I'm a writer at heart and I love words! I love all words even the dead ones (may they rest in peace). I have compiled a list of words that I love but sadly no longer appear in the English Language. Today I'll be posting some of those words in the hopes that if we all begin using them again they may find a resurrection. If not well some of them are just fun to say :)

1. Jargogle
Verb trans. – “To confuse, jumble” – First of all this word is just fun to say in its various forms. John Locke used the word in a 1692 publication, writing “I fear, that the jumbling of those good and plausible Words in your Head..might a little jargogle your Thoughts…” I’m planning to use it next time my husband attempts to explain complicated car mechanic concepts to me for fun: “Seriously, I don’t need you to further jargogle my brain.”

2. Deliciate
Verb intr. – “To take one’s pleasure, enjoy oneself, revel, luxuriate” – Often I feel the word “enjoy” just isn’t enough to describe an experience, and “revel” tends to conjure up images of people dancing and spinning around in circles – at least in my head. “Deliciate” would be a welcome addition to the modern English vocabulary, as in “After dinner, we deliciated in chocolate cream pie.”

3. Corrade
Verb trans. – “To scrape together; to gather together from various sources” – I’m sure this wasn’t the original meaning of the word, but when I read the definition I immediately thought of copy-pasting. Any English teacher can picture what a corraded assignment looks like.

4. Kench
Verb intr. – “To laugh loudly” – This Middle English word sounds like it would do well in describing one of those times when you inadvertently laugh out loud while reading a text message in class and manage to thoroughly embarrass yourself.

5. Ludibrious
Adj. – “Apt to be a subject of jest or mockery” – This word describes a person, thing or situation that is likely to be the butt of jokes. Use it when you want to sound justified in poking fun at someone. “How could I resist? He’s just so ludibrious.”

6. Sanguinolency
Noun – “Addiction to bloodshed” – Could be a useful word for history majors and gamers, as in “Genghis Khan was quite the sanguinolent fellow” or “Do you think spending six hours a day playing Postal 2 actually fosters sanguinolency?”

7. Jollux
Noun - Slang phrase used in the late 18th century to describe a “fat person” – Although I’m not sure whether this word was used crudely or in more of a lighthearted manner, to me it sounds like a nicer way to refer to someone who is overweight. “Fat” has such a negative connotation in English, but if you say “He’s a bit of a jollux” it doesn’t sound so bad!

8. Malagrugrous
Adj. – “Dismal” – This adjective is from Scots and may be derived from an old Irish word that refers to the wrinkling of one’s brow. An 1826 example of its use is “He looketh malagrugorous and world-wearied.” I’m tempted to also make the word into a noun: “Stop being such a malagrug!”

9. Brabble
Verb – “To quarrel about trifles; esp. to quarrel noisily, brawl, squabble” – Brabble basically means to argue loudly about something that doesn’t really matter, as in “Why are we still brabbling about who left the dirty spoon on the kitchen table?” You can also use it as a noun: “Stop that ridiculous brabble and do something useful!”

10. Freck
Verb intr. – “To move swiftly or nimbly” – I can think of a lot of ways to use this one, like “I hate it when I’m frecking through the airport and other people are going so slow.”

Those are just some fun words I love to say. The added bonus is when you use them you instantly sound smarter ;)

End of School Stuff

This years end of school activities included two graduations for our family. A Preschool Graduation and an 8th grade graduation. We are so pleased that both of our children excelled in school this year. It was stressful no doubt but now that it's over i'm hoping we can all relax for a few weeks before we begin getting ready for the next year. A milestone for both children as one starts Kindergarten and the other begins High School *eeeek*!!

Mental Static

that's pretty much it the whole month of April was one big mental blow out! I'm still dealing with mental static trying my best to find a way to get the cobwebs and ADD out of my head. I hate this inability to focus it puts a serious damper on my writing!!! grrr!

