Case #1: The idiom as she is spoke is constantly being taken liberties with and responds by making loose change. Then some writer does it and when critics/scholars like it but readers don't, they say things like:
[Due to] a largely idiosyncratic language, consisting of a mixture of standard English lexical items and neologistic multilingual puns and portmanteau words... expansive linguistic experiments, stream of consciousness writing style, literary allusions, free dream associations, and abandonment of narrative conventions, Finnegans Wake remains largely unread by the general public.
"Largely unread" meaning, in that era, published but selling so poorly that in this era it's unlikely to be published at all. (Editorial emphasis added.)
Case #2. Often wildly popular, on the other hand, The Jabberwocky (right margin, third illo down). Of course, it's a lot shorter, and it rhymes. (And which of us has not, at one time or another, gone galumphing back.)
Case #3: One the world's great language franchises: Shakespeare. Another, not out of copy- right yet, invented feinbergers - phasers - tricorders - Klingons - tribbles etc., etc., etc., etc., etc., etc., etc., etc., etc., etc., etc., etc., etc., etc., etc., etc., etc., etc., etc., etc., etc., etc., etc., etc., etc., . . . . . . . .
Case #4: For the I-think 1st edition of William Goldman's The Princess Bride, the conversational asides between grandson and grandfather-telling-the-story are
rubricated and in a different font than the rest of the text.
Later editions used less expensive techniques. Even by then, it was rare to see new fiction with a genuine
frontispiece or illustrations, simply because of cost.
Case #5: Will electronic media symbology enter narrative in fiction, rather than only be portrayed as blogger/texter/tweeter dialogue? Do readers interpret this ::sigh:: as the exasperated kind —all those little dots looking so sharp and punchy and irritable— and this ~sigh~ as wistful/sad/resigned, 'cos of the bent little curves of each tilde?
Case #6: A week or so ago, regarding mention of dialogue style in Pulp Fiction, I blockquoted Elmore Leonard saying Richard Bissell greatly influenced his writing; Quentin Tarantino et al said Elmore Leonard greatly influenced theirs. Oddly, E.L. seemed to think Bissell wasn't "trying" to be funny. That's like saying Austen hadn't meant to be satirical. Bissell may be the only Harvard graduate with a steamboat riverman pilot's license, and I would bet money he read more than twice everything Austen ever wrote. On-board or off.
How far can an influence travel from its source? My Life on the Mississippi: or Why I am Not Mark Twain is one of several popular Bissell memoirs starting with growing up the son of the owner/operator of a small industrial plant in a town on the river that's central to the lives of everyone 100 miles of it and its many huge tributaries. The memoirs are replete with quotation from related literature, a lot of it pretty damn humorous, and not just Sam Clemen's, either.
This is abridged from Say, Darling,, Bissel's 1957 novel about trying to turn 7½ Cents into Pajama Game (exerpts under a thousand words permitted in the © statement) :
"Not that I minded," Cousin Archie said, "but do you know what that dinner cost me last night?"
"Frankie, where's the Bicar-Seltzer?" I said.
"What you need is a Dynamite Cocktail," Archie said. "Call Room Service and tell them to send up three raw eggs, a few chili peppers, and papaya juice."
"You call them," I said. "I'll be all right if I can find that Bicar-Seltzer."
Frankie was sitting on the sofa in her dressing gown reading the telegrams in our luxurious suite Sam Snow got us at the Astor. There were newspapers all over the end tables, the chair, the sofa, bottles, glasses, and the forlorn remains of two chicken sandwiches on a tray on the floor.
"You haven't got any chili peppers?" Archie said into the phone. "Why not?"
"Listen to this one," Frankie said. "TO THE BOY FROM INDIANA WELCOME TO BROADWAY BEST LUCK FOR TONIGHT WHATEVER HAPPENS WANT YOU TO KNOW WE APPRECIATE YOUR CONSTANT DEVOTION TO THE PROJECT HARRY PAIGE. Gosh!"
"Absolutely crazy," Archie said. "You spent a year plus all last night with him, what'd he send you a telegram for? No wonder everybody down here dies broke."
"Now, Archie," Frankie said. "It's an old tradition."
"I'll bet Western Union started it," Archie said. "Well they haven't got any chili peppers so I told them send Tabasco."
"I don't want any Tabasco," I said. "I want a Bicar-Seltzer."
