One of the joys of sharing conlang work publicly is the chance to get feedback and suggestions to make the languages truly sing.
My friend Kate (handwriting expert extraordinaire) recently reached out with a suggestion about Pizan orthography that was so elegant, so historically grounded, and so perfectly right that I immediately adopted it. This post explains the change, thanks Kate for her insight, and shows off some examples of how the reformed spelling looks in practice.
Marxher kayelante!
The Problem: Representing /ʃ/
Pizan is a creole that emerged from the collision of Early Modern Spanish (brought by 16th-century conquistadors) and Victorian English (imposed by 19th-century colonial forces). As these languages mixed and creolized, they created new sounds and lost old ones; but one sound that persisted was /ʃ/, the “sh” sound in English words like “shine” or “marsh.”
In my original orthography, I spelled this sound “sh”, following English and modern Spanish convention. English was a major contributor to Pizan, and “sh” is unambiguous and familiar to modern readers.
But Kate pointed out that in Early Modern Spanish, /ʃ/ was spelled with the letter “x.” And this presented a compelling alternative!
Historical Background: Spanish “x” = /ʃ/
This isn’t an obscure detail—it’s why “Mexico” is spelled with an “x” even though modern Spanish pronounces it “Méjico” (with a velar /x/ sound). When Spanish missionaries first transcribed the Nahuatl name Mēxihco in the early 1500s, they used “x” because that was the standard Spanish spelling for /ʃ/. The pronunciation shifted centuries later, but the colonial-era spelling remained, largely as a matter of national pride.
Kate’s insight was that conquistadors arriving in Karsêrha in the 1500s would probably have been spelling /ʃ/ with “x,” not “sh.” So when Field Marshal Davies arrived centuries later and tried to impose English orthography, there would have been two competing conventions for the same sound:
- The Spanish scribes writing “x” (as in caxa “box,” baxo “low,” dixo “said”)
- The English administrators writing “sh” (as in “ship,” “cash,” “marsh”)
Kate’s excellent suggestion? They would have compromised on “xh.”
Why XH is Linguistically Ideal
This isn’t just aesthetically pleasing; it is, in fact, just the kind of orthographic compromise that emerges in real-world creoles and contact situations. When writing systems collide, speakers often preserve elements from both languages, developing conventions that help disambiguate pronunciation for readers of both traditions.
“Xh” uses the Spanish letter “x” to preserve the conquistador heritage, while adding the English “h” from digraphs like “sh,” “th,” “ch”. This creates a distinctive marker that says “this is Pizan, not Spanish or English”. Field Marshal Davies, an English purist, would never have approved — but by this time, he would have been long dead.
And for the modern reader, as Kate put it in her original message to me: “The use of an unfamiliar letter combination will be a good clue to the reader that they really do need to find out HOW this is pronounced instead of guessing.”
XH In Action
Here are some key Pizan words with their old and new spellings:
The Ox God:
- Old: Tashc / Tashk
- New: Taxhk
- Pronunciation: /taʃk/
The capital city:
- Old: Tashpâna
- New: Taxhpâna
- Pronunciation: /taʃˈpa:na/
The great emperor (literally “lightning-taxh”):
- Old: Rhâmbodash
- New: Rhâmbodaxh
- Pronunciation: /ˈhra:mbodaʃ/
“To march” (from Spanish marchar):
- Old: marsha
- New: marxha
- Pronunciation: /ˈmarʃa/
“The slaves” (plural form):
- Old: teshlavosa
- New: texhlavosa
- Pronunciation: /teʃlaˈvosa/
An epithet for Taxhk, “Wolf-of-Night”:
- Old: Lovolnoshe
- New: Lovolnoxhe
- Pronunciation: /lovolˈnoʃe/
Pizan’s Character
The shift from “sh” to “xh” makes, I think, a marked improvement to how Pizan looks on the page. The “x”, to the English eye, marks this language as not just Spanish-adjacent, but American Spanish adjacent; and carries that whiff of the conquistadors that is so critical to the character of the language and the culture.
At the same time, the “xh” digraph avoids the problem of pure “x,” which modern readers might mispronounce as /ks/ (like “box”) or /gz/ (like “exam”). The “h” acts as a pronunciation guide, leveraging readers’ familiarity with English “sh” while preserving the Spanish orthographic tradition.
One of the things I love about this change is how it reflects actual processes in language history. When Davies tried to impose English as the language of administration and education, there would have been orthographic chaos, especially once he died and his imperial city-state struggled with the transition of power. Spanish-trained scribes and English-trained clerks would have clashed over how to spell things. Compromises would have emerged organically, driven by practical need rather than theoretical linguistics. It may not have been until the codification efforts under Vigadasâr that a standard would have emerged that incorporated elements of both. “Xh” is just the kind of hybrid convention that would win out: distinctive, recognizable by both traditions, and visually marked as “belonging to Pizan.”
Thanks, Kate!
This sort of insight is why I share my conlang work. Kate saw a great opportunity to enrich the language, one I simply could not pass up. So thank you, Kate, for the suggestion, the historical research, and the gift of your insight and aesthetic sense.
Going forward, all Pizan materials will use the reformed “xh” spelling. Taxhk watches over his people from Taxhpâna, and Rhâmbodaxh’s legacy endures in the archives… now spelled as they should have been all along.