One of my favorites

I love this writers blog..because he's a writer and he blogs about writing and about writers. Today I read one of his blogs that had me rolling but it is also sooo very very true!! Here is it for your viewing pleasure :) Beware Of Writer: Ten Very Good Reasons To Get Far The Fuck Away From Us Writer Types I’ve seen a meme bouncing around that reveals reasons why you shouldn’t ever date a writer. It’s true, to a point. But I think it goes even deeper than that. Frankly, you should probably get the hell away from us. Anybody. Not just the people we date. But everybody. See us in line at the grocery store? Run, don’t walk. Escape. Avoid. Awooga, awooga. On a good day, we’re eccentric troublemakers. On a bad day, we’re malevolent sociopaths. And with writers, it’s usually a bad day. So. Here’s a little post to clarify why you should stay at least 50 feet away from us at all times, lest we sink our vampire teeth into your body and drain you of all the things that made you pure and good. See, the things that make us good writers? They make us awful people. Imagine a sign around our necks: BEWARE OF WRITER. The Glass Is Not Half-Empty, But Rather, Full Of Badger Piss We are all pessimists, cynics, hypochondriacs and conspiracy theorists. In our fiction, the world must be broken. We must think of the worst. It’s what fuels the fire. Nobody wants to read a story about happy ponies sipping from the molasses pond and then they all dance and have all the hay they want and rainbows and bags of gold and leprechauns and *poop noise* — that’s just pap. Twee, waffling pap. Fiction demands that we go to the well and draw up the most stagnant water we can find, and so we look for the worst in the world around us. We get used to it. We accept it as the norm. We know the worst can happen. We know it because we write about it. Some dude will come up behind you on the park bench and saw your head off. Your plane? Gonna crash. That mole in your armpit? ARMPIT CANCER. Please Ignore Our Forked Tongues We are lying liars who lie. We have to be. Fiction is a lie. Non-fiction is, in its own way, a lie. When writing, deception is a skill. This, like so much of the thread that goes into our wretched quilt, trails into our real lives and ensures that the best writers make the most powerful liars. We can convince you of anything. We don’t mean to. It’s just — well, it’s like John Cusack’s character says in Grosse Pointe Blank: Martin: You do it because you are trained to do it, you have the strength to do it and the courage to do it… and ultimately (pause) you get to like it. I know that sounds bad. Debi: You’re a psychopath. Martin: No, no, no. Psychopaths kill for no reason, I kill for money, it’s a job — that didn’t sound right. For the record, if you don’t like that movie, you’re dead to me. I lie to my wife all the time, by the way. Not in bad ways. I’ve learned to control my foul serpent’s tongue. Now I just see if I can convince her of truly egregious lies. Like, I once convinced her I was born with a tail? I know, horrible, right? But at least I’m not lying about, you know, real shit. That’s what I tell myself. You Are Wrong About Everything, Even When You’re Not We make shit up all day long, and then we must write about that made-up shit with utter authority. It is our job to write with abject confidence in the subject matter. You know in high school you’d write papers that were, as you might say, “bullshit?” And you could convince the teacher of it? Yeah. This is like that. Except we start to believe that our confidence in information extends beyond the written page. And so we frequently believe ourselves to be right. Like, beyond the pale. “Yes,” you say, “I’m sure that the guy who played on the show, Frasier, is Lee Marvin’s son.” “He’s not.” “No, no, it’s true. I’m sure of it.” “I really don’t think that’s right…” “WELL YOU’RE STUPID AND YOUR HEAD IS STUPID. Remember how wrong you were about that thing seven weeks ago?” We like to do this. God forbid we’re actually ever right about something because dang will we hold onto that like a squirrel with a nut. “I’m right. I’m a writer. It’s even in the word. It used to be spelled R-I-G-H-T-E-R. It’s my job to know things.” No, it’s your job to make shit up and pretend it’s true. But the lines? They blur. Conflict And Misery Make For A Much Better Story! In life, we avoid conflict. In fiction, we strive for it. Except, remember how I said something about the lines blurring? Mmm. Yeah. We get to a state where escalation and drama feel normal. We work to achieve those things so diligently that it’s hard to snap out of that mode. In a fight, we’re likelier to escalate beyond the point of rationality because — hey, whoever is up there in Never-Never-Land reading this Book Of Your Life is going to appreciate your attention to these details. “Yeah,” your imaginary cosmic reader says, “now break that plate! Do it! Kick the car door and put a dent in it! Conflict! Escalation! Drama!” Of course, no such cosmic reader exists. Our lives are not big books. But don’t tell us that, or we’ll stab you in the thigh with a #2 pencil. Ich Bin Ein Puppetmeister We control our characters. Don’t believe the nonsense that we’re swept away the Muse and the characters control us. Pshhh. Naw. Nuh-uh. We’re the puppetmasters. And so in life, we get confused when we can’t control you and everyone else around us. Oh, I didn’t say we wouldn’t try, though. The Writer Is A Creepy Loner We do so well alone that we don’t always do so well with other people. If we were a dog, the warning on our kennel door would say, “Not Socialized.” Or, “Doesn’t Play Well With Others.” Or, “Will Stab You In The Thigh With A Pencil.” We don’t so much like being solitary. It’s just our natural state. So when you finally find us, we’re naked, covered in our own filth, picking bits of ham and apple pie crust out of our chest hairs. We are basically some genetic combination between “earthworm” and “Bigfoot.” Bigworm. Or Earthfoot. Snuggle Up With Mental Illness When writing, a little dab of mental illness is a feature, not a bug. Our obsessions and neuroses drive us to the word count with the verve and tenacity of a crack-addled howler monkey. Our depressive tendencies, provided they allow us to get out of bed, show us a broken world, and as noted, a broken world is particularly good for our fiction. Our Narcissism and megalomania helps us get through the day by convincing us we’re actually really awesome at this, yeah, fuck yeah, woooo, and then those depressive tendencies kick in again and bring us back to earth and drive us to improve, improve, improve our shit-ass-crap-twat writing. We’re like addicts, pinballing back and forth between uppers and downers, smart drugs and hallucinogens. Thing is, when not writing, a little dab of mental illness is a big ol’ bug and not much of a feature (outside our ability to entertain others with our misery and melodrama). Like A Photograph, We Will Steal Your Souls Just as we are liars, we are also thieves. Your life is our fiction. Oh, no, we don’t steal it on purpose. As noted: we have compulsions. That whole write-what-you-know thing? It’s not advice. It’s a curse. Don’t worry. We won’t use your soul exactly as it has been taken. We’ll fuck with it first. Molest it with our greasy ham-hands. Of course, you’ll be reading something and say, “Is that me?” And the writer will say, “No, no, of course not.” Because the writer is a stinky poo-poo liar who fucking lies. Our Writing Is A Temple: Do Not Defile It Lest You Rouse The Anger Of The Gods We elevate our writing to sacred cosmic necessity. If you befoul the temple with your distraction — even if that distraction is, say, “Hey, I’m being eaten to death by mice over here, so if you could maybe kick a few of these guys off of me?” — you will earn our wrath. “No, I cannot help you with your bullshit flesh-eating mouse problem I TOLD YOU I WAS WRITING JESUS CHRIST YOU DON’T RESPECT ME.” Last But Not Least, We’ll Try To Force You To Read Our Shit “Here,” we’ll say, dropping a 50-lb. manuscript in your lap. “It’s my masterpiece.” “Okay,” you’ll respond. “Read it.” “It’s awfully big.” “Yeah, but read it anyway.” “Okay. I have some things to take care of first like, say, getting these mice to stop boring holes in my flesh.” “Sweet.” Two days later, we return: “Did you read it?” “OW THE MICE ARE IN MY BRAIN” “I guess that’s a no.” <– insert disappointed pout. “CHEWING MY SYNAPSES” “Pshh. You don’t respect me and my work.” Then we storm out. (It’s Not All That Bad) Okay, yeah, we’re sort of apeshit moonbat, but once we become aware of our, umm, danger signs, we can mitigate our worst behaviors. But still, let this serve as a warning. Writers sometimes seem brightly colored and fascinating, but really, those are just nature’s way of warning you off. We’re like tropical toads. Oh so pretty! Want to touch the toady! Except: poisonous skin that kills with one touch. Beware of writer.

