Word: Nodus

nodus

[noh-duh s]

noun, plural nodi

[noh-dahy, -dee]

1. a difficult or intricate point, situation, plot, etc.

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              “I don’t get it.” Ken said as he looked over the loose sheets of paper.

               “What’s wrong?” Julie asked. 

She peered over Ken’s shoulder as he read.  He was looking at a section of her manuscript that was towards the end.  It was, essentially the big reveal, where everything else came together and all the questions were answered.  It wasn’t quite the climax, but led directly to it.

                “Well, it’s kind of, I don’t know, confusing.”

                “How so?”

                “It’s really complicated.  Like, really, overly complicated.  I just can’t follow it.”

                Julie was horrified.  She felt it was all perfectly clear, but if a smart guy like Ken couldn’t understand what she had wrote, how could anyone else?  She nearly tore the page out of his hands and furiously read what she had written, hoping to find the places that could be confusing.  But alas, her bias as the author prevented her from seeing it.

                “Where?  Which part?” She asked.

                “All of it.  The antagonist’s entire plot is really overly complicated and confusing.  And now that he’s explaining it all, I just think ‘huh?’  You need to simplify pretty much everything.”

                That was a daunting task.  The book was over three hundred pages long, and the build up for the reveal was scattered across the entire thing. 

                “I…I don’t think I can do that.” She said.  “I worked really hard on making his plan, and how it would all fit together with everything that happens.”

                “Yeah, that might be the problem, actually.  Does his plan have to touch everything?  I mean, some things can happen just because they happen, and he just takes advantage of it, you know?”

                “Okay, fine.  But if I make it too simple, won’t it be easy for the reader to predict what’s going on?”

                “Depends.  You don’t have to make it super obvious, just simpler than what you have.  Cut out the extraneous parts and just keep the really important sections.  Like the it about the train and the trucks.  That’s good.  You can keep that.  But then the computer things?  Those aren’t really important to what he’s trying to do as I understand it.  I guess you might think differently, but still.  Just think about what he’s trying to accomplish and keep the parts of the plan that directly lead up to that goal.  Those things that are made to hinder people or something like that can go.”

                “I see.” Julie thought about what Ken was saying.

                She took another look at the page in question.  Suddenly, it was obvious.  Everything Ken was talking about became painfully obvious to her, and she saw that more than half of what she had written could be changed drastically, or cut entirely.

                “I think I get it.” She said.  “But there’s things I really like, but aren’t directly a part of his goal.  I don’t want to lose those.”

                “Then don’t.  They can still be a part of the story, just in a different way.  Like I said, it could be something unexpected that he just takes advantage of.”

                “Sounds hard.  I’ll have to change a lot of stuff if I do that.”

                “Yeah, but that’s all part of the process.  Nobody said writing a book would be easy, you know.”

                “That’s true.”  She paused for a few seconds before saying anything else, “So, are there any other things that I need to change?” 

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The second draft is hard.  It really is. You have to take something you worked hard to write, and then completely change almost everything about it in some way.  It kind of sucks, but it has to be done.  If the world lacked second drafts, just about everything ever written would suck.

Word: Lucubrate

lucubrate

[loo-kyoo-breyt]

verb (used without object), lucubrated, lucubrating.

1. to work, write, or study laboriously, especially at night.

2. to write learnedly.

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                Dr. Tellman hunched over the desk.  He scribbled furiously on a sheet of paper, and then looked up to one of the man books scattered haphazardly around his desk.  His eyes darted around the page, desperately looking for what he needed.  The words seemed to blur and run together as he read.  He forced his tired eyes away from the page.  He pushed up his glasses to rub the sleep from them before returning to his task.

                “Are you still working?” A voice asked. Dr. Tellman ignored the speaker.  He wasn’t in the mood to deal with his colleague.  “That isn’t healthy.  You should really go home and get some sleep.”

                “No.  I can keep going.”

                The speaker moved to Dr. Tellman’s side.  The man, Dr. Fisher, looked at what Dr. Tellman was working on and sighed.  “You aren’t going to find a solution when you’re in such a bad state, you know.  It’ll probably do more harm than good.”

                “I have to keep going.  I don’t have enough time to rest, you know that.”

                “Yes, yes, I know.  But you won’t do her any good like this.  Look, if you haven’t found a cure now, you never will.  But if you go home and sleep, you can come back, refreshed, and ready with fresh eyes.”

                “But what if something happens while I’m sleeping?”

                “Then something happens.  That won’t change just because you got some shut eye.  Besides, this disease is slow.  It won’t suddenly get worse in a few hours.”

