I am a word freak, a language maven, a…a vocabularist. Okay, so maybe vocabularist isn’t actually a real word, but it should be because it describes me to a T. Last week, my pal/fellow editor/writer, Mae, came up to the lake to spend part of my writing week with me. We wrote and talked and read and talked and ate and talked and drank wine and talked and…well, you get the picture. One thing Mae and I share is a love of words. We are both fascinated with language and how we use it, especially unusual or quirky terms. Yesterday, she sent me this note referencing something she’d read in…

I’m staying at the lake this week and my intention is to write. No more jotting down ideas on the backs of envelopes or making hurried notes across a scratch pad while I’m doing a quick laundry switch in between editing gigs. No more working out dialogues between my characters by talking into my little DVR while I’m throwing something into the crock pot before heading upstairs to work on someone else’s books. No more feeling deprived because my focus is on fixing other writer’s work instead of writing myself.  I’ve worked my rather ample behind off all summer (although sadly, it’s still there–don’t you wish when we say we…