Chris' Top Ten Neologisms

Okay gals, and one noble sir, after scouring the net for some “hot” new neologisms that can give voice to the story of storytelling, here is what was wrought. What follows are what I consider the most langulicious terms—ha! Yes, my own invention. “-Licious” is the suffix with the mostix these days. And, I would like to argue that the artful story is langulicious indeed. Is not the well chosen word or phrase, rendered consciously and delivered extemporaneously, not that for which we storytellers strive? You bet your trunk it is. The more langulicious we are, the more cheddar we earn. And, I’m not talking accolades, babes. Cheddar is what you and I used to call “bread” or “green.” I was thinking how my dad used to invite us to splurge during our yearly vacation week at the beach--pizza and soda for everybody; “Order what you want,” he’d grin, “I’m heavy." This year, when I am placing the ice cream orders, I’ll echo his merry largess, “Double swirls all around,” I’ll tell them, “I’m sharp.” I might even throw in “No, really, go ahead, Aunt CC’s no nillionaire.” I mean, isn’t it obvious? Chemical engineers, neurosurgeons, hedge fund managers, and folktale tellers—all of us are flush with cheddar.
But, don’t get me wrong. Storytelling isn’t about cheddar, it’s about relationships. And, we are taught that the difference between the teller and the actor is that the teller feels like your friend, or for the langulicious among us, your home skillet. I like this one quite a bit, because home skillet reminds me of fried potatoes, most possibly my favorite food. From now on, if I really like an audience, I will tell them at the end of my set, “You are gorgeous, all of you, true home skillets, feel like I’ve known you my whole life.”
Which brings me to a word about threads. Just as we are encouraged to carefully rehearse jokes and asides to look spontaneous, we are also instructed to carefully construct costumes designed to look like street clothes. But whatever look we are going for, what we wear should be well considered. Yes, home skillets, from your hat to your rides, think it through. Suede heels might look good, but not if you are telling say, sans microphone at an outdoor festival under a tree behind the heavy metal stage after a week of torrential rains. I mean, we all have been there, no? So remember, your best rides are for chillaxin (chillin’ + relaxing) with your skillets, not perfellin (mine again, you like?) for your fans.
HS’es, I could go on like this for days, but truth be told, I only need three more neologisms to fulfill this assignment, and well, being no multi-slacker, I’ve got story work to do. The tasks of the teller are multiple: we glean anthologies for the tales that speak to us; we research cultural context; we construct narrative; we rehearse and revise and reconfigure; before we finally perform. And, for me, it’s all about tightening—throwing out every episode, phrase, flight of description that is unneeded and therefore extra. TMI, home skillets, "too much information." At the end of the day, we’ve got to separate the wheat from the TMI and never, ever, ever be overly pedantic. The last, and I mean very last, thing we want to do is to smother our audience in a whole lot of complex academic blather; we are tellers, my skillets, not brainkillers. We must remember that.