Collecting Words

Among other things, I collect words. New, unusual, or uncommon. Used, broken, or left out on the curb. Words that do more than say- words that describe. This week I wrote down words that I found intriguing, novel, and/or needed a refresher on. They are as follows:

pedantic: (adj.) 1. ostentatious in one’s learning     2. overly concerned with minute details or formalisms, especially in teaching.

ubiquitous: (adj.) 1. existing or being everywhere, especially at the same time; omnipresent

mutability: (adj.) 1. liable or subject to change or alteration     2. given to changing; constantly changing; fickle or inconstant

quotidian: (adj.) 1. daily     2. usual or customary; everyday     3. ordinary; commonplace

querulous: (adj.) 1. full of complaints; complaining     2. characterized by or uttered in complaint; peevish

unguent: (n.) 1. a less common name for ointment

diatribe (n.) 1. a bitter or violent criticism or attack; denunciation


Whether you knew these words already or not, it doesn’t hurt to review. One of the things I love about the English language is its seemingly bottomless spring of new words to discover. (Of course, if you can’t find a word that’s rambasclerous enough for you, you can always make one up.) ‘Tis a beautiful thing discovering new words.

If making up words from scratch isn’t quite your style, you can tweak a well-established word. Some of my favorites include, but are not limited to:






A while back I wrote a poem which was and is complete and utter nonsense. I believe it originated from a confused thought about the story of Chicken Little and the sky falling. I twisted words to make them rhyme, and the effect was rather entertaining. (This one is definitely best read aloud.) And yes, the word is peoples-es (like peoples’s).


Crispy or Grilled?

 It’s raining like the Dickens.

The sky is full of chickens.

They squawk and they cry.

As they fall from the sky,

The peopleses faces are strickens,

Dodging plummeting chickens’ kickens.

If I had a big pot,

I’d catch me the lot,

And my fingerses I would be lickens.



Do you have any favorite made-up words?

How about any words you discovered this week?

If not, why not?

The world is full of words to be collected if you but keep you eyes and ears open.





The Tale of Spaghetti Pizza

As I have mentioned before, I am a huge fan of children’s literature. Last year I had an idea for a short story-poem about Spaghetti Pizza. I finally took the time to write it down. I hope you like it.



The Tale of Spaghetti Pizza


The day that Mr. Noodle died,

The whole of Weville mourned and cried,

And citizens began to fear,

Because the future wasn’t clear.

For Mr. Noodle’s factory,

-The Pizza Pasta Saucery-

Was the heart and life of town,

And all the people therein found.


The papers spread the news abroad,

Dead Noodle’s will was rather odd,

And would be read at half-past three,

In the square by Mayor Shmee.

The town assembled in the square.

The folks all hoped to win their share.

The Mayor Shmee, a rotund man,

First cleared his throat and then began:


“The will of Mr. William V.

Arthur Noodle:” (read by me)

States, “To the folks of Weville West,

I bequeath my very best,

Dough producing factory.

Please accept this gift from me.

The West folks gave a mighty cheer,

And all the East folks strained to hear.

“And to the folks of Weville East, a gift from me,

To you I give my Saucery.”

The cheer erupted, shoutings rose,

The Town Square meeting reached its close.


Each half of Weville went to work,

Except for little Maisy Merk,

She went to the park across from the square,

With all of the children to meet and play there,

While all of the grown-ups slaved away,

Hour by hour and then day by day.

And soon the East was sick of their sauce.

(Would eating some noodles be such a loss?)

And folks of the West each meal thought “Gee,

I do miss tomato sauce, Yes-sir-ee.”


But each was too proud to bow down to trade,

The East even put on a Sauce-themed parade.

The West, in response, threw a Dough Festival,

With crust and bland noodles for West-siders all.


Yet still the kids met to play in the park,

From Breakfast to lunchtime until it got dark,

Most kids, like their parents, refused to trade,

Except for Miss Merk and Timothy Tade.

