The Power of Words

Word sources

By Angie Quantrell @AngieQuantrell

Words.

Words are amazing.

The entire process of how we learn to speak and use words in intelligent conversation awes me. And the fact that we learn to write and read and utilize words is fantastic.

What can words do?

They can be used to:

~ encourage

~ affirm

~ express emotion

~ praise

~ tear down

~ build up

~ destroy

~ curse

~ forgive

~ add fuel to or put out the fire

~ share dreams

~ explain

~ teach

~ condemn

~ inform

~ question

~ make choices

~ create

~ stand firm

~ call for help

~ offer assistance

~ distribute faith, hope, and love


Words can be our best friend or our worst enemy. We can use them with kind regards towards others in our society.

Or we can abuse and pirate our words to wound, pillage, and plunder the hearts and lives of those around us.

How do you use your words?

Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in your sight, O LORD, my rock and my redeemer.  ~ Psalm 19:14 ESV

Read 99 more verses about the power of words here.

Language and the Child (The Never Ending Song)

Last night we had a certain granddaughter spend the night, as this morning Nana accompanied her to the Capitol Theatre to watch Curious George. Loads of fun. But this post is not about the theatre and sitting in the very top balcony right against the railing and Nana worrying about Khloe toppling over and she (Nana) spending time calculating the lowered risk due to bodies of other students right below who would break the fall.

No, this story is about our drive home. It wasn't a really long drive.

But the sheer number of words far exceeded the distance we traveled.

That bit of time spent in the car was filled with language. Wheelbarrows and buckets and shopping bags of words and songs and expressive language.

First, we learned what Khloe liked. And what she loved. This changed with each  new view of things we drove past.

Then we heard some songs. On repeat. On repeat.

5 Little Ducks - sang as many times as the number of ducks in a barnyard

1, 2, Buckle My Shoe - sang enough times to cover a classroom of buckled or velcro'd shoes

Head and Shoulders, Knees and Toes - sang more than the number of students in her school

1, 2, 3 Jesus Loves Me - new to me and performed for several miles

The Days of the Week - sang a conservative estimate of at least 3 months worth

Row, Row, Row Your Boat - sang enough times to sink a boat, even though one of us (the youngest) got side-tracked and giggly about the 'life is BUTT a dream.' No amount of explaining could get her opinion of but to change.


Now Nana is used to this fun with words, but Papa not so much. He tried several times to derail the music train, but it kept right on chugging, occasionally switching tracks, but steadfastly choo-chooing down the path. Who needs a radio anyway?

All this to say, the girl is enjoying language. And singing. And silly words and word games and entertaining herself.

Be silly. Sing songs. Get giggly. That's what it's all about.

Other than the Hokey Pokey.

Old Words

 I was preparing to take a relaxing bubble bath in my claw foot tub last night when I saw a wadded up log of newspaper on the floor.

The paper log was actually old newspaper. Old 1949 newspaper.

It was super dusty and fragile, so I didn't undo it, but went ahead and enjoyed my bath, contemplating the sudden arrival of newspaper in the bedroom.

This morning, long after honey had gone to work, I noticed the newspaper had been carefully unrolled and somewhat flattened.

That was when I saw the date on the antique (or is it vintage?) Seattle Times. Sunday, March 27, 1949. Fascinating.

I do love looking at old newspapers, especially the ads. Odd, I realize, but the price comparisons between then and now are amusing and sad. The articles in this bundle also told tales of the times - fashions, comics, businesses, and even child rearing and feeding advice.

This was no ordinary newspaper. It was mystery newspaper that had been recycled to provide padding for an old wood and woven jute chair. We didn't even know it was stuffed. Look at how creative folks were at repurposing way back before the word was even in use.

Now we know more about the chair (it is older than both of us) and the news of the day from several decades ago.

Words are valuable. No matter how old or in what format they are discovered.

What are some words that are valuable to you?

TJ's Household Challenge Haiku - Calendar

 

 

blank pages stretch on

 

imagine, dream, plan, journey

 

possibilities

 

 

Angie Quantrell 2016

STRIPES - Hugh's Weekly Photo Challenge: Week 9 - Stripes

 

Stripes of a vertical kind.

