My name is, well, for purposes of the blog, it’s Knightlessjules. I am a hoarder, a word hoarder to be exact – a wordy hoarder.
You see, I love words!
I love reading them, I love writing them.
I love them when they are refined, I love them when they are crude.
I love them when they are sensible, I love them when they are senseless.
I love them when they are colourful, I love them when they are colourless.
I love them when they are meaningful, and I love them even when they are meaningless.
I love words in all shapes, sizes and forms – as long as I’m able to read and write them of course. Otherwise they are not much use to me. That sounds a little too conditional, don’t you think? What happened to unconditional? Shouldn’t I love them when they are useless, just as much as when they are useful?
But as much as I love words, I have to kill them.
Yes, I’m admitting to a crime, wordicide! And a premeditated one at that. I wonder how many words my sentence will contain.
In my defence, the words made me do it. I’m an aspiring writer, you see. I’m trying to get into the business of words. And in the process of getting into that business, I have learned that you should not fall in love with your words. Shocker! And here I was getting into the business because I fell in love with words. What to do? What to do? What to do?
With the word writing business, comes words like “word count” that have to sometimes be viciously adhered to. And other times, to avoid coming across as “nauseatingly descriptive,” as one of my writing instructors put it, you have to “kill your darlings.” Yikes! The poor dears.
And I try, I really do. Wordicide is something that I have thought about long and hard.
But then the words give me this doe-eyed look and I just can’t! I can’t send them to a farm upstate. I can’t shove them to the back of my mind for a certain unwritten death. I can’t leave them in dusty notebooks to die in unread oblivion. So I keep writing them, word after word, and try to put them out there to be read. I can’t kill my darlings no matter how wordy they become. So put down your phones, you narcs! There’s nothing to rat out.
Take my name for instance, it’s “less” knight, sans knight, shouldn’t that then be just “Jules” – just Jules, I like that! See, that’s my problem right there, even when I try to be less wordy, I fall in love with words and get more wordy.
So where do the wordy go? Are there wards for the wordy? With the right words for the wordy? Where they can be helped to be less wordy? Where they can wage wars on words? Wordy wars? Where they can be refurbished into word wood chop blocks? So that their wordy wordings can be chopped and made less wordy? Not completely wordless though, because that would be in one word, cruel!