The English language is constantly growing and evolving.

What’s that? You already knew that? Well, so did I. But for some reason, this not-so-surprising thought whapped me upside the head the other day.

A writer friend and I were at Starbucks (where else?) when she asked if I thought OMG was in the dictionary yet.

“No, but I’m pretty sure they just added ‘friend’ as a verb.”

I couldn’t find any proof of this notion when I looked, but I did find this article from cracked.com listing “muggle,” “cyberslacking,” “gaydar,” “threequel” and “frankenfood” as new words in the Oxford English Dictionary.)

Another article says “turducken,” “frenemy,” “bromance” and “steampunk” made the cut. And in 2009, Merriam-Webster added “staycation,” “vlog,” “webisode” and “waterboarding,” among others.

While no one uses the word “bifurcate” anymore, phrases like “frenemy” and “bromance” have slipped into the common vernacular. I should know. I recently used “bromance” (correctly) in a sentence in my WIP.

And on my other blog, it’s easy to slip in an OMG. Heck, even the word “blog” itself is a relatively new creation.

It makes me wonder: Will future generations look back and laugh at the way we talk/write? Will they even be able to understand us? Or will our frenemies and cyberslacking sound as foreign to them as Elizabethan English seems to most of us?

All I can say is thank goodness “Gag me with a spoon” didn’t catch hold!

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The hero in my WIP, Cody, has a tendency to use big words and shrink-speak when he’s upset, angry or flustered. (There’s a reason he has a T-shirt that says “I’m fluent in psychobabble.”)

It turns out Cody and I have that in common. Now that I’m writing fiction fairly regularly, I notice myself trying to flaunt my vocabulary in the articles I write for the newspaper, too.

When I was in journalism school (way back in the dark ages … the early 1990s), we learned the average reading level of the newspaper audience was eighth grade. (I think I’ve heard it’s since dropped to sixth grade, but I might be mistaken there.)

I analyzed my writing style with a computer program once (way back in those same dark ages) and it told me I wrote at a 10th-grade level. That has more than likely changed the farther I’ve gotten from college (where everyone used big words in an attempt to show off what they thought they knew) and the more deeply entrenched I’ve become in journalistic style.

We journalists are trained to use simpler words. A school bus is just plain “yellow,” not “canary” or even “that shade of mustard peculiar to school buses.” Don’t use “growled” or “yelled” when a simple “said” gets the point across without embellishment.

Sometimes I wonder if that training has affected my fiction writing. In first drafts, I often go with the most expedient word. Then I scramble to change it later on.

But now that I’m shifting my focus to making a good impression on agents and editors, I find myself choosing words with a little more razzmatazz … well, like razzmatazz. 😉

That’s not a bad thing at all — unless I’m writing a story for the newspaper. When I’m in journalist mode, I have to catch myself before I use words like “eschew.”

At least I haven’t tried to throw “bifurcated” into a sentence. I stumbled across that one while editing someone else’s story one night and spent much time complaining to whoever would listen that “bifurcated” was unnecessary when “forked” meant the same darn thing — and didn’t send readers scrambling for the nearest dictionary.

How about you? Ever catch yourself using words that make you feel like a big fish in a small pond?