At the party last night, I accidentally drank a bottle of food coloring. The doctor says I’ll be fine, but I feel like I’ve dyed a little on the inside.
Author Archives: David Booker
It is the first weekend of the month and time again for a new word to live. This is a word or phrase not currently in use in the U.S. English lexicon, but might need to be considered. Other words, such as obsurd, crumpify, subsus, flib, congressed, and others, can be found by clicking on the tags below. This month’s New Word is not so much a word as phrase that looks almost like a code or a chess notation. It refers to the placement of the letter “n” in two words. When placed in the third position of the word, we have a beloved holiday icon of good deeds, giving, and good will to all. When placed in the fifth position of the word, we have a reviled icon of misdeed, misgivings, and misanthropic intentions. The “word” for December is n3-n5. To turn Santa into Satan, take the “n” from the third letter position and move it to the fifth letter position.
n3-n5, v: To turn Santa into Satan, take the “n” from the third letter position and move it to the fifth letter position. To turn something good into something bad.
Example: “With his actions, Chuck has completely n3-n5ed the holidays for all of us.”
Of course, you can have the reverse:
n5-n3, v: Turning Satan into Santa. Turning something bad into something good.
Example: After stealing all the trappings of Christmas from Whoville, When the Grinch hears the Whos still singing on Christmas morning, he is n5-n3ed about the holiday.
“Listen up, boys,” the head sheep said. “We have one chance to get this right. The sow keeps all her money at the Piggy Bank on the corner. We show a little backbone and knock it over and we’ll never have to cower again. You with me?”
To sup with Satan /
use a very long spoon and /
If the truth had horns /
the butcher could make stew of /
my feelings for you.
ARE EXPOSITORY LUMPS CLOGGING YOUR STORY?
By Kirby Larson
Did you know that until about 1910, before bridges and train tubes, the only way to get to the Big Apple from most of the continental United States was via ferry? I didn’t either until I was digging around in history for my latest work-in-progress. Duh, Kirby: Manhattan ISLAND! (Never pick me for your team if geography is involved).
Captivated by this notion, I mulled over old photos of the ferries, and the dashingly suited men and glorious hatted women riding them.
My imagination had a field day. Just think of chugging across the North River (now Hudson River), all the while watching the Hoboken Terminal loom larger and larger into view.
I was so taken with this notion that, the next thing I knew, I wrote a ferry scene in my WIP (work in progress). I even tapped into all the five senses! Gosh, it was fun.
Until Story tapped me on the shoulder, rubbing its head. “Excuse me,” it said. “I was traipsing along my arc at a pretty good clip and suddenly I crashed into this.” Story pointed at an inky block of text. The ferry section. “Do you know where in the heck it came from?”
I blushed, shrugged. “I might have an idea how it got there,” I said.
“You put there?” Story asked, rubbing a goose egg on its forehead. “Right in my way?”
“But it’s fascinating,” I said. “Think about it: People couldn’t reach one of the biggest cities in the world without crossing a river!”
“And?” Story pressed.
“Well, think of the color. The smell of the river. The chug of the ferry engine. The grime of the coal powered steam engines.” I tried not to sound too defensive. “It’s part of history. Facts are good.”
“Okay. Sure. I’ll grant you that.” Story nodded. “Maybe I should’ve seen it coming. It’s not like this is the first time something like this has happened when you’re writing. But, to be perfectly honest, I’m having a hard time figuring out how this whole ferry scenario fits in.”
I stared at the keyboard, pondering my reply. I glanced back up at the monitor and re-read the ferry scene. Story was right. Simply because this fact about ferry travel to New York City was fascinating, it wasn’t fair of me to shoehorn it in. To put it right in Story’s way. “Can I leave it, just for a while longer?” I asked. I cringed at how whiny my voice sounded. “Maybe I can find a way to work it in so you won’t even know it’s there. This is only a first draft. Let me see what I can do.”
Long-suffering Story sighed. “I guess I don’t have any choice,” Story said. “Could you do me one favor though?”
“I could really use an aspirin.” Story rubbed its head again. “And maybe a helmet. I know how you are with those fascinating facts.”
____This true story is brought to you by Kirby Larson, author of Hattie Big Sky, Hattie Ever After, The Fences Between Us, The Friendship Doll and Duke. Kirby is a founding member of the Just Say No to Expository Lumps Society. She may have once written an entire chapter about baking bread in a wood stove. (Thank goodness for critique groups and editors.) http://www.kirbylarson.com/
I’m a writer and I don’t get no respect. The other day, a critic said of my latest work: “His story is as loud and useless as my worn-out socks.”
I wrote the critic and asked him how can worn out socks be loud?
He wrote me back saying he was taking poetic license.
I wrote back asking why he buys his socks from a poet? I must have said something adverse, because I haven’t heard back from him. But he did send me a bill for four pairs of socks.
Anyway owning a smart cell(ular) (tele)phone with a front facing camera (And what self-respecting, self-involved dummy DOESN’T have one?) can engage in selfie-ism. Just pose, point, and click. Upload to your Facebook page, your blog, your Pinterest spot, your Twitter account, and anywhere else your digital self resides.
Personally, I am disappointed.
With all the work I have done to promote such new words as obsurd (obscure and absurd), face tedious (where you spend so much time on social media, commenting and in other ways inserting yourself, you become face tedious. Certainly, too many selfies can make that happen.), flib, and elastation just to name a few, why the judges lowered themselves to consider works like twerk and selfie is beyond me.
I can only surmise that their selection was some knee jerk reaction.
In honor of that, here is my selfie. My knee selfie. Take that, Oxford English Dictionary.The reason I have not been blogging as much recently is because I recently had knee surgery. I had six holes cut into my knee and fifteen to twenty alien bodies removed. I assure you, they were not from outer space nor in this country illegally. To recover I am supposed to apply ice to swollen area and lay down with my knee elevated above my heart as much as possible.
It’s a little hard to blog from a supine position. Additionally (though math is not my strong suit at this time), some of the medication I am taking renders me time and space challenged. Therefore and henceforth, to wit from this knee jerking wit, you will probably be reading fewer entries from me for a while.
But look on the bright side (or brighter side as the case may be), at least I won’t be out anywhere twerking. With a knee that swollen, I am not even able to shake a leg, let alone anything else.