The frustration of photographing something amazing when thousands of identical photos already exist-the same sunset, the same waterfall, the same curve of a hip, the same closeup of an eye-which can turn a unique subject into something hollow and pulpy and cheap, like a mass-produced piece of furniture you happen to have assembled yourself. The realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own. So, without further ado, here are 10 of the most beautiful completely made-up words that describe specific, obscure sorrows: 1. Being in the dictionary is an arbitrary distinction it doesn’t make a word any more real than any other way.
If you love a word, use it-that makes it real. The answer is equally simple: Yes, because aren't all words made up in the beginning? Koenig quoted lexicographer Erin McKean, founder of Wordnik and previous editor in chief of US Dictionaries for Oxford University Press and principal editor of the New Oxford American Dictionary (2nd ed.): "People say to me, ‘How do I know if a word is real?’ You know, anybody who’s read a children’s book knows that love makes things real. The second question is implicit in the first one: whether they should use Koenig's made up words in real life. Koenig stated that each original definition aims to fill a hole in the language, to give a name to an emotion we all feel but dont' have a word for. Koenig (who "enjoys piano jazz, deep image poetry, wines of indeterminate types, canyons and nostalgia - just the sorts of stuff you'd expect from an expert wordsmith) crafts each words carefully with proper etymology - things like word roots, prefixes, suffixes and so on. The answer is simple: Yes, these are made up words - but they're carefully made up words. The first question people would ask when they run across one of Koenig's words is whether they are made up. *At least until Koenig starts another website, dedicated to coining new words describing specific types of joys. Like the pain of realizing that the plot of your life doesn't make sense to you anymore ( nodus tollens), the frustration of knowing how easily you fit into a sterotype even if you never intended to ( mimeomia), or an imaginary conversation with an old photo of yourself ( daguerreologue). Words can't describe* the joy I feel when I ran across John Koenig's Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows website, which is dedicated to coining new words that define specific types of sadness.
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