#Scotstober Day 25 #Glisk

Today’s word, glisk, is a beautiful one–to me, at least. It means glance, glimpse, gleam, sparkle, brief moment, trace, touch, resemblance, similarity.

What I find so beautiful about it is the sound. It starts off soft, then finishes on a hard k. Almost as if it mimics the sound of a sparkle (okay, the sound sparkles make in my head).

Here’s my response to the prompt (taken from Running The Asset):

Adam swypit the herr awa fae Elle’s foreheid an fir a glisk he mulled the smuith huil there. “A hae twa reules at A nivver brak,” he cowpit hir face oop tae heez an he preed hir lips, “an A’m i dainger o brakin thaim wi ye.”

And now in English.

Adam swept the hair away from Elle’s forehead and for a brief moment he kissed the smooth skin there. “I have two rules that I never break,” he tilted her face up to his and tasted her lips, “and I’m in danger of breaking them both with you.”

#Scotstober Day 24 #Bogle

Today’s word, bogle, is a fun one. As a noun, bogle means an ugly or terrifying ghost, a phantom, a scarecrow, a bugbear, a cause of annoyance. As a verb, it means to bewitch, bamboozle, bellow or shout.

Unfortunately, I haven’t written anything that has ghosts or phantoms in it since my screenwriting days, but I do have a snippet about a man-shaped cause of annoyance. 😜

Here’s my response to the prompt (taken from Running The Asset):

Elle wis amaist it the lift whan hir phone jowed. “Hullo?”

“Did ye git hit?” Dekker sayed ower the line.

She skitit intae the empie collogue room. “Naw. Noo, lave me alane.”

“No tae ye git at drive tae me.”

She steekit hir een an socht souse. “There naethin here. A wint yet oot ma lyfe.”

“Hit disnae wirk lik at, Doll. A’m gonnae be a close bogle i yer lyfe tae ye git at drive. The suiner ye git hit, the suiner A’m oot yer lyfe.”

Elle gruppen the phone haird eneuch at thir wis a unchancie creck. “Fuk ye.”

He hid the gallusness tae keckle. “Ye areddies did.”

And now in English.

Elle was almost at the lift when her phone rang. “Hello?”

“Did you get it?” Dekker said over the line.

Elle slipped into the empty conference room. “No. Now, leave me alone.”

“Not until you get that drive to me.”

She shut her eyes and sighed heavily. “There’s nothing here. I want you out of my life.”

“It doesn’t work like that, Doll. I’m going to be a constant source of annoyance in your life until you get that drive. The sooner you get it, the sooner I’m out of your life.”

Elle gripped the phone hard enough that there was a threatening crack. “Fuck you.”

He had the audacity to chuckle. “You already did.”

#Scotstober Day 23 #Skelp

Today’s word, skelp, gave me a wee bit of a headache. You see, I use it a lot in daily life and when I’m writing. But, when I’m writing, I tend to use it in a very different way than I do in everyday life. I’d best give you the definition so that you can see where my difficulty came from.

As a verb, skelp means spank, smack, slap, hit; to hammer, beat, work with vigour, gallop, move fast. As a noun, it means a blow, smack, a blast of wind, a downpour of rain. There’s even more here.

Maybe my issue isn’t clear yet. Remember, I write romantic suspense, and that kind of story has sexy times and thoughts about sexy times. So, when I did a search in Scrivener (my writing app of choice) for skelp, and it’s English versions, I was inundated with sex-related slaps, spanks, and vigorous motions. Don’t get me started on the word blow.

Finally, I managed to find something that wasn’t a sex scene (taken from Running The Asset):

Hauns hapt aroon Elle, ane glaunin haird agin hir mou, the ither harlin hir ticht agin the lang, pithy feegur o the mannie ahin hir.

Elle flistit. Warslin agin heez airn grup; dumpin it heez leigs, skelpin it him wi hir neives. He gruncht an lowsed heez grup aroon hir weist. Bit afore she cud dae onything, he shuved the sindry hairdness o a gun intae hir are-bone.

“Gin ye wint tae souch awa, haud fukin warslin.”

And now in English.

Hands wrapped around Elle, one clamping hard against her mouth, the other hauling her tight against the tall, solid figure of the man behind her. 

Elle exploded with rage. Struggling against his iron grip; kicking at his legs, beating at him with her fists. He grunted and released his grip around her waist. But before she could do anything, he pressed the distinct hardness of a gun into her ribs.

