Recovering the Beadsman

A Story Born from the Dictionary

Jun 10, 2025

Note: This began as a blog post years ago—but it’s taken root and grown. What follows is no longer just about old dictionaries. It’s about how two words—recovered hermit—birthed a speculative tale.

What follows isn’t just about old dictionaries. It’s a look at how a single phrase—“recovered hermit”—evolved into a full speculative story. I’ll show you the exact definitions that lit the spark and the character who emerged. And at the end, I’ll share an excerpt from the story that bloomed from that journey.

A large, wooden bookshelf filled with vintage dictionaries, encyclopedias, and reference books, flanked by two wooden ladders. Titles include works on mythology, Celtic traditions, and word origins. A ceramic cow figurine, a Snoopy quote card, and a leafy hand-painted tile add whimsy to the scholarly collection. Soft red curtains glow in the background, giving the cozy reading nook a warm, inviting feel. — JL Tooker’s Library … or part thereof (2025)

My no. 1 writing tool is a dictionary. Hardcopy. The kind you can run your fingers up and down the pages. Trust me when I tell you a physical dictionary and an internet or digital dictionary can be universes apart regarding the quality of information. Really, trust me, and get your hands on the real thing, preferably one that does not respond to voice commands.

I once asked my oldest son if he knew how to use a dictionary. He said he did and demonstrated so by standing in front of an unabridged dictionary settled on a lectern he bought me, and with a most serious tone demanded, “Dictionary on.” Nothing happened of course, and he promptly added something to the effect of: “See. Dictionaries don’t work.”
Sly boy.

In my home at this very moment, I have 30+ dictionaries, occupying one of my self-crafted 8-ft. long bookshelves, as seen in the first image above. My latest acquisition is the tabbed dictionary pictured below.

A collage featuring close-ups of a 1957 Webster’s Unabridged-Encyclopedic Dictionary. The textured gold cover displays a green label, and the inner pages show richly illustrated content including a map titled “The Leather Zoo,” tabbed index pages with alphabet cutouts, and fine-print entries. The overall aesthetic blends tactile beauty, historical charm, and intellectual curiosity. — Collaged images of unusual ‘tabbed’ dictionary — Webster’s 1957

The oldest dictionary I have is an 1828 reprint and the most recent is dated 2014.

Yes, I know, I’m ten years behind ‘current definitions’, depending on how you define ‘current’. I will purchase a more recent dictionary soon, maybe—but probably not before I acquire yet another older, much older, one. Meanings evolve—so I like to keep a few older dictionaries in the mix, just to be sure.

Of course there are also specialty dictionaries, such as Dictionary of Symbolism, Dictionary of Classical Mythology, Words of Rhyme, Word Origins and Word Histories. And my reference collection is not limited to dictionaries but includes thesauri and encyclopedias as well. These are not included in the aforementioned tally of 30+.

You don’t have to have 30 dictionaries to understand the value of one. Even for synonyms, I consult a dictionary, almost always, before a thesaurus. A good dictionary is worth far more than its weight to a writer and it truly is my number one tool—not just in writing—but in life.

You may already know this—and if so, hooray for sure!—but its use extends far beyond spellings, definitions, and grammatical sense. The information provided in a dictionary can indeed inspire creativity and help develop memorable characters and entrancing story ideas. Who knew? I did. Let me show you how it has worked for me.

How Two Words Sparked a Storyverse

I decided to write a speculative fiction piece. Beyond that I had no direction other than I wanted to try writing in that genre. My instinct was to first invent a character. Not sure it will be a protagonist, an antagonist, or become my personal nemesis, but it’s a simple place to get the creative juices flowing.

And I learned to start by coming up with two words—two words only—to describe this character. You’ve probably known that for years, but it was a new idea for me … from Story Grid or Holly Lisle—maybe both.

