Not My Day for the Prize Money

~ Jenny ~ Leave a comment

When the Scrabble tiles didn’t play along

It was one of those days.

The value tiles had clearly been given my opponent’s location in advance, while mine arrived as a steady stream of vowels—sometimes seven at a time. Now and then a promising consonant appeared, but it brought along friends that didn’t speak to each other. No bingos, no flow—just a series of short words doing their best.

Across the board, of course, everything worked beautifully. Racks that practically lined up as bingos, neat overlaps falling into place, and double-digit word scores adding up faster than the pump price of fuel. You know the kind of game—just not when you’re the one having it.

Sunday’s Last of the Summer Wine–themed one-day club tournament, held in the relaxed setting of a club member’s home, had all the right elements: friendly company, tasty food, a gentle pace for new players, and supportive woofs from her cheerful little dogs.

As for me, I was a lesson in how to lose five games with consistency and (eventually) in good humour. I was reminded of an Auckland player who, when asked how his games were going, replied with a grin, “Well, I’m making other people very happy.”

Which is all very well—but somewhere between the third vowel-heavy rack and the other player’s effortless, points-scoring wordplay, I wondered how my friend—a Grand Master player—might play a hand like this.

Yes, I changed multiple vowels—several times. That, or play EUOI for 8 points. Nine I’s in the bag—the psycho tiles—agglutinate like sticky rice, clustering together. I know words with two or more I’s, but on this occasion the other tiles on the rack wouldn’t play along. More changes. No points earned. 

Another opponent played LOOSIER. I challenged, and off the board came her tiles—no points for her. A small, short-lived triumph for me. Over the next few turns she continued to pick up and play esses and blanks—the valuable tiles for making bingos. I challenged two more misspelled words off the board. As the endgame neared, tile-tracking indicated my chances of picking up premium tiles were limited at one point to—well, of course—vowels.

I started well in my first game, making reasonable moves and placing value consonants on premium squares. By mid-game, I was ahead on points. Tile-tracking suggested the esses and blanks were yet to be drawn. My opponent showed her hand—an S played to pluralise both QIN, and a Z-word for a solid score. I suspected she had another S. Sure enough, in the endgame both blanks and more esses appeared as she played bingos to win.

What else? The game isn’t over until the last tile is played. I was ahead—until my opponent laid down CINEAST across a triple word score to take the win. Good luck, well used.

In some games, nothing seems to go right despite doing your best. The standard advice is simple: accept the loss. There’s always an element of luck—and it does go both ways.

Not my day for the prize money—but still an enjoyable club competition day all the same.

Taking Natural Timeout from Scrabble

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Where time is kept by trees and light

I often walk under the trees. It is where I was yesterday. The sky was overcast. I take my phone with me. There are always words to keep me company—descriptions, names of things, feelings.

I spotted two dead fledglings at the base of a tree. A flash of small blue feathers and the shape of their legs suggested pūkeko. They were not injured. Perhaps they got lost. Sad. Toadstools were dotted here and there. Treefall debris lies, scattered, food for the soil.

At noon, the clouds parted.

The sun shone through a gap, and the tōtara tree shadows below lined up at midday, in still formation.

No rain imminent. The sun continued to shine through breaks in the cloud cover.

I continued toward the stream.

I call it my Creek-on the -map-with-no-name.

The water ripples along the gravel bed on its way to bigger waters, out to the ocean.

Tōtara trees shade the waterway. Eels call it home. Ferns are regenerating. Kākahi, or freshwater mussels, are plentiful—and happily eaten by the pūkeko.

It takes time to let nature do its thing; it knows best what’s needed. At times, it needs a helping hand. Much flood and storm debris has been cleared. Repair takes time.

Back from the stream about thirty minutes later.

The time shadow formation had already shifted slightly.

It was about 12:30 p.m.

No digital clock-face necessary.

Time written in shadow—there, and then not.

March Madness…Scrabble Club Style 

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ENTER. HMM. LAUGH.

