Coarse: (adj) rude, crude, or vulgar.

Fortunately for the human race, if for some reason they do not want to deal with your message or the impact of your words, they can either critique your style or claim that your language is coarse and profane.

I have spent the major part of my professional career trying to determine the words that best describe what I’m trying to communicate, and then attempting to slide those cherished words into the body of my work, without being shunned for foul usage.

Honestly, when describing an atrocity and the need for change, the word “darn” does not replace “damn.”

For many years I was critiqued for saying “crap”–but “bullcrap” is not as energetic as “bullshit.”

The purpose of speech is to communicate. The goal of the written word is to impact. And the mission of the visual is to enlighten.

They must be permitted to do their jobs without being censored, or even-tempered.

I happen to agree that the word f-u-c-k is rarely necessary to communicate and certainly should not be overused as an adjective or an adverb.

But even that stipulation carries a bit of fuddy-duddy, which is not necessarily applicable in the pursuit of waking up the sleepy masses.

Having survived a lifetime which has included living in a society where the word “pregnant” could not be uttered on television, to now living in an Internet generation, where temperance is disdained, I am more than happy to put guidelines on my own soul–using an economy of words to justify the heart of the story, without coarsely tainting it with unnecessary emotions which threaten to condemn it.

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Words from Dic(tionary)

dictionary with letter A

Adjective: (n.) a word or phrase naming an attribute, added to or grammatically related to a noun to modify or describe it.

Sometimes I grow exhausted living in a “verb-and -noun world.”

Adjectives are those words inserted into our lives which prove that we actually give a damn. For instance:

“This is my wife.”  Dull, right?

“This is my beautiful wife.” Just adding the adjective “beautiful” means that I care enough to explain that the woman with me is not merely a flesh-and-blood appendage, but someone who possesses attractiveness.

“This is my intelligent friend.” The word “intelligent” triggers the notion that I am about to meet someone of ilk and knowledge.

Adjectives are the words that God created to keep us from becoming boring.

              “How are you doing today?” my neighbor asks.

              “Good,” I reply, completely terminating further communication.

I know that many people think being laid back, limited in words and tight-lipped is a way of sharing that you are simple and free of complication. It is also a style which telegraphs that you don’t have much going on in your cranial cavity and your emotions have been drained of all juiciness.

I like adjectives.

Of course, they can be overdone. A simple rule is to never use an adjective to be an adjective to an adjective. In other words, two adjectives in a row are not only unnecessary, they are verbally incestuous.

But without them, we don’t really have any way to tell people how valuable they are to us, or of sharing with God how glad we are that He has come … to modify our lives.