“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other name, would smell as sweet.” Romeo and Juliet, William Shakespeare
If something tastes so fabulous that your character draws out a yum sound, how many m’s can you add before it becomes ridiculous and SIRI tells you enough already? In one of my stories I used the word “poot” to describe the sound from a gun with a silencer. I was happy with the word but spell check constantly reminded me that poot was not from any known language. The computer wanted to know if it was Vulcan or Middle Earth Quenya? At first I thought, “Wow, I made a new word!” I was feeling kind of Green-Eggs-and-Ham-ish. Speaking of Green-Eggs-and-Ham, I had read somewhere that on several occasions the spell checker for Dr. Seuss tried to commit suicide. Anyway, back to poot. I’m just glad when you add a word to the computer’s dictionary you don’t have to put in a definition. But like I said, I was happy with poot. Sadly though, I found a web site that helps to describe sounds and expressions (writtensound.com) and they used the word “poot” to describe a soft fart. I tried to picture that scene in my story, a man pulls out a gun with a silencer attached to the end of the barrel. He aims it at the forehead of his helpless target. He squeezes the trigger. The gun emitted a soft farting sound, ending the life of his victim. So what killed the guy? The gun or the smell? I googled the sound a pistol makes with a silencer. I suppose poot is a little soft. The actual sound is determined by the caliber of the gun, the type of rounds, and the size of the area the gun is being used in. I used the hell out of my Merriam-Webster dictionary app looking up synonyms that could be used for a muffled gunshot. Poot never came up. I guess I could have described it as a quiet bang. Kind of anti-climactic, don’t you think?
In another story, about a disgusting man, I have him dredging up a phlegm coated booger so he can spit it out of his car window as he drove. (His intention was to spit it into the driver’s window of an oncoming car.) I used the word snorkel to convey the action and the sound. I’m sure any editor worth their salt will want it changed but I’ll fight tooth and nail to keep it in. It is the wrong word because the character didn’t use swimming equipment to bring it up, but just the way it sounds when you say it, s·n·o·r·k·e·l, it just sounds like you’re yanking something from the back of your throat. It’s a cross between a snort and a chortle only with a k. And the e before the l. And used to describe something gross. Which reminds me, I need to go into my computer dictionary and update the definitions for snorkel to include: the action and or sound produced when dredging up of a phlegm coated booger.
Anyway, when I was in grade school, some fifty-five years ago or so, I wrote a short story as a homework assignment. I forgot what the story was about but the one thing that still sticks in my mind is a part where a boy enters the kitchen and says good morning to his mother. I remember when I wrote it I wasn’t sure how to spell “morning” so I just had the boy say, “Morn, mom.” In my head it sounded flippant and boyish, to my teacher, it looked misspelled and lazy. She red circled it with a comment and deducted points on the grade. That bitch! But I have the last laugh. I’m a grown-up now and I’ll use “Morn, mom,” as much as I damn well please. Morn, mom! Morn, mom! Morn,mom! I hope she isn’t still alive to read this! I’ll be in big trouble. Although by now I’m pretty sure she’s about 110 and her eyes are probably clouded over with cataracts.
Editors will tell you there are perfect words for every thought. As an unschooled and unpublished writing novice with a so-so vocabulary I say, if that perfect word won’t come to you, hell, make one up.
