Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘writing’

You Say Tomato, I Say F**k You

Posted in Art, Creativity, Writing, tagged , , , , on November 19, 2011| 6 Comments »

People assume that because I am an editor I am a Grammar Nazi.  Not so! I’m probably more of a Grammar Hypocrite, or a Grammar Hippie (second definition.)

Sure, I can’t help noticing errors on menus and each time I hear a Coloradan say “more slower” I am tempted to run home–rather quickly–to Massachusetts. The grammatic gymnastics I hear daily are eye-popping. When people ask me though, I say I’m not really a big grammar person. I actually find it tedious and constrictive and I have very little enthusiasm for it. I loathed studying it in school. (Though please note my correct usage of the m dash and hyphen in this paragraph. I just read up on it.)

Like Stephen Fry, I delight in the creativity and evolution of language. This fantastically satisfying video, courtesy Michelle Bar-Evan, epitomizes my thoughts on the subject:


My time in Colorado has shown me that so called Proper English is just colloquial of a haughtier kind. People here think they are speaking “correctly,” which I find amusing, just as my Massachusetts English sounds more correct to me, but probably ear-grating to a Brit.

The other day someone said to me, “They think they know the language but they can’t hardly even speak it!” I catch myself falling into odd speech patterns myself, because when you work with people you start to mimic them. I did this with my British colleagues and now say “rather” a lot more, and I end my questions with rounded lilts. A co-worker from Kentucky made the phrase “Well, you know what you might could do,” want to fall off the tip of my tongue years later. I worry that if I go home people will be shocked and horrified that I sound like a hick, and I won’t even realize anymore.

And then I see the word of the day on Urban Dictionary and I toss my concerns in the trash. This crazy time we live in is just as explosively creative for our language as it was when Shakespeare was writing, before the status conscious writers of English grammars got a hold of it and made every effort to squeeze the life out of it. Did you realize English grammar that we know today is based on Latin grammar? Or that members of the British lower middle class wrote them to try and replicate upper class speech patterns in order to make a quick buck off would-be social climbers during the Industrial Revolution? English grammars were essentially the same as the “get rich quick” trash that is on shelves everywhere today.

Lightning strikes The Statue of Liberty. So much for freedom.

(I had to pause after that last statement. Am I still here? Yes. All right then, continue.)

I say drop the snottiness and join the fray. Contribute your own words to Urban Dictionary and delight in the vibrant world we live in. (And learn some grammar so you can write well when you want to, and so you can work on your grammar stalking skills.)

http://www.urbandictionary.com/

Let me know if you add any words. One I added a few years back was “defission,” a combination of depression and fission. I’m still trying to get around to adding “boyfriended.” That’s when a single friend suddenly disappears because of a new relationship.

Ok, go!

Read Full Post »

Writer’s Block–Hit Me in the Head. No, Harder.

Posted in Creativity, NaNoWriMo, Writing, tagged , , , on November 7, 2011| 2 Comments »

I’ve got the shakes. My sense of ease is tightening up. My mouth moves but I wonder what if anything will come out. The simple act of communication I take so for granted has become an issue in its own right, something to Pay Attention To. The thinking about it, the wondering, the…inevitable…pause…and then the fear and panic that nothing will come…at first it does, but I keep wondering and then it starts not to. And then there’s headache that will not go away.  All this is happening because I put myself on a sharp deadline to do something I do not know how to do, and to do it quickly.

[Cue dramatic NaNoWriMo music. Ok, I do own the same slippers, but the similarities end there. I swear. Damn, she kind of looks like me…]

Yeah, so about that novel I’m writing? Turns out I am stuck because I don’t, ahem, actually know how to write a novel.  And every day I falter, my word deficit grows exponentially. Knowing this has put me into an underground river of panic. I’m pretty sure riding that won’t get me anywhere I particularly want to go, so I’ve decided to press pause and examine the raft I’m sitting in for clues on how to get out.

First, I’ve noticed (surprisingly) that it isn’t the deadline that is freaking me out. I work with deadlines all the time. I’m not fond of them, and I usually prefer not to be rushed, but I do some of my best work on short notice. I’ve found it can spark my creativity to just have to wing it. So if not the deadline, what’s the issue?

