It's that time of year already...

Wishing all our wonderful readers

an excellent, book-filled, Christmas Holiday!

With best wishes, 

from all the Chroniclers 

xxx

Put on Your YA-rmulkah, It's Time for Channukah: 8 Crazy Nights of YA (A.K.A. The Chronicles of Word Channukah Special)

Ever feel like there are just SO MANY AWESOME YA BOOKS out there, it’s like Channukah’s come early this year?

Well, you’d be right.  Channukah has come early this year.  I’ll be lighting the first candle in just under a week on November 27^th, along with everyone who got a nod in Adam Sandler’s classic musical litany. 

In fact, in honour of the Festival of Lights, I’ve written my own version of the Adam Sandler Channukah song, featuring Jewish YA authors past and present.  Cuz I’m just that cool:

Meg Rosoff spins the dreidel

And Cassandra Clare – what a fine shayna meidel*

Guess who’ll be lighting a Channukah candler?

David Levithan and Daniel Handler!**

Spin Out: vb. to become utterly perplexed and disorientated as a result of one's environment.

Sport in my family has never been optional. I loved it as a child, went through a rocky patch with it as a teenager, formed a firm acquaintance with it at university, and we’ve been good friends ever since.

I might even go as far to say I enjoy it.

So when my sister asked me if I wanted to join her hour-long spinning class this Sunday morning, I agreed. I was intrigued to see what the hype was about, and why so many people – my sister included – got inexplicably addicted to cycling nowhere in a dark room. Could I put the madness down to endorphins?

I’d like to mention at this point that the class was being held in Bondi, the vigorously pumping heart of Australia, home to more wholesome, clean-living people than I have ever seen in one place. You’d be hard pushed to find someone who isn’t wearing sports clothes, drinking a power juice, or powerwalking, or doing all three at once.

As I step inside the gym’s spin studio, I get the overwhelming feeling I’m about to board a rollercoaster ride. Everything is dark except for the UV glow of people’s shoelaces, all I can see is row upon row of powerful, sleek machines, and now that I’m in, there’s clearly no turning back.

My body is already preparing for a G-force experience, so I’m quietly eyeing up the safest back row seat, when my sister waves to me from the front row.

There are plenty of other bikes to choose from, and I trudge up the aisle to ask her why she’s chosen there.

‘Oh, I didn’t want to be near the fan,’ she explains.

‘Hmm?’ I take a deep breath and ask her, in my most patient voice, to explain. It turns out that my sister has been told - from a friend who may or may not even be a gym goer - that more sweating equals a better workout.

What?

Now, I may be wrong, but I think the logic of that has been lost in translation somewhere. I try to explain to my sister that I don’t think a fan would put her fitness in jeopardy, but she waves my explanation off, and by now it’s too late for me to move. So I just roll my eyes (somewhat pointlessly in the dark) and slot my feet into the pedals, trying to fumble my towel, keys and bottle into the holder without dropping anything. It’s the first time I have been in the front row since I was forced to in Year 3, and I quickly remember why I hate it so much.

The room is already heating up and looking around, I see why. Most people are already cycling ferociously in a pre-warm-up warm-up, and some are even discussing/boasting about the classes they’ve just come from. I marvel at the sight of them. They’re like a completely different species.

When the instructor gets going on the mic, and the first bassy remix starts booming through the speakers, it no longer feels like a rollercoaster ride. It’s now the back room of a nightclub, Saturday, at about 3 in the morning. The time when it’s pretty much empty, save for the group of hard-core, still-drunk dancers still making shapes on the dance floor. I half expect to see some sullen-faced cleaner going around with a black bin liner, picking up plastic cups and half-empty bottles of VK Blue.

Thoughts like these run through my mind as I’m repeatedly wrenched out of my comfort zone and looking desperately for distractions. Every time the instructor tells me to turn the resistance dial up, I’m reminded of those torture machines that stretch out their victims, cranking the wheel round, inch by painful inch.

