I have a dash fetish. I am the dashes-create-tell-all-adjectives queen.
My addiction began while writing reality recaps for my daughter’s website, athletchic.com. Jessie, my daughter, asked me to admit I was addicted to The Bachelor and begin blogging recaps about the show. Athletchic.com readers were asking for them, and Jessie dedicated her Monday evenings to blogging about the Kardashians. So could I write it?
Admitting I watched The Bachelor was no easy feat. I was working in the business world and hoping my co-workers didn’t get wind of it. My dash-queen qualities began surfacing slowly. First I mentioned Shower-shy Brit—a bachelorette noted for not taking showers. Then came What’s-her-name Megan whose name the Bachelor could never remember. It advanced to Love-my-widow-story Kelsey about a girl who (it almost appeared) relished recanting her widow story. Then it peaked. I reached the dash-queen apex when my fingers typed Pick-me-pick-me-I’m-a-virgin Ashley for a girl who constantly flaunted her virginity hoping to persuade the Bachelor to pick her. It was there in print before I knew it. I had sunk to a new low. Six dashes. Is there a linguistic chastisement for using that many dashes?
Now my real-world diction mingles with my blog-world diction. It is a thoughtless diction that was accidentally catapulted by addiction. Yet, in the blogging world, readers loved it. Compliments flowed and followers multiplied. They couldn’t get enough of the dash-queen’s adjectives.
So now I read and reread, watch and re-watch Write 101x’s adjective lectures to right my wrong. Bad habits are hard to break. But I must change my ways and refocus as I enter back into the literary atmosphere.
Let my love-my-dashes-more-than-conventional-adjectives ways cease to exist. Well, at least Tuesday through Sunday.