Notes From an Amateur Writer #31
THE SQUIGGLY RED UNDERLINE OF DEATH
This Blog series is an exercise in creative writing. Sometimes expressed in short story forms, sometimes as a journal, or just my thoughts written down. This is my attempt to help coalesce my writing ideas and knowledge into usable form. It is a nursery of sorts for the stories that are on their way, or yet to be written.
The Weird Way I Spell
The squiggly red underline keeps on following me around. Reminding me that my spelling can be atrocious at times. Although I think that perhaps it has more to do with the fact that I think quicker than I can write. I don't know short hand, never took the time to learn it. My long hand was always bad enough. Why create a code to obfuscate what already appeared at times to be undecipherable?
Which brings me back to the squiggly red underline. What is it telling me when there are no replacement word suggestions for that word that I have spelt incorrectly? Have I butchered it that badly?
That red line doesn't exist when I write directly into my journal. It doesn't intrude on the perfectly manicured grasp of the English language I have fooled myself into believing that I have. Apart from the illegible scribble that floats across the pages. Would short hand help me with my scribble? Shorter scribble perhaps? At least then it would take less time to reach the conclusion that I can't read my own hand writing. Or code writing. Or whatever it is that sits on the page staring back at me. Taunting me with its hieroglyphics.
In My Day
I keep getting nostalgic for the times when I never used to be nostalgic.
I used to have nice hand writing. At its worse you could still describe it as readable. I remember those days. They weren't that long ago. Okay, probably pre-computers. The stone age. Well at least I could write like a human being back in those days. Now it's all tappity-tap-tap. And that's fine I suppose. Time keeps moving forward. We keep evolving. Things change. Except men. I think us men all end up grumpy and complaining about how things used to be. I'm just embracing my grumpiness. Getting in early (not that early, some would say).
Now all I have to do is figure out how to evade that squiggly red underline of death.
The Inside of Weirdness
Wierd. That is how you spell that I word. I know it is. Squiggly red line appears. Taunting me with its know it all attitude. I look up the word myself, my trust in the red line's accuracy shattered from years of abuse. I check Google. Google knows everything. Google is my friend.
Wierd. What? Why is it asking me Did you mean: weird? Have I been spelling it incorrectly all this time? No, not possible. Is it?
Self doubt? Where did you come from?
And you call yourself a writer?
I am a writer. Google is wrong. Micrososft Word is wrong. I am correct.
Aren't I?
Goddamn squiggly red underline of death.
All images used with permission, and sourced from Unsplash.com.
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@naquoya
Short Fiction:
Bang Bang You're Dead
I Have No Name and I Must Scream
The Last Book Store
The Judge
The Man In The Mirror
The End of the World [Part 1] [Part 2]
The Locked Room
The Gods of Love and War [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]
Crossroads
Heart's a Mess
Blasphemous
Jonathan and the Dance of the Leaves