The New Year; or, In the Days of Our Griffinage

 I see what went wrong . . . I was going to "reboot" my life at the beginning of the second quarter of the 21st Century, so last January I wrote a fancy "2025" on my notebooks and letterheads and plunged into the New Era.  Well, turns out 2025 wasn't quite as good a year as I'd hoped for.  Now, however, I realize that the first quarter of a century runs from year 1 to year 25.  The second quarter starts with 26.  So 2026 is obviously going to be my year!

Maybe I can revive my long-defunct blog at last.  I have often written of how exposure to the Edmond Low Library at Oklahoma State University inspired my fantasy and science fiction stories, and over a period of decades I have acquired hundreds of titles I remember from my years there.  I've toyed with the idea of scribbling out little essays about some of the most prominent volumes, why I thought they were important, and why others might check them out online or at a library.  There's certainly enough material.

And why not start the new year off with a recent but monumental purchase, a score of huge volumes that would form the cornerstone of any library, however large:

Oxford English Dictionary       OSU Book No. 1.01 - 1.20

J. A. Simpson, E. S. C. Weiner and a cast of thousands

Oxford University Press, Second Edition, 1989

What can I say?  The ultimate guide to the English language, defining approximately 290,500 words and illustrating their usage with over a million quotes.  However obscure, however old and forgotten, you'll find it and its linguistic pedigree in the OED.  As a reviewer on Amazon.com wrote, it is not so much a book purchase as a family heirloom.

Look how much info the OED contains on just the name of my favorite mythical critter, the Griffin:

It is commonly accepted that the word "griffin" or "gryphon" comes from the Greek word gryps or grypos, "to seize or grip." Those of you who have studied the lion-eagles elsewhere are probably aware of the myriad spellings of the word, some of which are:

Griffun, gryffoune, gryffown, greffon, gryffon, griffen, girphinne, grephoun, grephyne, griffion

To say nothing of the Old French gripon, the Italian grifone, and the Latin gryphus. What you may not know is that the name "griffin", "gryphon", etc., has been subsumed and altered in many ways over the centuries, often forming the roots of words that have no conceivable connection with the furred and feathered beasties.

For instance, the term "griff", in the dialect of northern England (specifically Yorkshire), means "a deep narrow valley or chasm." Like most entries in the OED, the definition is accompanied by quotes. One from a book called Moorland Par. reads "One of the small tributary becks . . . comes into the open air again in a wild little griff." Beck, in turn, means a swiftly running stream, usually with steep banks.

This version of the word is also spelled "grift", from the Dutch, meaning "a channel shaped out by water for itself," which sounds like erosion to me. Fortunately, the gryphons' name has nothing to do with "griff", "grift" or "grifter" as used in U.S. slang, that having come from "graft" and "grafters" -- people who make money by dishonest means, usually through political or business influence. Gryphons may like gold and treasures, but they are quite straightforward about gaining it -- by fighting the one-eyed Arimaspi!

"Griff" can simply mean "a claw", which gryphons certainly have. I don't know how much mental suffering or pain they go through, but "griff" once also meant "grief". In nineteenth century Louisiana, "griff", "griffo", or "griffon" referred to a person of mixed race in a surprisingly specific ratio: one-quarter white and three-quarters black. In weaving, a griff is "a frame composed of horizontal bars employed in pattern weaving." The origins of these terms are unknown.

"Griffe" in architecture is a claw-shaped carving at the base of a column, no doubt related to the paw- and claw-shaped terminations of fancy table legs (there's a word for those, too, but I don't remember it offhand).

"Griffin" in English slang can mean a signal or tip. In Cassell's Saturday Journal for January 1889, we find the line "Plank yourself at the corner to give the griffin if you hear or see owt." Nearly a century later, in F. Shaw's Lern Yerself Scouse (1966), there is the line "Let's give de fellers de griffin."

I wonder if "giving the griffin" is like "flipping the bird?" Better not to inquire too closely.

Anyway, this version of "griffin" is related to "get the straight griff," which means to receive reliable news or a trustworthy tip. This term may still be in use, for it appears in a book published as late as 1968, J. Wainwright's The Edge of Extinction: "It's griff, guv. The real thing." On the other hand, among the English of old-time India, according to an 1829 Bengalese dictionary, "to griff" means to fool someone: "He deem'd it no sin/To griff a heedless friend, -- plain English, -- take him in."

"Griffade" is a term used in falconry. It means "a sudden seizure with the claws." Oh, I'd hate to get a sharp griffade to the head!