But after a while, the instructor’s positivity becomes oddly contagious, because I find myself - in a deeply uncomfortable way - enjoying it. This enthusiasm quickly wanes about halfway in (I can only assume we’re halfway – can’t read my watch), because by now I’m absolutely roasting and I’ve drunk all my water. The faces and arms of everyone around me are shining with sweat, and I’m envious. Even on the verge of collapsing off the bike, I’m still bone dry – not because I’m fit in the least, but because my body apparently doesn’t know how to cool itself down like normal people. By now, every pore of my skin feels like it’s out of breath. Every time a gust of wind from a neighbouring fan blows my way, I feel a sort of boundless joy that I only ever experience walking down a refrigerator aisle during a heat wave. It also looks like I’m not even working half as hard as the others, to the point that I’m getting paranoid the instructor is judging me. It’s just not fair.

But I’m getting more and more lightheaded by the minute, and soon, I stop caring. I stop thinking about anything at all. In fact, it takes me a while to realise the class has ended, and I only realise when people start to leave, no doubt on their way to another class, their towels sodden, their skin still enviably glossy.

I turn to say something to my sister – expressing my need to find water, or a patch of floor to collapse on - but my words come out as a nonsensical giggle. I try again and fail. Great. Whilst everyone else is experiencing that post-workout ‘rush,’ I seem to be entering the early stages of delirium. I use my towel to pat the pathetic dampness on the back of my neck and wonder whether I’m going mad. In answer to my question, the instructor comes over and asks me what I thought. Before I know what I’m saying, I tell her that I loved it. And that I’ll definitely be booking in for the next session.

Tomorrow.

The weirdest thing is, I really mean it.

News and Celebrations...

Ah, November.
It seems only yesterday we were cracking on with the course, beginning to experiment with different types of fiction - laughing with CJ, discussing some book or other with Steve or asking our Mama Bear Julia for advice and support. (Lucy came later, as she was in Australia).
Now we are all grown up writers and yesterday evening (technically two yesterday evenings ago) we saw one of us named as Most Promising Writer of the Year by the United Agents Prize, hosted by the lovely and excellent Jodie Hodges.
The winner this year was the uber-talented Bec Treveil (watch this name, you guys) whose intriguing concept of Girl Who Can Smell Emotions (someone will have to tell me the title at some point) charmed Jodie's ninja-agent instincts with it's wonderful use of voice and intriguing concept... The equally excellent Lucinda Murray was also awarded an honorable mention for her beautiful prose.

Of course, now that we're here this means that the Writing For Young People class of 2013 has officially finished (if not graduated). This means nothing so very much as we won't be able to see each other in person at mutually convenient times, but I for one know I have made some very good friends for life.
THANK YOU EVERYONE.
YOU ARE ALL BRILLIANT AND I CAN'T WAIT TO BUY YOUR BOOKS.

J xxx

PS. In other news, this blog has to date achieved 2010 hits! How awesome is that??

Demons, Daim Bars and Good Advice: The long-awaited interview with Sarah Rees Brennan...

Yael and I met Sarah Rees Brennan on Blackfriars Bridge, one late July evening.

Like all stories, the beginning comes a little before that point.

I’ve been a fan of Sarah since before she was published, back when she blogged about her road through publication and kept livejournal rolling in the aisles with regular updates of wit (sidenote: this still happens), and repeatedly threw her books at Yael until she agreed to read them.

[Yael: You will now go read them too, if you know what’s good for you.]

Sarah Rees Brennan is the author of the Demon's Lexicon trilogy and the Lynburn Legacy trilogy. She's also collaborated with other big name YA authors, such as Cassandra Clare and Justine Larbalestier, is vocal about diversity in YA*, and feeds on the tears of her readers. Inevitably, we had to meet her, and we had to interview her for the blog. 

The Great NaNoWriMoBloPo. (aka Cinders weighs in on NaNo)*

It is the first of November, and so today, I must write.**

Here are the things I know.

I know that I am not alone.

