Words and I have not always been friends. As a kid I could not be made to read. I didn't even want to be read to, which is strange because I LOVED the illustrations...as long as those boring words stayed out of the picture. I hated the thought of reading so much so, that when the rocket clock started on Play School, I would flee the room.
Somewhere between then and adulthood, words and I reconciled. I came to realise words are pretty OK...good, even. What makes a word good is tricky to pin point. For me, I think it's a combination of how it sounds, what it describes and the unique opportunities for usage it presents.
So, in an effort to make it up to words and practice hand lettering, I proffer this ongoing list of Good Words.
Put on your best indignant voice, this one is fun to exclaim. I almost exclusively use this when trying to deny culpability.
Did I finish all the cheese? Preposterous!
I use raucous with either a sense of admiration or annoyance, it is entirely dependant on whether I'm trying to sleep or not.
Overhearing a neighbouring share house's party? Sounds raucous!
Overhearing a neighbouring share house's party at 2am? Are those raucous youths unaware of the time?
Katakana is one of three Japanese writing systems and is used primarily for foreign words. All of the katakana words are pretty excellent in my opinion - konpyuutaa (computer), oosutoraria (Australia), beeru (beer), chokoreto (chocolate) but sandoitchi (sandwich) has to be up there as one of my faves.
Nani o tabetaidesu ka? Sandoitchi o kudasai!
(What do you want to eat? A sandwich please!)
This one is simple; fun to say, fun to do. More time dedicated to frolicking please.
Use when out of your depth and trying to sounds smart in a political conversation.
That latest government undertaking you don't approve of? Absolute boondoggle!
I actually can't stand this word but credit where credit is due, it so viscerally sounds like the thing it describes. Reserved for situations when only the foulest of descriptions will do.
My leg after knee surgery? Turgid.
Handily, it can also be used to describe language that is tediously pompous/overblown.
My prose throughout this page? Turgid.
The word 'prose' itself? Turgid.