“If you’re wanting to breathe your last, keep fucking struggling.”

#Scotstober Day 22 #Aye

You’re most likely familiar with today’s word, aye. As you may know, it’s a variant spelling of the word at—yes in English. Ay is (apparently) the correct spelling and aye is the plural (as in “the ayes have it,” in parliament).

Anyway, that’s not the only meaning aye has. It means always, still, continually, ever, henceforward.

A quick note: I had to use a bit of artistic licence on a couple of the words. Tackticks is a word for military tactics, so I tacked on an “ly” at the end to get close to what I needed. And secondly, “mow wi” means to have sex with, so I used mow to mean just sex. (You wouldn’t believe the amount of phrases for sex in Scots there are. That’s a post on its own…might have to do that next month.)

And on to the response to the prompt (taken from Running The Asset):

Adam didnae lee tae himsel, Elle wisnae heez uswal kind, bit he wis taen wi hir. Fae i saicont she stappit fit intae i howf he’d wintit tae uise mow as heez wey in wi hir.

Tacktickly hit wis i festest wey o winin hir truist, but bygane expairience telt him hit wisnae aye the smairtest muve. Bit richt than, he wisnae gaunae fash aboot hoo smairt he wis or wisnae.

And now in English.

Adam didn’t lie to himself, Elle wasn’t his usual type, but he was attracted to her. From the second she stepped foot into the bar he’d wanted to use sex as his way in with her.

Tactically it was the fastest way of gaining her trust, though past experience told him it wasn’t always the smartest move. But right then, he wasn’t going to worry about how smart he was or wasn’t.

I just want to give a big shout out to everyone who’s left comments. Thank you so much. I promise to get back to you all this weekend. Take care, and I’ll see you next time. 🤗

#Scotstober Day 21 #Weird

Today’s word is weird.

Weird doesn’t mean the same as it does in English. In Scots, it’s all about the supernatural. It means fate, destiny, fortune. Weird covers The Fates (like the weird Sisters), wizards, warlocks. It also means prophecy and prediction. If it’s magickal, supernatural, then weird is the word to use. My mum used to call my clothes, witchcraft books, and herbs, my weirdy gear. 😊 🧙

Here’s a link to more definitions for weird.

Well, that’s it for today’s #Scotstober post. See you tomorrow 😊

Ma wee, drummure weird (My wee, sad-looking wizard)

#Scotstober Day 20 #Birl

Today’s word is birl. Birl means to spin, whirl, dance, whirring or rattling noise; to move fast, bustling. You may remember seeing the word birl before in earlier entries: Dreich and Stramash.

Just a wee aside: A well-meaning person had informed me that I was incorrect in how I spelt the word fuck in Scots. He told me it was feck (I think this might be Irish), but that never sat well with me as it’s not how I say it. I say and spell it with a hard K (fuk). Anyway, I decided to look up the way I say it and think it’s spelt, and guess what? On Dictionaries of the Scots Language’s site, feck means something entirely different. And the site also confirmed that my spelling (fuk) was correct. So, from now on, I’m going with what my gut always told me. I thought I’d share that as I use fuck a lot, a lot, a lot, in my writing, and I don’t want to cause any confusion.

And on to the response to the prompt (taken from Running The Asset):

Trevor birlt bak tae Haas, wha’d gilravaged a hail server o caviar i less nor twa meenits, an wis noo stertin in the partan. Trevor nairrad heez een it the mannie ower heez gless. “They’re stull screengin the causey claen o the harins o the laist bodie wha ettled tae fuk iz ower.”

Haas choakit oan the partan he hid stappit I heez mou.

And now in English.

Trevor turned back to Haas, who’d devoured an entire salver of caviar in less than two minutes, and was now starting on the crab. Trevor narrowed his eyes at the man over his glass. “They’re still scrubbing the street clean of the brains of the last person who tried to fuck me over.”

Haas choked on the crab claw he’d stuffed in his mouth.

#Scotstober Day 19 #Bawkie

Today’s word is bawkie. I’m just going to sit here and do a wee bit lalalalala because as I discovered earlier this year, I’m not a fan of bawkies.

Okay, so bawkie generally refers to bats, you know, the winged variety. My unease (it’s not full-on fear) of them was a shock because I’ve been in touching distance of one before while on a school trip to New Lanark. I didn’t touch the cute wee thing as it’s illegal to do so in Scotland unless you’re licensed.

