Bill W

@wildone, the only reason my status was barefoot the past couple of days was that it's finally warm enough to go barefoot in the morning without ending up with cold feet! And if I was going to dance barefoot, it wouldn't be to Tiny Tim. For Easter, we'd always have ham, and we'd hide the Easter eggs and baskets for the kids. After they found the eggs, they would hide them again for each other, and every year they wouldn't find all the eggs again after they hid them and sometimes later we'd find them, with our nose leading the way to the rotten eggs. As far as the words of the day: for the past few weeks Myr has been selecting words that have something to do with writing stories and the only thing I would do was take the Author Tip and Genre Tags at the bottom of his post and try to expand them, to make them better understood and more relatable. Happy Easter, Happy Passover, and Happy Sunday to everyone here at GA!

Thank you, Anton, for the Easter wishes, and I do celebrate. I liked your Atsa pun as well. As far as keep well, I have my share of medical issues that are affecting my ability to write and proofread my stories, as well as being able to concentrate for long periods, because the various medication I'm taking muddle my brain and also make me drowsy. I've tried other meds for those issues, but the other meds don't take care of the problem or reduce the pain, so I go with what's working. Oh, you never bugged me - it's just that your impatience sometimes pushed me to act a little sooner that I'd anticipated. And I wish you a Happy Easter as well.

You never know what might pop up! 😧

Physically rough elements in writing—referring to the gritty, sensory, and often painful realities of a character's existence—are vital for creating an immersive, authentic, and emotionally impactful story. By focusing on the body's reaction to the world, writers can bridge the gap between the page and the reader, transforming a "flat" narrative into a tangible experience. The importance of physical roughness in storytelling based on the search results: Fosters Emotional Connection and Empathy: Visceral Reactions: Describing a character’s pain—such as trembling, bleeding, or the desperate effort to breathe—connects directly to a reader’s gut, creating a deeper, more visceral experience than merely telling them a character is sad or scared. Humanizing Characters: Physicality makes characters feel like living, breathing, and flawed human beings, rather than mere plot devices. Resonance: Showing the "scars" (both literal and metaphorical) allows for a deeper exploration of human resilience, vulnerability, and the pursuit of healing, which resonates with readers' own life experiences. Enhances Realism and Grit: Avoiding "Superhero" Tropes: In intense scenes, portraying realistic consequences (pain, fatigue, limited movement) prevents protagonists from appearing invulnerable and unbelievable. When a character is injured, they should act injured, which increases the stakes and authenticity of the story. Focus on Sensory Detail: Incorporating touch and texture—the "scratchy" or "hard" elements of a world—immerses the reader in the setting. This includes sensations like sweat, pain, and discomfort. The "Rough Draft" Mentality: Physically "roughing out" a scene—focusing on action beats, setting, and raw, unfiltered movement—allows the story to feel like it is being extracted from the body, leading to more "truthful" and less polished, authentic writing. Moves Plot and Defines Character: "Show, Don't Tell": Physical movement—such as folding arms in defiance, biting a lip in anxiety, or wincing in pain—reveals a character's internal state without needing internal monologue, allowing the action to do the work of storytelling. Conflict and Tension: Rough, chaotic scenes filled with intense action or physical, emotional trauma are often the climax or turning points that keep readers engaged. Developing Action Beats: "Action beats" are small, physical movements (e.g., rubbing a nose, grabbing a tissue) that anchor characters in their environment and make their actions unique. Engages the Senses: Tactile Connection: Rough, textured writing allows readers to feel the story on their own skin, making them shiver or feel the heaviness of a scene. Physicalizing Emotion: By showing how pain or emotion moves, begins, and stabilizes within the body, the reader can experience the character's suffering rather than just hearing about it. Establishes Tone and Atmosphere: Grit and Tone: A gritty or raw style of writing is often necessary for thrillers, noir, or high-stakes stories to establish the necessary atmosphere. Contrast: Showing the "darkness" or "roughness" of a situation makes moments of light or joy shine brighter. Including physically rough elements is crucial for moving beyond a "surface-level" story and, instead, creating one that is deeply felt and vividly remembered by the reader.

