I’m currently reading Johannes Cabal the Necromancer, by Jonathan L. Howard. I’ll have more to say about it later, I’m sure, but last night at dinner, I mentioned to my husband that so far it was a kind of steam-zombie-punk-Faustian tale.*
I was too busy gasping in admiration and rummaging for a working pen and a piece of paper to answer.
“Could you repeat that for us, honey?” asked my grinning husband.
“No. Mommy? What is one?”
“That, my love,” I said, scribbling it down on the back of a bill envelope with a broken green crayon, “is the wonderful setting of a future story. Thank you.”
She shrugged her little shoulders, my writer’s child, and sighed in stern impatience. “Welcome. So now what is one, Mommy?”
Small price for the use of something so tickly!***
Apparently, I write like a man. At least Gender Genie thinks so.
It was pretty close, though. Judging by individual chapters, it appears that when writing from a male character’s POV, I use more ‘typically female’ words—and vice versa.
How interesting is that (to anyone else but me)?
I don’t pretend to understand the theory behind word usage or where they compiled the data to develop the algorithm . . . but it’s fun to try!
Should I be worried about my compulsion to plug various pieces of my work into Internet toys? I already know I write like Vonnegut and my chapters tend to make word clouds that look like unshelled peanuts . . . what more do I want, a bestseller fortuneteller?
But I wouldn’t trade my soul for one, just in case anyone was wondering . . .
*With a carnival. It’s an interesting book.
**Steampunk was oddly easy—she loves old trains.
**I’m absolutely certain that elephants on pogo sticks can be found there . . .