A Lesson in Universal Language
That was my exact fear when I posted a single sentence on Threads and asked for feedback:
"The crick in his neck complained at him as he tried to sit up and reach for the phone."
I have always thought that the word "crick" - a word I've used since childhood to describe a sharp, nagging muscle spasm that only occurs in my neck was firmly rooted in North West England. I braced myself for comments suggesting a more standard term like "stiff neck" or "spasm." And I got a small number of these.
However, the responses I got, and am still getting as I write this, are/were astonishing.
The feedback is overwhelmingly clear: "crick in the neck" is understood globally. Replies have poured in from around the world. I'm honestly struggling to keep up, and I'm determined to read every one of them. Replies from the US, Canada, Australia, and across the UK all confirm that this was a perfectly clear and universally evocative term.
This taught me a vital lesson about using regional language: context trumps obscurity.
While "crick" may not be in everyone's active vocabulary, the combination of "neck" and the accompanying pain of trying to "sit up" immediately establishes its meaning. To me, the sentence is clear, vivid, and efficient.
Sometimes, the word you think is a local secret is actually a powerful, evocative term waiting to be used. As writers, we shouldn't shy away from these words, especially when the context is so effective at carrying the meaning.
The Personification Problem: Did the Pain Need to "Complain"?
The second major point of discussion on my Threads post centred on the figurative language I used: "The crick in his neck complained at him."
Using anthropomorphism—giving a non-human thing (the pain) a human action (complaining)—can be problematic. And unlike "crick," the response to this was distinctly divided.
Why I think It Works (Flavour)
I hope the comments from readers who liked the phrase felt, like me, it makes the pain instantly vivid and aggressive. A crick that merely hurt is passive; a crick that complains at someone is actively nagging and demanding attention. It instantly tells the reader something about the character's internal experience. The pain feels personal, almost like an annoying adversary. I think it’s a great shortcut for showing, not telling, the severity of the discomfort.
Why It Probably Doesn't Work (Efficiency)
I can see that other readers may find it distracting, too "flowery," or perhaps a little cliché. They probably want a more direct, efficient description of the physical sensation. For some readers, any phrase that momentarily pulls them out of the moment to analyse the language is a loss of momentum. This feedback serves as a reminder that not all readers appreciate overtly literary language in moments of action or discomfort.
The Takeaway for Writers
Your choice comes down to the tone and pace of your story.
If you're writing a character-focused piece where internal thoughts and sensory details are paramount, a strong piece of anthropomorphism can add rich texture.
If you're writing something fast-paced where every word must serve the plot, a direct description (e.g., "a sharp, nagging pain") will keep the engine running smoothly.
The Dictionary Barrier: Should Readers Have to Look Up Your Words?
Finally, the discussion led me to thinking about a wider principle of writing: the balance between precision and accessibility. How far can a writer push their vocabulary before they ask too much of the reader?
The consensus around "crick" actually provided the answer to this, and it’s a relief for any writer with an expansive vocabulary.
The Real Barrier Isn't Vocabulary
The good news is that readers are generally fine with encountering a word they don't know, provided the story’s flow isn't interrupted. The fact that the meaning of "crick" was so clear from the surrounding text meant that no one had to pause the story, open a new tab, and look up the word. The context—neck, pain, trying to sit up—did the heavy lifting.
The real problem isn't using a word the reader doesn't know, but using a word whose meaning is essential to the scene yet not clarified by the context.
The Takeaway for Writers
Use the precise word you need to tell your story, even if it's slightly unusual, but always follow these two rules:
- Ensure Context: The meaning of the word must be guessable from the surrounding sentence or paragraph.
- Serve the Story: Your unique word choice must serve to deepen the reader’s experience, not merely show off your knowledge. If a simple word works just as well, opt for the simple one. Your job is to tell a story, not write a vocabulary test.
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