Pam Webb

a writer's journey as a reader

Word Nerd Confessions: August

This month’s offerings contain a shared element. Can you guess it?

And to continue:

Did you detect the shared element? Pop in your guess in the comments and I shall reveal after the first correct guess.

Now let’s go for some creative lexiconnery. Your challenge is to devise a sentence (or two) with all of the featured vocabulary. Sure you can do it. Fine, I’ll give it a whirl to start things off.

“My marvelous mavourneen,” Gladys gushed to her husband, the honorable Mayor Cecil Pettigord. “That stemwinder you delivered to the city council on raising parking fines certainly proved your bailiwick for speeches. My darling, it was a regular apotheosis, an opuscule of rhetoric genius.”

The honorable mayor harrumphed in false modesty, little realizing the council, and especially the up and coming reporter of the council meeting beat, considered the mayoral paroxysm to be one of bathos, a jumble of political galmatias, and proved the mayor was merely an ignominy, even a nudnik as an elected official.

Now, it’s your turn. All ten words. You can do it.

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12 thoughts on “Word Nerd Confessions: August

  1. Hear ye folk, of ill-repute or non, mine apotheosis of addresses; my distinction of discourse. Though some (certainly ne’er a mavourneen maid amongst them) claim my attempts to be opuscule, they err. Those propronents of ignominy; those revelers in bathos; those political philistines of the most apparent maculations -compare my speech to a stemwinder, a galmatias lecture fit only for the peeling halls of second-rate colleges and uneducated but wealthy donors to such. Those nudniks may scoff as they wish, clearly stinging from association with the very groups they insult (from which they received their current offices, as well).
    I, however, will continue to demonstrate, as first I promised, the far-reaching boundaries of my professional bailiwick. And though my critics may never collapse in a paroxysm of delight from intentional witticisms or random repartee,
    they still would find diversion enough if they applied their efforts to an actual attendance instead of a ready offense.

  2. Once I met a nudnik named Gus whose particular bailiwick was twist tie collecting—a passion so marginal that his eight-page pamphlet, “Twist And Shout,” a opuscule literary effort by any objective standard, is considered the apotheosis on the subject.

    My wife and I accidentally caught his speech when we wandered into the wrong reception room at the Tampa Bay Holiday Inn. Oh, what a stemwinder it was! Actually, it was a raging, rambling galimatais about how the oh-so-evil plastic bread clip is turing the twist tie into an endangered species.

    Since I am the president of Bread Clip Corp., the world’s largest bread clip manufacturing concern, I had no patience for Gus’s mawkish bathos. I leaned over to my wife and said “Excuse me, mavourneen, but I must get out of here. For if I hear one more syllable of bread clip slander, I shall fly into a paroxysm of rage and twist that man’s neck like the pathetic twist ties he so loves.”

  3. I’m so dazzled by your eloquent delivery I didn’t proofread!

  4. I’m glad to hear you admit that. I’m always imagining your red pen hovering over my stuff when you read it. I have breathed a sigh of reprieve.

  5. Great choices all.

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