"Rough" originates from the Old English rūh (pre-1150). Its meaning was "not smooth to the touch, course, hairy, or shaggy" and often used to describe hairy or unshorn items. It stems from West Germanic *rukhwaz, indicating a common ancestor with Dutch ruig and German rauh. The term historically applied to uncultivated ground, undressed hides, and later expanded to signify stormy weather, harsh actions, and crudely made items. According to the OED, rough (adjective and noun) was first used in English during the Old English period (pre-1150). As a verb, its earliest recorded usage is later, during the Middle English period (1150–1500). The earliest evidence for the verb is from 1484, found in the Rolls of Parliament regarding Richard III. The adverb appeared around 1400 in works such as in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. The word rough was eventually used to describe "approximate" measurements or "crude" drafts since roughly the 1600s. The original guttural "-gh-" sound (like in "loch") softened over time.

Chill" in storytelling—often referred to as quiet, pacing, or downtime—is a critical, yet frequently underestimated, narrative device. It allows characters to process, creates emotional depth, and contrasts with high-intensity moments to make the overall narrative more resonant, believable, and engaging. The importance of "chill" (peace, quiet, and introspection) in writing stories: Intensifying High-Action Moments: Contrast Mechanism: Quiet moments are necessary to make action stand out. Without a lull, the excitement becomes monotonous, leading to reader fatigue. The "chill" act as a palette cleanser, giving readers space to catch their breath before the next surge. Highlighting Importance: Moments of peace, such as a character having a quiet drink or looking at a landscape, make subsequent chaotic scenes more dramatic by contrast. Deepening Character Development: Processing Consequences: After an intense event, quiet moments are essential for characters to process their actions—reloading, bandaging wounds, or reacting to loss. Showing Vulnerability: Quiet scenes allow for intimate, non-verbal moments that showcase a character's true personality—fear, joy, or resilience—away from the adrenaline-fueled plot. Introspection & Internal Conflict: These scenes allow characters (and readers) to dwell on their inner feelings, fears, and memories, rather than just their immediate actions. Enhancing Emotional Resonance: Allowing Reflection: Quiet scenes create "white space" that invites the audience to stop, reflect, and emotionally connect with the story's themes rather than just moving from plot point to plot point. Building Tension: In genres like thriller or horror, "chill" scenes—like a character noticing the uncanny quiet in a familiar room—often build more dread than overt scares. Improving Pacing and Narrative Structure: Scene/Sequel Structure: A well-paced story often follows a "scene" (action) with a "sequel" (reaction/reflection). The sequel is the "chill" part, allowing characters to decide on their next move based on the previous action. Natural World-Building: Quiet scenes offer the perfect opportunity for exposition, allowing for world-building, bonding between characters, or the introduction of subtle, lingering questions. Engaging the Reader's Imagination: Suggesting over Telling: By utilizing "chill" moments to offer hints rather than full explanations, writers allow readers to fill in the gaps with their own imagination, which makes the narrative more personal and memorable. Atmospheric Detail: These moments enable a focus on sensory details—sound, smell, and light—that establish a rich, believable atmosphere, such as the silence of a snow-covered landscape. Examples of Chill Moments: * A character silently sitting on a floor with their cat after a traumatic event. * Characters taking a moment to share a meal and bond, which later adds emotional weight to their separation or loss. * A quiet scene with only visual descriptions, allowing the reader to feel the silence. The "chill" in a story isn't just a lack of plot—it's a deliberate technique that gives the plot room to mean something, transforming it from mere action into a memorable, emotional experience.

"Chill" originates from Old English ciele (West Saxon) or cele (Anglian) ("coldness, frost"), derived from Proto-Germanic *kal- ("to be cold") and the Proto-Indo-European root *gel- ("cold, to freeze"). It continued as chele or chile, with the verb chillen appearing late in the 14th century to mean "to feel cold". It originally referred to physical coldness, evolved to mean "relax" via the 1970s slang "chill out," and has meant "hang out" since roughly 1985. According to the Oxford English Dictionary (OED), chill was first used in English as a noun druing the Old English period (pre-1150). It developed from early Germanic roots, with related forms appearing early as ciele or cele, meaning coldness or coolness. The verb form appeared later, in Middle English (1150–1500) around 1399. The adjective chill first appeared in the mid-1500s (circa 1540). The modern "chill out" meaning to relax appeared in popular culture around 1979-1980.

