Some of these posts are about writing and some are just about conversations that came up over beers one night; today is more of the latter.
It does tie in reasonably well to yesterday’s post, at least — like names, first words are something that all of us have, and that we sometimes read more meaning into than we should. They’re less useful for a writer to obsess about endlessly in terms of characterization, I grant. But maybe we ought to. Just for example…
- My (older) brother’s first word, in the blissful, pressure-free environment of the only child, was apparently a dreamy mumble of “tree!” This is still the sort of thing my brother is likely to stare off into space and mumble happily, depending on his chemical state.
- I, on the other hand, inaugurated my verbal era with a firm declaration of “Mine!”, presumably to my brother.
- O Best Beloved, always the overachiever, leapt straight into fully-formed ideas with “Go pool!” rather than trying one word at a time like the rest of us.
- And my personal favorite will always be a good and dear friend whose grandmother introduced her to shopping therapy at a very young age, and whose first word was “Nordy’s!” (for “Nordstrom’s,” of course). Given that her summer camp had its own yacht (but not a very big one, she assures us), I’d say that one was prophetic too.
So that’s one of those stories that just about everyone has, but aren’t necessarily useful in any sort of creative-writing sense. Oh well. They’re still fun to share, right?