milksop: an unmanly man; a mollycoddle (pampered or effeminate boy or man)
Origins: Literally meaning “bread soaked in milk.” Chaucer was one of the earliest to use milksop to refer to an unmanly man. The modern version of milksop is milquetoast, taken from a timid comic strip character named Caspar Milquetoast.
Snollygoster: an unprincipled, but shrewd person. The origin of this word is unknown, but it was used to refer to dirty politics in 19th century America. One newspaper editor referred to a snollygoster as “a fellow who wants office regardless of party, platform or principle.”
Richard has not yet played a politician, honest or otherwise, but I do think this word could apply to our smooth criminal, John Mulligan. Definitely intelligent and definitely possessing fluid morals.
Vasey was always hurling insults at our poor Gizzy, the sheriff’s favorite whipping boy.
Here’s a good insult Guy could have used to describe his loathsome employer.
Cockalorum: A boastful and self-important person; a strutting little fellow.
Screencaps courtesy of RANet
Well, I accomplished one of my goals for today. I got some sleep, and in a nice comfy bed instead of a hard desk. Poor Mr. Thornton.
The phone didn’t ring once (a rarity here), all remained quiet and peaceful. I was pretty much out like a light for close to ten hours. Perhaps that was a suggestion I really needed it?
My brain felt rested enough to go back to work on my novel, which meant not only writing but more double-checking for historical accuracy re my collection of reference books and various websites. I am not a historian, of course, and certain things I am having trouble verifying ( I would go and choose to set the novel in 1750 instead of a more popular period for historical romances, but then I am hard-headed that way) but I did take some steps forward.
More than 500 more words completed along with some re-writing to (hopefully) improve other passages. I feel as I have made progress and that is a satisfying, uplifting experience. As if I am not beating my head against a brick wall, but actually peeking around it, and, to further mix my metaphors, there is light at the end of the tunnel.
I don’t think I actually get writer’s block so much as I get subject block. I mean, I can write pretty much any old time about something; I wrote professionally for ten years and let’s say it becomes a habit. I like to write, I need to write; I have to write.
I have a charming “Writing Muse” my sister (she of the Orange Beach condo) gave me as a gift. And it looks just like this:
There is a quote on it from the late author James A. Michener:
I love writing. I love the swing and swirl of words as they tangle with human emotions.
I like to say that line out loud. There is a wonderful rhythm to the words as you speak. I would love to hear Mr. A, my beloved muse, read that quote in his rich, warm, earthy voice of chocolate and velvet.
I love Mr. Armitage’s acting. I love the subtle nuances of each lingering glance, each sigh, each flicker of a lush-lashed eyelid and each bob of an Adam’s-apple in that gloriously swan-like neck. The mobile mouth with its amazing ability to smirk, smile, sneer, snarl and howl.
I love it when Richard speaks with words, and without them. But as a reader, a narrator and actor, I am certain he loves words, written and spoken. Words, I suspect, make him happy, too.
Thank you, dear Richard, for inspiring me. You are a wonderful storyteller. And I am trying to be.