The Case of the Missing Tile Bag

Just another regular club day write-up by the Scrabble Club Secretary.

HM-HM moments summed up the day for club member E-bike Rider in her rush to enjoy some good games of Scrabble last week.

Setting up her board and tiles, she proudly proclaimed her tile bag was freshly laundered and — to the amusement of those of us whose bags are less laundered — showed the super-sparkling white bag lining for inspection.

The solemnity of the Challenge Round in Game 2 was disrupted by a great gale of laughter. E-bike Rider sat, head down on her Scrabble board hapless in her state of mirthfulness while her laughing Opponent – aka Club Monthly News Reporter, managed to stay seated upright.

Tile Bag Search & Recovery Operation

Backstory: freshly laundered, sparkling white-lined tile bag was missing in action.

Distraught E-bike Rider and her Game 2 opponent launched a search-and-recovery operation — in the toilet area, under game tables, and even interrogated the neighbouring player.

“Not me,” declared Innocent Player at the neighbouring table.

Regulation -sized, less laundered Scrabble tile bag.

Ah! On the next table lay Unattended Bag clad in the same Scrabble patterned-fabric. It too was missing one tiny Scrabble tile on the tie-cord — just like the MIA bag.

But Unattended Tile Bag owner had wisely prepared for such an uplifting eventuality and had written her name on the inside on her less laundered, not-so-sparkling white-lined, tile bag. 

The search resumed. The board was raised and the space beneath was inspected. Nothing. The Scrabble Word List folder beside the board was lifted — and there, revealed in all its sparkling, white-lined glory, freshly laundered MIA Tile Bag lay, neatly folded and pressed, patiently waiting for its feed of Scrabble tiles. 

HM HM moment

The photo captures the finale of this HM-HM HMM story.

HM-HM moments ended when E-Bike Rider and her Game 3 opponent-each played the same 2-letter word HM in Turns 1 & 2.

⬜H ⬜M ⬜M (interjection)
A Scrabble player’s thoughtful sound while a freshly laundered tile bag considers coming clean. Usage: HMM… I’m sure the tiles were in the bag a moment ago.

Dream Tiles & Two Early Tournaments — A Scrabble Memory Ten Years On

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I love it when history and Scrabble come together. It gives the journey a sense of purpose and context. 

Earlier this month, I felt a wave of nostalgia when I couldn’t attend Rotorua Scrabble Club’s annual tournament — the people there are so friendly and it’s always a great city to visit.

Instead, I found myself remembering two of the first tournaments I played in after joining our club. The first was an unrated one-day round-robin at Horeke in the upper reaches of the Hokianga Harbour. About 200 years ago, this small isolated settlement boasted a colonial trading post, a Kauri timber mill, and a shipbuilding yard.

Our group of fourteen Scrabble players stayed overnight in a very large house — once the childhood home of New Zealand author Jane Mander (1877–1949). It apparently had been transported from Port Albert near Kaiwaka – the setting for her iconic novel The Story of a New Zealand River first published in 1920. Her novel was to be a source of inspiration for Film Director, Jane Campion who made her acclaimed film The Piano in 1993.

Keen for competition games, I signed up and joined the other players on the easy 50-minute drive north. 

That weekend, we sat on the verandah looking north over the upper reaches of the harbour. We wined, whinged about rotten tile draws, laughed, and played Scrabble. It was a wonderful girls’ weekend away. 

. Over-looking upper reaches of the Hokianga Harbour. Scrabble tournament about 10 years ago

What a tournament it turned out to be! I managed to beat three New Zealand representative players to take second place. Dumb luck, really. Dream tiles fell my way. I recorded a giddy personal best game score of 539 points. 

Five seven-letter word scores in 1st, 3rd, 5th, 9th & 10th turns.

Scrabble Game Nov 2015 Personal Best Score
  • VENTING (80) – opponent changed tiles 1st turn, left DW row open.
  • TRAINED (75) – good bingo tile combination AIERNT+D 
  • PLEATErS (70) – through an R, used S to hook under an I 
  • GRiTT☐LY (62) – through 1st I, used blank as 2nd I
  • W☐RRIED (70) – W hooked onto TE, blank used as O 

Naturally, I took full credit for my “skillful wordplay.” How easy is that? The photo captures the moment of my misplaced confidence.

