More on words
And no, that’s not Moron Words.
But that is precisely my point. Words sound different to different people and they conjure up different images. For instance, my favorite. Say Mary, Merry and Marry. Do they sound the same or different? If you live in the Midwest like me, they sound the same. (I speak correctly, mind you, I’m from the East Coast) Where I live John sounds like Jan and Harry sounds like hairy. They also drink pop here, but that’s another post entirely.
And while that’s amusing as well as annoying, it’s not nearly as important as the images that pop to mind when you read a certain word or phrase.
What do you picture when you hear or read the word “thong?”
I’m 44. It’s a shoe.
You know, a flip flop. Not underwear.
If I wrote an entire piece about thongs intended for a YA or even adult audience it would be construed as a hip lingerie tale and not something about the beach and getting sand between your toes. I’d have to make sure that if I did want a thong to be a shoe — that I made it clear right up front by placing my characters in the historic 70′s or 80′s and by referencing the thong as a shoe. Or, I could easily have thongs on my character if I was writing for an older audience. You know, older. Like me. That person could also carry a knapsack and no one would bat an eye. I wouldn’t go so far as to add a skate key to the plot, but I probably could.
As we write, we are intentionally creating images with our words. We tap into the preconceived notions of others hoping they align with our own. We use our words to lead the reader where we want them to be, but everyone comes to a book with their own baggage.
Take Paris, for instance.
My friend’s father had emergency surgery. In Paris. She called to tell me and after the intial OMIGODISHEOKTHANKGOODNESSITWASNTMORESERIOUS part of the conversation, she said, “I wonder what hospital food is like in Paris.”
I laughed.
Even surgery in Paris sounds elegant, exotic and strangely foreign – as if it is unlike surgery anywhere else. I attribute this to the fact that it’s Paris, and there is a certain mystique surrounding not only the place, but it’s very name. Add Paris to a story and you have allure and pastries and outdoor cafes (I know there are stories about the underbelly of Paris, please work with me.)
A friend of mine lives in Paris and her book (currently out on submission with publishers, go Kate!) is about her life there. You find out she moved to Paris and it sounds luxurious and decadent even before you know if she liked it or not, was poor or rich, happy or sad. She has sprinkled French throughout the book (I’ve been fortunate to read most of it) with carefully placed definitions, and that also gives the book an intentionally exotic flair. It works.
If she wanted to paint a very different picture of Paris she could, but many people would work to erase their glossy images of Eiffel Tower in order to buy into it. And of course many writers do this.
How much of what you write assumes that your words creates the image you intend?
My story takes place in a suburb.
If I don’t carefully, stroke by stroke, paint the picture for you, what do you see?
First of all, Mary-Merry-Marry all rhyme, and they rhyme with Gerry, Gary, Terry, and Larry. However, Barry is pronounced a little differently, probably because all Barry’s are from the east coast.
Secondly–hmm? suburb? If I close my eyes, I see either the suburb of my youth (re: Leave it Beaver with a little diversity), or I see Desperate Housewives. But if I open my eyes, yikes, I can’t even go there. I’ll leave it to you to paint the picture, stroke by stroke. Good Luck on that one!
There are so many different types of suburbs now, I really need you to paint the picture of the one you’re writing in. There was a time, like Fern said, when suburbs were pretty much Leave It To Beaver, but they’ve evolved into many forms. It makes you think about the writing, though, and how important to communicate your intent!
Heh. Funny observation on thongs vs. thongs. Or Paris vs. Paris. As in Hilton. The Paris Hilton used to refer to a place, not a bleached blonde bimbo.