Author Julia Cameron writes that as youngsters, “Every word we learn is a new acquisition, a bit of gold that makes us richer.”
My first treasure trove of language was the bright yellow and green 64 count Crayola Crayon box that afforded me my first glimpse at the possibility and poetry of words.
Maize. Burnt Sienna. Sepia. Turquoise green.
The allure of the waxy colors was secondary to the seductive pull of the names block printed on the paper sleeves, perhaps the first real indication I was destined to create with language not paint or clay.
Mahogany: The architecture of the letters, an entire poem unto themselves. The rise of the “h” and dips of the “g” and “y,” the round symmetry of the vowels.
Periwinkle: A cheerful word, with its twinkle rhyme.
Raw Umber: So somber sounding, with the unexpected juxtaposition of the “u” and “m.”
Violet: Old-fashioned, evoking emotions I couldn’t begin to identify.
These exotic words lay foreign on my tongue, offering a glimpse into possibilities far beyond those presented in my grammar school primers, texts that did the job but left out the enchantment. As youngsters, our world can be narrowly circumscribed and to this day I find it astounding that a corporation creating a product aimed primarily at the young had the vision to enrich not only a child’s eyes with color, but also her imagination with a palette of words.
Poetry reaches us from unexpected places. At church on Sundays, I was mesmerized almost to distraction by the reading of the scriptures. Often, by the end of the sermon, my head was heavy, drunk with the poetry of the psalms. The King James Bible, as Robert Olen Butler once wrote, is “the Mother lode of our language. ( I am still saddened by modern translations, which, in an attempt to make the stories accessible, rid the verses of their richness, and think we are the poorer for it.)
As my education progressed, I learned that every word had its own family tree and its own history that traced back to ancient lands and times and that the lineage of words even had a name. When I first learned it, I used to whisper it to myself in the dark, as if it were a magic mantra. Etymology. Abracadabra.
My grandfather, co-author of an English textbook, was a word man. He told me that everything on this earth and in the universe had a word ascribed to it, even the “&” symbol on the top row of his Royal keyboard. Naming brought poetry to the most common things. Ampersand. Hedgehog. Banjo. Ten-penny nail.
And of course I learned that, as with all things of power, words could hurt as well. Like many children confronting schoolyard cruelty, I was told that “Sticks and stones may break your bones, but words will never hurt you.” Untrue. I understood even then that words have the potential to do great damage, scarring us in places lesser weapons can not reach. I was schooled about the hard responsibility that comes with wielding words.
For a writer, language is the central tool of the craft, which explains why writers are so drawn to words, so awed by their strength and diversity. Almost every writer I know keeps a notebook of words, collecting them as a sculptor might add yet one more chisel to an already overcrowded workbench. Author Bailey White said that discovering a new word is like falling in love. And like the right lover, the right word has the power to transport. The right word, Mark Twain wrote, is the author’s eternal quest, as different from the almost right word as lightening is from the lightning bug.
Language is essential to the human experience and it is the writer’s first allegiance. String words together and they tell stories. They build characters and countries, planets and worlds, arguments and connections. Words have power. They bring order to chaos, give form to thoughts and unleash feelings. They make visible the unseen. They breathe, burrow, whisper. They trumpet. They have their own rhythms and sing or march or hum across the page. Sometimes the sound of a word is more important that the sense of it.
Language can liberate us or create a prison. It can lift us up, fire our imagination, or throw us into despair. Words can surprise us. Sometimes, when I’m walking along the seashore near my home, a word or phrase will surface in my mind, a word so perfect it triggers an entire scene which I run home to capture before it fades.
Words enrich us. The poet Adrienne Rich has noted that “When we awaken to our own life, language is our ally.”
We free our lives with words.