In 18th century Ireland "griffaun" referred to a large hoe used to cut up turf. It can be used as a verb, "to griffaun". The OED quotes the Evening News of July 25, 1885: "William struck Tom Sheehan on the head with the griffaun." An odd image, if you were only familiar with the traditional griffin.

Getting closer to the traditional beast, "griffin" can mean "a grim-looking or extremely vigilant guardian," like a dragon. I didn't see it in the OED, but I'm sure I've seen old quotes which indicated that "griffin" sometimes meant any creature with attributes taken from two or more different animals -- what would more correctly be called a chimera.

You may know of the Brussels griffon, a breed of coarse-haired terrier-like dog, but in the fifteenth century the greyhound was known as the "grifhound" or "grefhound". Say -- wolfhounds were bred to fight wolves. Imagine a dog bred to fight gryphons! It'd have to be a mighty big dog, though . . .

"Obsolete" and "rare" is the use of the name "Griffon" to mean "A Greek," according to the OED, but that weighty tome gives several quotes on the matter, the most recent being from 1844: "Greeks . . . who are called Griffons wherever Romance is spoken," writes Sir F. Palgrave.

"Griffonage" comes from the French griffonner, "to write badly, scrawl." Well, it's hard to write well when holding a pen with those long talons!

"Griffin" and its derivatives can have suffixes, like more mundane words. "Griffinesque" means "of the style of a griffin." See? I knew the bird-beasts had style. The OED quotes Lord Lytton: "Blanche had just one of those faces that . . . might become gryphonesque." Lucky woman!

Speaking of women, "griffiness" means a female griffin. I used this word in some stories, but it began to sound sexist, like "aviatrix" instead of just "aviator". I still like the sound of the word, though. Griffiness.

"Griffinish" means "characteristic of a griffin." "Griffinism" means "griffinish nature or characteristics." Ruskin's Modern Painters says: "The honest imagination gains everything: it has griffinism, and grace, and usefulness, all at once." Why, I thought griffins were already graceful and useful!

The British in India, however, got the most mileage out of new versions of "griffin". "Griffin" in 18th and 19th century India meant a European, usually a young English soldier, newly arrived in India. If you're totally new to something, you're "a perfect griffin," "an unfledged griffin," "an utter griffin." But nobody's perfect . . .

This leads to some marvelous definitions. "Griffinage" means "the state of being a 'griffin'," as does "griffinhood" and "griffinship". "Griffish" or "griffinish" means to be like a griffin, that is, inexperienced. And this leads to a nice long word, "griffinishness": "We were afraid of eliciting some remark on our griffinishness, if we gave utterance to such a reflection," it says in Benares Magazine for 1850. (G. P. Sanderson's 1878 book Wild Beasts of India has a chapter entitled "In the Days of our Griffinage," just in case you were wondering where I got the title for this article from.)

I have written several stories and novels (mostly unpublished) about gryphons and werewolves. I once started a tale of a were-gryphon, but it petered out years ago. I may have to give it another shot, though, reading all these quotes about people's griffinhoods, griffinages, and griffinships. "What fun!" as Alice's Gryphon says.

Simpson, J. A., et al.. Oxford English Dictionary, Second Edition (Oxford University Press, 1989 [1924]), Volume VI, pp. 838-839.

 Seems like I should not write too enthusiastically about the future, because my best laid plans oft go agley.  I expected to be adding to my blog more often that I had been -- in 2022, and I haven't written a word here since.  Well, here I am again, and at least I have news!

THEY'RE COMING!

MOTHMAN! WEREWOLVES! THE BUNNY-MAN! LIVING DINOSAURS! THE CHESHIRE BEASTS! THE LEOPARD-MEN!

And don't forget Flabbit - the Flying Rabbit of Tulsa, Oklahoma!

They are the

BEASTS BEYOND BELIEF!

You've heard of the Loch Ness monster and Bigfoot, but what about interdimensional hamsters? Flying rabbits? The Brentford Griffin? Michael D. Winkle (author of The Eyrie: A Book of Gryphons ) has published works on such topics as ancient creatures that are known to science, including the amazing coelocanth fish that has been around for over 400 million years, and new sightings of saber-toothed cats, Colorado raptors, and ground sloths of immense size; animals of myth and folklore (the Mamlambo, the Texas Dragon, Watusimba, and the Orouborus); creatures with apparent connections to UFOs (werewolves, dogmen, and batsquatch); and creatures of a supernatural nature or exhibiting strange behaviors (ghost dogs, the football beast, rat kings). Join Winkle as he uncovers the strange, the bizarre, the paranormal, and the mythical worlds of creepy critters inhabiting the worlds of science, myth, and horror!