Well, having no idea what to do to meet it! Yeah, that’s a problem. I’m paralyzed on the raft because I don’t know how to swim.

Usually I am busy formulating some plan, a master scheme if you will, of how I am going to accomplish the task du jour. I think, I ponder, I daydream, I muddle, and before you know it I’ve got a hold of some essential direction that is real and vibrant. Once I have that, the rest is just filling in the details with the execution. (In chess, you’d say this is the difference between strategy and tactics.) I am a big picture thinker, so once I can see the whole of it, I’ve got it. This is the equivalent of seeing a large branch downstream, thinking “Aha!” and plotting how to grab it and lift myself out. It’s then easy to gauge whether or not it will hold me, how and when  to reach for it, and make sure I’m not strapped into the boat before I do. No problem!

The current state of affairs with the novel, however, is more like me sitting backwards in the boat trying to read a book on perfecting my crawl stroke only to get hit in the head with that branch. No wonder my head hurts.

Now, where did I put my slippers…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For a refreshingly brilliant dissection of writing blocks, which according to Keith Hjortshoj are typically a symptom of technical inexperience, read his books  Understanding Writing Blocks and The Transition to College Writing.

I could not recommend them more highly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Read Full Post »

What the Hell. Let’s Write!

Posted in Creativity, NaNoWriMo, Spirituality/Religion, Writing, tagged , , , , on November 3, 2011| 1 Comment »

I actually started writing. This is frickin’ fantastic.

This past week I decided to “write a novel” as part of the National Novel Writing Month, aka NaNoWriMo. It was kind of a joke. A lark. A ‘what the hell’ kind of proposition. And now here I am writing the darn thing. I wrote 2104 words last night. I am pretty perplexed and awed by this. I am used to writing short fiction–really short, like poetry. I really didn’t think this was possible.

So now here we are. I have discovered that my need for structure lends itself to mystery novels. Apparently I like starting with atmospheres in the form of locations. (Years ago I dreamed of travel writing…is this why?) My intrepid journaling over the past 15 years has developed into a sophisticated form of introspection and psychological awareness that I can adapt into first person narrative. My obsessive, insatiable need to research topics for years will now have a respectable home, instead of squatting indefinitely in my head and taking up prime real estate. After years of banging my head against the wall and wondering ‘why, how, huh?’ about something until I crack the stubborn nut, I can finally explain to people why I stare off into space all the time. In metaphor! Through dialogue! I am starting to suspect the complex world of fiction is the perfect vehicle for sharing the nuance of what I’ve learned.

Some of the questions I’ve asked myself over the years include:

– How is it possible that a woman with a PhD in nanotechnology would leave her fantastic corporate research position to live on a houseboat and become…an astrologer? [That was a real head scratcher, but now I know.]

– If a forged artwork is close enough to the original that no one can tell for sure if it is fake, does it actually matter? And why? [I would say yes.]

-What’s the deal with free jazz? Why would anyone listen to it, never mind be passionate about it? [I’m still working on this one, though I did make some small headway.]

– How on earth do people write long fiction such as novels? [Apparently they just start actually writing them. Who knew?] Where do the characters come from? Just how real are they to the authors? What does it feel like to live in that head space all the time? Is the process really any different from spiritual folk who create personal relationships with their deities?

Looks like I am about to find out. Wish me luck!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

What could you say yes to?


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Read Full Post »

Great American Novel? Nope!

Posted in NaNoWriMo, Writing, tagged , , , , , on November 1, 2011| 3 Comments »

I’ve never understood the urge to Write the Great American Novel. It just seems like an awful lot of work to put toward inevitable mediocrity. I do however understand the urge to get free software. So I decided to participate in NaNoWriMo, aka National Novel Writing Month, to be eligible for a (half) free copy of Scrivener‘s novel writing software. Which I can then use…to write a novel? Hmm, I’ve got plot holes before I’ve even started. Only 50,000 words to go.

