Dear ,
 

Language has power, and swearing really packs a punch, whether we (or our characters) are swearing oaths on Holy Bibles or letting loose a string of obscenities.

 

When should you swear in your writing, if at all? (Here, I'm talking about obscenities, not Holy Bibles.)
 

Well, if you're writing a scene in which you, someone you know, or one of your characters swears in "real life," they should swear in your books, too. It's a part of having an authentic voice.
 

Today's featured writing, an excerpt from Tony Ricciardelli's Tales from the Stoop, contains numerous swear words because the scene is from Eugene's point of view, and Eugene grew up in a neighborhood where swearing was de rigueur. He's a high school student who's been bullied by a pair of twins, and he's been pushed into performing on a local TV talent show. It's a make-or-break moment for Eugene, and he's incredibly nervous. All the swearing he does takes place inside his head. The scene provides a very convincing glimpse into Eugene's thoughts and feelings in this moment, and is a good example of combining dialogue with a character's thoughts.

 

While we're talking about swearing, I have a bonus writing for you. I couldn't resist sharing an excerpt from Jon Scieszka's Knucklehead: Tall Tales and Almost True Stories of Growing up Scieszka, about just that. Having attended Catholic schools from 1st through 12th grades, I can totally relate! 

 

NOTE: If you don't want to read mild swear words, please don't read any further. I respect your stance on this, and do not want to expose you to anything that would offend you.

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 . . . The nuns and their habits spooked me as a kid. But I was a good reader and a good student, so I didn't get in too much trouble with them . . . until 5th grade, when all the boys got in trouble. One of the girls told the principal, Sister Mary, that the boys were swearing on the playground. So everyone had to stay after school. And we couldn't leave until we had written all of the swear words we knew down on a piece of paper with our name on it, and handed it in. To our teacher—a nun. 

Now this was a problem. Because we had been taught in religion class that nuns were married to God. So how were we supposed to write down swear words and give them to God's wife? That sounded like a sure way to burn in hell. 

Most of the girls in class wrote down their name, and then handed in their papers with hell and maybe damn listed. They got to go home.

The first boy walked up with hell and damn written on his paper. "Go back to your seat," said Sister Margaret Anne. "You know more." 

How did she know? We were dead. There was no way we could write down all the bad words we knew. But we weren't going to get out of there without writing something else. Soon the room was all boys, each of us trying to figure out how to write swear words to a nun.

I wrote hell. I wrote damn. Then I was stuck. It didn't look like much of a list. I added stupid, doofus, butt, and goober. This was looking better. I added head to the stupid and wrote stupidhead. 

Divine inspiration! I could add head to everything and double my list.
I wrote doofushead, butthead, gooberhead, damnhead, and hellhead. Then I realized I could combine all of the words to make new words that weren't any worse than the originals. I wrote stupidhell, gooberbutt, doofusdamn, and hellbutt.

Now, there was a list. I walked up to sister Margaret Anne's desk. I handed in my list. The universe stopped while she read it over and looked up at me.

"That will be enough," said Sister Margaret Anne.

And it was.

I walked out of school, waiting to be run over by a bus driven by an angry God. But I guess he liked my invented swear words, or didn't mind me swearing at his wife, or both, because I made it safely home.

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Scroll on down to check out Tony Ricciardelli's Tales from the Stoop!
Happy writing, whether you swear or not,

Maureen

WordPlay Opportunities

 

Tony Ricciardelli was born in Winthrop, Massachusetts. As a child during the turbulent 1960s, he lived in East Boston, growing up in a working-class neighborhood among extended family. He studied Communications and Media at the University of Massachusetts and earned a MA in English from Salem State College. His background includes many years working in the corporate world as a course developer and instructor.

Later in his career, he enjoyed teaching English at a local community college. There, he established and championed for ten years, The Phi Beat Coffeehouse, a student-oriented open mic, enabling students to bring their talents to the local community while expressing themselves freely through music, art, and poetry. He also resurrected an earlier college publication titled Dimensions, a student literary and art magazine. He is a member of Charlotte Writers’ Club, a volunteer at Angels and Sparrows soup kitchen, and a board member at Mooresville Arts. Tony is retired and lives in North Carolina with his wife, two dogs, and one cat. This is his first book, a self-published bucket list item that is now marked “complete.”

Check out Tony's book here.

NOTE: If you don't want to read strong swear words, please don't read any further. I respect your stance on this, and do not want to expose you to anything that would offend you.

 

Jim Newman pulled an index card from inside his suit pocket and moved center stage. “Our next guest is a fine young man from East Boston, where he is a sophomore at East Boston High. Today he’ll charm us with Dean Martin’s number one tune from just a couple of years ago, “Everybody Loves Somebody.” Please extend a warm welcome to Eugene Cattone.”

Okay, I’m walking on stage. There’s Jim Newman and the crowd. Hundreds of people, they’re clapping. I’m walking, walking. Where’s Dad and Uncle Dom? There’s the star on the floor, center stage. I’m almost there. Where’s the damned music?

Jim Newman shook his hand. “Eugene, since we’re running ahead of schedule, you won’t mind if I ask you a couple of questions before we begin, will you?”

“No, sir.” Give me a break, mister? Fuck off before I die?

 “Fine. Now, Eugene, it says here in your profile that you’re an avid Red Sox fan. Who’s your favorite player?”

“Tony Conigliaro.” I’m going to piss myself!

“You enjoy the Beatles, and Nonna’s cooking. Is there anything else you’d like to tell us about yourself?”

“No, Sir.”

“Is your girlfriend watching this morning?”

For Chrissakes, mister! If I say I don’t have a girlfriend in front of all these people, the entire world will think I’m a loser.

“Um, yes sir, she’s watching.”

“And what is your girl’s name, Eugene?” Gene looked to the floor, pretending he didn’t hear the question.

“Well, young lady, whoever you may be,” said Jim Newman, pointing toward the camera. “This is the moment you’ve been waiting for, I’m sure. Let’s give a warm welcome to Eugene Cattone, singing the Dean Martin hit, “Everybody Loves Somebody.”

Back at the Nonna’s living room, hearts raced. One of the twins made a flippant remark to Angie about being Eugene’s wife, which was addressed with a quick, five-stroker from Nonna’s stick. Angie crushed the Niagara Falls pillow to her breast and lowered her head so that her eyes peeked cautiously over its laced edge. Aunt Theresa squeezed Uncle Frank’s hand. Uncle Sal nervously chewed on his cheek. Papa twiddled his thumbs at high speed. Gene’s younger sister held onto Nonna’s skirt. Aunt Rose grabbed a rosary Nonna kept by the telephone table, and nobody breathed. The music started and Eugene began to sing.

 

Find out how Eugene did by purchasing Tony's book here.