I've a written a new book. It's a children's book and it's called A Riddle for a King. It's suitable for those aged between about eight and twelve, although it has been rigorously tested on children from six to thirteen (I test all my products on children and animals). The six-year-old had to have it read to him, but he loved it.
The story is about a boy called Philo, who goes to a magical land filled with logical paradoxes because I've always loved paradoxes. For millennia philosophers have been inventing hypothetical situations in which logic would break down; I pocketed them all and put them in a story.
A Riddle for a King was The Times Children's Book of the Week, and, though I say it myself but shouldn't, it's wonderfully wonderful.
There isn't much etymology in it. But there is one little titbit.
Dictionaries and encyclopaedias often contain fake words and entries. This means that if somebody just copies your reference work wholesale, you can catch them at it. These traps are called Mountweazels, named after a famous fictitious entry in New Columbia Encyclopaedia of 1975. The entry described a lady photographer called Lillian Mountweazel who had died in an explosion while on an assignment for Combustibles magazine.
One such Mountweazel was the word esquivalience, which was included in the New Oxford American Dictionary. They defined the word as "the wilful avoidance of one's official duties".
Then they waited.
Beautifully, the word then turned up on dictionary.com and in Google Dictionary.
So esquivalience was a fictional word. But there is no such thing as fiction, there are only facts that aren't true yet; which is why, at the climax of my novel, at the great moment of emotional redemption and revelation, there's the line:
From this day forth I shall do what I’m meant to do. I shall perform my kingly tasks. I shall stop shirking my duties. I shall stop my . . . esquivalience!’
It's a perfectly cromulent word.
So, buy the book instantly by following this link. It also appeals to childish adults.
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