Self Directed Writing Exercise #7

Time Required: two hours
Here's How:
Choose a scene from one of your short stories or novels that seems to drag. Scenes designed to be more action-oriented are particularly well-suited to this exercise.
Rewrite the scene as a play or screenplay. In other words, tell the story using only dialogue and brief descriptions of action and characters. (If you aren't familiar with screenwriting or playwrighting formats, don't worry. This isn't an exercise in formatting, but in thinking visually.)
Practice economy. Think strategically about how character can be revealed through action and dialogue. (Syd Field has excellent examples of how this can be done in his classic book, "Screenplay.") Instead of telling the reader what a character is like, find a way to illustrate character as the plot unfolds.
Rewrite the scene in prose, abstaining from back story and long descriptions, and incorporating some of the details you have added in writing it as a screenplay.
Take a few days off from the work and return to it later, noting how the pace of the work has changed.
Tips:
In some instances, backstory will be necessary to the plot of a story. Determine what's absolutely necessary and what the reader can surmise from the dialogue and the action. Readers generally pick up on and remember more details than you might expect.
Don't confuse foward-moving fiction with fiction written for the screen. It's possible to write rich, literary work that also has movement.
It's easy enough to reinsert any necessary information later. When you start to get feedback on the work, people will let you know if anything is confusing:

