Wednesday Word Vomit Feb. 8

I love words, but it dawned on me recently that my word pool had grown stagnant. Instead of mixing things up during the writing process, I’ve found myself forced to make the changes during edit, turning an already daunting process into an excruciating one. So as part of my efforts to exact some positive changes in 2017, I am introducing a new feature to Rainbow Lyrics and Mellow Mushrooms.

Every Wednesday I’ll take the word of the day from www.wordsmith.org and use it to craft a scene/setting/dialogue for one of my current works in progress.

Today’s word: Mrs. Grundy

Today’s WIP: Gypsy's Rogue

So much to do.

Sighing they placed their hands at the small of their back and arched backward, easing the ache that was forming there. It took them back to their childhood days when they’d see their mother do the very same thing, though usually their mother had been working far longer and far harder than Gypsy had today. In the back of their head they could hear their father telling them that the outside world had made them weak, that modern conveniences had made them soft, his voice harsh with disapproval as he reminded them that idol hands were the devils work or something along those lines. They knew he’d rage that no God fearing man would be caught doing woman’s work but then, he’d been the very one to insist that Gypsy take care of everything around the house after their mother’s passing.

“Seeing as how you see fit to run around shamefully dressed like a woman yourself.”

It hadn’t been all the time, more like half, or at least, whenever the mood had suit them and they’d been able to slip out of the house and from beneath their father’s far too watchful eye. He hadn’t been the only one to disapprove, plenty in town had turned their nose up at them, while others hadn’t even noticed. They’d always worn their hair long and with their trim figure they looked as much like a girl as a boy. They’d always preferred to consider themselves as both anyway, for as long as they could remember, it had just been easier that way. Even their mother hadn’t wanted to hear that sometimes they just felt more like a girl.

They wondered, for a moment, what the neighbors would think about them if they could see them now, stripping off their shirt in the middle of the kitchen and letting their tank top fall to the floor. Sunlight glinted off the piercings in their nipples and belly button, and the red and black tattered wings tattooed on their back and wrapping around to their ribs, tattooed bone poking through between the feathers, would no doubt shock and horrify some. How many Mrs. Grundys would wag their tongues quick to condemn and shame them.