And there in the mist that cool summer’s day,

Maisy and Timothy shared anyway.

Together they ate their brand-new lunch food.

Each took a bite. They smiled as they chewed.

Spaghetti Pizza was born in the sun.

And soon other children had joined in the fun.


The parents found out, and boy, were they mad!

They hoped this new food-stuff was only a fad.

It wasn’t a fad and it started to grow.

People thought, “I guess I’ll give it a go.”

So Spaghetti Pizza wore down the prides,

Of the people of Weville- East and West sides.


And round Mayor Shmee decided to host,

A carnival fair for what he loved most-

For sharing and caring and shouting “Hurrah!”

For the uniting power of Spaghetti Pizza.

For friendship for family and humility,

And Mr. Noodle’s old food factory.



The Girl at the Window

There stands the girl: strong, brave, and thoughtful. She gazes out the window taking it all in- the sunset, the warmth, the forest, the shadows- the multitude of tiny details which, for snatches of seconds, steal away her attention. A light breeze rustles across her dress and toys with loose strands of her hair. What she wants more than anything is to be happy. This is her beginning. But first, she must make a choice.

Perhaps she should continue to stay within the bounds she knows: the wood, the stone, the comfort, and peace of home. She could raise a happy family here. But if she does choose to stay, she might grow old in the rocking chair by the fire and never experience the adventure of living outside the lines. Maybe the outside world is a beautiful place where flowers bloom and the air is fresh and your worries leave you behind. Maybe there is peace out there too.

Perhaps there is also sadness outside, maybe even tragedy. Are the words they speak out there as kind as the words of home? Is there a way to be happy outside the weathered door? Maybe it is impossible to find joy in the wide world.

But no, the girl shakes her head, that cannot be so. How can the sunset be so radiant if happiness is unavailable out in the wild world? How do the animals chirp and cheep so cheerfully? Maybe there is hope in the world.

Perhaps there are others out there, outside the wooden window frame. Maybe they want to drag others into sadness and ruin. Maybe they want to help and serve others. Maybe they need to be with someone else because they feel lonely. Maybe the girl can make a difference in the world.

So what should she do? She can stay and hope that someone finds her, or she can leave and hope that she finds someone. Or maybe while she is out, someone will come looking for her and she will miss them and, thereby, the adventure and happiness of a lifetime. Regardless, the choice looms ever nearer.

The girl watches the sun set, slowly sinking into the horizon. There is a world out there. She turns away from the window and draws the violet velvet curtains closed. There is peace in here too. Then the girl has a realization. She smiles and looks up toward the sky. Whatever she chooses, she will be happy, she decides, because only she can determine her happiness. And with peace in her mind, the girl, escaped to her dreams.




Two Ways to Eat a Pie

In 2007 Disney came out with a charming movie called Ratatouille. In the movie, a critic named Anton Ego comes to the restaurant. The following is his conversation with the waiter:

Anton Ego: After reading a lot of overheated puffery … you know what I’m craving? A little perspective. That’s it. I’d like some fresh, clear, well-seasoned perspective. Can you suggest a good wine to go with that?
Waiter:  With what, sir?
Anton Ego: Perspective. Fresh out, I take it?


Writers, and all artists on a larger scope, are always in hot pursuit of a new angle, new direction, or a new spin on something that others will pause to take a moment to enjoy and ponder. That is what creativity is all about right- taking a mundane idea and personalizing it with your own personal stamp of perspective. Being yourself is the easy part. The hard part is finding people who are willing to take the time to look through your glasses, listen to your thoughts, and believe in your art. Your perspective.

There are two types of people who will appreciate your art: 1.) those who will obsess over you for a small period of time and then get sick and move on and 2.) those who will appreciate everything you do for a lifetime and enjoy your contributions to art one piece at a time. Of course, the later is what artists hope for, but I fear that the former is much more common. We are all guilty of obsession occasionally. Obsession is how we decide whether we love or dislike something. Dipping one toe into the water is not enough to decide if you want to train for the Olympic team for the next twelve years.

