Every Wednesday, I write a post based on Today’s Word at Wordsmith.org. You can find past essays or flash fiction pieces under the Wednesday’s Word topic on the sidebar.
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This week on Wordsmith.org, each word of the day is paired with a pictorial representation. Yesterday’s image for Old Man of the Sea (yes, five words combine to make one word of the day) made me laugh, especially after I read the definition:
Old Man of the Sea. noun. A tiresome burden, especially a person, difficult to free oneself from.
I give you my inner editor who, when I stare at my WIP on my laptop screen, demands “more character development and less exposition!”
Too bad these posts aren’t filed under Tuesday’s word.
On to Wednesday.
You might want to do some speech warm-ups before you try to pronounce this word; it’s a mouthful:
Pygmalionism. noun. 1. the state of being in love with an object of one’s own making. 2. The condition of loving an inanimate object such as a statue or an image.
What immediately came to mind for me, after reading that definition, were three words: red velvet cake. A home made red velvet cake – with its magical red chocolate middle hidden under creamy white icing – says, You are special.
A red velvet cake is so extraordinary that one bite will take you out of the moment and into a dream.
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Red Velvet Sunday
When Bethany awoke, the sun had already positioned itself behind the top branches of the tree outside her window. Rays of light shot through leaves that glistened and reflected and pierced her sleepy eyes. She looked at the clock. Eleven thirty. As she sat up in bed, she heard a thud, like something hit the wall of her parent’s room next door. She held her breath. The rumble of her father’s voice made her heart race.
She turned to her window, and a cardinal popped into view. He sat on a branch, cocked his head, and called out a song to her.
On her way to the bathroom, she passed her parent’s door.
Her mother yelled. “Why even bother to come home!”
Her father shouted back. “I pay for this house. I’ll come home when I damn well please!”
Bethany closed the bathroom door and put her hands on the sink. She looked up at her reflection. Her index finger followed the brown shadow that still remained under her right eye – a consequence of her last attempt to break up her parent’s fight.
“Stupid,” she told her reflection. Stupid to get into the middle when their voices raged. But, she couldn’t stand her mother’s screams that day.
She brushed her teeth, went back out into the hall, and raised her right hand to her ear as another barrage of words exploded behind their closed door.
He set her straight. “It’s none of your damn business where I go!”
She threatened. “I won’t lay down for you anymore!”
As their voices crescendoed, Bethany disappeared into the kitchen. She closed the swinging door and turned on her father’s transistor radio. Across the AM waves, a man sang about branches in a tree and reaching for freedom.
‘Cause there’s a place in the sun
Where there’s hope for ev’ryone
She opened the kitchen cabinet and pulled out the flour, sugar, cocoa, and a bottle of Mrs. McCormick red food coloring. While other girls her age spent their babysitting money on cds and t-shirts, Bethany spent hers on concealer and bottles of food coloring. One four ounce bottle was the exact amount she needed for a two-layer red velvet cake.