Next memory I recall, all credit went to Himself, who agreed to spend a few days in Rotorua in 2016. I would play in their two-day Scrabble club tournament. He dusted off his fly rod and fishing gear. When we lived in the Waikato, this historic city had long been one of our favourite weekend escapes. What’s not to love about trout fishing, soaking in a hot mineral pool and enjoying the thermal sights? 

Having dropped me off at the venue, he went fly casting in the lake. It was his introduction to becoming a Scrabble “orphan” — one of the informal group of partners who hover around the fringes of tournaments, finding their own ways to fill the time. That year he deserved the prize for his freshly smoked trout. 

Again, I played well to win my grade – with a game score average of 399. Early tournament successes can hook players.

Yes, I did feel nostalgic earlier this month when my friends packed their Scrabble boards and tiles and made the six-hour drive south without me. They caught up with friends from other clubs and soaked in the mineral pools at the end of a hard day of Scrabble competition.

Ten years later I know better — competitive Scrabble isn’t easy. I’ve learned to enjoy the moments while I can. They don’t necessarily repeat. But the tournaments, the travels, and the friendships made across the board are still very much worth the journey.

Wordplay Waiting in the Wings

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Observing birds on a New Zealand lifestyle block, where nature’s music and Scrabble words meet.

Someone once said to me that birdsong is an opera performed on a natural stage. Each moment has its own musical score. Key themes are reflected in the calls, the warnings, the joy, the aggression — echoed as seasonal dramas play out. The actors are clad in colourful plumes.

I often stop what I am doing outdoors and simply stand still, listening to and watching the birds. Perhaps that explains why my garden is still a work in progress.

Whether in the grapevine or the flaxbush, tauhou — the friendly little wax-eye, trills as it hunts for insects and pecks at ripening grapes.

From the paddocks and the stream bank come the raucous screeches and squawks of pūkeko, the swamp hen common in New Zealand wetlands and farmland. Their social groups nest in the paddock or along the stream bank.




Parent swamp hen distracting attention
away from the nest
– her chicks have hatched.
Two newly hatched Pukeko chicks

A kōtare — the kingfisher, perches on a fence post, its green-blue and light orange plumage catching the light as it makes its staccato call: kek, kek, kek. One made its nest in a rotting tree trunk in my garden.

Tūī are extraordinary visitors, handsome, with striking white feathers at their throats. They feed among the flowers of harakeke — the native flax and tī kōuka – the cabbage trees. Their vocal range is wide and loud: whistles, clicks, cackles and wheezes.

During a stroll beneath the trees, pīwakawaka — a lively fantail, flits nearby, keeping me company and telling me cheep, cheep. Māori refer to this friendly little bird as a messenger. I wish I understood its message more clearly.

Now and then, a colourful male pheasant struts regally through the long grass, pausing as if to survey his territory before moving on again. His crow is distinctive, as is his strident cackle if he is disturbed from a resting place. Thrushes, blackbirds, mynas, sparrows, starlings, doves and wild turkeys add their vocal support to the chorus of birdsong.

Often the sounds become dramatic. Strident screeches rise from the paddock behind the house as pūkeko and spur-winged plovers engage in furious aerial combat. A flock of magpies adds its own harsh discord as they enter the territorial dispute. Meanwhile kāhu — the New Zealand hawk — circles high above, silent, predatory, ever-watchful.

Often, once the sun has set, I like to sit quietly on the porch. No lights. The occasional pūkeko screech can still be heard — those birds never seem to sleep. But now it is time for ruru, the morepork, New Zealand’s native owl, to begin its hunt. Its iconic, haunting ru-ru call echoes through the night and across the land.

Birds have long been part of the tapestry of my life. So too have the words used to describe their sounds and their names — in English and in Māori. As someone who enjoys a game of Scrabble, it is hard not to hear them as wordplay waiting in the wings.