Coming September 1, 2025, from Uncle Bear Publishing.

https://www.unclebearpublishing.com/#/

Post-Christmas Gifts (To Me)

 The day after Christmas, and already I'm in Gardner's Used Books to spend that Christmas money!

First -- The 1897 Sears, Roebuck & Co. Catalogue.  Now I'll know what sort of shoes, clothing, carriages, appliances, books, cutlery, etc. are proper for the late Victorian Era, in case I write a story about Sherlock Holmes, Dracula, Jack the Ripper, Jekyll & Hyde, H. G. Wells, Lizzie Borden, et al.  I actually have similar books for 1895 and 1909, but they are so small I can't read the print, while this is the size of a good old-fashioned big city phone book.  Now hand me that Tincture of Arnica.  I cut myself whilst pedaling my Velocipede.

Second -- Hawaiian Legends of Old Honolulu, by William Westervelt -- a tiny hardback, smaller than the usual paperback book, first published in 1915.  Westervelt wrote several volumes about Hawaiian myths and legends; this is the only one I didn't have.

Third -- In the Midst of Life and Other Stories by Ambrose Bierce -- I've been wanting a paperback-size collection by Bierce for a long while.  This volume includes "An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge," "The Damned Thing," "The Eyes of the Panther," and many other tales.

Fourth -- More Soviet Science Fiction, edited by Isaac Asimov -- I have the plain-old Soviet Science Fiction; it's an interesting look at how the Cold-War Russians envisioned the future, but a particular story I recall from my youth is in this second volume.  It was about a scientist trying to prove Darwinism by creating artificial life-forms -- that refuse to work the way evolution says they should.  Daring, for Communist Russia.

Missing in Action -- only a week ago I saw The Argonautica by Apollonius of Rhodes, a nice Penguin Books paperback, in the Classics section.  "I'll wait 'til after Christmas," I said to myself.  "No one's going to a) go to 'Classics' and b) take this ancient Greek saga."  I was wrong, apparently.  It wasn't here, or misplaced on any nearby shelves.  Well, 4 out of 5 ain't bad.

The Library continues!

 

 

Here is a bit more on how I would assemble a genuine library:

Crystal, David.  Cambridge Encyclopedia of Language, Third Ed. (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2010).  After something as basic as the dictionary and the thesaurus should come the ability to use all those words.  This encyclopedia covers all aspects of language and linguistics, from morphemes and glottal stops to dialects to the possibility that thought itself requires words.  I’ve been looking for a book like this for 20 years!

Guirand , Felix, et al.  New Larousse Encyclopedia of Mythology (Feltham, Middlesex: Hamlyn House, 1972).  John Kieran suggested a good book of myths after the Bible, so one would understand the alliterations in other works.  His choice was Bulfinch, but I think Larousse is incomparable in its scope and in its range of pantheons, from the ancient (cave dwellers!) to the obscure (Slavonic).

Morse, John M., et al.  Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Encyclopedia (Springfield, MA: Merriam-Webster, 2000).  Okay, a library needs an encyclopedia, the most basic of reference materials.  Since I’ll have so many volumes on so many subjects, I decided I didn’t need a many-volume set.  A good single-volume edition would at least point one in the direction one needs to go for any subject.  The Merriam-Webster book looked to be the best, having been assembled from that queen of references, the Encyclopaedia Britannica.

Tolstoy, Leo (trans. Constance Garnett).  War and Peace (NY, NY: Modern Library, 1994).  Time to get some classics into the library.  I haven’t actually read Tolstoy yet, but War and Peace is often called the greatest novel ever written.  It’s also the definitive “monstrous book you’ve got to read for a class.”  I’ll read it sometime, because I have one of my goofy ideas for a story that involves the place and time (Napoleonic Wars).

Return of the Library

 After some months in my new apartment I built a veritable mountain of shelves by stacking them, level by level, in the middle of the living room (that being about the only place to put them).  Individually, the plastic shelves often collapse under my weight demands, but these have been tied together at strategic points so that they mutually support one another.  If their structural integrity finally fails, they fall together.

 I also started writing up little accession cards for my many books, on 3"x5" cards, one per volume.  Come on, who hasn't always dreamed of doing that?  Let's see a show of hands!