As of last night’s kickoff at the elegant St. Julien Hotel, I had barely settled on a genre, and spent the time doodling in front of the fire trying to come up with ideas. My friend Mike (aka Mikepedia, so called because he has read everything published before 1900) managed to write a remarkably gripping opening scene reminiscent of Nick Hornby writing as Snoop Dogg. Chloe, our 13 year old muse, scribbled pages of vampire character studies. She was the only one to get the memo, so she had the right novel-writing glasses on, along with most of the 25+ participants. (Say hello to the team at NaNoWriMo who are making this madness happen: Opening NaNoWriMo Video)

So far this morning I have managed to write a synopsis, which to be honest, I am impressed with, if only because I didn’t have a single clue as to what to do a few hours before.

A murder takes place during Boulder’s Halloween Naked Pumpkin Run, and a real life witch solves the crime. The small city is a hot spot for New Age spiritual seekers of all stripes (and sports), and ultimately our heroine must decide who is for real–and who is not!
Blending a Neo-pagan worldview with a careful interplay of detective’s logic and witch’s intuition, this book explores the world of New Age and Wiccan politics in a world of competitive athletes, entrepreneurs and de rigueur costume parties, all in the shadow of the Rocky Mountains.

Wish us luck! I clearly need it. And why aren’t you writing your own? Get on it! Only 1,667 words a day!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

No, really, why aren’t you writing one? All the cool kids are doing it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Read Full Post »

The Lost Art of Love Letters

Posted in Love, Writing, tagged , , , , , on October 18, 2011| 3 Comments »

How many beautiful love stories does one live in a lifetime? The years pass, and I see now that they are far more precious and rare than I ever expected. Kisses, crushes, love interests, “partners”, relationships even, they come and go…but how many love letters can you hold open and read on a cold day?

How many folded pieces of parchment do you have, in an envelope addressed to you, inscribed with words like,

“Tu est une ange! Je t’adore toujours. Je t’embrasse ma cherie.”

and signed,

“Bisoux~”

Me, I don’t have any at all.

It is one of the great sadnesses of my life that I lost the most beautiful letters I’ve ever received. Each precious one I pored over for hours, and many days and months after that.  I would trace the curves of the ink with my finger, knowing that my love’s hand had done just the same. I knew that he wrote those words with the same handsome fountain pen used to write my address the last time I’d seen him.

I counted the days in anticipation of each new note. About ten days after I’d sent my reply, it would come. At the foot of our elaborately carved Victorian stairs, under a bouquet of flowers, I would see that cream envelope and every time my heart leapt. Without a word to my mother I would rush upstairs to open it. I was sixteen and in love, then seventeen and still the letters arrived from my beautiful man. Though he was nineteen, he seemed so old to me. Handsome, blond and worldly, this young man from the south of France sent me sunshine in the form of affection I could understand, handwritten love letters we grew into for years.

I pressed the memory of his golden, shining smile into my heart so it could never leave. When I was eighteen the letters slowed, and heartbroken, I thought his devotion had drifted. In all this time we had spent only a few hours together, and our plans to meet again never took shape. I left for college, my parents moved, and I was left with only old letters and the two photos he’d sent over the course of the previous years. My life was starting and he became a memory of a dream I’d had of being fantastically loved.

That is, until he found me. Twenty years later, long after the advent of email and facebook, he found me. Imagine my surprise when I saw his friend request…

“Why did you stop writing?” I half-teased. “I kept hoping I’d hear from you…”

“You disappeared!” He said. “Where did you go? I went to find you, I went right to your house on Cape Cod but you had moved! I tried to call. I found your friend, but your phone number had changed as well, and she had no idea where you were. You were gone! Why didn’t you tell me? I was so sad!”

I had broken his heart, and I’d had no idea.

We’ve chatted briefly now, and after twenty years I can see his face in facebook photographs.  I see both a boy and a man, with a recognizable smile, older now, distinguished. I see a lover and a stranger, fantasy, reality, my present and my youth…and a beautiful story. What I wouldn’t give to read those letters again.

Merci, cheri~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Historical Note: The same month he came looking for me, I heard of email for the first time, and opened my first student account.

Neither the letters nor the missed connection would have happened a few months later. How did your life change that year?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Read Full Post »