Somewhere
in my college years I fell in love with the English language. I’ve always had a
respect for it, but in my younger years it was more of a hands off style of
respect, much like I respected the scorpion or girls, because both had
consequence.
I
mean I wrote, but words? They were
dull tools meant to thump ideas into shape. Vocabulary and grammar? Those were pretty
words used by silly girls making up for poor math and science skills.
Stick
that in your hypotenuse!
I
know. That makes no sense, but
it’s how I proved superior math words over vocabulary drivel. That was me in High
School. Yeah, I was popular with all the ladies.
Maybe
that’s why I changed my perspective in college. Ladies loved dead poets. OK,
no, let’s be honest: It’s not. Ladies do love dead poets, but no, that’s not
why I changed teams. I want to blame some cool dead poet, but I can’t. It was a
dude, and he wasn’t even a poet.
But
he was dead.
I blame Ernest Hemmingway.
Teams...?
What? You thought I was…No! Not that team! And maybe that’s why I
never was good with the ladies before college: poorly chosen words. And maybe
that’s an even more important reason for loving words later: precision. As a writer, people like to know what I
mean.
What
am I saying?
I
wish I knew. That’s why I love
Hemmingway. He used single words to cast multiple meaning shadows so that
nobody knew what he was talking about.
Throughout
school, teachers tried to get me to interpret writers’ motives. I can tell you
that according to my English teachers “cuz it was a cool story” was never a
motive that crossed any worthy writer’s mind. I can also tell you “cool” never crossed Charles Dickens’
mind either. He lived in a really cool era and never wrote a cool story.
“Please
sir, might I have some more.”
“Why
yes, there’re 500 more grueling pages where that one came from. Here, enjoy”
Yeah,
that never got me far with the ladies either. Ladies love Dickens. They find him romantic.
Ladies
didn’t find Hemmingway romantic. Reading him never got me in with ladies. But understanding
him gave me a chance. See I knew
if 1,000 monkeys could hammer out Shakespeare over time, 1 halfwit college kid
could create Hemmingway.
“Dog-pillaged
carnivals canter endless dirges into sunset.”
I
found that sentence by rolling Dungeon & Dragon dice and then picking
corresponding pages in a Thesaurus.
College girls thought they found somebody clever. They did, just not how
they thought.
“Are
you saying that American society is dying?”
“Wha—are
you topless? Sure! That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
Yes,
that’s right, dear reader, I found a way to utilize teen years of Dungeons &
Dragons that make me look cool. And for that I thank Ernest Hemmingway.
And
yes, I am saying that my love for language didn’t spring from a completely
altruistic well. Those waters were
tainted long ago. They were corrupted by the trickling blood of authors and
poets: some living, some dead, all thirsty for more than pretty words with
women.
Pretty
words and D&D have a lot in common.
For one thing, we use them to fill the time we’d rather spend with
women. For another, we use them to create worlds. Worlds where we embody either
heroes or villains, but worlds where we’re in command.
Words
are superpowers.
So
now I find myself a more mature word powered man. I’m no longer a college kid
spinning yarns for games of naked twister. I’m older, and hopefully wiser. I
have a wife. I have responsibilities.
I have words, I should use them appropriately.
Hemmingway
taught me that words were fun. I love them. Time and experience have taught me
that the things you love, you treat with respect, because like girls and
scorpions, they sting.
This
blog you read. I hope you enjoy it. This is where I try to find that balance.
This is my refuge of words: my laboratory of love, respect, and whimsy. This is
where I return the gift that has been given to me, and hopefully where I make
you think, feel and smile. That’s what I’ve learned from the words that were
taught to me. And where I give them back to you, out of love.
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