Words

The other day, a friend of mine in conversation used a word that I had never heard before.  I forget what exactly it was, but I just kind of nodded and went along with it, all the while mentally puzzling through what it could possibly mean, but too insecure in the fact that I, an English major, didn't recognize the word that I couldn't stop and ask exactly what the word meant.  I have an image to maintain, you know.  By the time I got back to the safety of my room where I could then consult dictionary.com for the definition, I had already forgotten what exactly the word was and it was too late to take a bite of humble pie and ask that friend to repeat the word.  So many regrets.

In any case, I really admire people who use unique words in daily conversation.  Even if they don't use them entirely properly, many brownie points just for knowing the word and remembering it and having the gumption to produce it in a sentence.

Words are sort of an obsession of mine.  New words are like candy.  They're a treat, particularly when they perfectly encapsulate a feeling or thought or idea that previously I had needed to use a string of words instead of the more compact single word.

Discriberity

There is a strange and unpleasant phenomenon that I have experienced on multiple occasions.  I don't think there's a title for it.  I might be the only person to experience this (#delusionsofgrandeur).  I take it upon myself to name this beast.

Discriberity: (dis-cry-bear-ity) n. an intense inclination to do anything other than write, despite there being no logical reason not to write.
Example: Sue experienced a bout of discriberity, as she reread her plot outline, designed costumes for her characters, and taught herself to draw instead of writing the first words of her novel.
Clarification: this is different from writer's block in that in writer's block there's often a reason for avoiding writing, such as a plot problem, characters not cooperating, or some other complication that needs solving.  In discriberity, there is absolutely nothing holding the writer back.  It is, of sorts, a mental block.

I reread my plot outline.

I designed costumes for my characters.

I taught myself to draw.

I even wrote a blog post.

There's nothing left to do but write the first words of my novel.  With great reluctance, with an overwhelming sense of foreboding and discriberity, with sadness that I have to leave you with such a short blog post...

I go to my doom.

Walking to the Caf

Walking to the Caf
(not a poem)

The frozen snow crunches beneath our boots
And dusts the dorm roofs.
The wind nips at our noses
Like an over-eager puppy.
The sky is dark, but brilliant
Like there is a light shining behind its fabric.
Above us the moon gleams
(a silver smile).
Tree branches are dark and distinct on the sky
(spilled ink).
We laugh
And catch our breath
And smile so hard our teeth turn cold.
Shivers chase us into the warmth.
The night is a cloak
At our backs.

Inglenooks and Fairytales

I have a new favorite word.

Inglenook.

Wait.  You read it too quickly.  Go back and savor it.  Three syllables, two distinct parts.  Ingle.  Nook.  Try saying it out loud - no really, you'll enjoy it.  It has a nice feel to it: not repetitive, not sticky.  It sort of flows through your mouth like a breath of air, coming in and then back out.  There's a certain rhythm to it as well, a cadence that bumps a little.

Oh, the nerdy sweetness of a new favorite word.

But the deliciousness doesn't end there.  Oh no.  It has quite a nice definition to it as well.  According to dictionary.com, "inglenook" means a corner or nook near a fireplace; a chimney corner.

There.

Doesn't that just add to its unique coziness?  Can't you just see Cinderella crouched in an inglenook, dreaming of her prince?  Or a young mother humming her infant to sleep in a rocking chair in an inglenook?

An inglenook is a place of warmth and comfort.  Maybe in your own home or in a place where you are comfortable enough to feel at home.  It's a corner where you might sip hot chocolate and exchange pieces of life with your mother.  Or you might watch the flames in the fireplace and ponder dreams.  It's a place to have a heart-to-heart with a best friend or to reacquaint yourself with a treasured childhood book.  While you are in an inglenook, dragons are locked outside and the wolves cannot invade and the witches stay far away.  Wishes come true and adventures are desired, but comfortably distant, or maybe safely over.  An inglenook is something to come home to or to dry yourself off in front of after having been caught in a downpour.

Right there, my friends.  A little to the right, because there's a random bowl of wooden fruit occupying the left.  That is an inglenook.