Research for novel writing is a fascinating business. One day I might be in 18C Vienna, the next in the Medieval Alps. Fantasy fiction is particularly research intense. It’s not all made up; those detailed worlds need to come from somewhere. So I read, read, read about lost civilizations, new technologies, psychology, geography, arts, history, anthropology, science...in fact I read more now, than I did in college.

This research is basis of the Muse page. Like the Chariot Muse from October, this month’s column comes with a cypher. On the left is a conversation between Peter and James, two ordinary guys out for a drink in 18C America. On the right is the glossary you’ll need to understand their slang.

While writing this Muse, I was struck by the mutability of language. It’s alive. Some of it dies, like toenail clippings, to be forgotten, but there is always new growth. It makes me wonder what people will think of our slang in another 100 years.

Tavern Talk

James: Might I join you for some pepperpot and pan-dowdy, my good man?

Peter: I do confess the corn that I am a starvin. Have a seat. Barkeep, bring us a couple of anti-fogmatics and Long-nines.

James: I heard tell that ol’ Judge Smythe is backing and filling over the whole Madison affair.

Peter: Well, there aint no proof that Lord Madison is guilty, I reckon.

James: None other than the fact that he absquatulated, takin’ his whole household with him.

Peter: And with his poor wife cold as a wagon tire.

James: Aye. That Madison might think he can whip his weight in wild cats, but the whole county’s soured on him.

Peter: Twas a wrathy crowd at townhall. Want to know!”

James: I heard tell he’s pulled foot and gone to hide out with his codfish aristocracy in New York. Rode up there in a tarnation, faster than the express.

Peter: Twas the Lady Madison that kept that family a huckleberry above a persimmon. With her gone, that family with be a pack of fice dogs in no time.

James: Judge Smythe don’t care one hooter for the poor, dead lady. He’s been hornswoggling the town for years with Madison’s help. The only reason he’s even considering an indictment is because he can no longer whitewash Madison.

Peter: Land sakes! At the husking frolic, Madison and Smythe were seen walking a Virginia fence like a couple of mudsills.

James: They’ve been as thick as guttersipes for a coon’s age.

Peter: Well it’s not my funeral, but I opine the boodle would make a blue fist at exfluncticating Madison, a right frolic.

James: I’d sure give the Sam Hill a sockdologer.

Peter: ’ll drink to that. Bartkeep, give me another shot of Old Orchard.

Glossary

Absquatulate: to disappear or leave

Anti-fogmatic: rum or whiskey

Backing and filling: literally the swaying motion of a steamboat. Figuratively, to waffle with indecision.

Boodle: Crowd.

Codfish Aristocracy: derogatory term for people with new money.

Cold as a wagon tire: Dead

Confess the corn: admit the truth.

Coon’s Age: Long Time

Exfluncticate: to utterly destroy

Express: Mail coach

Fice: worthless mongrel.

Frolic: party

Guttersnipe: Homeless child

Hooter: tiny amount.

Hornswaggle: cheat

Huckleberry above a persimmon: A cut above average

Husking Frolic: social event where the community comes together to husk corn and drink

Land Sakes!: Lord’s Sakes.

Long Nine: cheap, nine-inch cigar

Make a blue fist: succeed

Mudsill: The uneducated, working class

Not my funeral: None of my business

Old Orchard: Whiskey

Opine: to be of the opinion

Pan-Dowdy: Deep dish apple pie

Pepperpot: Tripe stew with dough balls.

Pull foot: leave in a hurry

Reckon: to think or guess

Sam Hill: Euphemism for the Devil

Sockdologer: A powerful punch.

Sour on: To give up on someone or something out of disgust

Tarnation: Euphemism for damnation

Walk a Virginia fence: meander drunkenly

Want to know: Really.

Whip his weight in wild cats: defeat a powerful opponent.

Whitewash: hide one’s faults

Wrathy: angry