Word: Cacography

cacography

[kuh-kog-ruh-fee]

noun

1. bad handwriting; poor penmanship.

2. incorrect spelling.

 

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                Ed wrung his hands nervously as Julie looked over his manuscript. He had put a lot of work into it, especially since he had handwritten everything. Sure, his wrist suffered from the extra effort, but it was worth it. At least, he thought it was.

                “So? How is it?” He asked.

                Julie’s forehead was scrunched up in a look of absolute focus. She nearly jumped when he asked his question. Ed hoped that was a good sign.

                “I’ll let you know as soon as I can read it.” She said.

                “But...you have been reading it. You’ve been reading it for the last half hour.”

                “Really? Only half an hour? It felt like longer.”

                Ed deflated. She hated it. That was the only explanation. She hated it and was having trouble getting through the pages.

                “Oh. That bad, huh?”

                “Oh yeah. The worst I’ve ever seen.”

                “Is...is there anything I can do to make it better?”

                “Yeah. Type it out. That’ll fix all the problems.”

                “What?”

                “Oh yeah, that’ll fix it for sure. I mean your handwriting is so bad I can barely tell where one word ends and another begins. Your g’s, p’s and q’s all look pretty much the same, your o’s, a’s and c’s may as well be the same letter. And those are just the letters that are similar in regular handwriting. How you made it so an m and a w are tough to tell apart I’ll never know, and yet you did.”

                “Oh, come on. It’s not that bad. I can read it just fine.”

                “That’s because you’re the one who wrote it. It might as well be a bunch of scribbles to everyone else. It might not read prescription scratch level, but it’s pretty damn close.”

                Ed looked at his manuscript. Sure, he didn’t have perfect handwriting, but he at least thought it was good enough to use. Although, if that was her biggest complaint, then maybe the actual contents were good?

                “Okay, so—“

                “And then there’s your spelling. I don’t know if its because I’m getting things wrong because of your handwriting, but damn. I know you’re not using spellchecker, but dictionaries still exist. If you don’t know how to spell a word, look it up instead of guessing.”

                “That...that’s not important for a first draft, Julie. What about the contents? The actual story.”

                “Well, I’ve only gotten to the first, like, ten pages because I have to keep figuring out what each word says, but I think it’s okay.”

                “Really?”

                “Yeah, but it’s hard to know for sure. Type it out, then give it to me. That way I’ll be able to read it instead of guessing what you wrote for every other word.”

                She slid the bundle of papers back to him. He looked at the papers that he had put so much effort into. On a second look, he supposed he could see what she meant about being nearly illegible. But if that was her biggest issue with it, he could live with that. Hopefully she would like it when she could read it.

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

Showing your finished draft to someone is nerve wracking. Is it good? Is it bad? Did you just waste weeks, or even months, on something that nobody will want to read? Of course, getting a test reader is just the next step in the process. After that comes the second draft.  

Word: Cherub

cherub

[cher-uhb]

noun

plural

cherubs, cherubim 

1. (in the Bible) a celestial being.

2. Theology.,  a member of the second order of angels, often represented as a beautiful rosy-cheeked child with wings.

3. a beautiful or innocent person, especially a child.

4. a person, especially a child, with a sweet, chubby, innocent face.

 

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                Allan was dating an angel. He had always thought that, but in a metaphorical sense, but ten minutes ago, he found that it was very literal. He was currently sitting on the living room couch next to Molly. Her large, white wings were folded up neatly behind her back. Luckily, she did not glow, nor did she seem to have a halo.

                “So ... how much of the various religious texts are real?” He asked. It was not what he really wanted to ask, but it was as good a starting point as any.

                “Very little.” She replied. “For one thing, I’m not some dead person who got to heaven, and I wasn’t created by a deity. We’re real, living creatures. I have parents, siblings. All that good stuff. Maybe I’ll introduce you to them one of these days.”

                Allan was not about to comment on meeting her parents. That was a whole different discussion, regardless of her species. “Huh, okay. So, God?”

                “Nope. Well, I guess the head of our leadership council has a title that could loosely be translated as ‘deity,’ but that’s about it.”

                “What about different types of angels?”

                “Different types?”

                “Yeah, like cherubs, seraphs and all that stuff.”

                “Ah, got it.” She shifted around a bit on the couch. Her wings almost hit him. The feathers did brush against his arm. They were a lot stiffer than he would have thought. “Let’s see, cherubs are just what we call our babies, so those are certainly real. Then there are seraphim and archangels. Although, those are complicated, and seraphs aren’t even angels. They’re basically light elementals we outfit in special armor.”

                “Okay, what? Light elementals?”

                “Oh sure. All kinds of elementals exist. We have a bit of a relationship with the light variety, for obvious reasons.” As she said those last words, her eyes began to glow a golden light. Whatever she was doing, she ended quickly. “Don’t worry, outfitting them in seraph armor doesn’t hurt them. Actually, they like it.”