All around the world, hundreds of writers are sitting down at computers (or with notepads or typewriters if they’re old school), fingers flying over the keys as they try to churn out a novel during the month of November. I know that there are 234,819 writers registered on the NaNoWriMo site, and that there are probably thousands more, like me, who haven’t registered but are throwing themselves in anyway.

I know, too, that there are other writers. My mother is doing NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month) alongside my NaNoWriMo, although the internet lists months from October to May as its official date, and I know there are other people taking part in myriad similar projects. It is the month of NaNo, and I am not alone because of this, because there are a million and one others sitting at their desk right now doing the same thing as me.

Five Reasons Why We Should Worship David Levithan

1. He can create characters you will root for desperately.

I've read quite a few books in my time that presume that you, as the reader, will root for the characters they contain. You know what I mean - those lazy narratives that have a lot of pluck but don't quite hit the mark in terms of showing you why you want this protagonist to succeed. David Levithan does not presume. His characters are so real, so imperfect that you believe in them completely, and want nothing more for them to be happy.

2. He tackles vast issues without once condescending to his audience or alienating anyone or simplifying the vastness or complications of those issues.

By which I mean you are not likely to put his books down.

3. He is uncompromisingly optimistic.

It would be very easy to see nothing but darkness in the world of his characters, but Levithan's stories always look for light.
I've just finished his first novel, Boy Meets Boy in which it is quite normal for the High School's best quarterback to be a magnificent drag queen by the name of Infinite Darlene. Some reviewers have called the world of Boy Meets Boy to be a fantasy for these reasons, but I'm convinced Levithan is just looking to a not-so-distant future.

4. His prose is beautiful.

"I want to give her a good day. Just one good day. I have wandered for so long without any sense of purpose and now this ephemeral purpose has been given to me - it feels like it has been given to me. I only have a day to give - so why can't it be a good one? Why can't it be a shared one? Why can't I take the music of the moment and see how long it can last? The rules are erasable. I can take this. I can give this.
When the song is over, she rolls down her window and trails her hand in the air, introducing a new music into the car. I roll down all the other windows and drive faster, so the wind takes over, blows our hair all around, makes it seem like the car has disappeared and we are the velocity, we are the speed. Then another good song comes on and I enclose us again, this time taking her hand."

(From Every Day, Chapter 1, page 13)

5. He is very wise.

No, seriously. I feel like I was learning several great life lessons in each of his books and finding new ways to look at the world and the people in it.


Convinced? Oh good, I'm glad I've converted you. Now go and buy everything he's every written:

clicky

At the End of the World, the Ocean

I’ve been thinking about the ocean.

Not just because I’m at home in Vancouver now, though that’s definitely a part of it: I felt the pull of the ocean the other day, so I took the long way home on my bicycle. I wanted to hug the water as long as possible.  I needed to be close to it.  I felt the same thing again today – that yearning to be close to the sea.  I took the bus to Wreck Beach and danced in the sand and put my toes in the water.  It was cold, but it reminded me I was alive. 

I know I’m not the only person who feels this – my friend and fellow Chronicles of Word contributor Josh Martin and I were g-chatting about that feeling of being pulled to the sea.  Like the sea is truer compass for us than North.

But there’s another reason I’ve been thinking about the ocean.

Some of the most common writing advice (and by the way, it’s common, because it’s good) is that you should read a lot of books like the one you want to write.  So I’ve been devouring post-Apocalyptic books (especially, but not exclusively, YA) for the past year and a bit.  One thing that comes up over and over in these books about what happens after the end of the world is the ocean.  And when they talk about the ocean, it’s got a mythological, supernatural quality to it.  It’s much more than a place of natural beauty.

A Strange Moment

In which I had a dream last night featuring an Indian girl called Nashira who, in addition to being powerful in some way, kept goats.
I figured she wanted to be put into this story I started a couple of weeks ago, but I was particularly interested in her name and where it came from - was it Nashira or Nasheera? It sounded Hindi, but when I checked out babynamesworld.com nothing came back. Then I typed "Nashira" into google, hit the first link and here's what came back:

Gamma Capricorni (γ Cap, γ Capricorni) is a giant star in the constellation Capricornus. It has the traditional name Nashira, which comes from the Arabic سعد ناشرة - sa'd nashirah for "the lucky one" or "bearer of good news".

