Monday, January 11, 2010
Spellbound
Words fascinate me. That's not so strange, of course, because I'm a writer and a storyteller. Words are magical. They make thought something we can hear when spoken, and see when written. A large group of words deliberately strung together communicates a story or a message. When a story is well written, you can be sure a good deal of attention has been paid to the craft of writing. That appeals to me, because the practise of magic is often referred to as The Craft.
Taking an idea and making it a tangible thing - such as the written word - is an awesome feat, though it seems as if it should be such an easy thing to do. Groupings of letters, syllables or words create spells, and spelling out loud is a form of incantation. Witches keep their spells in books called grimoires, which is derived from the Latin grammatica, via the O. French word grammaire, meaning "learning," from which we get our word "grammar." Glamour also comes from the same root. A glamorous woman has the ability to weave a spell around her, to manipulate her reality according to her will. Witches have glamour. So do actors and storytellers - at least the good ones do.
I'm waxing enthusiastic (from the Gr. entheos, inspired by a god) about words right now because my good friend Barbara just informed me that I misspelled hollow when I described my missing necklace in the previous entry. Good call, Barbara!
The strange thing is, my precious harmony ball, which Barbara found at her place - whoopee! - is indeed hallow to me. Spellcheck didn't catch the error because it's a perfectly good word on its own, but not the one I intended. It seems my misspelling was a Freudian slip. Or perhaps calling it a Jungian slip would be more accurate. Whatever the unconscious reason for my spelling error, I couldn't help noticing how my mistake so accurately described my feelings about the necklace. A single letter in a word sent me on this riff about the magic of words. No wonder I find them fascinating. (from the Latin fascinus, meaning "spell, witchcraft.")
But that's enough for now. I just wanted to inform my followers that my necklace was found. Mission accomplished. Now I have to work out some of my cabin fever, so I'm going out for a spell.
- G.P.
Taking an idea and making it a tangible thing - such as the written word - is an awesome feat, though it seems as if it should be such an easy thing to do. Groupings of letters, syllables or words create spells, and spelling out loud is a form of incantation. Witches keep their spells in books called grimoires, which is derived from the Latin grammatica, via the O. French word grammaire, meaning "learning," from which we get our word "grammar." Glamour also comes from the same root. A glamorous woman has the ability to weave a spell around her, to manipulate her reality according to her will. Witches have glamour. So do actors and storytellers - at least the good ones do.
I'm waxing enthusiastic (from the Gr. entheos, inspired by a god) about words right now because my good friend Barbara just informed me that I misspelled hollow when I described my missing necklace in the previous entry. Good call, Barbara!
The strange thing is, my precious harmony ball, which Barbara found at her place - whoopee! - is indeed hallow to me. Spellcheck didn't catch the error because it's a perfectly good word on its own, but not the one I intended. It seems my misspelling was a Freudian slip. Or perhaps calling it a Jungian slip would be more accurate. Whatever the unconscious reason for my spelling error, I couldn't help noticing how my mistake so accurately described my feelings about the necklace. A single letter in a word sent me on this riff about the magic of words. No wonder I find them fascinating. (from the Latin fascinus, meaning "spell, witchcraft.")
But that's enough for now. I just wanted to inform my followers that my necklace was found. Mission accomplished. Now I have to work out some of my cabin fever, so I'm going out for a spell.
- G.P.
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