Stripes horizontally composing a building.



Stripes fading away into the distance.

Nearly invisible stripes melting into skies of gray.

 

Stripes. Or vents, as 2-year-old Donavyn says.

Which, vents, are also stripes of hot or cool, depending on the season.

 

Stripes.

Beware of What You Say - It May Be Used Against You

Ages ago when my babies were young, my writing desk - aka office - was along one wall of the dining room. Always a disaster and rife with projects in process, my office was what I had. So I used it.

On the occasions that I had a looming deadline and was in desperate need of no interruptions, I had to finally resort to laying down the rules.

"My door is closed."

Funny. There was no door. Or wall. Or any other physical item that marked off the office. Just air.

But it worked. That invisible door, once my stressed voice was heard slamming it in their faces (honey was included in this), stood between many a sibling squabble, demand for food/rescue/mediation/first aid, ringing phones, and general household chaos.

Years later, the kids are grown and fledged, roosting in their own nest. And my office actually has a real, wooden door. And walls. And lots of office-y type stuff. Perfect for me. I can (really) easily shut out the world when in the midst of scrunching out words.

My poor honey. He does not have the same luxury.

His office is a corner of the living room. That's the room in which guests, grands, cats, family, and all sort of noise and interruptions descend with regularity. The television, kitchen, table, and all matter of other life inventions reside within eyesight of his desk.

Don't get me wrong. We love our interruptions.

But there are times when my man needs to work and focus. Alas, he has no door. That sounds familiar.

So today, with a looming service in a few hours, I heard my own words uttered against me.

"My door is closed."

Oh. So that's what they felt like way back when. I was shut out. No trotting in with a quick observation, offers of a cup of tea, handing in the mail . . . Though it doesn't stop me from taking a photograph through the invisible door.

It is true. Our very own words often come back to haunt us. What we say does impact others, good or bad. But that's ok. It means someone was listening.

A Writer's Life

Having recently returned from the Pacific Northwest Writers Conference in SeaTac, Washington, I am slowly getting my brain back to normal. Suitcase is unpacked. A tub is full of notes, business cards, and receipts, waiting to be cared for. The slick girly briefcase/shoulder bag is waiting for attention. The laundry is almost complete. And the manuscript is being edited. Again. And probably will be again. Before it is shipped off to a lovely editor and a cool agent I pitched to during the conference.

If you are a writer, or want to be a writer, or used to be a writer...this conference is very beneficial. Everything I have thought over the years was verbalized, expounded on, repeated, discussed, illustrated, shown, explained, questioned... Things like writer's platform, query letters, proposals, New Adult (that one I had never heard of, nor thought of, as adults are not usually new - since they have been growing as a human since birth), pitch sessions, contracts, agents, publishers, marketing, traditional publishing, self-publishing, hybrid publishing (missed the explanation on this one), and head shots. That is not all, but the brain is sorting the muddle as I type.

People watching was most interesting. Speaking with a wide variety and caliber of writers was enlightening. Personalities and stress levels were evident, to my amusement and agreement. I did not relax until Saturday afternoon, AFTER my pitch session was over. FYI, a pitch session is very similar to speed dating, except writers pitch to editors and agents in four minute blurbs of time. Observation gave me a slight shock as I realized that some writers actually resemble what they write! I guess that means I will (or do) look like a child. I know I am as short as an elementary student.

There is much to process from four days of long sessions and experiences.

But underneath it all, we get it. Writers understand other writers and the need to write. From an early age we have needed to express ourselves with words on paper. It is hard to write. There are times we must force ourselves to write and words do not come. At other times, words flow like a river of smooth ink. Procrastination is easier than butt time. There is always something else to do. But we must write. Our souls call us to create in our minds. Ideas sneak up as we are engaged in other activities. Words, phrases, and plans are jotted on a myriad of writing surfaces. Scribbles abound in unorganized form, longing to be placed in context.

So we write. Of course, we want readers to read and understand.

But even if readers are not available, we must write.