So today I offer a bit of Perspective.

Well-seasoned Perspective.


Two Ways to Eat  a Pie


There once were twin brothers, who were given twin pies,

Complete with whipped-cream on top.

Each felt the rush as he feasted his eyes,

On the crispy, criss-crossing pie top.


The first twin dug in with gusto and zeal.

He snarfed down the  pie in a blink.

He slumped in a moan as he started to feel,

The ache of not pausing to think.


All through the day and into the night,

He lay on his bed feeling sick,

And wishing with all of his mind and his might,

He hadn’t eaten so darn quick.


The second twin brother took his sweet time,

And made his pie last all the day.

He savored it slowly, so sweet and sublime,

And it never got in his way.


All through the day and into the night,

He smiled in knowing that he,

Had taken the time to eat that pie right-

A slice at a time, happily.



Half the Battle

Occasionally, I lapse into a medieval mood. This usually occurs after I have read an especially moving piece of fantasy. It occurred after I finished Beowulf this last summer. When I get into such a mood, images of stone castles with moss creeping up their sides, knights bearing tattered crimson pennants, and rolling green hills fill the nooks and crannies of my cranium. I am tempted to use thee and thou in conversation. Mostly, I feel an outpouring of imagination, which is where poems like “Half the Battle” originate.


Half the Battle


The parapets were well-equipped,

The battlements safe-guarded,

The walls of this sage citadel,

Prepared to be bombarded.


The ballistae and catapults,

Were primed to make their mark,

The tower keep surveyed the deep,

A sentinel of dark.


Yet no vigil, howe’er sharp,

Absorbs entirely.

Still they believed they were prepared

To thwart the enemy.


The sun slunk up the horizon’s edge,

As pressure piled high,

And through the braggadocio,

They feared that death hung nigh.


The sun snuck up the morning sky,

As morale decayed the day,

And doubt’s disease brought evening,

And fear’s control held sway.


All through the night the hope was leeched,

Until the flow ran dry,

And terror held the hearts of men,

Too afraid to cry.


So live your life in knowing,

That impending battles come,

But fear not to your soul’s defeat,

And half the battle’s won.



If you are having a bad day, remember that having a positive attitude can help enormously. If you are feeling down, draw a picture. I drew this one two years ago.

Fear Not!

The Jabberwocky and the Art of Nonsense Poetry

I love children’s literature. Indeed, most of the poems or stories I write could be classified as such. The part that I love the most about children’s lit. is its cheerfulness. The playful goofy verse of Dr. Seuss, the fairy-tale depth of the Chronicles of Narnia, the magic and complexity of Harry Potter, the innocence of Beverly Cleary, and the adventure of Curious George. Children’s books bring out the best in us. They present complex themes -life, death, happiness, forgiveness, and friendship to name a few- in simple, entertaining ways. There is no room for the snooty grown-up ‘that’s highly illogical’ or “that’s nonsense” or ‘that’s preposterous!” (And no one even cares what preposterous means!) Children’s literature is an escape from the staunch, professional world of adults into the fluid, vivacious world of kids.

For this reason, I love nonsense poetry. Nonsense poetry is pretty self-explanatory; it includes made-up words, fantastic or impossible situations, and seemingly random illusions. Think of Dr. Seuss, Roald Dahl, and Lewis Carroll. My favorite nonsense poem is from Lewis Carroll’s Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There. It is called “Jabberwocky”. Be careful as you read “Jabberwocky.” There is some sense to it, though less than most poems. Also watch out for portmanteaus. (Portmanteaus are words created from the combination of two words.)


`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!”

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought —
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

“And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!’
He chortled in his joy.

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

Mostly, “Jabberwocky” is fun to read aloud.

I felt that this poem deserved an illustration, so I borrowed one from

Fun fact: The word “chortle” was coined in this poem, formed as a combination of chuckle and snort.

