The A to Z Challenge wouldn’t be complete without a “wit” word. Witticism would be the simple choice; everyone knows what that is. Puns, jokes and wisecracks might lighten up dark passages but there is a medical condition for those who cannot stop this behavior, Witzelsucht. One quick knock on the right frontal lobe could change my memoir from dysfunctional drama to comedy. Don’t tell my family.
An obsession for words? I just checked my original A to Z Challenge pledge and I know I have deviated two or three times. All posts were supposed to “tie into my memoir writing” but some have absolutely nothing to do with me or my writing. I am far from being a verbomaniac and I suspect that I may have committed a couple of acts of verbicide.
My inner critic and persistent threat to my worth as a writer has been working overtime lately. She comes from within, an opinionated know-it-all, presumed to be much smarter than I. She nags at my blather of wasted words demanding that I hit the delete key. I block this ultracrepidarian critic and finish my sixty-seven words for the day. I hit the send key before she returns.
This will be a rioT
You know this isn’t prosE
I already told you’alL
That I become illeratE
When it comes to poemS
So figure this one ouT
Follow me so that I
Can do this poetiC
Rhetoric for followers to basH
In case you don’t get it, my sixty-seven words today include a sample of telestich poetry. Need some help? Check it out at Poetry Soup
When I’m feeling sorry for myself, I think I am the only one living such a complex life. Nobody else has family with a homeless son, addicts, and prisoners. They aren’t raising a grandchild. In my writing groups, especially in Story Circle Network, I discover I am not so unique. I begin to realize that each passerby has a life story as vivid and complex as mine.