words

Confession: I don't love words.

Not as some do, studying etymologies, saving pennies (George Washingtons, Ben Franklins) to purchase the Oxford Dictionary.

An odd confession for a writer, I know. But saying "I love words" or "I love the word fructuous. Don't you just love fructuous?" is akin to claiming an adoration for a certain note. "How wonderful is Eb? I just love that note!"

I leave the word-loving to the poets. I take words, without care to their feelings, and manipulate them, use them willy-nilly to create stories, characters, and, yes, rhythms. I don't care if the word sounds nice or crass, if it would impress a Cambridge scholar or a soldier on the frontlines of Afghanistan.

This is not to say that I don't agonize over word choice. I stare at a sentence for hours trying to figure out what's not working about it, which word offends. Changing a single word can transform a maudlin sentence into a heartwrenching one, a bland paragraph into something amusing, a bitter passage into a sarcastic one.

This is not to say I don't turn words over while washing the dishes, folding laundry, or showering. I take the words of my story wherever I go. (Hence the need for my handy-dandy Nancy Drew notepad.)

In the end, if you want to know the truth, the words I use are not up to me. My characters make the decisions. Don't blame me if that curse word's there. I didn't put it there. My character did. Hey, I can't help it if one of my characters likes antiquated terms. She likes to read old books. Personally, I think she's a pain in the neck, but what can I say? And yes, her husband uses all of those economic terms. Everything can be broken into financial illustrations according to him.

At least I don't have a character who talks in limericks.

Yet.

He's probably lounging on a beach in the Caribbean sipping a gin and tonic, goggling the girls with his one good eye.

Meanwhile, I'm stuck, senza Muse, to figure out what to do with this writer's block.

I've deleted more words than I've written. How is that mathematically possible, you may ask.

Exactly.

I'm in negative wordage. Which means I have to scribble words on random surfaces until I'm back at zero and can return to my manuscript. I write on Post-It notes, backs of receipts, and bathroom stalls. (Yes, I've discovered the mystery. Messages on stall walls were written by blocked writers, not delinquent teens. Tommy Tutone cured his artistic block by scribbling "867-5309" on a bathroom wall.) I create grocery lists I don't intend to buy, to-do items I'll never do.

The next time my Muse goes on vacation, I'm going with him.

I admit it. Everyday in my email comes Merriam-Webster's word of the day.* Not that I actually learn and use these words. But it's fun to get them.
Today's word: locofoco.
Okay--who cares what this actually means? Just saying the word brings a smile to my face.
Locofoco.
Hee-hee.
For those of you who care: "a member of the Democratic party in the United States."
Locofoco.
Can you use that in a sentence, please?

Addlebrained, pernicious, bellicose. I love words. I confess: every day in my email there's a new word of the day from Merriam-Webster. I don't actually learn a new word. No, either I know the word or I'm too lazy to use the word three times in the day, the practice which is supposed to solidify your knowledge of said word (as long as you said the word, three times at least). But I do get to hear the new word in my head (some would argue I hear more than that in my head). I get to roll it around on my tongue before deleting the email.