Words

Rudy discovered someone named Phil Landry wrote 175, 154 words in June. Rudy had only written 124,897. Rudy prided himself on pounding out more words than anyone. There was only one solution--less sleeping and eating, more writing.
At 6am next morning he attacked his laptop, ripping off page after page. His novel focused on flesh eating bacteria that eat nails and hair too.
Officials visited representing The Word Count Institute and were impressed. At this rate he would clear 200000 words in July.They shook his hand and he assured them there was more to come.
One fellow agreed, but mentioned the writing itself was sloppy and cliche ridden. Rudy shook his head. Long ago, he said, I learned from a wise man that none of that means anything. Snappy covers and titles are paramount. He held up a book by Joe Del Priore. This is my God, he said. Some of his words were actually two syllables.

Words to Live By

I smell gas
Get away from that ditch
That is not a squirrel, Bobby
When I squat something leaks
Son, that's a power saw
Let's talk this out officer
That thing sure has lots of suction
I told you to flush twice
Hiccups are not a means of communication
Belches are borderline language
Compound fractures build character
Writers should do less talking and more listening
How many celebrities did you outlive this year?

Children at Play

My words are my children and I am a lazy, permissive parent, allowing them too much playtime. They lose focus, lack gravitas, remain undisciplined.
My neighbor Lucretia seldom lets her words out to play. When she does, it is strictly supervised. She won't allow hers to play with mine, fearing they will be a bad influence. Needless to say, she has a book contract and I do not.
Despite all their running free, I notice some of my words are getting flabby. While Lucretia's words do calisthenics, mine are huffing and puffing on cigarettes. I think she feeds hers illegal supplements, foreign phrases no one can translate.
To keep some semblance of order, I invite my friend Ernie over. He is a more responsible word parent than me. He cracks the whip and they stand at attention. Neither of us has much use for Lucretia. It wouldn't surprise me if more than a few of her words cracked under pressure.
Some of them might even descend into--gasp--song lyrics.

Idle Words

Wally had too many words. He stored excess ones in a Tupperware container. Basically, he stuck with the same army of words in all his writing. When he occasionally opened the container looking for a new one, they all vied for his attention.
One time he left the cover ajar and some sneaked out, wandering around the neighborhood, inserting themselves into strangers' conversations. Words like coagulate and occipital.
One day, when Wally hit a wall and couldn't write, he retreated to his stash of ignored words, seeking assistance. To his surprise they refused to participate. They had unionized. Demanded at least 60 days of use during the year, especially the multi-syllable ones.
Wally gave in. His vocabulary increased, his sentences became longer, more elegant. Reviews of his work were glowing.
Unfortunately, his old words that got him his start, felt neglected. They became disconsolate, idly hanging around street corners, drunk, slovenly, useless. If you want to be a writer and need some words, go outside and look around. It won't take long to find them.