Breeding and Writing: The words that fuck us up

 

–by Tracy Lucas

 

My kid’s two. That means he butchers words. A lot of them.

His vocabulary is actually pretty extensive for his age, so I’m not going to complain. But among my favorites additions to the Lucas lexicon are “that really tared me” (scared), “crouw-patch” (no freakin’ clue), “moly-moly-moly” (merrily, merrily, merrily, as in “Row Your Boat”), and the one all kids seem to eventually come up with, “lasterday” (well, okay, that one’s kinda obvious.)

They all invent that last one. Seriously. I’ve helped raise several people’s kids, and every single child I’ve known has created this word anew on his or her own, without influence.

It’s obviously important archetypal programming hard-wired into the human brain. Or something.

Lasterday should totally be a word.

I digress.

Thinking back on my own formative years, there are words I thought I knew and have found out later that I completely don’t. Didn’t. Whatever.

“Gesture” is a big one. I’ve always known the meaning; no biggie there. But before I’d ever once heard the word spoken anywhere audibly, my younger sister got the game Guesstures, which we played once in a while from then on out. I learned to pronounce the spinoff word first, and still can’t for the life of me say the right one. Ever.   If I’m talking aloud about how someone moves, I’ll say “mannerisms” or “nuances” or “method of physicality” or any other thousand things just as dorky  to keep from having to look like an idiot as I stumble over “gestures.”

If I’m writing?   “Gestures” shows up in a second, bitch.   Best believe. Represent.

But anytime I’ve ever come to a place where I have to say the word aloud, there is a very noticeable pause as I methodically sound it out first. I  rationalize the name of the game in my head. Guess = guessing game = guesstures. Must be the other one. Then, and only then, I speak. It takes a great and intentional effort to make it leave my lips.

Usually I’m standing alone again by that time.

I’ve never had a stutter, but I wonder if it works the same way. One widely-published and very intelligent writer I know who says he stuttered as a kid blames the huge vocabulary he now has on the necessity of using synonyms for words containing his trigger sounds.

Can’t compare it, I’m sure, but I admire his workaround.

I wonder if, as writers, we’ve all figured that trick out eventually. Can’t spell “chief” without checking, and don’t have a dictionary or an iPhone handy?   Suddenly he’s a “tribal leader.” Can’t remember the abbreviation for Mississippi or Missouri?   Hey, we’re in the “vicinity of Vicksburg” or the “Midwestern counties surrounding St. Louis.”

It works. We make it.

Another word I consistently cannot spell or say correctly is “infinitesimal.” Again, ever. Thanks to spellcheck software (yes; absolutely, I cheat), I use this word all the time in my stories.” I just don’t read it aloud to my critique group. I say, “I can’t say that,” and someone else does. And I feel like a moron.

I have met people in my life who honestly, as adults, believe that people  have “ideals” about how to do things, are on “death roll”, and get poked climbing a fence made of “bob wire”.

(Of course, in the end, I can’t say that’s any stupider than my not being able to say “gesture”. I have no room to judge, I suppose.)

What words get you?   How do you get around it?