Smoothing Over Scrutiny

Yesterday, I found out I didn’t make the cut for a writing gig. I half expected such, but somehow seeing the list of writers who did make it, nudged me into a writer’s pity-party. Then, my husband and I moved furniture between two floors last night and discombobulated the house as well as my psyche.

So, here it is Wednesday, which calls for a word of the day post. Wordsmith.org threw me for a loop with this week’s theme — miscellaneous words. I didn’t know what to expect this morning when I pulled up the site. After I read today’s word, my vision panned out from the laptop screen to me: standing at an open door, staring into a dark and empty room, hearing an echo when I asked my muse for any ideas.

“Hello?”

Her lack of answer told me she’s still recovering from yesterday’s pity-party. I’ll have to go on without her.

Today’s word is avoirdupois, a French word gone English. I took four semesters of French in college, documented only by my transcript and a vague memory of a late night phone message left on my friend Rick’s answering machine. He really did know how to speak French; I, through a filter of too-many-Amstel-Lights, babbled in misplaced accents and overdone R’s. Rick never returned my message, a quiet reprimand to stick to writing English.

Its roots in Old French, avoirdupois rolls off the tongue with class and style. But, in English, the word is a disguise for the truth. A noun, avoirdupois means the heaviness or weight of a person.

“Did you just see…?”
“Yeah.”
“Was that…?”
“Susan.”
“Did she…?”
“She did. But, you have to admit, she carries her avoirdupois with elegance.”

Or, on a more personal note, I’m reminded of my son’s recent side comment to me after my husband held his pants waist out and showed off the inches he’s lost since bumping up his running schedule:
“Mommy, maybe you should start running like daddy.”

He hasn’t learned to finesse in English discourse. But in my own defense, I’m a writer, not a runner.

And, some things you just can’t hide.

Words for Word Lovers

It’s Wednesday, and while you may eagerly await the word of the day, I must preface my post with a prologue.

On Monday, Anu Garg — the word master extraordinaire and creator of Wordsmith.org — explained his process in finding the word of the day:

I like to say that words come to me. “Pick me!” “Pick me!” They raise their hands, eager to go out, be widely known in the language, and find a place on people’s tongues.

From time to time I scour dictionaries for words, to seek out more obscure ones. When I stumble upon an interesting word, I feel as excited as a paleontologist might feel on finding a fossil, or a geologist on discovering a new form of rock.

I appreciate learning new words, yes. But I liken the “finding a fossil” kind of excitement to that moment I slip my hand into my winter coat pocket for the first time in the season and pull out a five dollar bill from last season. Still, this week’s theme on Wordsmith.org caught my writer’s attention and brought a little skip to my step: words about words.

Ooo, exciting.

Monday, rhopalic: adjective. having each successive word longer by a letter or syllable.
Yesterday, periphrastic: adjective. using a roundabout form of expression: wordy.
Today, epanorthosis: noun. immediate rephrasing of something said in order to correct it or make it stronger.

This week, along with his enticing theme, Anu Garg offers a contest. You can even win prizes, like the boardgame WildWords, the antithesis of Scrabble. Any game that claims itself to be opposite of Scrabble, and to lift losers out of the Scrabble gutter, is a sigh-of-relief miracle for people like me who (under pressure) can only think of four letter words not allowed in a dignified game of wooden-tiled crosswords.

But, back to the words at hand. This week’s gems are not only fun to learn but also challenging to use in a blog entry. Though, with my periphrastic post so far, I’ve at least succeeded in incorporating one epanorthosis.

But rhopalic stumps me. As tiles spread across wooden Scrabble structures obligate undeviating intimidation, the word haunts me. And, I hear again my repeat concession muttered after almost every turn during my last game of Scrabble.

“I got nothin’.”

Missing Mrs. Wilson

I woke up this morning, excited that it’s Wednesday. I have logged over 6300 words for my NaNoWriMo novel (which will most likely turn into a very long short story, but that’s okay). I thought a quick post on Wednesday’s word would be a nice little break.

After my laptop warmed up, I clicked on over to Wordsmith.org. Today’s word is nihilarian – one who does useless work.

That’s a terrible stream of words for a writer to read smack dab in the middle of week number one of NaNoWriMo.

***

Writing every day for 30 days straight isn’t useless. I know that. What is useless is my right and left hand that keep typing the letters b-o-l-t every other paragraph. Bolt here, bolt there. He bolted again. He’ll get whiplash from all that bolting if my fingers don’t stretch a little further and start typing something different, like bound or hightail it or even just walked away.

What isn’t useless is the strikethrough tool, which lets me keep all those repetitive words, plus the choppy scenes they describe. I wish I had used strikethrough on the first day of NaNoWriMo. I wrote a lovely opening scene with an elderly Mrs. Wilson as she got out of bed at midnight. Then, later that day, her rise at midnight seemed unimportant and took the story in the wrong direction. I hesitated to use strikethrough, since that felt like cheating, like I was padding my word count. So, I deleted about 700 words on Mrs. Wilson instead.

I’ve missed her midnight spirit ever since, which brought home one of Chris Baty’s tips for – and benefits of – finishing NaNoWriMo: ignore the delete key. A NaNoWriMo first draft is a smorgasbord of ideas that hopefully, but may not, go together. Don’t delete anything, because 1) you’ll cross that 50,000 word mark before you know it (and won’t that be a feat!), and 2) the scene you save may turn into another story later on.

I’m hoping Mrs. Wilson didn’t take my cut personally, and she shows up in her slippers again at some point.