I swear I have never seen this page in my life.

Am now somewhat freaked out and marvelling the divinous and mysterious ways of characters and how they occasionally invade your sleep to get noticed.

Questions for The Writer in You:

This is a bit of fun for people to share in workshops/writing groups/writing sleepovers.

You are –

Your First Story was –

Your Most Favourite Word(s) –

Your Most Hated Word(s) –

Choose your notebook –

Choose your pen –

Choose your sword –

Choose your wand –

Choose your Hogwarts House -

Sing Us A Song –

Where does the time machine take you?

The first place you apparate to once you’ve taken your apparition test -

A really good line of dialogue from a recently read book –

Name three animals you’d like to be able to change into at will –

Name your superpower –

Name your instrument(s) –

Name your dance -

Name your music –

Name your element –

Name your star sign –

Name your colours -

Are you honest?

Five of your favourite books, in no order –

Five of your favourite films, in no order -

From other people’s books name your best

a)      Character

b)      Plot

c)      Writing

d)      Friendship

e)      Romance

f)       Antagonist

g)      World Building

What would like to see more of in fiction?

Name a favoured technique that you have employed to bring characters to life –

One thing you know about writing that you didn’t last year -

Fictional Characters: Snog, Marry, Cruise (you know you’ve thought about it) –

Three authors come to your house for tea –

What’s your favourite cliché?

What is your favourite ending?

Finding A Character

Picture by Linnzan on deviantart

There are many different ways to begin a story.

If you, like me, are someone who likes to begin a story with a strong character, you might find this technique useful, taught to us Chronicles writers by one of our tutors, the excellent Julia Green*. Make sure you take your time, letting the answers come to you naturally.

It goes like this:

Close your eyes.

You are in a thick fog or a mist, and everything is swirling and impenetrable.

Imagine a light. It curves the shape of the mist, making silhouettes of nothing.

And then, suddenly – one silhouette takes a real shape.

As they come towards you, they become more defined.

As the person comes towards you, let your mind do the defining by asking these questions. You’re going to notice physicality first: who is this person? What do they look like? Are they male or female or something else? What kind of skin tone do they have? Are they tall, or short? Where are they carrying their weight? How are they walking?

Where are their eyes looking?

And clothes: are they wearing clothes? Are they western clothes? Tribal clothes? Mediaeval clothes? What?

Are they wearing shoes?

How old are they?

Can you guess their name?

They’re holding something: what is it? Is it important?

Is there something coming up behind them? What is it? Who is it? A friend? An enemy? A pet?

Out of the mist, you can smell the place they’ve come from. What smells are they? Where do you think that is?

The mist is beginning to clear. You can see the landscape from which this person came. What does it look like? Is it a plain? A mountainous range? A city? A beach? The ocean?

Now you can see them, they will move past you. Are they running or walking? Where are they going? What are they doing? Are they fighting? Kissing? Writing? Playing? Climbing? Crying? Find out.

This person has a life. Feel for it.

Find these things:

-          A fear

-          A memory

-          A loss

-          A secret

-          Also: are they hiding something?

-          What do they really want?

See how far you can take a story from here. It’s amazing how your mind, forced to answer these questions in a controlled environment, will rise to the challenge of creation.

Good luck!

*In all essential ways, this is what Julia taught us, though I have taken liberties J

Wandering a Dark Path, One You’ve Walked Before

On June 24, I posted about the terrifying prospect of writing draft 2.  As usual, I was pretty flipping freaked out.

The update is this:

Second draft, guys.  It’s totally happening.  WOOT.

I’ll be honest, though.  It’s been a slog and I’m only starting to figure out what I’m doing now, six and half weeks later. 