Pull words out of a hat, or throw darts at a page filled with words—maybe not. But one word must be a noun and the other word its descriptor. For this exercise, I choose … … … … a recovered hermit—yes, from a Holly Lisle exercise in writing flash fiction. No idea what ‘recovered hermit’ means to me or the story—yet.

Enter the dictionary. I used my most recent dictionary, the 2014 one.

Here, I copy the definition verbatim for each of my two words and pay attention to what catches my attention as I am doing so. For our purposes here, I will italicize and make bold the words or parts of the definition that draw me in.

hermit

1. one that retires from society and lives in solitude, especially for religious reasons : RECLUSE
2. : BEADSMAN
A spiced molasses cookie [yum]

NOTE: I am immediately attracted to the word BEADSMAN, so it becomes the next word I look up in the dictionary.

beadsman (archaic) one who prays for another

My immediate thought becomes “counting pukas” –don’t chide me; I’m following my mind. 😊

The next word to learn from the dictionary is ‘recover’. Remember, it’s not what we think we know about a word, but rather more importantly what we learn from the dictionary about the word.

recover

as a noun,

To get back : REGAIN
…
…
…
…
to obtain from an ore, a waste product, or a by-product
- to save from loss and restore usefulness : RECLAIM

What I’ve begun to see is this: a beadsman, who ritualistically counts puka shells and seeks to save themselves from loss and or restore their usefulness to … something. I haven’t decided yet.

I’m already excited. Let’s keep going. Now we have taken our character from a recovered hermit to a beadsman seeking to recover from some loss and restore their usefulness.

What comes to mind, however, is that this recovered beadsman wants to wield the power of influence—a purely spontaneous thought. And this gives me more words to investigate in my dictionary, namely influence and power.

influence

1. an ethereal fluid held to flow from the stars and to affect the actions of humans [I am 110% sold on this definition. I did not know that this was even a definition of influence, did you? My spontaneous thought is “the corruption of stardust”. I just hope those of you reading this can capture some part of what I am experiencing as I go through this process. I am reeling with possibilities that grew from …. a dictionary.]
2. an emanation of occult power held to derive from the stars [Wow!]
…
1. an act or power of producing an effect without apparent exertion of force or direct exercise of command
2. corrupt interference with authority for personal gain
…

As you might guess, ‘influence’ has really ignited the process—cooking with real flames now.

power

…
an order of angels – see CELESTIAL HIERARCHY

‘Power’ offered many possibilities, but I immediately latched on to ‘celestial hierarchy’. Did you know ‘power’ referred to angelology? I sure didn’t—but then I don’t fly in those circles.

The Beadsman Is Born

Now I am really excited. Now I have much more than a character. This is where my mind leapt:

A recovered beadsman, who I’m thinking will either be she or a non-binary, abandons their isolation to save their soul or return to their usefulness (whatever that turns out to be). Maybe they are seeking to restore the effectiveness of their prayers. Restoration, of course, involves sacred stardust—whether found, stolen, or earned. And the order of angels must be altered so our beadsman’s prayers can once again work—on who or what remains to be seen. The beadsman’s obstacle is not acquiring the stardust so much as is gaining access to the angels.

That’s what I was thinking after a simple romp through the dictionary. A story evolved from two words—recovered hermit. Did you see it coming? I sure didn’t.

Why My Lectern Holds More Magic Than Google

I’m not sure I would have found this story so easily with AI or using an online dictionary. Let me offer a single example to support that skepticism.

I typed “define influence” into the search bar of an internet browser, and the top response I received was:

in·flu·ence
/ˈinflo͝oəns/
noun
the capacity to have an effect on the character, development, or behavior of someone or something, or the effect itself.
"the influence of television violence"

How could I have come up with the ‘sacred stardust’ element from this limited definition of ‘influence?’ It is not a wrong definition, but it is not the only definition. Words just are not as finite as we sometimes see them.

The physical pages of my dictionary may be thin and house tiny print words but isn’t that just testament to how much more information it offers than an abbreviated digital version?

