Everyone who knows me at all knows that I have a potty mouth. It’s true. I can cuss a blue streak. I’m not particularly proud of it, but I’m not ashamed of it either. I realize that there are a plethora of words out there to choose (I am a writer, after all) from but, at times, I choose the dirty words–the ones that offer a cathartic release when shouted or growled. And this served me well.
Recently, I wrote a bit of flash fiction for a Facebook writing group to which I belong. The theme was “Imminent.” A germ of an idea floated around in my head for a day or two, and then it started to grow. I decided that the story needed to be told from the first person POV, because of the nature of the tale. I started fleshing out my idea and as the character revealed himself to me, I realized that his language was even coarser than my own (if that is even possible). I wasn’t sure of this group’s policy on profanity so, not wanting to offend anyone, I asked. The general consensus was that, if it was honestly necessary for the story, it should be fine.
I was relieved when the group confirmed my suspicion that this character simply would have a foul mouth. Not in an angry, raging way…but as part of his everyday speech. His choice of words meant something, it said something about his personality and his relationships.
I suppose that my potty mouth likewise says something about me…about my relationships. I hope it means that I am surrounded by friends who don’t give a &%$*$(#*(*# if I talk a blue streak, and readers who care enough about my characters to look for the meaning behind the words.