Shadowed (in writing stories) is often referred to as foreshadowing or the shadow archetype—is a vital storytelling technique that serves as the "silent engine" of narrative, providing structure, tension, and thematic depth. It acts as a bridge between the unseen (unconscious thoughts, future events) and the seen (visible actions, plot points), preventing stories from feeling contrived or abrupt. Importance of Shadowed in Writing Stories: Creates Suspense and Anticipation: Foreshadowing prepares the reader for future events, building anticipation rather than spoiling the plot. It makes the reader feel as if the story has a purposeful, inevitable destination. Provides Cohesion and Structural Integrity: It allows a writer to plant "breadcrumbs" (details, props, traits) early on that become critical later, connecting the beginning and end of a story. This makes the plot feel natural rather than a "deus ex machina" (a sudden, unexpected resolution). Deepens Characterization (The "Shadow Self"): Based on Carl Jung's concept, the "shadow" is the part of a character (or writer) that is repressed, hidden, or unexamined. By writing characters who grapple with their darker impulses—anger, fear, or hidden desires—writers create nuanced, "three-dimensional" characters that feel authentic. Adds Subtext and Atmospheric Depth: Shadows enhance the mood (dread, creepiness, wonder) and act as metaphors for emotional states. It allows writers to "show" emotion (e.g., clenched jaws, pacing) rather than "telling" (e.g., "he was angry"). Prevents "Flat" or "Predictable" Stories: Without shadows, narratives and characters can appear unbelievable or two-dimensional. Shadowed elements—whether in plot or character development—encourage reader interaction, as they work to piece together the hints and hidden motivations. Enables Effective Thematic Exploration: A story’s theme often acts as its "shadow" (something cast by the concrete elements of plot/character). Acknowleging the dark side allows for richer exploration of ethical dilemmas and moral ambiguity. Techniques for Utilizing Shadowed: Direct Foreshadowing: Hints directly about future events, such as a prophecy or a character declaring something "won't be a problem". Indirect Foreshadowing: More subtle techniques, such as using Chekhov's Gun (a rifle on the wall in Act 1 that must go off in Act 3) or having characters misinterpret a suspicious event as innocuous. Shadow Work: Writers can use their own "shadow side"—the repressed or "darker" emotions—to tap into more authentic creativity and make their work more passionate and unique. Mirrors: Making the antagonist a mirror of the protagonist's own shadow, allowing the protagonist to confront their own repressed traits. Effective foreshadowing is a balancing act: if it is too obvious, the plot is spoiled; if it is too subtle, it is missed. The ideal is a balance that feels rewarding on a first read and even more meaningful on a second read.

"Shadowed" (adjective/verb) derives from the Middle English schadowen (mid-14th century), originating from the Old English sceadwian ("to protect", "to overspread with shade"). It shares roots with the noun "shadow," originating from Proto-Germanic skaduz and the Proto-Indo-European root *(s)ḱeh₃- ("darkness"). It means to be darkened, protected, or followed. "Shadowed" typically refers to an area in shade or a person followed secretly (as in surveillance). According to the Oxford English Dictionary (OED), the earliest known use of the adjective shadowed is in the Middle English period (1150-1500), with the earliest evidence dating back to approximately 1400. It appears in Secreta Secretorum in the context of "Gov. Lordsh.". The verb shadow dates back to the Old English period (pre-1150). The meaning of shadowed evolved from meaning "protected from sun, overspread with shade" in the mid-14th century, to "cast a shadow, or marked with light/dark gradations" in the late 14th century, to "follow like a shadow, surveillance" in the 16th century.

Congratulations, Jeff!

