I just finished reading Return of the Stardust Cowgirl by Marsha Moyer, the last of the Lucy Hatch series which I have devoured with all the enthusiasm of a Weight Watchers flunkie left alone in a room with a Reeses Peanut Butter Cup, inhaling and savoring with hedonistic glee. In the first paragraph, Ms. Moyer offers this bit of deliciousness: “I thought Will Culpepper hung the moon, with his skinny gangster hips and his half-cocked smile, the strand of black hair like a comma separating the clauses of his steel-blue eyes.” I must have read that sentence a dozen times, marveling at the sheer perfection of it, wondering how in the world she was going to top herself in the next 350 pages. Her books have all the catchiness yet lyrical resonance of a Hank Williams’ song.

Undoubtedly her stories are character-driven with characters so alive they come off the page; yet her characters are bigger than that. They sit themselves on the couch beside you and start reading the book aloud so you can get the full picture and right inflections. I would love to drive to Mooney and sit with Lucy and Ash, have a couple glasses of lemonade, and listen to Ash sing. They are so real, they are like long-lost family. How? How did she connect with me on such a level? I’ve read a score of brilliant books lately, each one better than the last, but this one has lingered long after the song stopped playing.

I figured it out. It’s the language used in the novels.

Clearly Ms. Moyer and I have access to the same Webster’s Dictionary, and she’s not using any new or unusual words I’ve never heard of. But she is using them better.

Like those metaphors. That line about his stand of black hair being a comma–that was merely the first of a thousand she’s created and evoked memory within her readers. I would never think to use that, yet that is the most perfect thing I’ve ever read. It paints an exact picture; and though I’ve never been to Texas, and Mooney doesn’t even exist, I know I could find it if I were driving through East Texas. Her lyrical language envelops me in what I feel is the culture; I can imagine a small town where the language was simple but poetic. I would love to do that in my books, but I’m not particularly original in my phrasing of things. I’m a complete idiom girl.

In fact, out of curiosity, I printed a bunch of idioms and was shocked (and rather appalled really) at how many I used that didn’t even register to me as idioms. I’m surprised I’m able to have a normal conversation with someone outside of Missouri. You know how some people can’t speak if they don’t get use their hands? Okay, so I have that issue too; but if I were banned from using idioms, I’d be mute. Mute. I’m not kidding.

A few of my favorites are: “nature abhors a vacuum”; “beating a dead horse”; “grinning like a coon eating briars”; “shit-eating grin” (I mean, just exactly what does that mean? I know how I use it, but if I was being literal—if I were eating shit, I wouldn’t be grinning); “chaps my ass”; “death warmed over”; “give someone enough rope”; “everybody and their cousin” or “everybody and their dog” (hey, we’re Southern); “hell in a handbasket”; “ninth circle of hell”—actually I say, “tenth circle of hell” to indicate this is even worse than Dante’s Worst. And on and on. Honestly, it would be less blog-consuming to give you the idioms I don’t use.

Idioms are “colloquial metaphors”, which Wikipedia (oh, come on, I’m not the only guilty person, pulling her facts off here) says, basically reveal more about the culture of those using them than the person in general. Which is true. The small town I hail from would know all those expressions above and could one-up me in several instances. We lived to drive Ms. Yount barking mad using them (not my town idiom; I’ve picked up some lovely British ones since the Harry Potter phenomenon. Thank you, J.K. Rowling.)

Speaking of Ms. Rowling, she too has a gift for creating unique metaphors, as well as cautiously incorporating idioms into her characters’ dialogue. It gave a distinct feeling of immersion into the story, without having to use pages of description or setting. Just a few clever and thoughtful metaphors encapsulated the scene completely, and you simply couldn’t imagine a world without Harry Potter in it. Ms. Moyer does for East Texas as Ms. Rowling does for a magical castle in Scotland.

Therefore, I’m going to figure out a way to do something similar in my books, with my own metaphors, and undoubtedly abusing idioms at will. I think all I need is one good metaphor to get me started.

Anyone else metaphor-mad like me? Can you think of a sentence or passage from a book that stayed with you long after you put the book back on the shelf? What was it? (I’m out of Lucy Hatch & Harry Potter books; I can use new ones.)