                Dr. Tellman knew his colleague was right.  His wife’s illness wasn’t something he could cure in a night, and it would still be there, relatively unchanged, tomorrow.  Even knowing that, he couldn’t just leave her.  The cure had yet to be discovered, but he was on the right track.  He knew it.  If he kept working, he might discover something that could save her life.  But if he went to sleep, he would lose his train of thought.  He would forget and the cure would be lost forever.

                “No.  No, I have to stay here.  I’m onto something, I know it.” Dr. Tellman said.

                “Any cure you’re about to find will be there tomorrow. And it’ll probably be easier to see.  You’ve taken lots of notes, right?  So then you won’t really lose anything by getting some rest.  It can only lead to good things.”  Dr. Fisher looked over the books his sleep deprived colleague was studying.  “Besides, you probably won’t find anything in those books.  They’re long out of date, and most of the information in them has been disproven.  If you weren’t so tired, you’d have seen that.”

                Dr. Tellman paused his writing to look over the book he had been using.  Some of them were older than he was.  He knew the information was useless, yet he couldn’t help but hope for something.  None of the newer, more accurate books held any hope anyway.

                “All right, fine.  I’ll...I’ll go home.” Dr. Tellman said.

                “Good, good.  You’ll feel better after a good night’s rest, I promise.”

                “But what if it doesn’t help?  What if I can’t find the cure in the morning?”

                “Ten your notes will help the next person.  And if they fail, they’ll help the next one, and the next one.  Who knows?  Medical science might never find the cure.  But the point is that we’re trying.  Your wife would understand that, wouldn’t she?”

                “I suppose so.”  Dr. Tellman stood and gave one last look at his stacks of books and papers.  Something at the bottom caught his eye.  “I have to clean up here, then I’ll go home.”

                “Alright.  Just make sure you’re not here when I arrive in the morning, okay?”

                “Of course not.”

                Dr. Fished slowly left the room, keeping an eye out to make sure Dr. Tellman was indeed cleaning his research material.  Once he was out of sight, Dr. Tellman sat back down and pulled the loose sheet of faded, yellowing paper out from under the pile of books.  It was much different than the others for a variety of reasons.  Dr. Tellman smiled.  Dr. Fisher had been right.  Medical science might never find a cure for his wife.  But there were other things in the world that might.
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 At a glance, curing all diseases might seem like a great, noble thing, but when you really think about it, it's not so great.  If every single illness in the world was cured, then so many things would go wrong.  Every single industry reliant on illnesses would all but disappear, leaving millions unemployed.  The human population would skyrocket, leaving so many issues with resources.  And those are only the things I can think of off the top of my head.  I'm sure people much smarter than me would be able to come up with more.

Word: Honorific

honorific

[on-uh-rif-ik]

adjective

1. Also, honorifical. doing or conferring honor.

2. conveying honor, as a title or a grammatical form used in speaking to or about a superior, elder, etc.

noun

3. (in certain languages, as Chinese and Japanese) a class of forms used to show respect, especially in direct address.

4. a title or term of respect.

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                The well dressed boy knocked lightly on the heavy wooden door before entering.  George wished he wouldn’t do that.  The whole point of knocking was to ask for entry, and yet the boy used it more like an announcement of his presence than anything else.  It was probably partially George’s fault though.  He was the one who insisted on keeping the door open in the first place.

                “M’lord, I have news.” The boy said.  George cringed.

                “What did you just say?” He asked.

                “I-I have news, sir.”  The boy repeated nervously.

                “No, no.  Before that.  What did you call me?”

                “M’lord?”

                “Yes, that.  Don’t call me that.  Ever.”

                “But…but m—“

                George turned and shot the boy a piercing glair.  The boy stopped talking immediately.

                “You must know by now I hate being called a lord.  It irks me.”

                “But, sir, it is your title.”

                “No, my title is not lord.  My title is Duke, and that’s no fault of mine, I assure you.  And before you get any ideas in that little head of yours, don’t call me duke either.  That irks me as well.”

                “But then, what shall I address you as?”

                “Well, I always did find my name to be a decent one.  Start with that.”

                The boy looked horrified.  “But…but for one such as me to call you by your name.  It would—“

                “Yes, yes, I know.  It would be a scandal.  A terrible thing that would result in you being banished.  Or something like that.  Am I right?”  The boy nodded.  “Well, frankly, I don’t care about any of that.  Besides, right now, there’s only two people here.  And since I’m the one telling you to call me by my name, you can be reasonably assured that you will not be lynched for it.”

                “But…but…”  The boy clearly was not convinced.

                “Look, if it makes you feel better, it’s not just you.  I ask all my employees to call me by my name.  I know it’s improper, but all those titles and honorifics just get to me.  I don’t like them and I doubt I ever will.  So, just call me by my name.”  The boy looked at his shoes and shuffled his feet.  “If it makes you feel better, you can still call me by my title in public.”

