Hardly a day goes by that I don’t think of my high school English teacher, Miss Grace Puckett, and smile. She taught me not to mix my metaphors nor dangle my participles.

Her tenacity and proficiency in teaching writing skills were incredible. Based on some of the correspondence I receive each week, there are many who played hooky the day subjects and predicates were taught.

Just this past week I opened an email to find an entire commentary written in a single paragraph. As well, commas seemed to be sprinkled in as an afterthought, much like salting a scrambled egg after it was put on the plate. Many sentences were incomplete, and it was difficult to get the gist of the rambling. Words were randomly capitalized.

Now I haven’t diagrammed a sentence since I left high school. However, having learned that skill gave me the behind-the-scenes tools to convey thought in written form. I can appreciate it now. It’s like studying music theory to enhance the performance.

While Miss Puckett was a stickler for form and function in stringing words together, she did allow for some fun with the English language, which brings us to “lexophilia.”

I haven’t thought of lexophilia in years. At first glance it sounds like something social services might investigate or a condition to be treated with penicillin. Actually, it’s a play on words where a sentence has a funny twist at the end.

Example: I stepped on a corn flake today, so I guess that makes me a cereal killer. 

Standup comedians often employ the “lexophile” in their routines.

Little did I know that there are people out there who compete in the venue of lexophilia. I got a note via email this week that the national winner for 2017 penned this: “Those who get too big for their pants will be totally exposed in the end.”

When I read that, I immediately thought of Congress and Harvey Weinstein.

Let me share some of the entries:

• “When fish are in schools, they sometimes take debate.”

• “A thief who stole a calendar got twelve months.”

• “When the smog lifts in Los Angeles, U.C.L.A.”

• “The batteries were given out free of charge.”

• “A will is a dead giveaway.”

• “Did you hear about the fellow who’s total left side was cut off? He’s all right now.”

• “The guy who fell on the upholstery machine is now fully recovered.”

• “When she saw her first strands of gray hair, she thought she would dye.”

• “A bicycle can’t stand alone, it’s just too tired.”

Like I said, it’s a play on words or a play with words. This practice is also known as paraprosdokia. That sounds less criminal than lexophilia, but it is harder to pronounce.

Now in Miss Puckett’s class we didn’t dwell on lexophilia very long. It was just a nice break from conjugating verbs, learning to spell obfuscation and making a sentence using the word acquiesce.

Miss Puckett’s class was my writing foundation. That’s not to say that I don’t venture from her rules sometimes. I will end a sentence with a preposition if I think it works. And I will begin a sentence with “and” if it flows and makes sense. I once read of an inmate who ended his sentence with a proposition. 

My email that told of the lexophile competition said it is held annually “at an undisclosed” location. So why the big secrecy? To me it’s as credible as “Dancing With The Wannabes.” Keeping it undisclosed is like a broken pencil being pointless!

Dwain Walden is editor/publisher of The Moultrie Observer, 985-4545. Email: dwain.walden@gaflnews.com