You may know one of these people. You can usually recognize them by their gnawed pencils, their ink-stained fingers, their constantly open and tap-tap-tapping laptop, and their habit of leaving parties early when inspiration strikes.

What is a scripturient exactly? Someone well-versed in religious texts? Or a playwright? Your friendly neighborhood pharmacist? A handwriting expert? Well, they too could be a scripturient, yes, but here’s the actual definition:

(adj.) having a desire or passion for writing; having a liking or itch for authorship. A nearly violent craving and/or urge to put words on paper.

(n.) one who has a passion for writing.

This isn’t just someone who dabbles in the occasional short story or poem, however. Did you see the word ‘violent’ in there? This is a serious burning and lust for storytelling, novel writing, and an addiction to one’s own scribbles.

Do you know one? Are you one? We’re willing to bet Edgar Allan Poe was a scripturient in his (tell-tale) heart.

Photo of a daguerreotype by Edwin H. Manchester via Wikimedia Commons.

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Bimble …

No, not bumble. (Autocorrect didn’t get me this time.) It’s bimble …

As in, to bimble along.

(v.) walk or travel at a leisurely pace.

On Sunday, we bimbled around Spitalfields and Brick Lane.

(n.) a leisurely walk or journey.

We were enjoying a pleasant bimble over the rocks.

/bimbəl/

I like the Urban Dictionary’s description even better, don’t you?

“To amble without real aim, yet in a friendly and harmless manner. It’s not required to achieve nothing, though it is a frequent side effect. Bimbling can be made a little more business-like with a slight hunch of the shoulders.”

I rather think Bilbo Baggins enjoyed a good bimble, don’t you? (Now we’re getting into tongue-twisting territory.)

From The First Saint Omnibus: An Anthology of Saintly Adventures (1939), page 269:

But the Duchess starts bimbling and wambling and wimbling and threatens to wallop his ducal behind.

Wambling and wimbling? There are two more for us to learn …

Der Sonntagsspaziergang, by Albert von Keller via Wikimedia Commons

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I confess to being one myself at times. But in my defense, learning new technologies is baffling and time-consuming. And why must everything on your laptop change once you run an update? Inquiring minds want to know.

(n.) Ludd·ite  \ ˈlə-ˌdīt \

One of a group of early 19th century English workmen destroying labor-saving machinery as a protest; one who is opposed to technological change.

The Luddites argued that automation destroys jobs. It became an entire movement—the Luddite movement—in 1811, in Nottingham, England. After machinery began to replace them, textile mill workers rioted. The name itself is likely rooted in a fictional character named Ned Ludd in George Pellew’s Life of Lord Sidmouth (1847). Poor Ned, in a fit of rage and insanity, rushed into a weaver’s house and destroyed all of the equipment.

Anyone who shuns new technologies is now considered something of a Luddite. But come on now, who among us has not had vivid daydreams of running over their misbehaving printer with a tractor? Just me? Hello?

Photo by diveuniversefest via Wikimedia Commons.

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Saudade (soh-dah-duh) especially with reference to songs or poetry: a feeling of longing, melancholy, or nostalgia that is supposedly characteristic of the Portuguese or Brazilian temperament. An English translation of this word would best be replaced by ‘missingness.’

“Her songs are based on love poems and evoke a melancholy known to the Portuguese as saudade.”

(n.) “yearnings, saudades, those sonorous fruits grown for overripe hearts” or “the love that remains”

A Portuguese and Galician term that is a common fixture in the literature and music of Brazil, Portugal, Cape Verde, and beyond. The concept has many definitions, including a melancholy nostalgia for something that perhaps has not even happened. It often carries an assurance that this thing you feel nostalgic for will never happen again.

“A pleasure you suffer, an ailment you enjoy.” ~ Portuguese writer Manuel de Melo.

“No matter where I wander, I’m still haunted by your name
The portrait of your beauty stays the same
Standing by the ocean wondering where you’ve gone
If you’ll return again
Where is the ring I gave to Nancy Spain?”
~ Barney Rush in his example of saudade in contemporary Irish music.

Image by Jose Ferraz de Almeida Junior via Wikimedia Commons.

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