There’s no telling when an epiphany about writing might strike. Well, maybe not an epiphany. But certainly an important consideration.
I was listening to a radio broadcast of a Denver Broncos football game when I realized there’s yet another thing about the English language for which writers should be grateful. Words that work perfectly well as nouns serve double duty as verbs. What’s more, they’re often good verbs. Strong, action verbs that conjure vibrant imagery.
The technical term for transforming a word into a new grammatical form is anthimeria. But you don’t have to be a writer, linguist or teacher to understand the concept. Take, for a mundane example, the word ship. As a noun, it’s a boat or other craft constructed to travel across water. As a verb, it means to transport items from one place to another. Not just over water anymore, but also across land and through the air.
Even the word verb can serve as a verb. In fact, verbing has become an increasingly popular pursuit for modern English speakers who are apparently an impatient lot. You don’t send an email, you email. You don’t invite someone to be your social media friend, you friend. And there’s no way in hell you use computer search engines and communication platforms. You Google and Zoom.
But I digress. During that radio broadcast, I listened in slack-jawed amazement as the play-by-play announcer transformed noun after noun into verb after verb. The quarterback didn’t just complete a pass, he drilled the ball into the open receiver. Then a defender didn’t merely make a tackle, he pancaked the ball carrier.
But here’s my favorite. And I swear I’m not making this up. The running back didn’t just advance past the line of scrimmage. He armadilloed through the defense. I have no idea what that means, but it sounded dramatic. Was he burrowing? Did he curl his body into a ball beneath his pads? Or was he run over trying to cross the field?
All kidding aside, good sports announcers use action verbs to inject excitement into descriptions best kept brief. That seems to me a lot like what good writers do, too. Action verbs not only bring clarity and conciseness to writing, but also evoke vivid imagery. Action verbs show. They don’t tell. They paint a scene, then pull readers onto the canvas to experience it with their own senses.
Characters don’t walk. Not when there are a hundred better verbs to not only describe their movements, but also indicate their intentions and motivations. Do they tiptoe or march? Perhaps they saunter, shuffle or even sashay. Characters don’t frown. Not when they can glower, glare or grimace.
Turning nouns into action verbs lifts the process to another level. In “Something Wicked This Way Comes,” my favorite Ray Bradbury novel, the author describes how a character storked his legs and turkeyed his arms. Jane Austen transforms the name of a titular character, Emma Woodhouse, into a verb synonymous with meddling. Not surprisingly, William Shakespeare was a master at verbing nouns. The lengthy list includes everything from animals and people to clothing and objects. In “Antony and Cleopatra,” Mark Antony laments how followers who once fawned over him now flatter Octavius Caesar. “The hearts that spanieled me at heels, to whom I gave their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets on blossoming Caesar.”
I’m no Bradbury or Austen. And definitely no Bard of Avon. But I’ll remember that sports announcer the next time I need to verb a noun to improve my writing.
Make that armadillo my writing.