What Words Mean to Me
by
Jayne Jaudon Ferrer

My son got me the world’s best bumper sticker for Christmas. It’s a drawing of a pen, with the words “My Weapon of Choice” underneath. Isn’t that cool? And it is so true. I’m not worth two cents at confrontation, but I can slice and dice you up one side and down the other with a pen . . . or a keyboard.

I discovered the joy of words early in life; by four I was reading, by six I was writing stories, by nine I had my first newspaper byline. I fully expect to die with a pen (or a keyboard) in my hand. It’s what I do. It’s who I am. I swear there is tangible joy that comes with plucking just the right word from my brain, orgasmic bliss that descends when I achieve syllabic nirvana in a sentence. Conversely, poorly written words or words used incorrectly make me physically flinch. Contrary to popular belief, I do not red pen my friends’ misspelled or grammatically incorrect e-mails, and I do not love them any less for their errors, but I do notice.

Words deserve attention more for their power than their purpose, however. How intriguing that such simple little squiggles can so easily ignite our emotions! Packed into those round, squat vowels and hard, perpindicular consonants is enough dynamite to launch love affairs, end marriages, incite revenge, close bank accounts, and thwart promising careers. One of my favorite word stories is a tale told by hug hero Leo Buscaglia. As a youth traveling Europe, he sent home a one word telegram: “Starving!” His parent back home responded, “Starve!” Much went unsaid in those terse missives, but the message (on both sides!) was undeniably clear.

This week I worked with children in Vacation Bible School to help them craft “encouragement cards” for homeless people. The children needed a bit of guidance in grasping exactly what they could write that might mean something to strangers. Once they understood the concept, though, the words they offered up were potent. One little boy wrote, “Are you scared? It’s okay. God is with you.” I was able to use those same, nine, simple words a day later to comfort a family member whose son was facing serious surgery. Simple, simple words conveying a powerfully comforting thought.

As a poet, I’m picky about words. I rarely settle for the general, preferring instead to sift through sundry prospects to find that PERFECT word. It’s there; you just have to dig for it. And for me, the digging is part of the fun—rolling all those possibilities around on my tongue, checking the dictionary for nuanced meanings, consulting my thesaurus for a better fit . . . I try on words the way other women try on shoes: Nice, but a little too out there. Cute, but not very comfortable. And, like shoes, a few well-chosen words can do wonders for one's literary wardrobe. Upscale, down home, techno jargon, trash . . . if shoes make the man, then words make the writer. How we weave those words together determines everything from who reads us to which of us thrives to write another day.

A former classmate commented recently that she wished my favorite teacher was alive to see where words have taken me. I do, too. My passion for words began at my birth, but it was Bill Ferguson, my seventh-grade English teacher, who kindled the fire and dared me to build an inferno. I've always hoped I might inspire some young person the way he inspired me. So today, when the ten-year-old daughter of a friend shyly confessed to me that she is writing a book, I had to smile. And I wondered if Mr. Ferguson was watching.

Jayne Jaudon Ferrer is the author of four books and lives in Greenville, South Carolina.

Learn more about her at http://www.jaynejaudonferrer.com/.