Aunt Mercy put down her tiles, one at a time. I-T-C-H-I-N.Aunt Grace leaned closer to the board, squinting. 'Mercy Lynne, you're cheatin' again! What kinda word is that? Use it in a sentence.'I'm itchin' ta have some a that white cake.'That's not how you spell it.' At least one of them could spell. Aunt Grace pulled one of the tiles off the board. 'There's no T in itchin'.' Or not.

(Rude Scrabble)You played this game with your parents?' he asked skeptically.Yep. And Mom always won, the dirty bitch. I guess being older she'd been around more than me and Carrie,' Sophie said, extracting replacement tiles from the box. 'Although I don't know what Dad's excuse was. Lack of imagination, I guess. Your turn.

Kipster is a perfectly valid word,” Wendy argued, about to write down her score on the little notepad that had come with the game. “Okay, so what does it mean?” Mandy wanted to know. Wendy struggled to come up with an answer, and finally just changed the subject with school gossip. Mandy found herself just ignoring it… it always sounded the same, the same events, same rumors, same secrets, same affairs, but never anything of interest to her.“Well Sarah’s on drugs again and that’s why she did it in Mario’s backseat, but now she might be pregnant, oh, and that messed-up Seth kid’s been cutting himself again so he was sent away to Halifax last week, and there’s a festival in Wolfville but Kathy won’t go because Audrey-Rose is going to be there and they hate each other, and….”Mandy had learned two years ago to detach herself from gossip; she’d learned it from Jud’s death. Wendy may have been eighteen years old but she could be immature on the best of days.

Sometimes fate just plays a strange scrabble.

...Art is weaker than life - in the end I have a bag of letters to scrabble into order - rune tiles to cast my fate...

On Caladan, we ruled with sea and air power,' the Duke said. 'Here, we must scrabble for desert power. This is your inheritance, Paul.

Remember, when you don’t know what to do, it never hurts to play Scrabble. It’s like reading the I Ching or tea leaves.

[Calvin and Hobbes are playing Scrabble.] Calvin: Ha! I've got a great word and it's on a 'Double word score' box! Hobbes: 'ZQFMGB' isn't a word! It doesn't even have a vowel! Calvin: It is so a word! It's a worm found in New Guinea! Everyone knows that! Hobbes: I'm looking it up. Calvin: You do, and I'll look up that 12-letter word you played with all the Xs and Js! Hobbes: What's your score for ZQFMGB? Calvin: 957.

Everyone lives in two worlds,” Maggie said, speaking in an absentminded sort of way while she studied her letters. “There’s the real world, with all its annoying facts and rules. In the real world, there are things that are true and things that aren’t. Mostly the real world s-s-s-suh-sucks. But everyone also lives in the world inside their own head. An inscape, a world of thought. In a world made of thought—in an inscape—every idea is a fact. Emotions are as real as gravity. Dreams are as powerful as history. Creative people, like writers, and Henry Rollins, spend a lot of their time hanging out in their thoughtworld. S-s-strong creatives, though, can use a knife to cut the stitches between the two worlds, can bring them together. Your bike. My tiles. Those are our knives.

You haven’t lived till you’ve played Scrabble in a psych ward.