"That stuff is no good," Archie said. "It irritates the duodenum. It actually produces ulcers."
"But Tabasco is soothing," I said.
"You don't understand," Archie said. "The Tabasco combines with the egg and forms an emulsion . . ."
"Archie," Frankie said. "Do you have to talk about emulsion when my head feels like this? Jack, give me a sip of Scotch in a glass of cold water."
" 'A luscious lollypop of a show,' " I read. " 'A stem-winder.' " I went in and ran the water.
"All right," Archie hollered. "So the newspapers said the show didn't stink. What's that prove?"
I turned the water off.
"Frankie, tell your husband," Archie said. "For godsake ▬ ' CONSTANT DEVOTION TO THE PROJECT'! How about a little constant devotion to Jordan Iron Products, Inc.?"
"Here you are, honey," I said.
"So maybe the show will play a couple months." Archie said. "Then what? Security is what you want. Iron. Something tangible."
"I'm thinking about it, Archie," I said. "I'm thinking about it, kid."
"How's Rip Ryan?" Frankie said. "Say, I sure miss that boy."
"How bad is Uncle Bill?" I said.
"He's finished," Archie said.
"You think I could handle the job?" I said.
"Try some of this," Frankie told me. "Pull you together."
The doorbell buzzed and kept on buzzing. Then somebody started pounding on the door.
Archie opened it and Sam Snow tottered in; he was still in his evening clothes.
"Gimme a drink," he said. "Hello, you luscious lollypop, you pure unadulterated fun," and he grabbed Frankie and hauled her to her feet and gave her a kiss.
"I better order more eggs," Archie said, "and papaya juice."
"Not Atkinson or Kerr or McLain or Watts or Chapman but all of them, all of them, ALL OF THEM!" Sam screamed.
"And coffee," Archie said. "Black coffee and . . ."
"Look out the window!" Sam said. "Look what's happening down there. Give me a drink, you daffy Hoosiers!" He shoved us over to the window and pointed out. Up on the theater marquee, The Girl from Indiana. Down the sidewalk and 'round the block a long, long, patient line of people.
"Something tangible," Frankie said...
The phone rang and I went and answered it. Sam had launched into "Say, Darling."
"Hey shut up, Sam," I said.
"Jack, this is Dick."
Dick who? I thought, and then I realized, Richard Hackett. Our director. The Great Man.
"Jack, it looks as though Harry Paige has pulled a fast one," he said.
"Harry Paige?" I said.
"What's that?" Sam said.
"It seems he sold the show to Paragon Pictures half an hour ago."
"Here, you better talk to Sam," I said.
"Sam took the phone and leaned against the wall.
"What is it, Jack?" Frankie said.
"Harry made a deal for the picture rights," I said.
"Say that again," Sam said, putting his hand up to his head. "Did you say seven hundred and fifty thousand?"
"If there was a deli nearby," Archie said, "I could run out and get some chili peppers."
Case #7: C.J. Cherryh's Voyager in Night, DAW Books, 1984:
"It—they—whatever runs this place knows where we are. When it gets bored, it'll find us," Rafe said.
Paul glared at him.
"I don't want to sit here," Jillian said.
"There's the corridors," said Rafe Two. "We could try to go as far as we can. As far as we can stay with each other."
"We could try that," Rafe said.
✱ ✱ ✱
The outsiders moved slowly down the corridor which had been allotted to them and there was, immediately, throughout the ship a focusing of attention.
"They're a hazard," [] said. [] had tried them once, but <> had interfered in no uncertain terms and [] kept a respectful distance.
"Let them go," said <^>. <^> was constantly disposed to gentleness. It was part of <^>'s madness, forgetting <^>'s heredity.
But </> ranged all about the perimeters, gathering others of </>'s disposition: there were many such aboard. There were two or three fiercer, but none more devious, except maybe the segments of =<->=<+>= that grew longer with every cannibalistic acquistion. =<->==<+>1g= had fifteen other segments, currently at liberty, and it was a question where these were or what the whole matrix thought, breaking apart and sending segments of itself everywhere in search of information.
</> laughed to </>self, loving chaos, seeing opportunity.
(Note the convention of asterisks in a row with blank lines above and below.)
