It's funny how we learn words to spell and remember them. I have a list as long as my arm about how to spell this word or the other. Some are really simple, others more difficult. Then there are those stories which come unbidden along with certain words (look at doughnuts).
Just for kicks, today I thought to share a few.
WORD
Together—This one's simple. To Get Her. But every damn time. That gets annoying after a bit.
Doughnuts—I was in scouting when I was younger. We were planning a camp out and everyone wanted doughnuts for a meal. When the boy writing the list asked how to spell it, one kid said "dog nuts" and he wrote it down as such. Ever since then, I've thought "doughnuts", spelled "dog nuts" and had to correct it.
Mortgage—For years, I couldn't spell this word, then it hit. Mort Gage. Now that's all I hear.
Medieval—There was an old Playstation game called Medi-Evil. That stuck so, I just replace the correct vowels
Principal—I misspell this often in order to get it correct. Misspelled in my head (Prince E Pal) but correct on the page. Go figure.
Receive—I before E, Except after C or sounding like A as in Neighbor and Weigh. So what the hell receive? Re Ce Eve
Duct Tape—Sorry, growing up where I did, this is and shall forever be Duck Tape.
This week's BlogBattle threw me for a curve ball. Lola.
Didn't see that coming.
Therefore today I sat down and started writing about a girl and a guy, figuring that had something to do with a lola. They meet, fell in love, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. It really wasn't some of my best work. Frankly put, I was getting bored writing it, and we all know if the author's bored, pity the reader.
Then I got thinking, what's a lola? Google is a great thing, and I soon had my answer. I'm not one for slang and I found the answer was in an urban dictionary website. Never would have figured it on my own.
So I sit back down with my story and start editing. Fix a part here, add some melodramatic stuff there. All in all, it was coming together nicely. But I was still bored. I didn't want to bore all of you either, so I had to do something.
That's when it came to me. Somebody already wrote a fantastic tale about a lola. I'll just share that. Won't win any prizes, but if I cite the original work, there's no copyright infringement either. No jail time is a win.
So I give to you, without further ado, Lola by The Kinks:
Lyrics
I met her in a club down in old Soho Where you drink champagne It tastes just like Coca Cola, C-O-L-A cola
She walked up to me and she asked me to dance I asked her her name and in a dark brown voice She said Lola, L-O-L-A, Lola, L-L-Lola
Well, I'm not the world's most physical guy But when she squeezed me tight she nearly broke my spine Oh my Lola, L-L-Lola
Well, I'm not dumb but I can't understand Why she walked like a woman but talked like a man Oh my Lola, L-L-Lola, L-L-Lola
Well, we drank champagne and danced all night Under electric candlelight She picked me up and sat me on her knee And said, "Dear boy, won't you come home with me?"
Well, I'm not the world's most passionate guy But when I looked in her eyes well I almost fell for my Lola L-L-Lola, L-L-Lola
Lola L-L-Lola, L-L-Lola (Repeat)
I pushed her away, I walked to the door I fell to the floor, I got down on my knees Then I looked at her and she at me
That's the way that I want it to stay I always want it to be that way for my Lola,
L-L-Lola
Girls will be boys and boys will be girls It's a mixed up muddled up, shook up world Except for Lola, L-L-Lola
Well, I left home just a week before And I'd never ever kissed a woman before But Lola smiled and took me by the hand And said, "Dear boy, I'm gonna make you a man"
Well, I'm not the world's most masculine man But I know what I am and I'm glad I'm a man And so is Lola, L-L-Lola, L-L-Lola
Lola, L-L-Lola, L-L-Lola
Lola, L-L-Lola, L-L-Lola
(Repeat)
Lyrics from MetroLyrics
Did you like that? I always loved the song. Perhaps that's why it fits best for this week's BlogBattle. There's a fondness for me behind the lyrics. I can't wait to see what everyone else came up with. Lola isn't an easy—
Wait . . . .
What?
Loop? Who came up with that stupid idea? Loop . . . .
Even though this week has been a busy one, and I've had a ton on my mind, I don't have a whole lot to say. I'm still processing a lot of it. There was a lot of good and a lot of bad. Thoughts which make we want to give up writing (perminantly) roll though my head even as I write this. Maybe the darkness will win out, maybe not. I have no way to read the future.
Instead, I want to give you this. I've written in a lot of genres since I started putting pen to paper, but my first novel is solidly detective/noir. What I found one day was a list of rules written by one of detective fiction's great authors, Dashiell Hammett. I wanted to share that list with you.
If you write mysteries, it should have several nuggets for you to look at and consider. But if you don't, take a look anyway. It has tidbits which can help all of us, Most of it is still valid. Give it a lookie-loo and tell me what you think.
Your attentions have made many an entertaining—and I use that term loosely—night, but please, the time's come to stop. Waking up to emotions that I haven't felt outside of high school isn't my idea of fun. I wasn't a fan of them then and that opinion hasn't changed. Besides, isn't a bonus of being married having only one woman driving me nuts, rather than the scores of you?
Now I will admit that I know some of you. Or at least I did once upon a time. Old flames whose fires were quenched long ago, you have my permission to leave. What we had was never real and never anything more than some fantasy in the back of my head. We never went out, we never dated, and we were never anything more than friends. Please leave.
Those of you who are real, but we've never met—you celebrities and models—you may leave as well. Sure, you can tantalize with your ads and popularity, but both of us know that isn't you. And if you insist it is, then I'll insist on calling you a liar. The real people you mimic, they may actually be as described, but you're just a shade. You hold no more substance than smoke from a campfire. The exit is behind you.
And you, those of you who are utterly false with no substance in any reality, you are the worst of the lot. Pretending to be all those things which are blatantly false. Pretending to be my idea of a perfect woman. That's nothing more than a blunt insult to the sex that you pretend to be. No woman—no person—is perfect. It's a sad and cruel joke upon my mind. I don't wish you to merely leave. You I want banished.
Because—all of you, take note—I will take my wife with all her glorious imperfections over each and every one of you. Sure, she has things that make her less than perfect and irritate the hell out of me, but when those things cease to exist, my soul feels empty. I long for them. So yes, I'll take her horrendous morning breath, her constant concern over her imaginary weight problems, and all those other tidbits that make me want to howl over the make-believe Hell you create.
Now, there are a handful of you which can stay. Only a handful mind. Those of you who are of my dreams, but not in them. Those women who help fuel my creative fires and inspire me. The Stephanie Hawthornes, the Jennifer Winters, the Helen Blacks. Welcome and have a seat. Can I get you a glass of water? A drink? Anything? You respect my wishes and are nothing more than you already are. Thank you.
