This little piece is about invention of new words and the causes that bring them to the light.  Actually, this is about something entirely different, but, well, you’ll find this out… 

I think that many new words are invented out of a pure ignorance of writers.  This is, of course, a generalization, so maybe it will be fair to put it this way: when I am writing I am ignorant to the point of invention of new words.  How about that?  I think it is a fair way to say.

I’ll give you an example.  In the process of writing The Leap of Faith I came up with a great word, the word I can relate to, and if you’ve read my books then you know what I mean.  And the word is encagement

 
 
I have a scary observation to report.  It’s in the #nature.  Our Southern summers were always abundant on insects, even overabundant.  Not now, though – the world seems like become devoid of our little buzzing buddies (and foes).  What had happened to them? 

April, already ninety Fahrenheit, no rain – here, in Bayboro, April is a summer month.  I am looking around and asking myself: where are they?  Where are our ubiquitous mosquitoes, including this funny tiger bunch, where are ladybugs, where are yellow jackets, where are orange wasps and where are my favorite praying mantises, where they all had gone?  I am looking around and I see none, NONE! 

 
 
I was patient and ignored all cognitive echoes which had happened to me since I’ve last time described this phenomenon in the Hummingbird.  Yet another echo had #happened and this time I’ve gave in.  Here is the story. 

I’ve lost a word.  And this was so embarrassing – I’ve lost a pretty common word, not an opisthoproct or cosidoron (those are coming wherever I need them).  It was a good word, a name of that pretty common shrub with purple or white clusters of flowers.  You know what I am talking about?