Thank goodness I don’t write with my mouth! I’m worse with the spoken word, it must be said. I’ve been known to lose a perfectly simple word from my mental dictionary and grope around in my mental thesaurus to convey the meaning. Oven. That was one word I lost once. It turned into “you know, big square white thing you cook in”. My verbals unleashed include lots of “wotsits” and “thingies”. I’ve been known to swear (honest!). It’s a worry. I’m a writer. Writers are supposed to wax lyrical. Writers are supposed to be elegant with language and brim over with witticisms and (possibly) intelligence.

On paper I can do that. Inside some character’s head, I can and do weave a magical tale – often with swearing in it (people swear, folks, they just do. I remember a discussion with my mother once and trying to explain to her that if you’re writing about, say, a motorcycle gang, they are not likely to express themselves with “Oh darn”, “Golly”, and “Poot!”. Realism is generally rough). Inside the story, my words flow. Sometimes I have to hammer them in place, it’s true, but with a bit of polish one can hardly see the dents.

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