Pejorative

Homelessness is uncharted territory for most of us. Sadly, it will come up in my memoir from a parent’s view. Pejorative words that inflict insult or destructive thinking about these people are better left unsaid. Mark your calendar and watch Dogtown Redemption on your local PBS station May 16th. Watch it with compassion – just because someone is homeless does not mean they are undesirable, damaged or inferior.

Obelus

The memoir manuscript grows to 100,000 words. How could I be so self-centered to expect an audience to appreciate such a lengthy narrative? The next step becomes a task of removing the redundant or insignificant passages – or those which may be doubtful memories. The obelus symbol used to mark these passages in ancient manuscripts is now commonly used as a division sign ÷ . Divide and conquer – final execution.

Noctuary

Maybe it’s too much caffeine late at night or an unfortunate event in the last hours of the day. Whatever leads you to insomnia, how do you use those hours? For a while I kept a dream journal but it interfered with my sleep. Okay, not funny. Seriously, does anyone keep a noctuary journal? Whether it’s dreams, thoughts, or midnight memories it could lead to interesting stories.

Mytacism

My muse might mimic mytacism. Minding my Ms must mean my momentum meanders. Memoirs move me momentarily motionless. Mothers mood makes many mistakes. Maybe maniacal madness motivates my mental maneuver. Memories minimize mindful meditation. Misbehaving MZ mentions many maudlin memories manipulating mysterious moods.

Your turn – pick a letter.

Disclaimer: Mytacism as defined in Chamber’s Twentieth Century Dictionary: a too recurrent use of the letter M in… writing

Logastellus

This month has been an interesting A to Z challenge to find appropriate words that having something to do with writing or my memoir. I won’t be ordering any Marjorie Witt, Logastellus business cards. While I claim to have a love for words, I’ll admit my passion exceeds my knowledge of words. But memory often fails me and a year from now I’d wonder what I am.