the diction of my fiction
Did anyone ever see that Law & Order: SVU episode where the pedophile is a woman who raped the young boy in a bathroom stall because she had a tumor in her brain? Except that Elliot and Olivia only found out about the rape because they took a look at the hidden cameras that were found in the bathroom stalls of the public restrooms. The cameras were put there by a urophiliac* who watched people urinate and then journaled the exact color, to the pigment, of people's various urine. At one point, Detective Munch reads from a journal entry, incriminating the urophiliac, by quoting the words, "marigold yellow."
That's always stayed with me. I don't know why. Urophilia is such a perverse topic--though is it, really? only if you want it to be, I suppose, and I've seen much more perverse things in fic--so I can't be sure if it's because of or in spite of this that I've found beauty in those words, marigold yellow. The topic is not something you'd like to read about if you're on my flist, that's for sure. (Which is to say, sorry, I hope your computer screens and keyboards are still clean from soft drinks and that your spluttering hasn't made you choke.)
About a month or so ago, I was walking out to the car and found the weather to be very crisp. I looked up at the sky, and I thought: "Opal blue."
How does a writer think? How does a poet think? I wouldn't really know, I'm only a poetaster, but I've always felt, after thinking something that sounded beautiful, the gravity of what I'd just thought, turning my phrases over in my mouth as one would hard candy. I told clocklike that I'm always jarred, almost physically, when people use the right words to describe something. Diction. Maybe it's because I always have words on the tip of my tongue, but I can never quite reach them, and when I do, they're almost always what I didn't intend, one syllable or another off, yielding a different word.
Could it be fiction? asks Ebony.
My, what a strange word you've used.
*This is actually not a word. What to describe people who enjoy urophilia? I'm not sure. I looked in the dictionary, but...
That's always stayed with me. I don't know why. Urophilia is such a perverse topic--though is it, really? only if you want it to be, I suppose, and I've seen much more perverse things in fic--so I can't be sure if it's because of or in spite of this that I've found beauty in those words, marigold yellow. The topic is not something you'd like to read about if you're on my flist, that's for sure. (Which is to say, sorry, I hope your computer screens and keyboards are still clean from soft drinks and that your spluttering hasn't made you choke.)
About a month or so ago, I was walking out to the car and found the weather to be very crisp. I looked up at the sky, and I thought: "Opal blue."
How does a writer think? How does a poet think? I wouldn't really know, I'm only a poetaster, but I've always felt, after thinking something that sounded beautiful, the gravity of what I'd just thought, turning my phrases over in my mouth as one would hard candy. I told clocklike that I'm always jarred, almost physically, when people use the right words to describe something. Diction. Maybe it's because I always have words on the tip of my tongue, but I can never quite reach them, and when I do, they're almost always what I didn't intend, one syllable or another off, yielding a different word.
Could it be fiction? asks Ebony.
My, what a strange word you've used.
*This is actually not a word. What to describe people who enjoy urophilia? I'm not sure. I looked in the dictionary, but...