Language as World-Building: Redefining an Assigned Word

In my MFA class at Antioch University Los Angeles, The Uses of Invented Language, Redefined Language, and Foreign Language as Tools for World Building, taught by Rita Bullwinkel, we explored how writers can make language their own by inventing it, subtly altering familiar words to create emphasis, or redefining their meanings entirely.

For this exercise, each writer was assigned a familiar word and asked to redefine it within a fictional world—allowing its meaning to emerge through story rather than explanation. The goal was to let language quietly shape the rules of the world and the limits placed on its characters.

The word canoe was assigned to me.
(I offered the word triptych to my partner.)

In this piece, canoe is redefined as a place a woman goes alone to give birth—a space of autonomy, danger, and taboo. Once she enters, no one is meant to follow.

Below is an excerpt from that exercise.

This piece takes place in an imagined world and does not represent any real cultural practice.


Canoe (Excerpt)

My feet hit the ground, brush, and sticks, stabbing the soft cradles of my soles. Through the long grass, I saw the floating structure ahead—a long form with a narrow entrance. A fire burned inside it, smoke slipping upward through a small chimney at the back, surely lit by the swamp witch who knew the intentions of my arrival.

I could hear Agatha screaming from afar.

“Jefferson, Jefferson! Wait, my darling—please don’t do this alone.”

Her voice was desperate. This would be her twelfth delivery—four sons, seven grandchildren—and none of them had been born in the canoe. None of them until this one.

My body ached, and a cry escaped me. My stomach clenched in agony. My water had broken long ago, and I could feel the baby pressing downward.

Why didn’t I come sooner? Why didn’t I listen to my intuition? Now it was almost too late.

Agatha had fallen into a deep depression after my husband’s sudden death. She was weakened by grief and fatigue and could no longer keep pace with me.

The ground shifted to wood and rattled beneath my weight. When was the last time anyone crossed this bridge? Surely it was Jagara—the young nymph who once danced in the trees for play, until play led her into the shelter of the canoe.

“Don’t!” Agatha screamed.

I paused at the edge of Siskou Lake, breathing in the stillness, the warm yellow and inky sunset smeared across the water’s surface.

Inside, the canoe was dark and narrow. I followed the fire’s glow, forcing my body through the tight squeeze of mud and hay adobe. At the far end, the space opened into a wide chamber with a rounded ceiling. The hearth fumed softly, smoke slipping through a small vent toward the heavens.

Now the villagers will not choose how this baby enters the world.

I will birth my child here—despite the risk—and from this place, we will grow within our community without being controlled by a system.

The Unbinding of Mary Reade


McNamara, Miriam. The Unbinding of Mary Reade. Reprint ed., Sky Pony Press, 2019.

The Unbinding of Mary Reade is a historical fiction novel about a transgender pirate named Mary, who lives as Mark and joins a crew led by Captain Jack. Jack’s female companion, Anne, takes a romantic interest in Mark, and their evolving relationship becomes the heart of the story.

Mary’s life of disguise begins when her mother forces her to live as a boy in order to secure her grandmother’s inheritance, binding her chest with a sheet to conceal her gender. Over time, Mary becomes accustomed to being perceived as a man and develops fluid attraction, forming a close relationship with a servant named Beth. When Beth exposes Mary’s secret, Mary is forced to flee and eventually takes to the sea. Living as Mark the pirate, she earns respect among the crew—but her growing affection for Anne threatens to expose her again. When Anne learns the truth, she expresses a desire to bind herself and live as a man as well. Mary warns her of the hardships that come with this life, but Anne insists that being a woman in the 1700s is far worse.

In this annotation, I explore some of the controversial and allegorical themes McNamara weaves into her narrative—many of which still reflect social struggles in our world today. The novel uses historical fiction to examine class systems, gender identity, and freedom through a lens of political allegory.

