It's not you, it's me - the words I couldn't love

Like many writers, I have favourite words. Ampersand, for example, ticklish and innominate. But here's a confession: I've ghosted far more.

You'll know the usual offenders. Casually demeaning words, like ‘bitch’. (It might lay claim to new attitude, but I don’t believe it has changed, not deep down.)

Of course, there are the show-off words. They are gorgeous, and an absolute hoot unless you bump into them too often. I’m pointing at cerulean and crepuscular, for starters.

Then, there are my own personal mismatches. Words I get along fine with until I’m left on my own with them. You know how it goes. I’ve seen a word around, part of the crowd, recognise but never really got to know it. One day it’s a Bluesky writing prompt, so we meet up, just the two of us.

I look at that word, over a blank page. Maybe it’s muscular like subjugate, or dark like sepulchral. It might be judgy as turpitude and decorum, have an iffy past like barren. Maybe it’s just squamous. Anyway, I realise we have nothing in common.

This word is one of 40,000 I’ve learned but probably won't use. It's not them, it's me.

You too. As people see colours uniquely, so we each read nouns and adjectives differently, verbs and adverbs in our own ways. My persimmon is not quite yours.

Each word is a history of origins, common and famous usages, changing definitions and the reader’s encounters with its meaning. Words may be gender and values loaded. Political and mood. They are sounds and mouthfeel, associations strange and shared.

Isn’t that thrilling? I'm not saying don't use butch or eeky or fancypants words. I love that you’ll enjoy a word that I don’t. Hey, maybe I’ll look your word up one day and come around to it. Probably not squamous, though. You can keep that fella.