointed at my phone.
I’m now serious about learning how iPhone use causes repetitive stress injury. One article in the Huffington Post calls the condition, “Text Claw,” which describes how my fingers sometimes feel. I should have caught this earlier, because I’m usually cradling my phone. I even read most of my books on the Kindle’s iPhone app. But lately, I’d also started playing Candy Crush, a lot.
I’m currently between jobs, which can be good for an aspiring author. It’s an option to write during the daylight hours of the week. But last Friday, when I was supposed to be editing the Next Great Thriller, I was jolted by an alarm on my phone. It was time to feed the parking meter outside – after two hours. I hadn’t even opened my Mac.
Copied from the Candy Crush Saga page on Facebook
What the Fudge Islands? I’d been playing Candy Crush the entire time, probably mouthing the word, “Tasty” as it flashed across the screen.
I know I can be a little obsessive at times. There are days when I’m writing that I forget to eat (until later, of course). But, why was I zoning out so hard to Candy Crush? Why did I play until my hands hurt and little red jellies haunted me before sleep. And why would I avoid something I love (writing) for the silly rush of a “Sugar Crush?”
There’s an article in The Guardian by Dana Smith (@smithdanag) titled, “This is what Candy Crush Saga does to your brain.” It’s fascinating and I took away a couple key points:
First, I’m not alone in my obsession. According to Smith, some half a billion players have downloaded the “free” app. An estimated 93 million of us play it every day. (The latter number seems to vary, depending on the source.)
Second, play is limited. After loosing so many times, the player is put on a time out, which only leaves them wanting more.
Third, this game is designed to enslave. Candy Crush is simple, winnable. It attracts us with bright and pretty colors. And as Smith notes, our brains release dopamine with each win, reinforcing gameplay and fueling a need to binge. Apparently, because we primarily lose, the game becomes enticing, a similar concept that keeps slot machine gamblers in their seats.
It’s no wonder I’d become hooked.
Photo copied from the King page on Facebook
As with slot machines, Candy Crush can nickel and dime the player. Theoretically you can avoid paying, but the game often protects one or two jellies, preventing success. As frustration builds, a process as smooth as carmel sells the player more “lives” or boosters to supposedly help win.
I didn’t buy too many color bombs while Crushing, but the cost of boosters adds up. The company behind Candy Crush, King Digital Entertainment, reported “mobile gross bookings of $480 million in just the first quarter of 2014.” Candy Crush Saga accounted for 67 percent of gross bookings for the first quarter of 2014. That’s a lot of jam from those digital jellies.
There’s more in Smith’s article and I’m convinced enough to stop. I’ve decided to look at Candy Crush as a “Threshold Guardian.” In the literary world, that’s an obstacle crafted to test a hero’s resolve to complete their task. To make sure my own real life journey continued, I had to say goodbye to the adventure of the Chocolate Mountains and delete the app.
I realize the game is still lurking nearby, a keystroke away on the web. But if I’m lucky, the memory will dissolve like sugar in my mouth. Especially if I can avoid people who, like the game, keep shouting, “Sweet!”
Do you love easy sauces that taste wonderfully gourmet?
As of today, I’m a new fan of a Sorrel Puree, a quick and easy sauce for eggs and potatoes. I found the recipe in Deborah Madison’s, “Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone,” but she also mentions it on her website, culminate.com. I’ve included the directions from that site in the post below.
“I pull away the stems by folding the leaves back and running the stems up the center. Then I drop them into a pan with a little butter and cook until the leaves dissolve into a purée. It’s not pretty, but it’s a great asset.”
How do I know the puree is tasty? Since seeing the movie, “The Hundred Foot Journey,” I’ve been craving a great omelet. Using a variation on Madison’s instructions, I made mine with lots of blanched parsley, dill, shallots and tarragon, filled with a little tomato and a shaving of sheep cheese. Then I “basted” it with the sorrel puree. Shhh…I might have first dribbled melted butter on top.
This will sound arrogant, but my omelet turned out to be one of the best that that I’ve tried in a long time. I think the wonderful, gourmet taste was due mostly to the sorrel puree and then the extra herbs inside. Madison claims the sauce is ideal for both eggs and potatoes. I’m looking forward to repeatedly verifying that claim.
By the way, I was fortunate to enjoy my favorite omelette at a restaurant on Mont. St. Michele in France – with a side of lobster and a creamy French sauce. It was eons ago. Unfortunately, I don’t remember the details. But the image of the restaurant in my head looks and feels a lot like La Mere Poulard.
Note: If this posting seems a random based on my normal topics, I’d planned to post it in my upcoming blog, “Scrumptious in Seattle.” The new blog isn’t ready, but I’m starting to launch the twitter account (ScrumptiousNsea).
I recently attended the @PNWA2014 Summer Writers Conference, and as soon as it completed, I went to Buckley’s in Queen Anne for a quiet moment and a blackened salmon sandwich. But I pushed my plate to the side and moved my laptop to center stage. After four days submerged in the world of writing, I felt compelled to write. And this has happened before. It got me thinking. Exactly how does the conference environment spark that kind of magic, probably not just for writers, but for any profession?
Over the long PNWA weekend, I repeatedly heard stories from newly enthused writers about plans to outline/start/rewrite/ or finish a story. They promised to read more, learn more, query an agent or create a marketing plan. And like them, I couldn’t wait to get my fingers back to my keyboard.
But why?
Yes, the workshops were thought provoking and useful, often highlighting a way to solve an old problem with a new approach. It was wonderful to meet with agents, editors and writers. And a simple, yet powerful quip from keynote speaker James Rollins might very well change my life (“Write every day, read every night”).
But technically, I could find much of this information in a book. And I could make a few – though not all – of the connections online. What was it about the immersive experience that morphed that long weekend into a catalyst for change?
I did some research and I have an idea. It sounds simple, but I think that being at an extended conference inspires us to be writers. For a moment, we no longer identify ourselves as mothers or fathers, students or retirees, shop keepers or project managers – all who write in our spare time. We’re writers first.
In an article by Scott Barry Kaufman in the Harvard Business Review, Why Inspiration Matters, he posits, “Inspiration awakens us to new possibilities by allowing us to transcend our ordinary experiences and limitations.” I think this is the crux of why we’re motivated by any kind of well run conference. It becomes a kind of fuel to redefine ourselves based on who we aspire to be, as opposed to what we currently do.
Kaufman’s article is chocked full of benefits that either follow inspiration or perhaps enable us to be inspired, as well as a link to Elizabeth Gilbert’s related TED talk. But the article goes on to say, “…inspiration involves approach motivation, in which the individual strives to…actualize a new idea or vision.” So, being inspired to see ourselves primarily as writers can motivate us to more fully act like writers.
And the trick is holding onto motivation after the conference fades. Kaufman says the magic is triggered by “exposure to inspiring managers, role models, and heroes.” In other words, we can reclaim inspirational benefits by immersing ourselves in learning and networking situations similar to a conference, where the participants around us become mentors. I think we see others being the people we want to be and we become inspired to believe that if they can do it, so can we.
This week, a dear friend of mine, 
