If Thundercats were real, I'd be Snarf

English, for example, is a fantastic disaster. It has so many words for things that are basically the same, and I find there’s few joys in writing like finding the right word for a sentence. Hunting down that peculiar word with particular meaning that fits in seamlessly in a structure, so the story flows on by without any bumps or leaks.

Like how a shout is typically about volume, while a yell carries an angry edge and a holler carries a mocking one. A scream has shrillness, a roar has ferocity, and a screech has outrage. 

This is not to say that a yell cannot be happy or a holler cannot be complimentary, or that they cannot share these traits, but they are different words with different connotations. I love choosing the right one for a sentence, not only for its meanings but for how it sounds when read aloud. (Do I want sounds that slide together, peaceful and seamless, or something that jolts the reader with its contrast? Snap!)

I love how many words for human habitats there are. I love how cottage sounds quaint and cabin sounds rustic. I love steadiness of house, the elegance of residence, the stateliness of manor, and tired stubbornness of shack. I love how a dwelling is different to a den.

And I love how none of them can really touch the possessive warmness of all the connotations of home.

If you don’t feel like an extrovert or an introvert, this might be why.

1. When you’re out in the world, you’re probably not going to be starting conversations with strangers.

2. Generally, you’re always happy to meet new people, but you’ll probably be uncomfortable if you have to do it without any of your existing friends with you.

3. When a topic of interest comes up in conversation, you’re more than happy to talk in great detail about it.

4. But as soon as that’s done, you’ll happily sit listening to the conversation without saying another word.