And from Cherryh's Chanur Saga, see this overview of a fictional multi-species universe with which the author genuinely addresses communication conflict in real-life terms (admitting that the real world does not do too hot a job at this itself). This tc'a matrix-language example (neurology, anatomy etc perhaps 'standing in' for/symbolizing real world cultural chasms of understanding) from a message displayed on a com screen (capitalized words are place-names, mostly planets or orbital trade/fueling stations, uncapitalized are species) showing side-to-side as well as up-to-down conceptualizing (diagonal I'm not sure):
tc'a knnn kif kif hani mahe mahe
Mkks Kefk Mkks Kefk Mkks Kefk Mkks
Kefk go Kefk Kefk Kefk Kefk Kefk
and abridged from book 4, this hani-kif exchange
...Pyanfar leaned over to the mike. "Pride of Chanur. You've reached the captain."
It was the tinny putter of the shielded dockside line. "— kokkitta ktogotki, Chanur-hakto. Kgoto naktki tkki skthokkikt."
"Gods rot it. I'm not opening that hatch."
"—kohogot kakkti hakkiktu."
"Speak pidgin!"
"—Gift, hani captain. From the hakkikt."
Pyanfar drew in a breath and glanced at Haral. Haral's ears were back. You know what choice we've got, that look meant.
"I'm coming," Pyanfar answered. "Kgakki tkki, skku-hakkiktu." Politeness grated. Then the contact was broken, and she flung herself to her feet as Haral went for the weapons-lockers. "Geran. Haral and I are headed for the lock. Get on com and tell Tirun and Hilfy to meet us armed at lowerdecks and hurry it. And get that camera on!"
"Aye." Geran shifted into Hilfy's vacant place, already throwing com switches.
Haral overtook her in the main corridor and handed her a light pistol. Tirun and Hilfy met them on lowerdeck, armed from the downside lockers.
"What have we got?" Tirun asked.
"A gift from Skikkukkut. That's what they say, at least."
Haral said, "Captain, let Tirun and me sort this out in the lock. Could be more kif than we bargain for and they could sabotage that hatch—"
Pyanfar said, "Geran, you got image?"
"One in sight at the bend of the accessway; there's more, but they're below and the light's lousey."
"We could take that one," Haral said.
"Sfik," Pyanfar said [prestige/proof of power/personal fearlessness] and clicked her pistol's safety off. "You and I go, cousin. Hilfy, Tirun, hold our backs and stay at the close-switch. Geran, inner hatch only; go."
Ssssnnk The seal rushed open and the lock glared with whitelight. Tirun and Hilfy took position. Pyanfar said, "Geran, open her up."
The outer hatch whisked back.
A single kif stood a distance down the freezing accessway. It looked unstartled at the pair of guns it faced; and it wisely refrained from sudden movement. Skikkukkut itself? No, it was not so tall, and smelled different.
"The hakkikt sends a gift," it said. "Will you accept?"
"What gift?"
The kif made a slow turn. "—Kktanankki!" he called out. Bring it— a word that implied ... something moving under its own power.
From down the bend of the accessway, more kif, a massed drift of shadow, with — the red-gold of a hani in their midst, a hani in torn blue silk trousers —
...the tangled mane with the bronze tone of Anuurn's southlands; left ear ripped, a black scar that raked mouth and chin.
"Dur Tahar," Pyanfar said.
The captain of Moon Rising raised her eyes as the kif brought her to the lock's threshold. She blinked and the ears came up and flattened in the white light. Her eyes were wild and hard and crazed-looking. Kif ammonia-smells and worse rose from her.
"Pyanfar Chanur," Tahar said in a distant, hoarse voice.
"The hakkikt gives you your enemy," the kif said. "His compliments, Chanur."
"Mine to him," Pyanfar muttered.
"Kkkt," the kif said, turned with a sweep of its robes and left, its dark companions with it.
"My crew", Tahar croaked. "For the gods' own sake, Chanur—"
Pyanfar strode down the ramp. "Skku-hakkiktu!" she yelled after the shadowy knot of departing kif. "I want the rest of the hani! Hear?"
The lead kif looked back, his band halting around him.
"Tell the hakkikt," Pyanfar called down the icy chute, "I appreciate his gift. Tell him I want the rest of the hani. I set importance on that. Tell him so!"
"Kkkt. Chanur-hakto. Akktut okkukkun nakth hakti-hak-kikta."
Modes eluded her, the subleties of when or how fast, woven in words kif used with each other like fine-edged knives.
"See to it!" she yelled back.
