Until then, I’d never liked petunias, their heavy stems, the peculiar spittooning sound of their name.
Kate Daniels, “In the Marvelous Dimension,” from Four Testimonials
One word can spark a sentence and, magically, wonderfully, it’s alive.
What breathed life into this sentence is the word “spittooning.” It’s unexpected, it jars me to alertness. Its strangeness opens a door inside, a door to expansive possibilities.
It also creates a distinct voice, by which I mean the voice of the narrator (not the author—that’s another discussion for another time). Voice, as you probably know, is what readers often mention when they explain why they liked a book.
The secret of Daniel’s sentence lies in using one part of speech for another. It’s called anthimeria, and it’s most commonly used to substitute a noun for a verb. Part of me thinks the value of looking closely at sentences, as we’re doing here, is to give yourself permission. Maybe you’d ruled out using this technique; maybe you never considered it. But seeing it done and done well stirs the creative juices.
Here, the noun “spittoon” becomes an adjective to describe “sound.” A spittoon is a metal or earthenware pot used for spitting into. When Daniels uses it as an adjective, I hear the spitting sound of the word “petunia.” As if it’s distasteful, a word to get out of your mouth. It fits beautifully with the narrator’s dislike of petunias.
As Professor of English Virginia Tufte writes, such usage as Daniels reminds “writers that our language is richly flexible, response to innovative molding by skilled hands.”
The Making
This is where playfulness with words comes in. You got to let loose, let go of the grammar rules, turn away from the chatter of your English teachers. Turn your mind away from logic and toward the associative world of daydreaming.
Maybe Daniels said the word “petunia” and felt her lips purse because of the “p” sound. And the pursing of lips is usually associated with irritation, disgust. And maybe it reminded her of spitting, which then—maybe-- led to the image of a spittoon.
And then, why not? (she thought, maybe), spittooning.
Go ahead! Give it a try.
Let me know what you create!
I just love wordplay like this, and I had no idea there was a term for 'verbing' a noun :). Reading Tom's comment drew my attention to the difference created in word sounds and their effects when a reader has a different accent from the writer's. With the word 'petunias', I say pe-tyu-nias, (Yes, I'm Australian) so the 'too' in 'spittoon' isn't as exact a match as the 'tu' in petunias. It still worked, however, as I read it. I wanted so much to do this exercise, but I could only come up with something after writing myself into an idea via a longish paragraph - plus a title! So this is it, in full.(And, additionally, I do believe the previous exercises on long sentences are having an effect on my writing here.)
1959 - The Red Peril
I would hide whenever Dad’s friend Conrad called round. I’d been paying diligent attention to what they were telling us in school and at youth group meetings every Friday night in the church hall. They were everywhere, disguised as regular human beings, luring us, entrapping us, making out they were our friends only to skew our thinking so that we could no longer recognise our great and good and free and benevolent government for what it was, so that we saw it instead as insidious, corrupt, and we citizens as perpetually infantilised by our paternalistic overlords. No, I didn’t trust that Conrad, comrading his ideas at our house every weekend. Who would hold onto a name such as his without there being some hidden message in it?
Man, the sound of the word set 'peculiar spittooning sound' is amazing. It is almost, almost, better than the flower's name. I feel like calling them Spit flowers now. I especially like the way the set of sounds imitates the single word sound: double pe / cu like tu / pi like pe / tun like toon / ending s's. It feels like a synonym.
There is surprise in the use of spittoon but it is interesting to invert the sentence to create a different surprise: Until then, I’d never liked that peculiar spittooning sound, or the heavy stems, of their name: 'petunias'. LOL: Very contemptuous.