Worst Word Ever

Want to know one of the absolute worst words in the realm of fantasy fiction?

"Piwafwi."

Try saying it and NOT laughing. The writer, R.A. Salvatore, is a NYT bestselling writer, and he coined that term as a Drow (dark elf) word for "cloak." The Drow are supposed to be super badasses -- and anybody who was an AD&D gamer geek like I was as a boy can't mention the Drow without thinking "Badass." So, along comes Salvatore, looking to make some money writing throwaway fantasy fiction, and does quite well with it. But he created the word piwafwi.

And for that, in truth, he should live in infamy. Just try sound like a badass while saying "Piwafwi." You invariably turn into Elmer Fudd. "Where's my piwafwi? Where is it, you wascally wabbit?!" Tone-deaf writer.

Fauxthenticity

I was pleased to see "fauxthenticity" published. Another word of mine added to the dyslexicon!

Like, OMG!

This should be a law of pop cultural physics, it holds so true: if somebody says how "punk rock" something is (or, worse, "punk rawk") -- that person is a poseur (and in this day and age, far and away from Punk's unmarked grave, it's even more poseurish to be a poseur that way, like to even feel obligated to observe how "punk rock" something is).

Every time I've seen somebody marvel at something (or someone) and say "Oh, X is SO PUNK ROCK." That person who says it is invariably the most scenesterish, hipsterish poser type. They just are. I've observed it a number of times in the long span of years -- the tendency to observe how "punk rock" something was came about really in the mid-90s; before then, stuff was either good or it sucked -- no punk worth their safety pins would even make that observation, because you'd just know intuitively. There wouldn't be the need to narrate it, couch it, and otherwise claim it like that for some kind of unearned legitimacy. I remember working with a coworker who once exclaimed (without irony, for once, as he was a consummate hipster) "I'm punk rock! I pogoed to Superchunk!" That alone is worth a cockpunch, just on general principles.

There is a Zenlike art to it, to the intuitive knowledge of it and the anarchic spirit of it, and the people who try to lay claim to that are wusses in sheep's clothing. Lead, follow, or get out of the fucking way.

It matters because that fauxthenticity (yeah, another of my words) percolates far beyond Punk's long-dead corpse, and into the realm of proper art.

In other news, I'm very disappointed that The Urban Dictionary didn't accept "Daffodildo" as a new word. Wusses. They would have, back in the day. God, I hope they didn't purge "Cuntquistador" from their dictionary. Whew. No, they didn't. That's one of my greatest additions to the English language (along with "Errorgasm," "Gliberal," "Crapdusting," "Chickchismo" [apparently a UD Word of the day in '06], "Driveshaft," and "Vaginocity," to name just a few -- I have many more in there).

What Are Words For?

Oooh, I liked this piece on SLATE, it made me snicker.

Whew

2422 words written this evening, which let me cross the needed minimum 20,000-word threshold on the novella. The story's very nearly done, so I'm sitting pretty. Brain-sleepy at the moment, however.

Words

Banged out another 3000 words last night and this morning, so I'm only about 3000 shy of what I need for my deadline (Friday). Should get there tonight or tomorrow morning, with time and breathing space.

What are words for?

1733 words (for "Old Hickory", which is currently just under 6000 words).

First proper snow of the season last night and this morning. It looks pretty. The writing weather begins in earnest! Love it!

I didn't get enough sleep last night. Have a bit of sleep-debt going. But had to get some words in this morning.

Magic Number: 3

Counting

1092 words. Not bad for the underside of an hour, although just a sliver compared with what I used to be able to turn out, with time and space (e.g., a 1.5-hour commute each way -- that was the time of 5 to 6000 word a day. God, I loved that).

With time and space, I can go and go and go. During my glorious time of unemployment in 1999 (I can't remember how long -- maybe three months?) I'd write hours daily, uninterrupted. I loved that. That was when I knew that's what I wanted to be. Christ, hard to believe that was ten years ago -- what a difference 29 to 39 makes. When you're 29, you're still in the most-favorable demographic, the 18 to 34 age group, the "youth market" -- but when you're 39, you're halfway to being forgotten, at least to the lame marketeers that slice up the populace into audience demographics.

Gen X is screwed, relative to earlier generations, because we have beans for earning power -- in the past, you turned 39 and you were entering your peak earning years. I'm sure that's true for some, but for most of us, it's just not there (at least going the conventional 925 Grinder route).

Now, however, fewer and fewer of us "make it" by this age. So many of my peers depend heavily on their folks to float them, one way or another. God help you if you don't have that to fall back on.

It's very warm in the apartment this morning; the radiators are hissing and I'm sweating. Steam heat is great, but it does tend to make a place like a sauna, if you can't get the valves just right. At the moment, that seems to be the case.