The love of words.

Reflections in water of reeds and a duck
Reflections

This post is by Tessa a wonderful poet and a member of our Whittlesey Wordsmiths writing group, look out for her work it is outstanding.

I love words. I love how they sound most of all. I was born too soon for children’s stories on tapes but when my daughter came along we would sit in bed with an ear piece each and listen to books read mostly by actors. I love the timbre of the words. How different they sound depending on who is reading them.  Some stories I prefer to have read by the author, some not. I love how single phrases said by different people can have a different inference. “I need you now”; can sound demanding, romantic or just plain whiney depending on who is saying it.

Most of all I love words that rhyme. Poems are my favourite thing. Writing them sometimes seems trivial because the words come easily. But then I can get stuck on a single word and change several lines and make new rhymes.

The spoken word only becomes harsh to me when spoken not in an accent but irreverently. English is glorious when spoken well. I hate slang, I hate don’t, didn’t, whatever. I hate “did yourself know that” Who are these people who think it is fine to change the English language.

My grandmother always said you could tell the quality of a person by the shoes on their feet and the words in their head. My grandmother knew a thing or two.

Tessa Thomson

One thought on “The love of words.”

  1. I used to work long hours running my own business when the children were small, usually, I would read them a bedside story before going back to work in the evenings. On more than one occasion I would fall asleep whilst reading to them. As children like the same story over and over again, to relieve the monotony I would add in extra bits and personalise the stories adding the children into the stories too. All went well until my mum read them a familiar bedtime story blissfully unaware of my additions, “Where is Mike’s toolbox? what about the brass door knockers on his coat?” My poor old mum was totally confused.

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