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.

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?

Remember how I talked about one of the greatest things about writing was getting away with stealing? I get to be a pirate!
Here’s another great thing: when you’re a writer, it’s okay to hear voices in your head. In fact, it’s encouraged.
I love being a writer.

*The
story behind Merriam-Webster. There once was a librarian Merriam
(little known fact: the song Marian from Music Man was pilfered from
Merriam and Webster). Always her nose in a book. One day, she looked up
to see the basketball great Webster hiding in a corner. Figuring he
must be up to no good because anytime a jock hid in her library it was
no good, she approached him.
But no! He was reading! Actually reading!
"Don’t tell no one," he whispered, "But I love words."
They met in that corner everyday for seven months.
Until Webster’s parents discovered them.
"For
shame!" the parents said (together, because they talked in chorus
often). "A librarian!" The parents grabbed the book away from Webster
(again together, because the acted in chorus often), and shipped him on
a bus to Indiana, because that’s where all basketball players go.
"You will be one of the greats!" they said.
Poor Merriam. Her kindred spirit gone. Picking up the book discarded by Webster’s parents, she hugged it to her.
Epiphany! The lightbulb flashed! They wouldn’t be separated. They would find a way!
Though
those were the days preceding email, she employed something called a
pen and paper (you can look these items up in the dictionary or an
encyclopedia). Back and forth, Merriam and Webster wrote letters
collecting words.
One day, Webster met a guy named Britannica.
"Britannica, old boy," Webster said. "Will you marry my love and I?"
"And me," Britannica said.
"No, just the two of us."
Over the phone, Britannica pronounced them husband and wife.
They never saw each other again, Merriam and Webster, but they are forever bound (hee-hee, get it? bound?).

Coda: By the way, this is what’s known as ternary.