Playing with Words 1.0

7 Sep

My favourite definition of writing is playing with words, but that doesn’t always mean that that’s what I’m doing. Sometimes I’m forcing the words out of my fingertips, sometimes I’m simply typing, sometimes I’m dancing on the keyboard. Writing can be done in many different ways, it can even be done in my head. Still, this blog post is about just one way of writing.

Playing with words.

What you write can be written in different ways. Usually this depends on the genre. You’d formulate your sentences in a YA book differently than when writing an epic fantasy. I’m still a firm believer in pretty words, though, and whether I write a cosy mystery or magical realism, I still like my words to take a warm, fuzzy blanket and settle down in the hearts of my readers. For beautiful prose I highly recommend reading 1Q84 by Haruki Murakami. He inspired me like a canon. It’s a BIG book so I wrote down my favourite quotes in a special notebook so that when I need that inspiration all I have to do is flick through it.

For now I’d like to show you how you can play with words. I asked my adorable Twitter followers for two extra topics and picked apples and horses, which I both read as poison apples and cowboy. These last two topics are a bit longer so I’ll post them separately. The gist of it is the following. I’ve written a paragraph or more about something, but I’ve done it twice. The first one is a more simplistic version, with some common writing ‘errors’ hidden in there, while the second one has prettier words and a better flow of sentences. I’m not saying the second version is perfect, because I wrote them all in five minutes, but the goal is to help you see what you can do with words and you might start writing/editing differently. Not everything that I’ve changed is necessarily wrong, a few things are preferences. Below is the first one:

I walked up to the pharmacy counter and leaned forward before the woman could ask me how she could help me. I whispered so softly that the woman had to ask me to repeat myself. I glanced back and whispered louder this time.

“Oh, of course,” the woman behind the counter said and disappeared for a moment. When she returned, she rang up the pregnancy test and slipped it into a bag.

I paid and hurried out of the pharmacy.


I strode up to the pharmacy counter and leaned forward before the pharmacist could even offer her assistance. The words streamed out of me in a mere whisper, so soft that it merely brushed against her ears.

“Come again?” the woman asked.

I glanced over my shoulder and the words broke from my lips more loudly this time.

“Oh, of course,” the pharmacist said and slipped out of sight momentarily. When she returned she rang up the pregnancy test and stowed it into a white plastic bag.

I paid, yanked the bag from the counter, and whirled out of the pharmacy.


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