You're supposed to do this exercise with a scene you've already written but after going back and looking at what i've written I don't know that any of them lend themselves to this exercise. Sooooo in the spirit of adventure and the fact that I HAVE to write for two hours everyday i'm going to create a scene in dialogue. Feel free to rip it apart in editing as today it's just a writing exercise ;-)

"I am so sick of having first watch Kevan".

"Aww Page it could be worse ya know you could have last watch, or second to last watch, or hell you could be the one out in the forest foraging for food".

"Yeah except I don't know the differance between a poisonous mushroom and a tasty one, also I don't like domestic labor Kevan it gives me the willies"

"Oh aye you'll make some man a wonderful wife Page"

"I've no intentions of making some man a wonderful anything! I've devoted my life to the Watchers and small children disgust me, they're sticky and are always wiping grossness off on people! No thank you this chicka will pass"

"Wow you're that sure you'll be celibate the rest of your life Page? I'm two years older than you and at 17 i'm not even sure i'm ready to call it quits on that part of my life!"

"Here! Here! Gavin!"

"Oh stop it both of you and leave Page alone. If she says she's made up her mind then she has you know girls mature faster than men anyway so technically Page is a year older than you Gavin and Kevan we all know you just want to flirt with anything of the opposite sex".

"Thanks Annabeth. It's good to know at least someone understands where i'm coming from!"

"What are you all talking about?"

"Hey Magnus, Kindyl, think you could settle this debate?"

"What debate Gavin?"

"Well Page says she's not gonna be anyone's wife or mother and Annabeth says that since girls mature faster than us guys that technically she's a year older than me. She also says Kevan is a horrible flirt and will hit on anything that moves."

"Hmm doesn't sound like much of a debate to me Gavin. Sounds more like you want Kindyl and I to make a ruling on ya'lls argument and I'm not sure that you and Kevan really have a leg to stand on here".

"Well baby brother the good news is we're not reliant on a logical ruling so you can relax and let your more base instincts rule here."

"Oh that's nice Gavin just reduce your higher thinking brother to the level of a caveman"

"I saw you roll your eyes at me Page".

"Children, children calm down the real argument here is whether or not Page is old enough to have pledged her entire life to the organization alone. Not whether or not Gavin is an immature slob, which we already know to be true, or that Kevan is a lad with a wandering eye, something we also already know to be true. So to be fair and unbiased we'd have to consult the Good Book!"

"Wow you brandished that about rather dramatically Kindyl I hope you have a specific passage you're going to refer to, be a shame to ruin all that drama with no idea of where to go."

"Gee, Gavin you are such a treasure! I can't understand why some girl hasn't snatched you up for her own yet?"

"He hasn't found anyone desperate enough to settle that's why Kindyl"

Self Directed writing exercise#6

This exercise is quite possibly the most difficult, demanding and important exercise a writer can ever do. The poet and critic, T. S. Eliot, coined the phrase "objective correlative" to designate what he believed was the most important element in writing: Rendering the description of an object so that the emotional state of the character from whose point of view we receive the description is revealed WITHOUT ever telling the reader what that emotional state is or what has motivated it.
The late John Gardner, recognized in his lifetime as the leading creative writing teacher in the United States, developed the following exercise for students:
A middle-age man is waiting at a bus stop. He has just learned that his son has died violently. Describe the setting from the man's point of view WITHOUT telling your reader what has happened. How will the street look to this man? What are the sounds? Odors? Colors? That this man will notice? What will his clothes feel like? Write a 250 word description.

I'm going to tweak this exercise a bit because I've got an idea of scene I want to write for my own book.