Mulch, Smoke and Scrabble: Words to Fire the Imagination

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A heap of mulch, a dash of smoke, and words that smoulder.

My garden often becomes a quiet prompt for revising Scrabble words — whatever happens to be nearby: herbs, trees, birds. Only this time, it was in the paddock beyond the garden gate.

Chainsaws growled and snarled. The digger clanked as it grappled the felled poplar tree and swivelled to fed it into the steel chute. The deep graunching sound resounded as each tree trunk thudded and thwacked its way through the mulcher. Eight overgrown poplar trees were reduced to truckloads of shredded foliage and wood chips. The mulch was dumped in a large pile in the paddock next to the vege garden. All in a day’s work.

It was time to let nature’s silent microworkers — fungi, bacteria, and other organisms — do their job, gradually decaying the leaf, wood, and bark matter into compost.

But nature has a habit of turning up the heat when least expected.

Twenty-one days later the mulch pile felt very warm, even hot in places. Wispy white curls of smoke wafted skyward through FUMAROLES. This was not the time to FUME. Trouble was smouldering down deep.

Armed with a rake, a fork and a hose, my grandson — just home from work and tired after a 3:00 AM start — joined me. For the next four hours we levelled the heap and dampened the hot spots of CHARRED matter.

Grandson chatted about the word CHAR — heated foliage ash, darkened wood chips, but thankfully no embers and no flame. We were lucky.

A pile of mulch, as I’ve since learned, can COMBUST and quickly become a burning issue. As players do when fired up about Scrabble words, I turned to the lexicon to check the validity. 

I’m CHARY, anxious to avoid another CHARRY situation. CHARGRILL is the way to sizzle steaks over CHARCOAL on the BBQ. Of course, a cup of CHAR makes a welcome tea break. Cleaners once known as CHARWOMEN must surely have felt as grubby and smelling of smoke as I did that afternoon. It was dirty, hard work.

The heat can rise in Scrabble too, if a mulch of FUM tiles begins to smoulder on the player’s rack. Words like FUMOSITY can puff up a FUMAROLIC situation. A FUMULUS scoring opportunity may drift away if it is missed.

Sometimes it seems my garden activities and Scrabble interests share the same quiet habit — turning outdoor moments into word adventures.

From Garden Bloom to Scrabble Board: Dahlias, DAHOON & Wordplay

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A leisurely morning in a New Zealand garden sparks a playful journey from dahlias to Scrabble words, exploring plants, words, and quiet discoveries along the way. How a morning in the garden led me down a Scrabble rabbit hole.

The dahlias are blooming cheerfully, adding vibrant pops of colour across the garden.

Secateurs in hand, I begin dead-heading — cutting the faded blooms back to the main stem, where small buds are already preparing the next round of flowers. The task is easy and repetitive. The cat gets in the way and demands a fuss. The sun is warm. It is a pleasant morning to be outside.

Scrabble words are never far from mind. As I work, I think of the word DAHLIA + S. The genus Dahlia was named after the Swedish botanist Anders Dahl.

What other words do I know beginning with D-A-H? I can think of DAH + S and DAHL + S, but nothing more comes to mind. My garden often becomes a quiet prompt for revising Scrabble words — herbs, trees, birds, whatever happens to be nearby.

Back in the house, I turn the pages of the lexicon, Collins Scrabble Words 2024.

The list is longer than expected: DAHABEAH + S, with several spelling variants — DAHABEEAH, DAHABIAH, DAHABIEH, DAHABIYA, DAHABIYAH, DAHABIYEH — and also DAHOON + S.

Now I learn that Ilex cassine, commonly called the Dahoon Holly, is versatile evergreen with glossy leaves and bright red berries, a tree that thrives in swamps, coastal regions, and urban environments. And another small discovery: CASSINE itself is also a valid Scrabble word. ILEX I already knew.

It is remarkable how quickly one can disappear down a spiralling rabbit hole in pursuit of words.

