After remarking yesterday that I love words, I remembered this post from back in January 2013. So here’s giving it another airing
Like all writers words cast a spell upon me, a fascination. But, I swear, I didn’t go looking for hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliophobia. It found me. But it started me thinking. This is the result.
For the writer words are his wattle and daub, (‘he’ because we women can be magnanimous and I’d rather be a he than they), they’re his bricks and mortar, his steel and cement. His raw materials. And like all raw materials they can be divided into classes.
- Verbs and nouns: the stones, the wood, the bricks, aforesaid.
- Conjunctions, prepositions and other small bits: the nuts and bolts, the nails and mortar.
- Adjectives and adverbs: the softening curves and the decorative, non-functional pieces. That which turns Bauhaus into Baroque.
All of which is my rococo way of introducing
Yes, you’ve guessed the meaning. That suffixed phobia gave it away. The fear of long words.
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