I think one of the reasons second drafts are so terrifying to write is that they’re just less straightforward.  In draft 1, you have one task: write the goddamned thing.  Turn off the perfectionist, self-critical voices in your head and get a shitload of words on paper.  Not that this is easy – it takes ages and it’s a major energy-drain.  But the principle is simple: write a certain amount of words each day, quality be damned, and you’ll come out with a novel.  It’s just true. 

But then the question becomes: What next? What do I do now that I have to turn some of those critical, editorial voices back on? You can’t expect to edit your book if you’ve turned off your inner editor.

Music, Murder & Magical Creatures - A Day in the Park with Lucy Christopher

On a sunny afternoon in Bute Park, my partner-in-crime, Lucinda Murray, and I had the pleasure of chatting with YA author Lucy Christopher.

Lucy’s a bit of a superstar in the children’s book world.  Her debut novel, Stolen, received the Printz Honor, the Branford Boase Award and the Gold Inky Award in 2010.  Her second book, Flyaway, was short-listed for the Costa Children’s Book Award… We also happen to be lucky enough to have her as our manuscript tutor on Bath Spa’s MA in Writing for Young People and can tell you with authority that she is pretty much amazing.

In this exclusive Chronicles of Word interview, we chat to Lucy about her writing process, her upcoming psychological thriller The Killing Woods, whether it’s vampires or werewolves and just what The Hunger Games was missing.

***

Yael: So, our first question, because we’re your students we’re wondering if teaching creative writing impacts your own work at all and if so, how?

Lucy: That’s a very good question, Yael.  I’d say it definitely impacts my work as a writer. I find this with students, but I also find it with myself.  Often the things that you pick up in other people’s work as being of concern are things that you need to deal with yourself. I often find ways to fix my own writing through helping other people look at theirs, so it’s very practically helpful.  It also keeps me very much in the writing world, because if I’m there trying to fix someone else’s book and then I go back to mine, I think “well, I can do this, I’ve just helped someone else fix their book, I know how to fix mine. I’ve got those skills, I can do it.” So it helps to keep me embedded in writing.  And I also just really like it.

There's something particularly lovely about getting to work with a brilliant manuscript tutor and learning that they enjoy working with you, too. We blush at the improbable statement that we've had any impact at all on Lucy's writing, but feel great about it all the same...

Learning from the Masters

There’s no better cure for a writer’s block than reading published work. 

I don’t know about you, but when I can no longer face the pain of the seventeenth redraft of a single paragraph, it’s nice to step away from the laptop, and read something that published author has written.

No doubt they’ve endured the same lengthy, frustrating process as you. Maybe they’ve shared some of the same gut wrenching plot issues, the elated days, the solemn days, the refuse-to-face-the-keyboard days. The days of being face down in words, wading through plotlines, drowning in verbs and ready to abandon the whole thing.

But these authors have got through all of this. They are literally the light at the end of what is essentially a dark, narrow tunnel of self-doubt. They’ve come out the other end, waving their masterpiece in the air and shouting ‘It can be done!’

With that in mind, I’d like to share two of my most recent inspiring reads.

The first is a new book by award-winning author Susan Crandall, called ‘Whistling Past the Graveyard’:

Nine-year old Starla hasn’t seen her momma since she was three, but is sure that if she can just get to Nashville, where she now lives, her momma will have reached her ambition of becoming a world-famous singer and be ready to reunite their family again. A Fourth of July parade gives Starla the chance to escape from the steel-iron grip of her grandmother, Mamie, and head north.

But the journey doesn’t go as Starla planned; she meets Eula, a black woman who is running from a dark, abusive past, and together they embark on a fraught and dangerous road trip, finding pockets of luck and goodwill in towns filled with 1960s racial segregation and tension.

Confronted with a number of life-changing challenges, Starla is forced to shed her naive view of the world, and gain a new understanding of respect, sacrifice and family. This is a beautiful coming of age story about a feisty, precocious girl who never gives up.