Now where was I?

Ah yes — dead-heading the dahlias.

Choosing with Care the Words We Play

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On Club Day, the committee member responsible for preparing the player draws also announces a spot prize — awarded to the player who plays a word that best meets a stated challenge.

The tools of Scrabble board game are 100 letter tiles and a player’s knowledge of words and variant spellings listed in the official Scrabble lexicon, Collins Scrabble Words 2024 (CSW24). It may seem simple to announce, before Game 2, something like: “Highest scoring word containing three or more different vowels.”

But coming up with letter clues and word challenges that add interest to a game is not always simple. The challenge must be clearly worded. At our club, members’ game knowledge and skills range from beginner to Grand Master. What seems obvious to one player may not be so to another.

To retain their competitive edge, players study word lists and consider how best to position their tiles so their wordplays score well, while giving little away to their opponent. Drafting these fun challenges teaches us as much about the words we use.

A clue written in a casual way may not be easy to understand. It is a bit like asking a question: what answer will it get? Even the briefest, seemingly fun challenge can test the organiser as much as the players — a reminder that choosing words carefully is part of keeping everyone engaged.

Last week, I drafted fourteen clues for an upcoming Mid-Winter themed tournament. The degree of playing will be at a competitive level. For example, an expert player and I discussed at length this seven-word draft of a clue:

Game 2: Highest scoring word containing ICE in that order. 

How might a competitive player read this? We paused.

“ICE in order” felt slightly ambiguous. In order of what?
Must the letters I–C–E appear consecutively?
Or simply in that sequence, positioned anywhere within the word?
Does the word “containing” imply that the letters may be separated?

And so it went as we questioned our wording. There must be no uncertainty about letter-sequence requirements. Nowhere is that more critical than in a tournament, when winning scores are at stake and any word on the board may be challenged.

In a game, I have looked at letters that look right — almost right, but something nags. Should I challenge the word? Or not? For instance, the ie/ei order can betray even careful players. In one game, my opponent played SEIGE in good faith. When successfully challenged, the word was lifted from the board, tiles returned to the rack and their turn forfeited — along with the chance to draw fresh tiles. If I had challenged SIEGE incorrectly, then the cost to me would be five penalty points added to my opponent’s score. I have often doubted myself – whether or not because of fatigue or distraction, I have not “seen” a misspelling, that the letters were set in the wrong sequence.

In Scrabble, certainty matters. Every word choice matters.

A Settling Moment — and then Bingo!

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It was Sunday morning, just before 10:00am, on the second day of the inaugural SNZ Women’s Championship 2026 in Auckland.

The room was quiet and pleasantly cool for a January summer day. Players, intent on their wordplays, shuffled tiles that clicked against their racks or slipped softly from their bags. Nothing remarkable, you think. Often a low hum of conversation carries across the room, and now and then the organiser reminds players to keep the noise level to a minimum. I did not realise then how important that noticing would become. Game 10 was underway.

My scoresheet shows nothing remarkable about this game — not in the sequence of plays or the final totals. Yet a scoring opportunity opened in a way I might easily have missed had I made a hurried decision.

My opponent had scored well, playing BLASTED for 70 points early in Turn 2. I replied with PLAZA for 32 in Turn 4 — a risky move that opened the triple-word column and invited the use of an S to make PLAZAS – I held the third S. The score stood at 118 to her, 85 to me.

She then used the first blank as an E+ four consonants DHRW to play SHREWD for 45 points in Turn 5, extending her lead to 166. The board was tight, with little in the way of openings.

My seven tiles — included the third S and the last blank: ◻EIORSY.

I was feeling the pressure; my clock was running down. At one point I considered playing SOY for 23 points. It would block my opponent from using the last S – should she have it, to hook onto PLAZA. I hesitated. My rack leave would be good with ◻EIR — but better with the S retained. If I used that valuable letter now for a modest mid-game score, I would likely be playing catch-up for the rest of the game.