And now for my own attempt at nonsense. I have included a list of portmanteaus I created in writing this piece, but feel free to try to figure them out before scrolling down to the bottom. And now, without any more interruptions. . .


The Brusted Wheel at Frempton’s Mill


The brusted wheel at Frempton’s Mill,

Bescraped away adown the hill,

Smusmashing gree and daisidill,

The brusted wheel of Frempton’s Mill.


It sprolled along the dusten woad,

Where the knortmen nobly rode,

In the dark with sneakret load.

It sprolled along the dusten woad.


It flurst out of the floriage,

And floppled o’er the clifflet’s edge,

And loafted out to Brinely’s Wedge,

Postflursting from the floriage.


Don’t bejudge the water wheel by finentual restination,

But atherly, mark it by its succete journeration.




Glossary of Secret things in this poem:

“Brusted” is a combo of Brown Broken and Rusted

“Frempton” is derived from Middle English “frempt” meaning “strange”

“Bescraped” is escaped and broke

“adown” means away down

“smusmashing” is smush and smash squished together

“gree” = any number of green trees

“daisidil” = hybrid flower combination of a daisy and a daffodil known for its bright yellow flowers and ordinariness

“sprolled” = sped and rolled

“dusten” is dusty and beaten

“woad” is simply way and road (or road with a speech impediment)

“knortmen” is a combo of horsemen and knight

“sneakret” is sneaky and secret

“flurst” is flew and burst

“floriage” is flora and foliage

“floppled” is fell, flopped, and toppled

“clifflet” is a small cliff

“loafted” is floated and drifted

“Brinely’s” is Lonely and briny (salty)

“Postflurting” means after flursting (see a”flurst” above)

“finentual” is final and eventual

“restination” is rest and destination

“atherly” is a combo of actually and rather

“succete” is success and complete

“journeration” is a weird way to say journey.

You might just say “Well that’s nonsense!”


Yes it is.

August Adieu

There is something magical about beginnings and endings. Beginnings draw you in, excite you, and stir your curiosity. Beginnings may daunt you.

They sat that starting is the hardest part, but I beg to differ. It’s the middles that are tricky. The middle is where we can lose focus, drive, and interest. In the middle, the end seems too distant to reach and the beginning seems too important to abandon. Nevertheless, the middle is where most of us are. The middle of becoming a better person. That is why it is important to keep perspective. I like to think of each day as a new beginning and treat bedtime as an evaluation period. Did I do everything I wanted to do? The answer has rarely been yes. But, as long as I am moving forward I don’t really care how close to the end I get.

In all actuality, most ‘endings’ are deceptive. Sure, you can finish writing a story, singing a song, doing the dishes, reading a book, but there will always be another story to scribble down, another smash hit to scream at the top of your lungs, another mealtime of dishes to do, and another book to read. The great part- no two moments are identical. So, even though I am marking the end of a summer in my life, I still have a lifetime of summers stretching in front of me. This is my farewell to summer.

There is something magical about beginnings and endings. Beginnings draw you in, excite you, and stir your curiosity. Beginnings may daunt you, but endings- endings are merely small naps before you get up and moving again.

On to bigger and brighter things.

August Adieu

 My sunglasses sit safely on my shelf,

The sand and the shells sail away,

And semi-sadly I sit by myself,

As Summer slips softly away.

Seminary Theme Song

This is a piece of music I wrote for Seminary this year. It is based off of our Theme Scripture (Matthew 5:14-16). The song has a lilting triple meter and a high-energy feel. Coupled with a simple melody, the song, I feel, is one of my better projects. The sheet music can be accessed by clicking on the link words below “Seminary Theme Song 2012”.

Let music lift you and carry you to knew heights.