Very true, and at least they're not trying to pull Michael or Devin into the undressed action.

"Thrum" in writing refers to the continuous, rhythmic humming or vibration of a story—the underlying pulse, atmosphere, and emotional resonance that keeps a narrative alive and engaging, often without directly advancing the plot. It is essential for creating immersive, moody, and memorable fiction. The Importance of Thrum in Writing Stories: Establishes Atmosphere and Mood: Thrumming, often achieved through sensory details and pacing, creates a palpable vibe, such as tension, anxiety, or serenity. It sets the emotional tone, allowing the reader to feel the environment rather than just read about it. Deepens Immersion and Realism: By focusing on the "thrum" of a scene—such as the continuous sound of machinery or a consistent, quiet emotional state—writers create a lifelike, immersive experience. It makes the world feel active and present. Enhances Emotional Resonance (The "Vibe"): Similar to a musical harmonic, a well-written story "thrums" when the reader feels connected to the artistic, aesthetic elements of the prose rather than just the intellectual, analytical plot. Allows for Deeper Interiority: Scenes with a "thrum" are often of "indeterminate duration," where physical actions are repetitive, directing the reader's focus toward the character's internal, mental, or emotional world. Captures the Energy of a Project: "Thrumming" is used in the revision process to reconnect with the original energy or "voice" that inspired the story. It helps ensure the narrative feels cohesive and consistent. How to Create "Thrum" in Writing: Vary Sentence Length: Carefully vary sentence structure to guide the rhythm and breath of the reader. Use Sensory Details: Incorporate the continuous, low-level sounds or sensations of a place (e.g., "The thrum of the station's engine resonated through her feet"). Leverage Repetition: Use repetition of imagery or words to build a hypnotic or intense atmosphere. Rethink Pacing: Slow down the action to focus on the immediate, felt experience of a moment. The thrum is the difference between a story that is merely understood and a story that is felt.

"Thrum" has two distinct origins: an older noun referring to textile remnants (Old English) and a later verb/noun related to sound (16th century imitative). Derived from Middle English thrum(m)e, from Old English þrum (found in tungeþrum "ligament of the tongue"). Related to Old Norse thrǫmr ("edge, brim, verge") and Old High German drum ("end-piece"). According to theOxford English Dictionary (OED), the earliest known use of the verb thrum (meaning to play idly on an instrument) in Middle English. The word is of imitative or expressive formation, often referring to a monotonous sound, according to Sesquiotica. Another form of the verb (thrum, v.2) appears later, to repeat something monotonously, appeared in the early 1500s. Earliest use as a verb was around 1275 in Laȝamon's Brut. Earliest use as a noun was during the Old English period (pre-1150), referring to the fringe of a garment or woven cloth.

It was a fun day for them, Lee, but the young are resilient. It's getting old that makes it a drag. 🤪

Thanks, VB. I'm glad you're enjoying their adventure.

Thanks, Chris. I'm glad you enjoyed this chapter. I also appreciate your patience.

Thank you, drs. I appreciated your patience!

Chapter 41 – Glenwood Springs After we returned to our rooms following the full day rafting trip, we dried off and changed, and then went out for supper. Our parents took us to a different restaurant tonight, and since there weren’t any booths, the staff pushed three tables together so we could all sit together. After we ordered, Dad spoke to all of us. “Tomorrow we’re going to do the mini-max rafting adventure and it will take place on the Roaring Fork River. I checked with our g