                “They do? How do you know? Can they talk?”

                “The oldest and most powerful can. They say the seraph armor feels really good and supplies them with more power than they’d be able to gain on their own. So yeah, that’s the seraphim. Archangels are more complicated. That’s going to need a lot of background stuff and all kinds of explanations. But for now, the super simple answer is that they’re elevated angels.”

                “I’ll take your word for it. So, what about the other kinds? I can pull up a list if you don’t know.”

                She chuckled. “Maybe later. For now, I’m wondering how you’re holding up. I mean, you’re taking this a lot better than I thought you would be. I expected a much more, uh, dramatic reaction.”

                “Oh, I am barely keeping it together. I expect once you’re gone, I’ll probably collapse into a senseless pile as my entire worldview collapses down around me.”

                “Got it. If you want, I can stay longer to delay that. You know, give you more time to mentally process and hopefully not have a mental breakdown.”

                “That’s...probably a good idea.” He paused for a few seconds. There were so many questions running through his mind. Topics both big and small, important and irrelevant. He was not sure why he asked the next question, only that’s what his mind landed on. “So, do you call them cherub pictures?”

                Molly snorted, then burst out laughing. It was a good sound. Maybe he could deal with having a literally angelic girlfriend. Once he got over the fact that angels existed to begin with anyway.

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

Honestly, I have no idea if I ended this at a good place. A conversation like this can last a long time. Way too long for a story of this length. So yeah, hopefully this is a good enough ending point. 

Word: Intelligentsia

intelligentsia

[in-tel-i-jent-see-uh, -gent-]

plural noun

1. intellectuals considered as a group or class, especially as a cultural, social, or political elite.

 

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               Victor had finally made it. After all the study, all the preparation, he had finally made it to the Halls. All those years of effort had been worth it. Now he would no longer have to deal with the corruption and political games of the outside world. Here, everyone was a scholar. Here, everyone was intelligent, studious, and beyond such petty things.

               “You there! Hold on.” Someone called. Victor stopped, making sure he was the one being addressed. A middle aged man wearing large grey robe with silver trim approached. “You wouldn’t happen to be the new entrant, would you?”

               “Yes, sir, I am. Victor Nesserin, newly appointed scholar of the first rank.”

               “Excellent. In that case it’s perfect timing on both our parts. I am Christoff, scholar of the fifth rank. I’ll be your mentor for your first year here. I’m in charge of showing you around, ensuring your know the rules, and ensuring your time here is spent productively.”

               Victor stood a little straighter. A fifth rank scholar was to be his mentor? That was beyond his expectations. He knew he would get one, but he was expecting a second, or maybe a third rank if he was lucky. But a fifth? That was incredible.

               “It’s an honor to be in your care, sir.” He said with a slight bow.

               “I’m sure.” Christoff replied. “By the way, I was surprised to see someone from the Nesserin family applying to be a scholar. Your family has always been better known for military excellence.”

               Victor winced. He was hoping nobody would bring up his family. “Yes, well, I was never the combat type. I always did better in the library than the battlefield. Oh my father wanted to get me to study military tactics, hoping I would serve the national war machine that way, but I hated every minute of it.”

               “Ah, I see. So you came here hoping to turn your mind to other, less destructive pursuits. A noble goal, to be sure. Just don’t try and use your family to get anything extra.”

               There was something about the man’s choice of words. Something that felt off. It was nothing that Victor could immediately place, but something inside told him to be warry.

“Sir, that’s one of the reasons I came to the Halls.”

               “Good. Let’s be off then. This is a large facility, and you have much to learn.”

               Victor nodded. Both of them turned to leave the entry hall. As they went, another group approached. Three men, two wearing robes with black trim and another with the same silver that Christoff wore. Victor could guess the trim was a sign of rank, with silver being fifth. Black must be lower, but he not know which. The two fifth ranks spoke for a moment. Victor listened in, but most of the conversation was just small talk.

               “By the way, thank you for the…help in the…issues I had.” The other man said.

               “Of course. We must always give aide when we can. Although you must understand that the help I rendered did not come easily.”

               “Naturally. I would expect nothing less.”

               From out of the man’s robes came a small coin pouch. Christoff palmed the coins, slipping it into his own sleeve. Victor’s eyes widened. He knew a bribe when he saw one. But that could not be right. The scholars of the Halls were supposed to be beyond such things. The other group moved along.

               “Sir, what was that?”

               “That? A conversation between peers. Nothing more.”

               “But, sir—”

               “Nothing. More. Understand, Victor?”

               “Yes, sir. I understand perfectly.”

               It seemed like even the most learned men in the world could not escape the same problems that plagued the rest of the world. What that meant for him, he would have to find out on his own.

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Smart people are still people, which means they can still suck. They're just smarter about it.