Seminary Theme Song 2012

Smiles in the Sky

The name of this site is taken from a poem that I wrote. I felt that this poem was very emotional and powerful. I like to think of the people who read this as my smiles in the sky. I cannot see the smile on your face but I can feel your happiness, just like the woman in this story. Let this be a reminder to smile a little and share some sunshine. (more…)

Unraveling Rowling

In my quest to become a better writer, I think it is only logical to study those who have found success in their own writing. In my mind, no one has done better than J. K. Rowling in writing success in the last fifteen years. So, I am going to dissect one page of her writing, bit by bit to see what I can discover.

The following is an excerpt from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. Page 90.

“Just been showing Professor Sprout the right way to doctor a Whomping Willow! But I don’t  want you running away with the idea that I’m better at Herbology than she is! I just happen to have met several of these exotic plants on my travels…”

“Greenhouse three today, chaps!” said Professor Sprout, who was looking distinctly disgruntled, not at all her usual cheerful self.

There was a murmur of interest. They had only ever worked in greenhouse one before -greenhouse three housed far more interesting and dangerous plants. Professor Sprout took a large key from her belt and unlocked the door. Harry caught a whiff of damp earth and fertilizer mingling with the heavy perfume of some giant, umbrella-sized flowers dangling from the ceiling. He was about to follow Ron and Hermione inside when Lockhart’s hand shot out.

“Harry! I’ve been wanting a word – you don’t mind if he’s a couple of minutes late, do you, Professor Sprout?”

Judging by Professor Sprout’s scowl, she did mind, but Lockhart said, “That’s the ticket,” and closed the greenhouse door in her face.

“Harry,” said Lockhart, his large white teeth gleaming in the sunlight as he shook his head. “Harry, Harry, Harry.”

Completely nonplussed, Harry said nothing.

“When I heard – well, of course, it was all my fault. Could have kicked myself.”

Harry had no idea what he was talking about. He was about to say so when Lockhart went on, “Don’t know when I’ve been more shocked. Flying a car into Hogwarts! Well, of course, I knew at once why you’d done it. Stood out a mile. Harry, Harry, Harry.

It was remarkable how he could show every one of those brilliant teeth even when he wasn’t talking.

First, Verbs

In my high school, teachers teach us not to use the “to be” verbs. (is, am, are, was, were, be, being, been). They preach the eradication any of these supposedly “undesirable” verbs. Here, Rowling shows us that it is both practical and useful to use a mixture of exciting and boring verbs. The “to be” verbs fade into the background to allow other fun words to draw our interest. Take, for example, “There was a murmur of interest,” instead of ‘The students murmured in interest.’ The way she phrased it, the murmur has a greater presence in the sentence rather than the emphasis given to the students in the alternative phrasing. She employs a wide range of verbs – gleaming, dangling, doctor, and mingling –  while allowing verbs like ‘said’ to blend in quietly.

Second, Adjectives

Rowling places her adjectives very carefully. Most of the details and descriptions are derived from the verbs and nouns.  Each adjective has a purpose. Some tell how many or position. Others are more for the mental eye (brilliant, giant, umbrella-sized, exotic). She also chooses to use simple adjectives (heavy, large, several) to keep the flow. The easier something is to read, the happier those who read it will be. I believe this is one of the keys of her writing style.


Other Tips

Rowling uses words that flow well. “Distinctly disgruntled” is perhaps my favorite from this passage. Little things like alliteration can making reading more enjoyable. The ear likes to hear complementary sounds. Rowling also varies her sentence length. Sentences range from 5 words to 24 words. This keeps the reader from passing out from using up all their breath on a huge list of long sentences or hyperventilating from the overuse of short, choppy sentences. Of course, her creative character names draw our focus and add to the personality of her writing. The best aspect of her writing, in my humble opinion, is her ability to use only necessary words. The writing is crafted, through endless editing I’m sure, to speak for itself. And it does. And we love it.

I know that there are gobs more about J.K.  Rowling’s writing to learn, but that is all I have time for today.

Long live the Boy Who Lived.