                “Yes…”  The boy paused.  His mouth contorted and shifted around before continuing. “George.”  He cringed, like he was expecting to be struck by lightning at any moment.

                “There, you see?  That wasn’t so hard, was it?  Oh, yes, you can answer freely.”

                “In that case, it was very hard.”

                “It’ll get easier, I assure you.  Now then, what was it you wanted?”

                The boy thought for a moment.  Whatever news he had brought had gotten lost in his young mind.  His eyes lit up when he remembered.

                “Oh, yes.  I have news, George.”

                George smiled at the boy’s use of his name.  “What is it then?”

                “You have received an invitation to the royal hunt.  The king himself wishes you to join him in three days at the royal palace for ox and deer hunting.”

                “Is that so?  Huh, imagine that.  I thought he’d never ask.  Too many people to invite, you know.  Well, I guess I’d better get ready.  Don’t want to keep Julian waiting, now do I?”  The boy’s eyes opened wide.  To mention the name of a duke was one thing, but the king?  That was very nearly blasphemous.  “Something wrong?  Oh, yes, of course.  You wouldn’t know, would you?  Our illustrious King Julian hates being called by titles and honorifics  even more that I do.  He’s just better at hiding it.”

************************************************

Pretty sure being called by a title all the time would get on my nerves after awhile as well.  I know it's important in some cases, but I can imagine it'd get annoying after hearing it enough times.

Word: Simoleon

simoleon

[suh-moh-lee-uh n]

noun, Slang.

1.

a dollar.

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                “So, how much did you pay for this again?”

                “One dollar.”

                “You’re kidding, right?”

                “Nope.”

                “Seriously?”

                “Yeah, seriously.  The guy only wanted a dollar for it.”

                “Wow.  That’s, um...”

                “Great, isn’t it?”

                “I was going to say suspicious, but yeah, that too.”

                “Suspicious how?”

                “Well, come on, you can’t tell me you didn’t have a problem paying a single dollar for that.  I mean, come on, it’s worth hundreds, at least.”

                “I think he was just being nice.”

                “No way.  There’s got to be something wrong with it.  Maybe it’s broken.”

                “No, it works just fine.  I tried it out before I bought it.”

                “Huh.  Weird.  Does it smell bad like cat pee or something?”

                “Smell for yourself.  It doesn’t have any weird smells.  It’s not falling apart either.”

                “Maybe it’s stolen?”

                “Nah.  If it was stolen, they guy would probably have wanted more than a buck for it.  I mean, it takes a lot of work to steal something like this, you know?  He’d probably have asked for at least a hundred if it was stolen goods.”

                “I…guess that’s kind of true.  But that still doesn’t change the fact that it’s suspicious.”

                “You’re just jealous, aren’t you?”

                “Wh-what?  Why would I be jealous?”

                “Because I got this for pretty much nothing, and you wish you’d have had that chance.”

                “No way. I wouldn’t have taken it, for one.”

                “Yeah, right.  Like you wouldn’t have jumped on this the first chance you had.”

                “No, I wouldn’t.  It’s just not right.   I mean, why would anyone sell this for a dollar?  I reeks of a scam.”

                “There’s no scam.  It was just a nice guy selling something for way less than it’s worth.”

                “Yeah, see, it’s that whole nice guy thing.  I don’t buy it.  Nobody’s that nice.”

                “Well, this guy was.”

                “I bet it’s bugged.  Like, there’s cameras and listening devices all around it, and it’ll pick up on everything you do so he can steal your identity or something.”

                “You know, I hadn’t actually thought of that.  I guess that’s a possibility.”

                “Yeah, and he only charged you a dollar so that he had more to steal one he got into your bank account.”

                “But then how would he do that?  I mean, it’s not like I’ll be saying my pin number out loud when I use it or anything.  And there’s no way I’ll be saying any passwords or my social or anything like that.”

                “Ever fill out a check around it?”

                “Uh, once or twice.”

                “There you go.  The checks have your account number on them.  Once he knows that, he has you.  Once he gets into your bank account, it’s all over.”

                “Oh come on, it can’t be that easy.  I mean, I just have to cover up the bottom numbers, right?”

                “You can’t have them covered up all the time you know.  Eventually, it’ll see those numbers, and if a camera happens to be pointed at it, you’re done.”

                “Wow.  That’s kind of scary.”

                “Kind of scary?  It’s downright terrifying.  You should get rid of this thing ASAP.”

                “But it’s so nice.”

                “Yeah, but your financial security could be at risk.  And besides, it’s not like you paid a lot for it.”

  ****************************************

The thing that they're talking about and the people who are talking are pretty much any object and any people you want them to be.  That's the fun of writing this kind of story.  It's as many stories as there are readers.