In the context of writing stories—specifically action, thriller, or historical fiction involving weaponry—the tang is a critical component of a knife or sword, referring to the part of the blade that extends into the handle. Understanding the tang is crucial for authenticity, as it directly impacts the weapon's durability, which is often a key element in stories requiring high-stakes, realistic, or "hard-use" action scenarios. Importance of Tang in Writing Stories: Weapon Authenticity and Realism: A "full tang" (where the metal extends to the end of the handle) is essential for fixed-blade weapons that will be subjected to intense action. A "partial" or "rat-tail" tang can make a weapon flimsy, allowing for a realistic "fail" in a violent encounter where a knife breaks. Character Development and Credibility: A character's weapon can be a signature piece of their ensemble or "brand". Using the correct terminology (e.g., specifying a "full-tang" survival knife) lends authenticity to scenes involving survival, wilderness exploration, or specialized tactical operations. Plot Device: A weapon's reliability (or lack thereof) can determine the outcome of a conflict. A broken weapon can lead to a character’s peril, while a sturdy, high-quality weapon can be a critical tool for survival or success in a fight. Enhancing Action Scenes: Writers who describe the specific type of weapon, such as a "full-tang" fixed blade, enhance the reader's immersion into scenes requiring rigorous use of tools. Types of Tang to Consider for Stories: Full Tang: The most durable; the best choice for characters needing a reliable, "hard-use" blade. Partial/Rat-tail Tang: Less durable; suitable for showing a weapon that can fail or one that is strictly meant for light, ornamental, or non-combat use. Note: In the context of literature, "Tang" can also refer to the Tang Dynasty, a Golden Age of Chinese poetry. While "tang" (lowercase) is a structural component of a knife, "Tang" (uppercase) refers to a period famous for its rich literary, poetic, and cultural legacy.

"Tang" (sharp taste/prong) and the "sharp" nature of the prong/sting, is akin to "piquant" or "pungent", and it's similar to twang, which represents a sharp, resonant sound. The noun/verb tang stems from Middle English tange, originating from Old Norse tangi ("pointed end", "sting") and related to Proto-Germanic tang-, rooted in Proto-Indo-European *denk- ("to bite"). It is likely influenced by tongue and potentially related to Middle Dutch tanger ("sharp, tart, pinching"). It originally referred to a sharp metallic prong or sting, later evolving to mean a pungent taste (15c.). According to the Oxford English Dictionary (OED), the earliest known use of the word tang (in the sense of a sting or sharp point) is from the Middle English period (1150-1500),with evidence dating to before 1350 in St. Matthew, referencing serpents biting with "þaire tanges" (their tangs). The verb form tang (meaning to sting or pierce) is recorded slightly later, with earliest evidence from around 1400–50 in Alexander. The noun use of tang to mean the projecting pointed part of a tool or blade is recorded later, with evidence in the 1680s, though it is linked to the earlier Scandinavian borrowing of tange (point/sting). The figurative sense of tang as a "sharp taste or pungency" is recorded from the mid-15th century (c. 1440). Tang was also the trade name of a orange powder that you could mix with water to make an orange tasting beverage. It was formulated by General Foods Corporation food scientist William A. Mitchell and chemist William Bruce James in 1957 and first marketed to the public in 1959. . Tang became famous when NASA used it on John Glenn's 1962 Mercury mission, leading to popular "space-age" marketing campaigns.

Silken, both as a literal material and a metaphorical concept, holds significant importance in storytelling by acting as a sensory anchor, a symbol of luxury or resilience, and a narrative device that connects characters, cultures, and themes. It is frequently used to evoke elegance, wealth, or hidden strength, particularly in historical fiction, romance, and fantasy, where it can represent the "soft" or "hidden" aspects of life that contrast with harsh realities. Key Aspects of Silken in Writing: Symbolism of Status and Identity: Silk frequently denotes wealth, power, and elegance, often used to highlight a character's social standing or their aspirations. Conversely, it can represent the "hidden" or "inner" life, as seen in The Girl Who Wrote in Silk, where it represents a character's personal identity and resilience. Sensory and Lyrical Description: The word "silken" or "silky" is a powerful descriptive tool, creating a vivid, tactile sensation for the reader, describing everything from skin and hair to the texture of a character's voice. Cultural and Historical Connection: Stories often use silk to ground narratives in Asian-Pacific, particularly Chinese, history and aesthetics. It represents a "bridge" in stories that weave together different times, cultures, and traditions. Metaphorical "Thread": "Silken" is used to describe an invisible, delicate connection or bond between people, communities, or even between God and humanity, as in the book A Silken Thread. Symbol of Resistance and Expression: In some narratives, silk embroidery acts as a secret language or a method of communication and resistance against oppressive, rigid structures. Examples in Literature: The Girl Who Wrote in Silk: Uses silk to symbolize a forgotten history and a woman’s power of expression. A Silken Thread (Sawyer): Uses the material to symbolize the tender, delicate, and often hidden connections of faith and love. The Silken-Swift (Sturgeon): Uses the concept as an allegorical device. Silkpunk (Ken Liu): Uses silk and other natural materials to create a specific, culture-driven aesthetic in speculative fiction. Ultimately, the importance of "silken" lies in its versatility—it can be both a luxurious fabric worn by characters and a delicate, strong thread that weaves the theme, setting, and emotions of a story together.