 . . . I don't see anything.  Well, I'm doing it, and slipping each book onto the shelves when its card is finished.  There are over 300 arrayed on the Mountain already, with more to come!

 I wonder:  Suppose I had to create an actual, real public library, volume by volume?  What would I acquire, and in what order?  Could I balance my personal desires with a more legitimate collection (what an actual library might order)?  Every day new books take their places on my tower of shelves.  Perhaps I might even read them, someday, but I'm getting ahead of myself.  Let’s see:

 ***

Nichols, Wendalyn R., et al.  Random House Webster’s College Dictionary (New York: Random House, 2001).  First book out into the light of day.  As Hawkeye Pierce said on M*A*S*H, it has all the other books in it.  I wanted an update of the same dictionary I bought for college, but that’s out of print.  This comes close, however, and it lists interesting etymological details for most of its 207,000 words.

Roget, Peter Mark, et al.  Roget’s International Thesaurus, Fourth Edition (Revised by Robert L. Chapman).  (New York: Harper & Rowe, 1984).  In some ways the thesaurus is more useful than the dictionary.  It’s more fun to peruse, too.  I recall an old Peanuts comic where Sally Brown writes a story about cavemen being attacked by a bloodthirsty thesaurus.  I redrew that comic myself as a kid – and I had no idea what a thesaurus was at the time.  (I think one actually appears in Harvard Lampoon's Bored of the Rings.)  Well, okay, this is getting silly, frivolous, ridiculous, goofy . . .

Holy Bible: Authorized King James Version.  (New York: Harper & Row, 1969).  Any glance over the works waiting their turn to pop out reveals that the Bible is the most important influence on Western civilization:  Dante, Milton, St. Augustine, any philosophy, poetry, history, legend.  As John Kieran writes in his treatise Books I Love, "It is not only a great book but a begetter of countless other books.  It has been published in various versions and many languages.  It has inspired authors down the ages and quotations from it have furnished titles for thousands of completely unrelated books in the different realms of literature.  It is part of our background in history and a cornerstone of our common culture."  This copy was presented to me in Sunday school back in 1969; it still has my scribbled notes in the front.

Shakespeare, William (edited by David Bevington).  Complete Works of Shakespeare, Third Edition (Glenview, IL: Scott, Foresman and Co., 1980).  What can you say about the Bard?  This is my college textbook, containing not only all the plays and sonnets but also full of biographical notes, glosses, criticisms and even political and cosmological ideas of Shakespeare’s time.  There are even some mimeographed handouts in it, left therein before hence by some rustic clown, by my troth!

Cleaning Up One's Act

 

About a week ago an important question arose on FaceBook.  Well, maybe not that important.  Someone wanted to know if something mentioned in a Godzilla movie was actually from Japanese legend or just made up for the film.  I happened to have run across a similar legend years ago, and I knew exactly which book it was in in my huge book collection.  Unfortunately, I didn't know where it might lie in my piles and piles of books, magazines, DVDs and papers.  I looked in closets and in boxes and under the sink and in cabinets, and it took me three days to find the right volume.  By then the world had moved on to other pressing questions.

"I've been in this apartment for four months," I said to myself, "and it still looks like I've just stepped in and dumped everything on the floor!"  So I spent a long hard weekend stacking books into columns by subject (so I will at least know to look in the Science pile, the Myth and Legend pile, etc.), boxed up magazines and comics, crammed DVDs into unused cabinet space, and put bill stubs, Xerox copies, and various important papers into manila folders.  I slowed down during the work-week, but by Friday night I was amazed -- my apartment looked rather neat (as near as my tiny one-bedroom place can, with so much stuff packed in it).

Then -- around 10:30 PM I picked up a magazine at random and actually started reading.  Even including more than eight hours of sleep, I was halfway through the magazine by 9:00 AM.  Then I started reading one of my intimidatingly long volumes . . . and opened a few of my collectible comic books and actually read them . . . and pulled out a random manila folder and read the clippings within . . . and I even took out some stories of my own and reviewed them.  This reading (and writing) thing might just get to be a habit, at least I hope so!

How I Spent My Summer Vacation -- Or At Least Last Week

 

There is a light switch in my new apartment which logically should have turned on the hall light but which instead shut off all the electricity in the living room.  I've flipped it accidentally several times (it is now taped down).  When flipped back on, the electricity returned, my computer came back on -- but my modem could not connect with the Internet.  The first couple of times I called Cox, and they were able to reboot my modem from their end, but Saturday it remained resolutely inert.  The person at Cox said maybe it was "fried".  From flipping a light switch?