I think my unease comes from the fact that these bats were flying, and their wings were way too close to me in the early hours. Whereas the one I met as a kid was tucked safely in its handler’s hand. No wings flapping, no low flybys, no following me around with malicious intent. I may have a problem with things that fly near me 🤔.

And back to the definition.

Bawkie also means spectre, ghost, and apparition. You know those wee winged seeds from sycamore trees? They’re bawkies, too.

Well, that’s it for today’s #Scotstober post. See you tomorrow 😊

#Scotstober Day 18 #Stour

Today’s word is stour. Stour, as a noun, is a layer of dust or any fine powder; it’s also a fuss, disturbance, strife, conflict. As a verb, it means to run, rush, swirl, rise up in a cloud. And, for weather, it means storm, tempest, wild, blizzard, snowstorm. We have a ton of words in Scots for the weather, which is fantastic if you’re a meteorological geek like Jez and me)

Here’s another quick wee response to the prompt (taken from Running The Asset):

Elle apent hir een, the smeekie-blae deepths cleekin wi Adam’s. He hud ainly ivver seen at colour it sea, richt afore a deidlie stour. An hit ainly mint ane thing, tribble.

And now in English.

Elle opened her eyes, the smokey-blue depths locking with Adam’s. He had only ever seen that colour at sea, right before a deadly storm. And it meant only one thing, trouble.

I can’t resist adding what jumps into my head whenever I say or hear the word stour–or see actual stour, which we’ll pretend I don’t see too often. 😉

#Scotstober Day 17 #Gype

Today’s word is gype. As a verb, gype means to stare foolishly or open-mouthed, to play the fool, to make a fool of. As a noun, it means foolish, an awkward person.

Here’s a quick wee response to the prompt (another wee snippet taken from Running The Asset):

A thoosan een wechtit doon in Elle’s shouders. Okay, at wis a whid, thir wir ainly sax in richt than. The een belanged tae Ward, the gype wi the sniper rifle she wis truistin tae relieve hir gin hit aa wint tae shite. Hir traicherous maister, Trevor. An Dekker, the hairtless ersehole wha hid harlt hir intae is hail nicht-mare.

And now in English.

A thousand eyes weighed down on Elle’s shoulders. Okay, that was an exaggeration, there were only six eyes on her right then. The eyes belonged Ward, to the awkward guy with the sniper rifle she was trusting would save her if it all went to shit. Her trecherous boss, Trevor. And Dekker, the heartless arsehole who had dragged her into this whole nightmare.

#Scotstober Day 15 and 16 #Lowp and #Grue

Sorry for going AWOL on Scotstober yesterday. I was having a wee bit of a bad day CRPS wise and just need to have a rest after getting my work on the manuscript done.

But, I managed to do a post today that covered both words!

Today’s words are lowp and grue. Lowp means leap, jump; spring to attention; a long springing step; throb; and a place to cross a river. Grue as a verb means to feel horror, terror, or to shudder; to run cold with fear; to shiver from cold, to make a grimace of horror or disgust. It also means melting snow and ice found on rivers in early spring.

Here’s my response to the prompts (another wee snippet taken from Running The Asset):

Melts o flams proggit fae the chaumer door-cheek, slaikin it the ruif abuin Adam’s heid. Spreedin fest. Panatick cleukit it heez thrapple.

He benseld oot a sair braith. Is wisnae heez nicht-mare; is wis rael. He wisnae the ane gruein, alane in the bleeze wi a corp. Elle wis. An gin he hid ony howp o makin hir help him, he hid tae muve. Noo.

He shueit in heez feet i a hauf forkin lik he wis a wean gittin olite fur heez go i a gem o Tommy Had a Gun. Three. Twa. Ane. Adam lowpt throu the flams an amaistd drappit fae the haet. Militar lowe upbring wi fearnought suits wur ane thing, bit a hailly unalik in civvies.

And now in English.

Tongues of flame poked from the bedroom doorway, licking at the ceiling above Adam’s head. Spreading fast. Panic clawed at his throat.

He forced out a harsh breath. This wasn’t his nightmare; it was real. He wasn’t the one trembling in fear, alone in the blaze with a corpse. Elle Maguire was. And if he had any hope of making her an asset, he had to move. Now.

Adam rocked on his feet in a half crouch like he was a kid getting ready for his turn in a game of Tommy had a gun. Three. Two. One. He leapt through the flames and almost dropped from the heat. Military fire training drills with fearnought suits were one thing, but a completely different thing in civvies.