As a writer, words are my most basic units of construction. Like any diligent artisan, I often give thought to these fundamental units of my craft.
I spend a good part of my fall weekends collecting, cutting and storing firewood for the coming winter. My dogs and I scout around in the woods surrounding our home, sifting through the fallen leaves, picking up broken branches and the occasional fallen tree. Watching the dogs run about last fall, I was once again struck by the depth and honesty of their playfulness. They’re pure beings, both of them, steadfast in love, loyalty and faithfulness.
I can’t say why, but out there in the woods and the ginger December sun, the word “bitch” clicked into my rambling thoughts; it came along with all its colloquial connotations. I pondered how “bitch” evolved into a negative sense. From my experience, a bitch is a steadfast, authentic and caring friend, a being who exists with a seemingly sole purpose: to love and to be loved. What could be closer to Eden? With the meaning of the word modulated to its truer connotation, I confess that I’ll do my best to be a bitch. I only wish that more people were true-blue bitches.