Andrea heard the generals boots long before she smelled him coming. The dinstintive ring of the his metal heels striking the stone floor of the dungeon down below always reminded her of silver bells. If she ever got out of this place alive she would never again be able to endure that damn sound! She could hear the other occupants of the cells scurry to hide and a few whimpers and cries floated out of the darkness. Not for the first time Andrea wondered who else occupied the cells down here and how long they had been here. When she had first woken up from the drug induced sleep she was too distracted with her own fear to take into account her surroundings. Now she cursed herself for a fool for not paying closer attention before they brought her down here. She was a fully trained Praetorian Guard she knew better than to let an emotion rule over her like that! Andrea snorted indelicatly and thought about what her brothers would say if they were here, Gavin would probably crack some joke about her being a chicken and Magnus would just pat her on the back with that look on his face. Just the thought of it made her blood boil and her anger helped clear her mind and sharpen her focus. If she were going to get out of here and be of any use to anyone again she'd have to keep her wits about her.

General Bertram always derived a sick sort of pleasure in hearing the scurry of his prisoners in their cells. He wore these particular boots everytime he paid a visit to his "honored guests" knowing the sound would echo sweetly off the stone and announce his presence to those locked in the dark and dank cells. Bertram would recieve no pleasure in this evenings errand however, he was distracted with one prisoner in particular, so much so that he was finding it difficult to focus on the larger scheme. He was so distracted he didn't even notice he had walked by the prisoners cell until he was three doors down from it. Turning quickly on his heel he marched back to prisoner 242's cell door and barked out an order to his jailor to open it up!

Inside her cell Andrea could hear General Bertrams footsteps ring past her door. She felt her body relax, unaware that she had been holding herself rigid until then. Just as she was about to go back to feeling along the stone walls for some sort of way out she heard the Generals footsteps back track. Why would General Bertram be back tracking? Andrea cocked her head to the side and pressed her ear up against her cell door trying to hear what was going on, all of a sudden her head was ringing as she heard him call out to the jailor to open the cell door for prisoner 242. Whoever prisoner 242 was it sounded like they were in for a long, unpleasant visit with the General.

Self Directed Writing assn. #5

Write a narrative descriptive passage in a vernacular other than your own. Listen to the way people speak in a bar, restaurant, barber shop, or some other public place where folks who speak differently ("He has an accent!") from you, and try to capture that linguistic flavor on the page.



Magnus reached down and helped Kindyl to stand, he looked her over for injuries and seeing none he felt relief rush through him, until he saw the brief glint of guilt in Kindyls eyes. Whatever that blast had been Kindyl knew something about it and Magnus was determined to find out what it was. He didn't have time to question her now and for that Kindyl was relieved she needed time to think and time enough to figure a way out of this impossible situation. How did she always find herself in these predicaments!

"Oy Kindyl come over 'ere and check this out" Kevan yelled.

Kindyl scrambled the rest of the way to her feet and rushed over to Kevan.

"what's up Kevan? Did you find something?" said Page dusting herself off and walking over to the blast site.

"Mebbe I needs Kindyl to look a'it and tell me what she thinks. I'm thinkin' mebbe it's a light grenade but wit'out the punch ya know?"
Kevans parents were Scots/Irish and he came to the Keep to be trained only a few years ago. Magnus and Gavin had gotten used to the odd tempo of Kevans speech but newcomers still had a hard time understanding him. Kindyl wasn't sure whether he had said light or lot, she was still struggling with what he had said when she reached the blast site.

"Keendyl I needs ya to put on them special glasses ya got and look at this" Kevan handed a smooth rod covered in what appeared to be squiggly lines over to Kindyl.

Kindyl didn't need the glasses to see what was hidden on that rod. She'd seen this before the night that old crone at the fair had called her into her fortune telling tent. Making a show of needing the goggles Kindyl pulled them up from around her neck and adjusted the superviolet lens's pretending to focus on the rod. Hoping against hope she was wrong she watched in dismay as the superviolet words appeared "They will not control us, they will not be victorious, we see you even when you don't see us". Those words haunted Kindyl's every waking moment and her dreaming ones as well. Pulling off the goggles Kindyl looked up and said "It's not a light grenade, the markings are wrong and the superviolet is off. Could be a bad copy but meh who knows, might be why there was no punch to it".

"heh weel I guess I was wrong, but I wonder why sumun would go through all the trubble of makin' a fake bomb?"