Silken is an adjective derived from Old English seolcen ("made of silk), combining seolc (silk) with the Germanic suffix -en used to denote "made of" (similar to wooden or golden). Its roots trace back to Latin sēricum and Greek sērikós ("silken"), likely originating from an Asian source representing the origin of silk. The word was historically used to describe garments or textures that were smooth, luxurious, and derived from the ancient Silk Road trade. It shifted from meaning solely "made of silk" to, by the 1510s, describing things "silk-like, soft, and glossy". According to the Oxford English Dictionary (OED), the adjective silken was first used in English during the Old English period (pre-1150). The OED notes that the verb silken (to make soft or smooth) appears much later, with the first evidence dating to 1757.

Coarseness—defined in storytelling as the inclusion of raw, gritty, or unflinching details, including strong language or harsh realism—is crucial for fostering authenticity, increasing reader immersion, and creating relatable, deeply flawed characters. While clarity and structure are necessary to keep a story moving, adding "coarse" or gritty elements ensures the narrative avoids being sanitized, boring, or artificial. Key aspects of the importance of coarseness in storytelling include: Authenticity and Realism: Using raw language or addressing uncomfortable topics helps make a story feel authentic and alive. It serves to ground the narrative in a tangible, believable reality rather than an idealized, sterile world. Developing Flawed Characters: Characters that are "riddled with human... flaws" are more engaging than perfect ones, as they nurture conflict and foster reader empathy. A "coarse" or flawed character—one with rough edges—often drives the plot more effectively than a perfect one. High-Stakes Tension: Rougher, grittier scenes help build necessary tension. If a story has no "trouble," the stakes feel low and readers may lose interest. Subverting Expectations: Introducing unexpected, intense, or strange elements can shake up a story that feels "stuck in a rut," adding depth and preventing a "sugar-coated" or predictable tone. Reader Immersion: A well-placed, gritty detail can act as a "punch in the nose," forcing the reader to engage immediately with the scene's emotional truth rather than remaining a distant observer. Balance is Key: While necessary, an excessive reliance on coarse language or gratuitous gritty details can backfire, making the writing appear as though it is "trying too hard," causing a loss of credibility. The goal is to use these elements with purpose to enhance the story's emotional impact, not just to shock.

"Coarse" (early 15c., cors) originated as an adjective derived from the noun course ("a running, journey, or regular procedure"), likely meaning "ordinary" or "common". It originally described rough, common cloth used for everyday wear, with the meaning shifting by the 16th century it was used to describe someone lacking refinement (crude, uncultured, unsophisticated), including using vulgar or obscene speech/manners. According to the Oxford English Dictionary (OED), the earliest known use of the adjective coarse is in the Middle English period (1150-1500), with the earliest evidence dating back to 1424. The noun coarseness was first used in 1540, and the adverb coarsely was first recorded in 1548.

I have never work on anything quite that large, but have worked on some smaller upgrades and know what a pain in the backside they can be. My condolences. As far as having a green thumb or a garden, the answer is no on both. If something happened and I had to grow my own food, I would have to treat it like a forced diet or a death watch, because I doubt I could grow enough food to survive. That's pitiful, I know, but I only harvested the garden when I was growing up and never participated in the planning. That was taken care of by the women, because at the time of year we were busy with the livestock and making sure the fences didn't need mending or replacing, and we had a considerable amount of fencing to keep them segregated.