Unreary

This is my first attempt at vocabulary creation. Do you ever find yourself in a unique situation several times but it cannot be described with a single word? Do you feel that there should be such a word? Well, I did, and thus, I did this. This may or may not be an attempt at humor, feel free to take me lightly or seriously, however you wish 😀


image
Unreary

(un-ree-yer-y)
adjective

The worrying feeling that you may have made an error but when you come back to correct it, you discover that it has been correct all along.

Synonyms: none. (which is why I created this word)

Other word forms:

Unreariness (noun)
Unrearily (adverb)

Example sentences:

The sense of unreariness nagged at John all day long, only to be an unnecessary cause of stress when he discovered that he did remember to shut the windows that morning.


How did I do? I always get the sense of unreariness when I blog. Like I suddenly remembered a better way to phrase something on my blog while showering, then when I login to WordPress, I discover that it has already been phrased as such 😀
The word is actually a shortened version of unreasoned worry.

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Unreary

The Best Laid Plans

(C) MindloveMisery's Menagerie. Wordle Week 61, May 18, 2015. This photo brings you to the challenge page. Hosted by, MindloveMisery's Menagerie
(C) MindloveMisery’s Menagerie. Wordle Week 61, May 18, 2015. This photo brings you to the challenge page. Hosted by, MindloveMisery’s Menagerie

The Wordle Challenge #61 

  1. Prevalent
  2. Glib (readily fluent, often thoughtlessly, superficially, or insincerely so)
  3. Amble
  4. Choke
  5. Morass (any confusing or troublesome situation, especially one from which it is difficult to free oneself; entanglement; a marsh or bog)
  6. Cement
  7. Mesh
  8. Sonder (the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own.)
  9. Aquiver
  10. Gangway (a passageway, a narrow walkway)
  11. Shrinkage
  12. Court

Use at least 10 of the words to create a story or poem.
The words can appear in an alternate form.
Use the words in any order that you like.

Cyrus and Ralph were in a rather sticky situation, see. Ralph just blabbered to Joanna about Cyrus’s secret birthday surprise for her. Cyrus has gone through the most elaborate blueprints, planned the most detailed schedule right down to the second and designed the most ingenious surprise for his one true love. And he loved every second of doing it, especially with an image of Joanna’s face contorted into the expression of jubilant surprise floating at the fore of his mind. Now that was all ruined.

Cyrus sighed in regret and ran his hands though his hazel brown mesh of hair, a habit that he was unconscious of. Trust Cyrus to confide his plans to the glib fool that was his best friend. Oh well, it can’t be helped now. Fools were prevalent in today’s society. It’s purely coincidental that one had ruined his grand master-plan. And he mustn’t blame him, nor can he spend any more time to mull over his morass any longer, for there was work to be done.

“I’m so sorry, Cyrus!” Ralph was drowning in sincere tears, his face aquiver with innocent sorrow, struggling to find his voice to choke out an apology.

Cyrus turned to face his best friend with warm and kind eyes. “It’s not your fault, Ralph. It’ll be fine. Anyway, I already have a backup plan.”

“Y- y- you do?” Ralph sniffled.

“Yep! You wanna help?” Cyrus grinned. “Wait. No, this whole mess is your fault, so you don’t get a choice. C’mon Ralph, let’s go to the store. I got many things to pickup.”

Ralph and Cyrus began to amble their way to the hardware store that was three blocks down the road. Ralph has stopped his crying and as such, he was back to his curious, glib and vocal self.

“So what’s your plan now, Cyrus?”

“Well, let’s see. I was thinking about using some quick-dry cement. Joanna has a way of planting her feet to the floor when she is surprised. So I’m gonna work with that.”

Ralph gasped then doubled over laughing.

“Oh my god. You’re evil.”

Cyrus smirked, then added, “We’ll lay the cement on the gangway at my garden. And I’ll also need something capable of rapid shrinkage. It has to shrink to a very small size to appear as if it vanishes in thin air. There are going to be ghosts at this party, Ralph.”

Word count: 400

The Best Laid Plans

A Love for Books

(C) Mindlovesmisery. Wordle #60 May 11, 2015. This photo brings you to the challenge page. Hosted by MindLovesMisery's Menagerie.
(C) Mindlovesmisery. Wordle #60 May 11, 2015. This photo brings you to the challenge page. Hosted by MindLovesMisery’s Menagerie.
1. Screw
2. Bristle
3. Bombinate (to make a humming or buzzing noise)
4. Ceramic
5. Intricate
6. Classic
7. Slant
8. Vellichor (the strange wistfulness of used bookstores)
9. Tunnel
10. Dire
11. Impinge
12. Corduroy

 

 Use at least 10 of the above words to create a story or poem.

Without my sense of sight, I had to focus on my other senses. The drone of the spinning disc was thus overwhelming- I could hear nothing else- yet it was strangely calming. As the ceramic rotated on the spinning disc, the dull bombination lulled me into a pleasant reverie. My hands moved on their own accord, modelling the slant of the neck, while my thoughts wandered somewhere else…

(C) CulturaColectiva.com
(C) CulturaColectiva.com

 

Every footstep I take returns with a deafening echo, and I warmly welcome the interruption in the otherwise silent tunnel. In this fantasy, I could see again. And I see my left hand trailing along the edge of a shelving, while I watch absent-mindedly as my fingertips skim over emboldened fonts of gold set in the spines of these books of every shape, every size and every shade of color.