The kif bowed like a slide of oil, turned, and moved into dark with his companions around him.
Case #8.
"They firebombed the dinner table, taking us completely by surprise. We evacuated our casualties from the patio - tracers skittering across the summer sky. Dad is a memory we're trying to keep alive."
— Ron Kolm
—
Suburban Ambush: Downtown Writing and the Fiction of Insurgency, Robert Siegle, ed. Johns Hopkins Univ Pr, 1989.
Case #9. from Fitzeempress' Law, Diana Norman, St Martin's Pr, 1980
By late afternoon, a coppery haze was thickening the sky in the south-west ... Sal saw Pete throw up his arms. She saw Len struggling through the crowd to congratulate him. Then she saw the trunk of his body slip sideways out of alignment, extending to the left in an obscene loop and leaving his head and legs in place.
...she looked at Pete for help and his head grew into a ten-foot tall monstrosity which dragged his features with it. "It's the heat. It's the heat. It's the heat." The sky became grey convolutions which arched down and trapped the three of them into the underside of an oval, like a half-egg.
...It'stheheatit'stheheatit'stheheat "It's the heat," said Dame Dunster to the [man at arms] who helped Sal to her feet. "She must return to the castle."
Sal clutched onto the hot rings of mail of the man's coat, breathing hard in an effort to keep the world still... Before she blacked out she thought: "We're inside a mind and it's going."
Case #10: e e cummngs
Tonight's challenge/exercise/stretch: a scene, moment, story, situation, conversation, or etc, length of your choice, with an experimental/innovative language element, major or minor, from these 10 cases or your own invention, that you've never used before and probably wouldn't risk in a MS intended for editorial submission —because, rejections— (or 2 or 3 elements, whatever you feel like) that you think might actually augment what you try to put across, financial considerations aside.
For writers wanting typographic symbols not on the keyboard, below are a bunch, copypasta as-is, no code-typing needed.
Since there is no full context of a book from which to glean how to interpret innovations, it might be good to start with a brief definition of meaning/significance you assign to your chosen bit of weirdness (and in case multiple writers use that same innovation differently) so readers can adapt.
heart ♥ (ordinarily translating as "love")
bullet points: round • or square ■ (ord. transl'g as "here's a list")
emdash — (usually we just type two hypens -- ord. transl'g as an interrupt)
section §
pilcrow/paragraph ¶
double lowline ‗ (can string several together, without breaks ‗‗‗‗‗ )
rightpoint ► and of course ◄ ▼ ▲
almost equal ≈
degrees °
✱ (which is not a typed asterisk because in DK a typed asterisk will bold all words following it until another typed asterisk "turns off" the bolding. Besides ordinarily translating as "see footnote below", it is also customarily used to replace keyboard symbols for so-called unprintables the reader usually can interpret readily, e.g., f✱✱✱ or alternatively f### and you b#st#rd, you sonuvab#### etc
lower half-block ▄
inverted question mark ¿
blackletter capital I meaning "imaginary part" ℑ
blackletter capital R meaning "real part" ℜ
capital OE Œ
thorn (Icelandic) þ
new shekel ₪
medium shade ▒
sunshine ☼
intersection ∩
double dagger ‡
Sources via belinda ridgewood's Using Special Characters linking elizabethcastro dot com's HTML... {more latin, greek, punc&diacriticals, math, technical, etc there} and Cool Characters {ibid.}
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If you want color too (e.g., instead of a character name - unfortunately there doesn't seem to be colored-font capability in Dk) here are codes for some (colors may vary depending upon what browser etc you use) - cut the percentages down to shorten the lines where 100% means "full width of page", and you can change the number of pixels to change line thickness:
Dark line the width of the screen 3 pixels thick <hr noshade size="3" >
Dark line centered <center><hr width="350"></center>
strong pink line <hr width="100%" color="#F21870" />
icky pink line <hr width="100%" color="#FCCAFC" />
light green line - <hr width="100%" color="#BCDE66" />
strong green line <hr width="100%" color="#3FD117" />
strong turq line <hr width="100%" color="#24E0E3" />
tan/mustard line <hr width="100%" color="#ED9E0C" />
purple line <hr width="100%" color="#6117D1" />
centered tan/mustard line <center><hr width="50%" color="#ED9E0C" /></center>
<center><hr size="5" width="50%" color="#ED9E0C"></center>
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