One passage captures the novel’s commentary on class inequality:

“If only everything worked that way.”
If only Granny had just double what Mum did. If only Baas had double what his sailors did.
“Imagine if the king himself could only have twice as much as the poorest beggar. That world would be a different place.” (75)

Here, McNamara critiques the imbalance of wealth and power by imagining a world where those in authority could earn no more than double their subordinates. This reflection feels remarkably relevant in today’s world, where similar inequalities persist across class lines.

Later, a heartfelt conversation between Mary and Anne highlights the struggle for autonomy and freedom, particularly for women and those living under oppressive rule:

“You’re never free, so long as you’re subject to someone—to a captain, or the crown, or whatever good-for-nothing man decides to lord over you.” (82)

This line resonates deeply with the current political climate. Though America was founded as “the land of the free,” modern politics challenge that promise. During Donald Trump’s presidency, many saw the erosion of democratic norms—the undermining of separation of powers, the targeting of free speech, and the questioning of birthright citizenship. McNamara’s words remind us that freedom must be continuously protected, and that systems of control—whether monarchies or modern governments—can threaten that ideal.

As a writer, I am inspired by McNamara’s ability to weave political allegory into personal narrative. I aim to do the same in my own work—addressing tyranny within communities, advocating for women’s rights, championing LGBTQ+ acceptance, and encouraging open dialogue across divisions. In my fiction, I want to support characters who use zie/zir/zirs pronouns, model resistance against unjust authority even at great personal risk, and portray diverse people working together to rebuild communal, earth-centered lives.

Through The Unbinding of Mary Reade, McNamara demonstrates how storytelling can both preserve history and challenge it—reminding us that identity, justice, and freedom are battles that transcend time.

Tarot Card Writing Prompt:

Photo by Irina Demyanovskikh

Snapshot. Choose a sing card and write a one-page story that explains or describes what’s happening. Try to add drama. Be imaginative.Tarot for Writers by Corrine Kenner.

Death

A woman of wings, feathers, and beastly qualities emerges from the embers. She held a half-moon metallic staff with a burning red ember at its center. She hovered forward. The darkness of the underworld is colder, the stillness denser, and the vastness hollower than she had ever experienced on Earth. The creatures crawled toward her in fear, pulled by power. They bowed and trembled, pushing through the energy to graze her presence. She stepped up on the night crawlers and lost souls as they traveled into a staircase, throwing themselves over each other as she ascended out of the darkness until a blue light illuminated Pluto’s gate.

“Come with me,” she spoke to the doomed. “You deserve closure.”

Eris opened the gates of hell for all the creatures to return to earth. She flipped the hourglass and froze the stone doors open until the end of Samhain. “May chaos bring peace and understanding.”

The man on the moon sent Pegasus down from the cosmos and invited Eris for tea, and she gladly accepted.

“A shift,” A strong man with skin the color of bark and the face of a sacred ibis spoke.

“Yes, I have emerged,” Eris lit an herbal sacrament and inhaled, and she found a suitable stone like an altar to make herself comfortable on. 

“To make changes, “Eris spoke arrogantly.

The eternal being Yah’s eye squinted. “I make the changes.”

“I have basked in the light of your earthly realm presence and experienced your ‘changes,’ “she spoke unhindered.

“Well, please… indulge me on your human experience.”

“I was not needed,” she flicked the joint, and plants began to grow from its ashes. Yah quickly stomped them out.

“And what makes you think you are needed now?” Yah said dryly and annoyed.

“I thought you invited me for tea?” Eris responded. She felt no need to reveal her skin or to batter her eyes.

Yah snapped his fingers, and the creatures of the moon, blue earth-dwelling characters, set up a table and porcelain arrangement along with silver utensils.

“What are you doing on earth?”

“Creating chaos. There’s a need for that.” Eris said, making up her tea the way she liked it- black.

One-Time
Monthly
Yearly

Make a one-time donation

Make a monthly donation

Make a yearly donation

Choose an amount

¤5.00
¤15.00
¤100.00
¤5.00
¤15.00
¤100.00
¤5.00
¤15.00
¤100.00

Or enter a custom amount

¤

Your contribution is appreciated.

Your contribution is appreciated.

Your contribution is appreciated.

DonateDonate monthlyDonate yearly