Glorious Zinzins
by Steve Finan
I read.
I sometimes am so pierced by prose that I wish, I wish, I wish it was mine. I am carried on a rush of adrenaline into someone else's mind. I glimpse the moving shapes and colours of their imagination. I am shown their highest highs and their betes noire. They become mine. The writer moulds me, wrestles my thoughts to be alike to theirs.
It can be a phrase, a word. Tonight, Christine Daffe reached me with Genevieve's Voice and gave me a shiny nugget — zinzins.
I do not know what zinzins is, what a zinzins is, who zinzins is.
I do not want to know. I will attach meanings myself, I will use my stolen word aloud to the wonderment or bafflement of others.
I read.
|
1
fav |
1049 views
6 comments |
132 words
All rights reserved. |
Author's Note
Why I read.
I stole a word.
Zinzins.
(With thanks and appreciation to Christine Daffe).
Other stories by Steve Finan
Tags
This story has no tags.
Tell it brother. Tell it.
Tell it brother. Tell it.
You might call this a verbal TWOC-ing.
Put that word down! You don't know whose mouth it's been in!
Nice nod to a fellow writer.
Hi Steve! You are the perfect reader! An inspired writer. In French, zinzins is synonym of machins, trucs, bidules... Zinzins = a thing whose name you cannot remember or do not know. Zinzins = a whatchumacallit! But, of course, you did not want to know.
Thank you!!
I imagine a zinzin a black zinnia. But who knows?