And…. If you’re in the mood for something side-splittingly hilarious, but no less intense, then read Trish Cook’s new book, ‘A Really Awesome Mess.’

Two teenagers, Emmy and Justin, have just been accepted into a therapeutic school called Heartland Academy. Each of them is locked into their a unique personal struggle, and the only thing they have in common is their stubbornness, their sarcasm and wish to leave ‘Assland’ Academy as soon as possible. But along with the rest of their therapeutic group, they must see through their issues until they are healthy enough to go home. Cue a series of manipulative yet oddly heart-warming attempts to cheat, lie and outsmart the therapists. Tragic, hilarious, and worth reading for the Hogwarts sorting game alone.

Happy reading! x

How to Tame your Anxiety Dragon: Part 1

Writing is great, but it can be very lonely. Shut away listening to the voices in your head, it’s sometimes hard to separate genuine issues from shadowy fears, let alone find a way to move past them. In the light of this, myself and the brilliant Yael Tischler would like to present our first collaboration for the blog. With our powers combined, we are insane. We hope you enjoy the result. 

This is the first chapter of a potential blog serial entitled “How to Tame Your Anxiety Dragon”. If we get enough comments on this chapter, we’ll treat you all to a second chapter.  And if you like our second chapter, well, you just might get a third.  And so forth… 

Also in the spirit of collaboration, if you’d like to include ridiculous story ideas in your comments, we’ll do our best to work them into future chapters. 

So without further ado... Be afraid.  Be very afraid.

How to Tame Your Anxiety Dragon

Part One

Pip couldn’t see the dragon, but he knew it was there.

Literary Acrophobia: Standing on the Precipice of Draft Two

“Writing your first draft’s like climbing a mountain,” my friend Ieva said to me today.  “You keep you on pushing yourself and pushing yourself until you get the top.”

“Yeah,” I agreed.  “But then, when you get to the top, YOU HAVE TO LOOK DOWN.”

Ladies and gentlemen, I am about to look down.

Full disclosure: I’m terrified of heights.  Anyone who has ever gone skiing with me knows this. 

For the record: I love skiing.  I adore letting go, abandoning my body to the mercy of wind and gravity – I think it’s one of the closest things humans can do to flying.   But I really, really hate looking down a slope and seeing all the ways I could potentially die.  I’ve worked pretty hard over the years at shutting off that part of my brain. Because I like skiing and I know that I’ve got the skills to handle most terrain and that I always get to the bottom no matter what.  I know that if I trust myself, I’ll be OK.

But sometimes, I look down. 

The Writer's Prayer, A Poem by Josh

If one decides to write a book, 

It is important they should look,

Upon the rules which widely known

Are sure to get you by when grown:

How Tippers always make good Lovers,

As lions (in general) make good mothers,

And eating chargrilled octopi

Will fill your mouth with tentacli

To whit, I feel it most distressingly,

To tell you not to bother - flee!

For trudging out the live long day

With words that often turn to clay,

Will drive you absolutely crazy

You'll curse yourself for being lazy.

I hear you cry, "But write I must!"

Very well, come closer, listen, trust -

These rules are what you must take home

Before embarking on your tome.

For one, you must prepare to be,

Sleep deprived and never caffeine free

(For coffee is the writer's nectar

Without which surely they'd become a spectre)

And did I mention procrastination?

You'll play all your music on rotation

And waste away your brain

On Wikipedia, and in vain -

You'll try to get those hours back,

But time for bed, the sky's gone black!

Second, in the writer's rules,
Is knowing for all the precious jewels,
The muse will visit when she wants
It might be twice, it might be once,
You'll never really have a day
In which the writing went your way,
The muse? You'll have to start without her,
Get on with it, don't be a doubter!

And thirdly I would have you note,
Be never seen without a quote
Of something from your latest read
The writer in you needs to feed
On books of every shape and size
For every book will make you wise

So take these rules and use them, friend,
I hope they're useful to ascend
To heights where writers wish to be,
(The upper reaches of a tree?)
This author needs to go and work
And will not now on Facebook lurk,
And if you thought my rhyme appalling,
You might read something else whilst stalling.

