Dear Thesaurus,

Where would I be without you? I’d be stuck, adrift in a sea of repetitive words, unable to escape the same tired phrases. You, with your endless supply of synonyms, have been my guiding light through countless manuscripts. I know I’ve taken you for granted, overused you, and even misused you on occasion, but today, I want to express my undying gratitude. This is my love letter to you

Without you, dear thesaurus, my writing would be the literary equivalent of plain toast—bland, boring, and probably stale. You’re the butter, the jam, and sometimes, the Nutella that makes my words just that little bit tastier. But I must admit, my relationship with you has had its fair share of complications (see? I could’ve said “issues,” but you helped me sound so much smarter).

The Quest for the Perfect Word

It all starts with the noble quest for the perfect word. A word that’s more eloquent than “nice,” more impactful than “good,” and definitely more interesting than “bad.” So, I turn to you, my beloved thesaurus, and together we embark on a journey to find the right word—the one that makes me look like I know exactly what I’m do

But, let’s be honest, sometimes you take me on a wild goose chase. What starts as a simple search for a synonym for “happy” somehow leads me to “euphoric,” which makes me question whether my protagonist should be that thrilled about cutting a carrot.

Exhibit A:

Original:

“She was really happy.”

Thesaurus Version:

“She was deliriously jubilant, overtaken by an unbridled wave of euphoria.”

Yeah, maybe I got a little carried away.

When Simplicity Was All I Needed

Sometimes, my over-reliance on you, dear thesaurus, has turned my straightforward sentences into linguistic labyrinths. I remember one particular scene where my character simply needed to “run.” But, oh no, I couldn’t settle for such a mundane word. I needed something grander, something that would elevate the moment.

So, with your help, I “improved” it:

Original:

“She ran toward the door.”

Thesaurus Version:

“She hastened with alacrity toward the aperture.”

Let me tell you, it did not work. The sentence that once made sense now sounded like my character was fleeing from a Victorian novel. I had overcomplicated a simple phrase, thanks to you (but really, it’s my fault for thinking I needed to sound fancy in the first place)

The Time I Accidentally Made a Character Sound Smarter Than Me

On more than one occasion, you’ve made my characters sound smarter than they have any right to be. I wanted them to sound intelligent, sure—but not like they’ve just swallowed a dictionary. There was the time my humble cook character described a stew as “transcendent” and referred to the bread rolls as “divine ambrosia.” Let’s just say, not all early medieval cooks talk like they’re auditioning for a food critics’ convention.

But I can’t blame you. I got greedy. I wanted to impress readers with my character’s vocabulary, and you were there, faithfully offering me synonyms like “prepossessing” and “effulgent.” I guess “pretty” just wasn’t cutting it that day.

Our Love-Hate Relationship

Now, let’s be real for a second, Thesaurus. You’ve let me down a few times, too. Sometimes you suggest synonyms that have absolutely no business being in the same sentence as the word I’m replacing. There was that time I tried to find an alternative for “jump,” and you confidently handed me “leap,” “bound,” and then—wait for it—“vault.” My protagonist is not an Olympic gymnast. Or a ninja.

But in spite of these moments of betrayal, I can’t stay mad at you. I always come back because, deep down, I know that my writing is better with you in it.

When I Should’ve Just Used the Original Word

It’s hard to admit, but there are times when I didn’t need you at all. When I could’ve just used the original word and spared myself (and my readers) the mental gymnastics of figuring out what the heck “effulgent” even means. Simplicity, as it turns out, is often underrated. But that’s not your fault, Thesaurus. You were just trying to help. It’s me. I’m the one who insisted that my character couldn’t just be “sad.” No, no, they had to be “melancholy” or “despondent,” as if the extra syllables would make them feel deeper emotions.

Word Mishaps and Unintended Hilarity

Oh, the unintentional comedy we’ve created together, Thesaurus. Like that time I was trying to find a fancier way to say “big.” I didn’t want to use “huge” or “massive” (how pedestrian!), so I went with “gargantuan.” But as it turns out, “gargantuan” is not the most appropriate way to describe someone’s appetite during a quiet evening by the hearth. I had readers picturing my character devouring bread and cheese as if they were preparing for a famine.

Or the time I swapped “angry” for “incensed,” and suddenly my mild-mannered character sounded like they were ready to start a revolution. You’ve helped me create some unintentionally intense moments, Thesaurus, and for that, I thank you.

In Conclusion: You’re Still My MVP

Despite the occasional overuse, misuse, and straight-up abuse of your offerings, Thesaurus, I don’t know how I’d write without you. You’ve expanded my vocabulary, saved me from repetition, and given me the confidence (sometimes misplaced) to sound like I know what I’m doing. Sure, we’ve had our ups and downs, but that’s true love, isn’t it?

So here’s to you, my trusted thesaurus. Thank you for helping me sound smarter than I actually am, for turning my writing into a thrilling (if occasionally confusing) linguistic adventure, and for always being there when I need a word that’s just a little bit better than “good.”

I’ll probably never stop overusing you, but that’s just how I show my appreciation. Consider this blog post my love letter to you—affectionate epistle, if you will

A Response…

Dear Logorrheic Wordsmith,

Oh, I see how it is. One minute I’m your “beloved thesaurus,” and the next I’m the scapegoat for your verbosity (word salad, if you will). Let’s not pretend I forced you to write, “She hastened with alacrity toward the aperture.” That was all you. I merely whispered “aperture” in your ear like a helpful butler; you’re the one who decided your door needed a degree in architecture.

And yes, I’ll admit, I offered “euphoric” as a synonym for “happy.” But did I also hand you the shovel to bury your sentence under a landslide of delirious jubilation? No. That’s your creative flair (unhinged impulse).

Honestly, your knack for turning a straightforward sentence into a Victorian melodrama is equal parts fascinating and horrifying. I mean, “vault”? Really? Your protagonist isn’t a Cirque du Soleil performer, but I guess they’re leaping for their life now.

Here’s a tip, my overenthusiastic scribbler of soliloquies (drama queen): just because I provide the glitter doesn’t mean every sentence needs to sparkle like a Vegas showgirl. Sometimes “happy” is fine. Sometimes “run” is fine. And yes, sometimes “door” is fine, too.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be waiting patiently on your desk while you inevitably blame me for your next linguistic misadventure.

Yours in reluctant servitude (exasperated loyalty),
Thesaurus

Happy writing!

Ali x