Just Part of a Process

At the time, it was difficult for me to not immediately drop writing this article to go begin this new story idea born from the dictionary, but my purpose here was to show some of my process in crafting story.

By simply looking up words in a dictionary, a story forms. And although my initial plan was to grow two words into a work of flash fiction, as in 500 words or fewer, the story grew far beyond that. Who was I kidding?

And here, a glimpse into the story that grew from those sacred definitions. This scene introduces Sofran—our reluctant beadsman—and the beginning of his journey to recover something far greater than power.

An Origin Excerpt: Last of the Ascension

A bearded man with a warm smile sits barefoot at an outdoor café, basking in sunlight. He wears a colorful, worn shirt and relaxed shorts, with a calico cat contentedly curled in his lap. A coffee cup rests on a nearby table. The scene evokes peaceful companionship, summer warmth, and quiet wisdom. — Sofran and the Shadow Couriers (Image created by JL Tooker with ChatGPT, 2025)

Sofran’s heart pounded as he stumbled out of the street, inches away from being trounced by a bus. He tripped over the curb behind him, thudding against the gritty sidewalk, and grumbled at the sand now grinding between his skin and faded beach shirt—all while seagulls laughed overhead.
He pulled his feet out of the gutter only in time to see the last wheel of the 11:10 Southbound pulverize his tape deck. Poof! His favorite songs of the seventies were gone.
Sofran stiffened against the hot cement as he gazed up to the blurred heavens from which he had just been dropped. The taste of stardust now replaced by ocean tang. His heart raced at the near-miss calamity, but more so for his return—here. Today.
Sofran, sneaking behind the back of his powerful patron, was here to reclaim his powers.
Prone on the sidewalk, he lingered, squinting at the sun, remembering a time before Laguna Beach even existed. His breathing began to slow.
Then, like a bolt of angry lightening … he shoved his hand into his khaki shorts—the pocket that held his precious mala. A shiver passed through him at the familiar rattle of puka shells. Still intact. Still with him. Yes, today was the day.
He drew a slow breath. “Let’s not screw this up.”
“Too late,” came a snide voice just beyond the edge of light.
A flicker of shadow teased at the curb. It wobbled like heat rising off asphalt— shimmering and sly.
“You thought you lost them again?” the courier said smugly.
Sofran rolled his eyes. “I’m touched you care,” he retorted.
“We live to serve,” a second, more theatrical voice added.
Two wraith-like silhouettes bowed mockingly. “Not that you need us, oh mighty one,” they hissed, their words laced with a taunting edge.
The jab stung Sofran; he paused, a frown furrowing his brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded, but they had already vanished, leaving only a whisper of laughter.
Dusting himself off, mala still clenched in his fist, he muttered, “Damn it all.” He had no time for riddles today.
As he started across the street, a sudden chill wind whipped his face—a salty slap.
The light changed, the gulls fell silent, and the world seemed to hold its breath.
Then, from nowhere and from everywhere, he heard her. “Careful, little bug.”
He stiffened; Sofran didn’t need to see her to know the voice—a silk chord strung with thunder—gentle, terrible. Divine.
“Memesis,” he breathed, turning slowly, a deliberate circle. He scanned the air, searching for the shimmer of her wings, the trace of her presence, the heat of her nearness. Nothing was visible, yet he felt her. She was here.

There’s much more ahead—shadow couriers, angelic reckonings, and a certain headless woman you won’t soon forget. I’ll begin sharing the full story next week, in unfolding ‘chapters’.

Elation of Learning

If I live a day without learning something, I have not lived a very good day. The day I performed this exercise to share some of how I craft story was an exceptionally joyful day. And sharing it now, with you—even more so.

Over the next few weeks, I will post the story. It may not yet be in final form, but something I owe you for tolerating my love of the dictionary. Besides—I am unbearably curious to see what you think.

Thank you for joining me on my journey, and I hope you have a good dictionary to accompany you on yours.