I'm reading a book with some weird ways with words. I read quite a few pages while waiting in line for a free food giveaway. And made some notes.

So, here we go:

The idea of the novel is two friends, young women, hiking in the Appalachian area. Of course, they are not hikers. They argue, they complain. And of course, there is a medical emergency. And of course, there are menacing backwoods men afoot.

1. "(she) marveled...at how the Blue Ridge Mountains were actually blue. Pale blue, dark blue, purple blue. Her father had taught her that these colors were created by isoprene exhaled from the breathing trees.
This is a thing, it's true. When was the last time you saw the word isoprene?

2. "A commercial airplane whined across the darkening sky...The passengers on board would never hear her cries for help. She watched the red blinking lights in silence."
Could you actually see lights from an airline if you are in the forest in a hole 4 feet deep? I wondered about this.

3. "The pain was so livid and fluctuating that it was almost redundant."
I'm confused. The dictionary definition of redundant is: Not or no longer needed or useful; superfluous.


So I have to say that what I've read on the OctoPrep challenge site, the works you fellow writers are laboring over, are Pulitzer Prize winners compared to this. I'm not even going to print the name or author. If you want to know, I'll email it to you.