Anyway, I had to take off part of Wednesday to wait for the Cox repairman to come.  He examined the modem, replaced some wires/cables he said had been spliced in badly, and, Lo!  The Internet!!

He left -- and two hours later the first of a series of thunderstorms marched through the Tulsa area and knocked out the power.  Only for a few minutes, but afterwards -- you guessed it, no Internet.

"Now, come on!" I told myself.  "There was a time you had no Internet.  There was a time you had no CD player, DVD player.  You were about the last person to buy a PC or cell phone.  So why the panic over a temporary Internet outage?"  True, but these days I pay most bills via the Internet (and billing time was almost here); I can't send out stories to magazines without it, and I tossed my last phone book long ago so I can't look up many important phone numbers without traveling elsewhere.  So I called for a repairman again; he'd be there Friday.

MEANWHILE -- My monthly rent is on automatic payment.  So is water and sewer and Cox itself.  I could have sworn the Public Service Company of Oklahoma was, too, until I idly opened an envelope from PSO late Wednesday night and found a Final Notice and a date for cutting off my electricity.  The date: a week earlier.

MEANWHILE MEANWHILE -- the storms marched through Tulsa.  Because of them my power went off twice a day anyway, judging by the number of times I had to re-set my clocks.

Thursday I fretted all day about PSO.  At lunch I spent half an hour on the phone trying to talk to someone.  Eventually someone answered.  I explained my non-auto-payment mixup, and I was assured PSO wouldn't actually cut off the power until August 9.  I hung up in relief -- 

But it was too late.  You see, the air conditioning where I work is always cranked up to subarctic conditions, especially so during the recent heatwave.  Thursday it was only about 80 degrees F. outside, but the A/C roared on as cryogenically as ever.  It was insanely cold.  Being on edge the previous few days didn't help.  I guess I lowered my bodily defenses, and by the time I went to bed that night I had the first raging head-cold I've had in years.

On the way home Thursday however, I stopped at the library to use their Internet and try to pay PSO's bills/late fees/reinstallment fee/whatever.  But I couldn't create an account unless I got their activation code from an email -- and I didn't know my passwords for AOL or OUTLOOK.COM (come on!  I signed on once 15 to 20 years ago, and they've stayed on since!  I forgot 'em!)  Replace the passwords?  Sure -- but you had to answer an email each company sent to the other email address . . .

Friday I stuck a check to PSO in the mailbox on the way to work; it would get there long before August 9.  I felt so ill at work I went home early.  I tried to call PSO to tell them the check was on its way, but a recording flat-out told you not to call for the present because all operators were tied up answering lines down and power out calls.

Yes, the storms were still around.  I got home about 3:00 PM, and the power was out.  The Cox repairman called and said he was amazingly ahead on his calls and could come at once.  I said the electricity was out; well, he couldn't do much without that.  He told me to call him if the power came back on.

So I sat there on my little bed, head pounding, snot dribbling, in my dark little apartment, and a horrible little thought came to me:  What if, despite all the assurances of the PSO operator, I had only reminded them of my tardy payments?  And they had finally gotten around to cutting me off?

I stumbled outside.  Other apartments had lights on.

"It's Friday, 3:30.  I have a 90 minute window before the libraries close," I muttered.

This time I took credit cards, bill stubs, the file of papers I signed when I first rented my apartment, my thick three-ring binder full of IDs and Passwords, everything.  I got online about 3:50, created a PSO account, gave PSO $180 in fees, late or otherwise (there's another $180 check headed their way in the mail even now, I hope that holds them for a while), and got home about 4:45.  I'll give 'em this, my power was already back on.  The Cox guy came, found out my modem was way too powerful for the apartment's wiring capacity (didn't follow it all -- he said something about needing a "four-way splitter"), and finally I was back in business.

I flopped into bed for thirteen hours.  I still have some hacking and coughing, but I feel like I've hit the bottom of some sort of abyss and am now bouncing up.

It's hard to explain, but most of the events of the past several years seem to fit a pattern -- learning experiences of a sort.  Problems and catastrophes, yes, but ones that settled themselves in an orderly fashion, and would have been utterly devastating had they occurred in any other order.  I'm not quite sure what I was supposed to learn from this week's events, though.

Oh, well -- writers are supposed to produce material for blogs, websites, FaceBook, Patreon, Twitter and more if they want to keep in the public eye, and my flow has atrophied over the past year.  Maybe now I can start churning out interesting essays and anecdotes again -- starting with this one.