Very rarely do we recognize the moments that will change our lives when they happen. And just as seldom are we able to recall them once we realize their importance. But sometimes we get lucky.

At 7:27 AM on August 31, 1987 my life didn’t change. But I saw something that would, eventually, change everything about my life. It was the first day of my senior year, and like a good little A student I’d gotten there early so by 7:27 I’d already found my first class (Computer Programming II, Mr. Koski) and plopped down, exhausted—who makes teenagers start school at 7:30?

So I was watching the door to see who else was in the class with me, and who I might already know. At 7:27 in bounced a tangle of wild hair surrounding the most brilliant smile. Later that same class she said hi to me, and by Wednesday she’d actually forced me to talk—you think I’m shy now, you should have seen me in High School.

I was in love with her before 2 weeks were through, but I never had the courage to tell her until more than 16 years later.

Would my life have been different without her? Without question. She was the one who pushed me through my last half-year of High School. She was the one that held my hand after my dad died, and made me start living my life again. And when I was in Vegas, sometimes without any close friends, she was my friend whenever I needed one.

She reads this blog, and I’m sure she’s rolling her eyes by now, so I’ll sign off by saying that I’ve loved you for 22 years and I hope I get to do so for 88 more.

(click for a better view)

I’ve always been a big fan of the bargain bins of the bookstores I shopped. Some of my favorite authors, I’ve discovered for no better reason than I was able to snag a hardcover for $3.99 or a paperback even cheaper. I’ve stumbled upon John Varley, Christopher Moore, Jack Whyte, Joseph Heller and Michael Crichton this way. So I’m no stranger to good values at the bookstore. But today I lucked into a deal to beat all deals.

Jeni starts a new semester on Monday, and for her history class she needed The Worst Hard Time, by Timothy Egan. So as I headed out for a quick trip for groceries, I thought I’d be nice and run by the nearby Borders and pick it up for her. The book was easy to find, even among the relative mess of the reorganizing that Borders is undertaking. Book in hand, I looked around for 20 minutes or so, and even though I found plenty of other books that would have been worth buying, taking into account my current lack of funds along with the absurd pile of books I still have to read, I decided to stick with just my single purchase.

But when the cashier rang up the book the computer alerted her that there was an identical copy of the book in one of the bargain bins. So off she went to locate it for me. She returned with the book to the right, marked down nicely from $14.95 to $3.99.

But when she rang up that book, there was a small problem. Oh well, I thought, it was too good to be true. So I waited as she called over the manager for an override. I guessed that there was some sort of error in the computer and that I would indeed be paying full price. The cashier and the manager discussed the intricacies of pricing books in the bargain section while looking the book over. Finally the manager said, “That price is probably right, all the stuff out front was marked down.”

I took this to mean that I’d get the book for $3.99 after all. I did what must have been a classic Looney Tunes double take when she gave me the grand total of 1¢.

Yes, that’s right: 1¢.

I kept the receipt because, well I’ve never actually had a receipt for anything that cost 1¢. Plus I secretly suspected that I’d get stopped and arrested on the way out.

They say you shouldn’t judge a man until you walk a mile in his shoes. These days I think seeing the world through someone’s eye is probably more telling. These are how I’ve been seeing the word for a while now.

A couple of weeks ago I got a new pair of glasses—my first new pair in seven years. Admittedly seven years is a long time to wear the same pair of glasses—a point my optometrist made rather vehemently. I really couldn’t afford new glasses, but while my glasses are not the cause of the headaches I’ve been having, they’re certainly not helping. My prescription hadn’t changed much, but the glasses themselves weren’t in very good shape. The most obvious flaw was the crack in the left lens.

I’m not really sure how or when the crack happened. You see my eyes are bad enough that when I take the glasses off, I can’t see well enough to see the crack, and when they’re on they’re just a little too close to my eyes to really see then lenses—which is, I guess, the point. But if course the crack wasn’t the whole problem. Their was also a veneer of filth that just wouldn’t come off anymore, no matter how much I cleaned them.

And the lenses were pitted, and the scratch coating had worn off unevenly, giving the glasses a mottled, sometimes reflective surface that played havoc with the light.

I guess it’s the cure of buying really good, flexible, indestructible frames, is that I can get away with keeping glasses for a very long time. But in the future I think I’ll try to keep the period between new glasses a little shorter than that of a bankruptcy.

I’ll let you know if it helps with the headaches.

Recently, while trying to explain the myxolydian scale to one of my kids, I realized that all of the hobbies I’ve practiced over the years have a very rich lexicon—that is to say specialized words that have evolved, or been created, to describe something specific to that field. All the hobbies, that is, save one—writing.

When that thought first sprung to mind I nearly dismissed it. It’s patently ridiculous to think that a practice about writing wouldn’t develop it’s own insular tech-speak. But after thinking more about it, it makes perfect sense.

I don’t think I’m going too far out on a limb to say that over the years I’ve dabbled in some obscure hobbies—Archery, Fencing, Role-Playing, Printmaking, Paintball, Bagpipes, Heraldry and most recently, the Harmonica. And each of these has a long list of specialty vocabulary. Truth be told, it’s one of thing I like about some of these activities…

Archery — riser, cresting, draw, doinkers, fistmele, fletching, quiver, tiller, nock
Fencing — florentine, coup lance, epee, parry, florentine
Printmaking — intaglio, gravure, pochoir, restrike, vignette
Bagpipes — birl, cran, chanter, drone, grace notes, leumluath, piobaireachd, taorluath
Heraldry — abatement, cadency, clarion, escutcheon, jessant-de-lys, rampant, talbot (I could go on for close to a thousand words as classical heraldry uses Norman French)
Harmonica — ionian, myxolydian, dorian, aeolian, glissando, pentatonic, tremolo, riff, trill

The specialized language of is a function of both small societies, and society as a whole. Fencers aren’t overly concerned about being understood by hundreds of thousand of people, because there are only a few thousand people interested in it. So if someone comes up with a term that is less than obvious, it will only benefit those who take the time to learn it. As a side effect it also helps create a camaraderie among those in the group.

With writing however the reverse is in effect. Our sole purpose is to be read and to be understood. To create specialized language is self-defeating, for who will take the time to decipher a story in a language that makes them feel alienated. Also, writers have a natural aversion to creating new words for things when a word almost certainly already exists.

Certainly there are exceptions to this. Writing has a few words we use more often than others, or words that have meanings more specific to writers than to general readers. There are also a few authors who we revere for their ability to make up new words—Shakespeare and Dr. Seuss, come to mind immediately.

What hobbies do you have (or have had through the years)? Do they have their own lingo?

The image at the top of the post was created with a free service called Wordle. With it you can create a similar picture using your website (or any text you choose) to create an image in a variety of different colors and styles.

Originally posted on where six writers talk about the trials and tribulations of their writing lives. And each Tuesday the soapbox belongs to me.