 

I continue my stroll, but I lose my patience to read all the titles that passes by. My vision follows the shelving to see where it leads- it seems never ending- but a particular volume draws my attention. I maintain my pace, and take my time to reach it and when I eventually do, I slip it off the shelf. If I Could See Again is emblazoning the cover of the exquisite, rich, black corduroy jacket. I know this is the perfect book for me.

I nestle myself with my volume on the posh upholstery of a nearby armchair, and bury my consciousness deep within its pages. The chance to relish this rare quiescence from every day life was bliss, and I am seizing it. Alas, it is short-lived. Her footsteps alert me of her approach- a dainty maiden inadvertently impinging my sacrosanct activity. I bristle with exasperation and turn to face her.

“Sir? The store is closing soon. I’m afraid you must continue your work on another day.” She informs me authoritatively and assertively.

The fantasy stopped.

Abruptly snapped out of my reverie, I lifted my hands off the ceramic, reluctantly submitting to the fact that I must complete the finishing touches and intricate details the next day. I wistfully clutched onto the fading traces of my reverie and its vellichor as I killed the spinning disc. I fumbled around for a rag, and my fingers closed around a rough fabric. I scrubbed my hand thoroughly to rid it of clay, sighing and reminiscing the times when I could see and could read.

Word count: 397
https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/05/11/wordle-60-may-11-2015%E2%80%B3/


Here, I tried to write in present tense as I narrated the reverie. If you did not notice it, good! It means it worked out fine. But if you did notice it, bad! It means it was awkward and stuck out. Do leave a reply and let me know if you did or did not notice it.

There might be errors too as I re-edited this several times, and eventually grew impatient to revise for errors. Do let me know.

Cheers,

Frederick

A Love for Books

#Writing101 Pulses of Fear

Today’s Writing 101 Prompt: We all have anxieties, worries, and fears. What are you scared of? Address one of your worst fears.

Today’s Twist: Write this post in a style distinct from your own.

~

When people see needles, they may imagine why they trigger anxiety and uneasiness in someone else. But they don’t know the whole story.

I was twelve going on thirteen. A lonely lil’ boy in a big city. A newcomer to a strange land. It was imperative and customary for the authorities to conduct health checkups for every new batch taken in.

The Raffles Medical Clinic was a great brown building with grand, ceiling-high glass doors that betrayed the acrid odor of disinfectants and pervasive chemicals within. I belonged to a group that was scheduled to the ten o’ clock inspection, but I was unfortunately acquainted with none.

The waiting time seemed to stretch from morning to noon, noon to night. I had witnessed the medical campaigns replay itself for an eternity and I exhausted every form of reading material: the plaques, the pamphlets, the directories. Thus, I looked to the nurse with scorn as she finally approached me.

“Tan Chuan Ming,” she confirmed. I nodded in response.

“Follow me. I need to take a blood sample,” she instructed. I followed silently.

I remember neither the room, nor its contents, but the memory of what transpired within haunts me til this day. At the age of twelve, I had naught fear of a foreign shaft of steel entering my skin. It could be attributed to the ineptitude of that female sadist in white, or the pale sallow quality of my skin, or even technical faults, but I never had the same courage to face a needle after that day.

She pierced the skin. I daren’t look, for I was not interested in matter pertaining to blood. But she announced a result, warning me of an upcoming prick, for the blood drawn was meager and insufficient. Thus, I was punctured once more. Alas, the halfwit excuse for a nurse has managed the impossible! She missed the vein! My memory may have become unreliable over the years, but it was to my horror that she drew a oily, yellow liquid that had suspiciously resembled blubber.

(The vein in my neck is pulsing as I write. This is my equivalent of shivering in fear: I pulse in fear. *laughs*)

The process became unbearable, my emotions were a turmoil of fear, anger, hatred and panic, and my cognitive faculties were in no state to keep track of the numbers. The instruments of torture alternated its host, it begun on my right hand, then my left, and right again..

I left that room and that medical center literally unscathed, but I pulse with fear whenever the horrific anamnesis resurfaces.

#Writing101 Pulses of Fear

Nineteen Trees and Bombastic Words

copyright – Hannah Duncan
copyright – Hannah Duncan. Sunday Photo Fiction April 12, 2015. Here is the challenge page: https://sundayphotofictioner.wordpress.com/2015/04/12/607/ hosted by Joe Owens

The wayward path, I tread, tranquil and untroubled. It granted me quiescence that I had not habituated for indulgence. As a sergeant would, I reconnoitered every inch of it. Its majestic vastness had me discombobulated, as if studying an encyclopedic polyglot manuscript.

Alas, my feet are not those inured to arduous walking; they repudiated my goading to further scout my placid vicinity. But the illusion shatters as the ominous sound of approaching feet meets my ears, and I know I am living my final seconds of halcyon freedom. I am but a schlemiel and Fate has once again vetoed me my druthers, as it had in all my born days.

Word count: 110


If any of the vocabulary made it difficult to read, I apologize. I took this as an opportunity to expand my vocabulary and most of the words used above were from Thesaurus.com. However, I’m not sure if they are all appropriately used.

Nineteen Trees and Bombastic Words