Wordcatcher (22 page)

To fall, stumble, thrash about.
A nature-based word, from folk observation of generations of fishermen watching the way in which the
flounder
dives awkwardly, clumsily, as if trying not to drown. Metaphorically, it is used in common parlance for failure. But the critic Jacques Barzun plays off a famous observation: “As Henry James said, ‘art is our
flounderings
shown.’ And in the light of contemporary art one must even say: our
flounderings
shown
up
.” Etymologically, it dates back to 1592, perhaps a corruption of
founder
, from the Dutch
flodderen
, to flop around, move clumsily. Alternately, it could be a blend word, bringing together
blunder
and
founder
. Figuratively, it now means to struggle awkwardly, in deep water, mud, or snow, or in action, such as getting lost in a speech or task. Margaret Atwood wrote, “We
flounder
, the air ungainly in our new lungs with sunlight streaming merciless on the shores of morning.”

Sharp concentration.
Sit down by the fireplace and I’ll tell you where this good old Roman word comes from. Actually, I just did.
Focus
is Latin for “fireplace,” the hearth, the center of activity in the home for millennia. Over time other languages
focused
on their own related fire words, such as French
feu
, Italian
fuoco
, Spanish
fuego
, and English
fuel
and
fusillade
. When the astronomer Johannes Kepler, in 1604, needed a term for the “burning point” of a mirror, the
point where light rays converge, chances are he stared into his hearth and said, “Aha!” and co-opted
focus
for science. The figurative use of
focus
for the “center of activity” dates to the early 19th century. Actor Lawrence Olivier used to
focus
on the farthest seat at the back of the theater; baseball slugger Mark McGwire would spend a half hour before a game staring deep into the recesses of his locker,
focusing
on imaginary at-bats so he wouldn’t be surprised by any pitches during the game. Tennis star Jennifer Capriati said, “You have to block everything out and be extremely
focused
and be relaxed and mellow, too.” And Mark Twain: “You can’t depend on your eyes when your imagination is out of
focus
.” Companion words include
focal, focus group,
and
foyer,
a public lobby used by audiences during intermission of a performance, or by guests at a hotel who may want to
focus
on their
travel
plans.

Focus (Looking for Degas)

To do the deed, to make the beast with two backs, to make love but not be too delicate when you describe it
. The street-tough version of “making love” betrays its bawdy (from
bawd
, prostitute) roots, which is the Latin
fornix
, a vaulted brick oven or furnace often found in the arched subterranean rooms of ancient Rome. The
fornix
was furtive enough to be commonly used as a brothel by prostitutes; the noun evolved into a verb for visiting the place, then transformed into a word for the act itself in the brothel. Thus, to
fornicate
really means—nod, nod, wink, wink—to pay a visit to a small, dark, warm, vaulted place. If you think about it this way, it’s a far sexier word than that old reliable but crude Anglo-Saxon
fuck
, from Old English
fokken
, to beat against. According to folk wisdom, however, there may be an uncanny connection between the two potent verbs. The legend goes that when the Black Death was the scourge of Europe, during the Middle Ages, the ruling powers tried desperately to limit the populations of the peasants, even requiring couples wishing to have children to obtain
permission from local lords, or from the royalty. Favored homes hung signs that read “Fornicating Under Consent of King,” which was shortened over time to
FUCK
. Companion words include the obsolete English
swyve,
to have sex, which was the
slang
term that was upended by
fornicate
by the 14th century.

A large sum of money; luck, chance
. As ambiguous as casting one’s fate to the winds. By extension, a
fortunate
person is one on whom the Fates are smiling, and an unfortunate person is one being ignored or cursed. Burrowed deep within the word is an important association.
Fortune
comes from the Roman
Fortuna
, the goddess of chance or luck, the Latin equivalent of the Greek goddess Tyche. The ancients believed that Fate ruled all, was even more powerful than the gods, but they also believed in the power of chance, personified by Tyche, the daughter of Oceanus, god of rivers, the flow of life. Mythically, one’s
fortune
was a turn of the “lottery wheel,” the dispensing of one’s “lot in life,” spun by the cosmic spinners, the Fates. In turn,
Fortuna
was depicted in medieval engravings in the center of a spinning circus wheel, which suggests that our fortune is in the flow of our future—but we have to do our part by actually moving the wheel, which requires taking destiny into our own hands. Companion words include
fortunate, fortune-teller,
and
fortuitous,
all variations on chance, luck,
one’s allotment in life. From the Roman catacombs, circa 2nd century AD, comes a timeless piece of graffiti from a grieving mother who has just lost her young child: “Oh, relentless
Fortune
, who delights in cruel death. Why is Maximus so early snatched from me?”

An independent worker, originally a soldier who was free to lend his lance to anyone.
Since I first walked into a newspaper office at sixteen and sold my first sports story and photographs, I have relished the idea that I was a
freelance
writer, a word warrior, a pen-for-hire. The word has never lost its magic for me. Originally,
free-lancers
were medieval mercenaries who sold their services to kings, lords, and captains alike. Free-lancers, earlier called free-companions, were free to pledge their loyalties and their lancers to whom-ever they pleased—free of their own will, not free as in without cost. This freedom retains its allure to this day. Though the practice is centuries old, the word didn’t enter English until the prolific Sir Walter Scott introduced it in his novel of 1819,
Ivanhoe
, a book I recall reading aloud in a beautiful Heritage Club edition with my parents in the late 1950s. Scott wrote, “I offered Richard the service of my
Free Lances
, and he refused them—I will lead them to Hull, seize on shipping, and embark for Flanders; thanks to the bustling times, a man of action will always find employment.” The modern sense of a freelance writer as
independent, working outside the system, arose in the late 19th century, and is illustrated in the
New York Times
’s obituary for the poet Amy Clampitt: “She worked … as reference librarian at the National Audubon Society from 1952 to 1959. Through the 1960’s and most of the 70’s, she was a
freelance
writer, editor and researcher. From 1977 to 1982 she was an editor at E. P. Dutton. Initially self-published.”