The Wordsmith

I've been unemployed now for 405 days. What a vacation, right? It's been a costly one, but in order to survive you've got to be on the lookout for a silver lining. Mine has been the pursuit of a dream. You can see from my tongue-in-cheek blog title and description, my outlook is very serious.

Years ago, when I endeavoured to decide my path in life, I did it with as much finesse as a drunken sailor throwing darts at a board. The dart landed, and that is what I have made of my life. As you can imagine, career satisfaction has been optimal. This 405 day vacation has given me the opportunity to pursue a much more satisfying career, that of the Wordsmith.

Merriam-Webster defines the Wordsmith as someone who works with words; especially: a skillful writer.

Allow me to pause for a moment for an aside to this post. I have been spending considerable time with Merriam and Webster in pursuit of this dream. (I find Merriam tedious and Webster riveting) A slightly annoying side affect of obtaining the free use of their considerable work is the ever continuous pop-up ads. I found one the other day scandalous and completely offensive.

Imagine if you will two unclothed individuals with their arms and legs covering forbidden body areas while striking suggestive poses. All for the sake of advertising perfume. I am considering a strongly worded letter to our learned word connoisseurs. You may surmise that I find the content of this ad the object of my offense, but you'd be wrong. What I find offensive is the blatant attack upon our intelligence.

Who are the avid users of Merriam-Webster. Is it the alluring young lady desiring to attract said scantily clothed young man with the perfume? Is it the daring young man imagining the mere purchase of yon liquid for the alluring lady will result in spending time unclothed. I doubt it. The Wordsmith is the one spending time with our dear Merriam and Webster.

His or her passion is consumed in the elusive and proper use of the magnificent word. The appearance of the ad, if it even registers on their psyche, will produce the same offensive result as I felt. Please gentlemen, clean up the ads.

Back to the Wordsmith. I find the English language, the breadth and scope of our words fascinating. Some are outright hilarious. Take for instance the topic of our discussion today. Why in the world would someone decide to call a skillful writer a Wordsmith. Is it the ending, the word 'smith'? A smith is a maker, or in America, the most common last name and my next door neighbor. I wonder how many of them are makers. My neighbor certainly isn't, unless you consider his large Labrador, Fido. He's certainly a maker. Usually on my front lawn.

Most of us think of the Blacksmith. (Another amazingly hilarious word) He or she is a worker of metals. We think of fire, anvils, and a large hammer. When I started writing, I sat down in my chair with my laptop, my potbelly stove, a piece of half inch metal stock, and a very large hammer. (In my case a sledge hammer)

Hun, my wife, asked what in the world I was doing. I told her I was changing careers and planned on being a Wordsmith. She giggled and said, "Call me when you start working. I can't wait to see this."

Insulted, I started with my first word 'potpourri'. After some time in the potbelly stove and some judicious use of the sledge hammer, I subdued that rascal of a word. It won't be showing its face around here any time soon. I illustrate.

The other day Hun placed a bowl of mixed dry flowers, herbs, and spices on the table. When she noticed me sitting down with a bowl of cereal, she snidely remarked, "Be careful, Buster. I just put down a fresh bowl of po.... Now what do you call that again?"

She looked to me for help, but I've already done my work on the word.

"You know, a bowl of mixed flowers, herbs, and spices. What do you call that again?"

I shrug my indifference, mentally cackling with glee, for I have performed the work of a Wordsmith this day. I am well on my way!!

Why Does My Mind Wake Up When My Body Needs Sleep?

It is tomorrow... Well, actually it's today, but when I started it was yesterday. Figure that one out.


I lay in bed, my body is exhausted with my head pounding. Soon my mind rolls over, sits up on the edge of the bed, stretches, scratches his armpit, smacks his mouth a couple of times, and gets up.


I say, "Hey where do you think you're going?"


He sneers at me and walks out without a word. I sneer back, roll over in bed, and close my eyes. Unfortunately, my body is stupid and can't figure out how to go to bed on its own. So much for sleeping tonight.


I've always wanted to write a book. In January, I finally sat down and did it. The biggest hurtle has been the workings of my mind.  It's all over the place, my mind that is.  I tell it to behave and the next thing you know it's wandering off to another room forgetting to take me with it.  I get up from my chair and walk to the kitchen or garage and just stand there.


My body is confused. "Why am I just standing here?"


I picture my mind peaking around the corner giggling over the predicament my body is in.  Sometimes my mind is merciful and rejoins me before my body gives up.  More often than not, my mind ends up laughing hysterically on the floor while my body drools stupidly.  Eventually my body gives up and wanders back to the chair.


This kind of meandering mind makes it difficult to bring a story line together. For instance, I have an exciting action scene developing and then I glance at my computer screen....

Drake stood in the path, eyes widened in disbelief, heart racing with an unexplained terror. A figure waited ahead, its gray cloak blending with the twilight creating the illusion of a disembodied head. It was tall and broad-shouldered, the hood hiding its face in deep shadows. The unmistakable protrusion of a snout escaped the shroud shading the eyes. Drake's hand drifted to the pommel of his sword.... Hey, did I see salsa in the refrigerator earlier?  I should get some salsa!  I am in the mood for salsa!!

"Hun, do we have any chips?

"I'm sure the reader is confused by my insolent mind. Actions scenes are only the beginning. Can you imagine the devastation as a result of my attempt to write a descriptive narrative? A new Cold war, nuclear holocaust, an alien invasion!


In spite of my limitation, my desire to write is very powerful, bordering obsession. My challenge is to keep my mind engaged long enough to pull it all together. I found myself last December pondering the matter only to find my body standing at the bottom of the stairs with its mouth hanging open.


"Uh," it says in its mind numbing sophistication. "What we doing down here?"


I race around the room trying to locate my mind so I can answer my body.


"Hun, have you seen my mind lately. I left it by the chair and now I can't find it."


"Have you tried looking inside the thing on your shoulders?" she says in her usual insolent manner.


"Ha, Ha. Very funny. Come on I need it," I say with witty sarcasm.


I check my cranium while she's not looking and sure enough, their sits the sadistic fellow with a smirk on his face. I verbally lambaste him. He responds by sliding his hands behind his head and striking a most offensive pose. I raise my fist in a threatening manner. He smirks again.


"Did you find him?" Hun yells from the kitchen.


"Yeah, he was right next to the chair where I left him." I threaten him with everlasting punishment if he even thinks to out me.


I've started this blog to give me a forum for daily writing and a way to connect with a wider community. I hope to create an enjoying environment, a little humor, and a way to brighten other's day. Please enjoy.