Meanwhile, across the road, the local Tongan congregation had gathered. The glorious harmony of their hymn singing drifted into the hall. It was a pause-and-listen moment — and, inexplicably, I did so in the middle of Turn 5. It was truly a beautiful and settling moment.  I jotted a few notes across the bottom of my scoresheet to capture the mood. For that brief moment, I almost forgot I was in a tournament.

The digital timer continued its relentless countdown.

I ran through the alphabet again.

As I reconsidered the blank as an H, the word emerged: hOSIERY for 74 points, the S hooking neatly onto PLAZA.

Bingo.

My score rose to 159. Back in the game: 166 to her, 159 to me.

Seven more tiles were drawn. Later I managed to place the X on a triple-letter square to edge ahead by three points to win by a narrow margin — with no time penalty. It was so close.

When I play competitively — I’m a mid-ranked player — I can feel pressured to move quickly or distracted by talk and movement around the room. Looking back at Turn 5, I’m reminded how important it is to pause long enough to reconsider. I knew that seven-letter word; I just wasn’t seeing it.

Scrabble is about strategy — board placement, rack management, timing. But there is also a quiet discipline in staying calm under pressure, in allowing space for possibility to surface.

During our post-game chat, my opponent and I agreed about the atmosphere in the room — the singing, the stillness. “The pressure’s different,” she said. There is always something to learn from a moment that otherwise seems ordinary.

The words fade from the board.

Some moments linger.

Prequel: What I Didn’t Know Then

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The early days of playing before I learned about competitive Scrabble.

When I joined the local Scrabble Club in 2012, I thought Scrabble was about words.

I did not yet know it was about ratings, time pressure, tile tracking, tournaments — or committee meetings. I certainly did not imagine I would one day write newsletters or help run events. I simply wanted to play.

Before that, Scrabble had been a board game at the dining table. Himself would not play, despite his sharp strategic instincts at cards and his ability to calculate the odds. He claimed I used too many large and suspect words, and that the dictionary was wrong — even when it was the Oxford. Unaware that Scrabble clubs existed, I filled that word game void with cryptic crosswords and other puzzles, fitting them around gardening and family life.

Seeing patterns in a cryptic clue is not so different from seeing possibility in seven tiles. But when I first signed in to a club day, I had no sense of the scope of competitive Scrabble. I did not know about phonies and challenges, about the discipline of the clock, about the quiet satisfaction of tracking unseen tiles. I had never heard the phrase “vowel dump.”

There was a late evening, early on, when I lost track of time playing online. My grandson was due the next morning to earn fundraiser money and expected freshly baked chocolate cake. I remember hesitating: bake, or play another game? I played. The cake never materialised. A pavlova the next day eased the guilt. As teenage boys do, he ate it in its entirety. I did wonder whether Scrabble was beginning to interfere with real life.

Then came the plague racks: multiple vowels, awkward Q words, obscure words I was half afraid to play – EVOVAES. Is that a real word? What now? Wait for the challenge. Change tiles or trust your word knowledge? Think.

By 2014, I was still grappling with the nuances of the game — strategic positioning, calculating options several moves ahead. It was cut-throat in its quiet way: scoring points against the timer, no dictionary in sight, expected wins achieved — or not — ratings rising and falling. When my name was inscribed on the Most Improved New Player trophy, something shifted. Recognition is a powerful hook.

Online games gave a temporary fix. Club days brought a buzz. Tournaments — I was discovering — were something else entirely.

Looking back, I see that I was freer then. I played without responsibility. I did not think about club admin responsibilities or rosters or expectations. I thought about words. I did not notice the room; I noticed only the tile rack.

And yet, what I did not know then was this:

Scrabble is never only about words.
It is about thinking under pressure.
It is about curiosity — what if?
It is about the quiet connection of shared concentration. Sometimes it is not the tiles that change the game, but the pause between them.

That early player — the one who stayed up too late, who risked odd wordplays, who delighted in a seven-letter bingo — still has something to teach me.

Before I began to grapple with the competitive aspect of the game, I understood the fun of it.

That is worth remembering.