Wednesday, November 28, 2018


A few years ago, I took a college creative writing class. The teacher wasn't remarkable... except for one reason.

He argued with me in class once about a "made up word" in one of my poems I'd turned in--for which he'd marked me down for.

I argued that the word was NOT made up and I could prove it. Luckily (or maybe unluckily), we were just coming into the age of smart phones and I was able to pull up the definition of the word to prove my point.

"Just because you find something on the internet does not make it accurate," says my college professor as I seethe.

So, the following week, I brought the largest, heaviest dictionary I could find, dropped it on his desk, turned to the page, and proved to him that my word was real.

His response?

An eye roll.

And he didn't adjust my grade, either.

I never took another creative writing class because of that man and I hate that I missed out on developing my craft a bit more.

But, I have tried to have a little bit of revenge.

Well, not that he knows about it, of course, but it's my own inside, private little middle finger.  In just about every single book I've ever written is that "made up" word--a word I find suits erotic romance very well.

Who wouldn't want to be ensorcelled by a lover...

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