This is the last time I’ll be doing any kind of entry and labeling it “Part One” or “Part Two.” It’s becoming a new cliché of its own. Doesn’t it just mean I was too lazy to finish a blog entry in one sitting?
Here are some more things you need to stop writing, saying, even thinking. Don’t ever think of these words again.
Craning a Neck: As in “The man craned his neck to get a better view of the crack of his plumber’s tender bottom.” Is a crane the only animal you can think of for this metaphor? Is the crane the only animal we can ever use? Can a plumber have a tender bottom?
Using “Super” as an adverb: I don’t care that you were “super-excited” to hear about the new gym opening up in town, and I don’t want to hear how “super-sorry” you are that I didn’t get the job. Using super as an adverb makes you sound super-stupid. Just use ‘fucking.’ It sounds more American.
Using the word “Uber”: See above.
That Being Said: This one’s a gem. “I’m not going to give your proposal my endorsement; that being said, I’m still willing to listen to your ideas in the future.” Can’t you just say “however” or “nevertheless” or something else besides “that being said”? If you’re using this in your fiction, you’re going to force future linguists to label us “dumbasses.” If you must use it, try “You’re an idiot; that being said, I just called you an idiot.”
Voracious Readers: The only kind of habitual reader, apparently, is a voracious one. When you use “voracious,” I think you are lazy and that your brain is asleep. Instead say: I tried my best to get along with him, but he’s a voracious asshole. Stop typecasting voracious.
Naming Your Child Liam: My cousin named her beautiful son Liam; my neighbors around the corner, the only ones my wife and I feel truly comfortable around, have a little boy named Liam. That’s it. No more. Don’t pick Jack, David, or Ben either.
Being At Work on Your First Novel: As in “Susan Morgan Frederickson-Smith writes and sips jasmine tea in her studio on the southern coast of Maine. She’s at work on her first novel…” Yeah, yeah, yeah. Honey, we’re all at work on our first novel.
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You could devote countless entries on the cliches of babynaming practices. My least favorite is the “my child needs a stand-out name,” begetting an entire cohort of Clementines and Boo Radleys and Apples. Honestly, not everyone is destined to play wide receiver for the NFl, or be a hooker, for that matter.
Fuck you and your anti-super hate.
Super dash anything is great writing.
Super-cool?
Super-awesome?
That being said, I will use those words as I crane my neck to read voraciously about working on my first novel, a sweet little work entitled “Uber-Liam and the Legion of Super-Heroes.”
The absolute gentleman has been upstaged by a comic-book geek. Uber-geek, actually.
I agree, yet ’super’ becomes a strange hybrid animal when used in another language, for example the spanish “super-bien”, or if you’re going french “hyper-bien”. Who cares if those nationalities never actually say those things anymore! It gives them legitimacy.
Be careful, one of your advisees is a big fan of using “super” as an adverb. (I hope you can figure out which one I’m talking about, think “super-cute!!”.)
I hate the word “uber” with a passion.
My cousin’s name is Ben, haha.
This is really dope, son.
But what if something is both “super [adjective]” and “fucking [adjective]“? Like if I think your thoughts on the new cliches are super fucking awesome, is that better or worse than just being super-awesome? Please give this matter careful consideration.
Super duper blog!
“Honey, we’re all at work on our first novel.”
Friggin’ hell - now that was funny.
I’m working on my first novel as we speak. In fact this is it.
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