101 of the Most Beautiful Words in the English Language*

*According to someone I nicked this post from on tumblr...

Ailurophile A cat-lover.
Assemblage A gathering.
Becoming Attractive.
Beleaguer To exhaust with attacks.
Brood To think alone.
Bucolic In a lovely rural setting.
Bungalow A small, cozy cottage.
Chatoyant Like a cat’s eye.
Comely Attractive.
Conflate To blend together.
Cynosure A focal point of admiration.
Dalliance A brief love affair.
Demesne Dominion, territory.
Demure Shy and reserved.
Denouement The resolution of a mystery.
Desuetude Disuse.
Desultory Slow, sluggish.
Diaphanous Filmy.
Dissemble Deceive.
Dulcet Sweet, sugary.
Ebullience Bubbling enthusiasm.
Effervescent Bubbly.
Efflorescence Flowering, blooming.
Elision Dropping a sound or syllable in a word.
Elixir A good potion.
Eloquence Beauty and persuasion in speech.
Embrocation Rubbing on a lotion.
Emollient A softener.
Ephemeral Short-lived.
Epiphany A sudden revelation.
Erstwhile At one time, for a time.
Ethereal Gaseous, invisible but detectable.
Evanescent Vanishing quickly, lasting a very short time.
Evocative Suggestive.
Fetching Pretty.
Felicity Pleasantness.
Forbearance Withholding response to provocation.
Fugacious Fleeting.
Furtive Shifty, sneaky.
Gambol To skip or leap about joyfully.
Glamour Beauty.
Gossamer The finest piece of thread, a spider’s silk.
Halcyon Happy, sunny, care-free.
Harbinger Messenger with news of the future.
Imbrication Overlapping and forming a regular pattern.
Imbroglio An altercation or complicated situation.
Imbue To infuse, instill.
Incipient Beginning, in an early stage.
Ineffable Unutterable, inexpressible.
Ingénue A naïve young woman.
Inglenook A cozy nook by the hearth.
Insouciance Blithe nonchalance.
Inure To become jaded.

Iridescent showing luminous colours.

Labyrinthine Twisting and turning.
Lagniappe A special kind of gift.
Lagoon A small gulf or inlet.
Languor Listlessness, inactivity.
Lassitude Weariness, listlessness.
Leisure Free time.
Lilt To move musically or lively.
Lissome Slender and graceful.
Lithe Slender and flexible.
Love Deep affection.
Mellifluous Sweet sounding.
Moiety One of two equal parts.
Mondegreen A slip of the ear.
Murmurous Murmuring.
Nemesis An unconquerable archenemy.
Offing The sea between the horizon and the offshore.
Onomatopoeia A word that sounds like its meaning.
Opulent Lush, luxuriant.
Palimpsest A manuscript written over earlier ones.
Panacea A solution for all problems
Panoply A complete set.
Pastiche An art work combining materials from various sources.
Penumbra A half-shadow.
Petrichor The smell of earth after rain.
Plethora A large quantity.
Propinquity An inclination.
Pyrrhic Successful with heavy losses.
Quintessential Most essential.
Ratatouille A spicy French stew.
Ravel To knit or unknit.
Redolent Fragrant.
Riparian By the bank of a stream.
Ripple A very small wave.
Scintilla A spark or very small thing.
Sempiternal Eternal.
Seraglio Rich, luxurious oriental palace or harem.
Serendipity Finding something nice while looking for something else.
Summery Light, delicate or warm and sunny.
Sumptuous Lush, luxurious.
Surreptitious Secretive, sneaky.
Susquehanna A river in Pennsylvania.
Susurrous Whispering, hissing.
Talisman A good luck charm.
Tintinnabulation Tinkling.
Umbrella Protection from sun or rain.
Untoward Unseemly, inappropriate.
Vestigial In trace amounts.
Wafture Waving.
Wherewithal The means.
Woebegone Sorrowful, downcast.