The other night my brother G and I caught up with some ex-coworkers whom we hadn’t seen in a long time. One, M, is a development officer at a major theater. Her husband, J, is a lawyer. M and J could ask about my job—”How is your writing going? Are you writing?”—but I found it impossible to ask the reverse without resorting to instant jargon: “How is your developmenting? Are you still lawyering?”

True, M could be said to be “developing” something, but that’s not really what a development officer does, I think. She probably raises money, markets theater, supervises benefits, mails donors, &c. Likewise, a lawyer might teach law, practice law, write law, argue law—but he doesn’t just law, nakedly. He don’t be “lawing around,” like some knucklehead.

It strikes me as strange that we English-speakers face a paucity of verbs for what we do, despite our cultural preoccupation with trade and class. At least, for all its loneliness, eye-strain, and half-mad symbolizing, “writing” is a straightforward, verby sort of thing to do. (”Signing” and “texting” are fun as well.)

I guess the only other verbing I’d put on the same plane as writing (which needs neither adverb—”singing clearly“—nor object—”drinking wine“) is an ur-simple, ubiquitous jargon-artifact of the early, Wild West days of online gaming:

“How’s your pwning been recently?”

(”Oh, same old. Many newbs 2 pwn, never enuff thyme.”)