R is for…

R is for Real Writer. What I seek to be, but I’m a long way from it.

There’s a quote from The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, at the end of Chapter 2, after Tom has duped his friends into whitewashing the fence for him, where he realizes that “Work is what a body is obliged to do, and play is what a body is not obliged to do.” Even if it’s exactly the same task. I realized today that for all my life, I have been playing at writing. I have almost never worked at writing, except on a very few occasions when a teacher/professor insisted I revise, not because I hadn’t done good work, but because I had not yet done my best work.

Working at writing doesn’t mean it becomes a joyless pursuit. You can still have fun with it, but it means that you have to accept that not everything you compose is going to be great right off the bat. Once in a while, you even have to hit Ctrl-A, Delete. It does mean that you start writing well ahead of your deadline, even if it’s self-imposed, and you revise and edit, and then you revise and edit again, and you get another pair of eyes, preferably multiple pairs, to read through it. You refine your craft.

Teachers (like myself) should innately know this and not only because we teach students that writing is a process. Teaching is more art than science, no matter how all the data-driven, quantitative-analysts try to spin it. You can spend hours planning a lesson, but (especially if you only teach one unique class all day) when you walk in the classroom in the morning, that first period class our your guinea pigs; with that class you figure out what works in the lesson and what doesn’t, what needs to be adjusted for time, perhaps a point you want to make or a question you want them to answer or even a different kind of activity for them to process their understanding. Then, through the subsequent four sections that you teach, you refine that lesson until you have all but perfected it with the last class.

It’s not fair to the first class of the day, of course. But the upside, with writing, is that your first draft only has to be tested out on the few individuals you trust to read it critically but carefully, who will offer you constructive advice on improving it. Then the challenge is to check your ego at the door and accept that any writing can stand improvement before it goes out to the wide world. You should never do less than the best with a gift you’ve been blessed with.

So here’s to Real Writers, and the continuing journey to become one.

Q is for…

Q is for Quality over Quantity. One annoying thing about teaching English is that when you give a writing assignment, at least one student invariably asks “How long does it have to be?”

The pat answer: “Long enough.”
Student: “What does that mean?”
Teacher: “It means that you write as much as you need to completely respond to the prompt. But remember, quality is more important than quantity.”

Many who have read and live by The Elements of Style by Strunk & White– itself a tellingly thin volume– cite as its most important rule, #13: “Omit needless words.” This sentence does so wonderfully itself: in the imperative mood, it can rely on the implied subject “You” and jump right to the directive verb, without any qualifiers. Its simple verb-adjective-noun construction relays the exact same thought as “You should leave out words that you don’t need” in one-third as many words.

Most of us have problems with this, and balance is key. A style so terse that it only contained these short, direct, undetailed sentences would be choppy at best, nigh unreadable at worst. But, generally speaking, the maxim “less is more” applies equally well to most writing. Since none of us are in the shoes of Charles Dickens, who was literally paid by the word, and all of us write in a world of minute attention spans, it’s best to get to and make your point in as few words as reasonably possible, without sacrificing the integrity and coherence of the message. Otherwise, you’ll write one sentence with five commas, like the sentence just before this one.

The only person devoted and patient enough to edit my posts regularly often calls me out on my wordiness. So I implore you, dear friends, be clear, but concise. It’s not how many words you use, but how many–or few– are used well.

 

P is for…

Live poets are also important.

P is for Poetry
A particular passion
Poets, know it
An alluring addiction
Assonance and alliteration
Each word significant
Unlike prose
Imagery inspiring imagination
Figurative features
Lost on the literal
Like failing headlights
On a starless night
While wind whispers
Among tired trees.
Poetry poses problems
Human emotions
Vivisected via verse
Needing not to be dark
Nor flowery, nor abstract,
Poetry simply is 
Thought
Expression
Love
Life.

I had a significant number of poems on my old blog, which I still need to migrate over here. April is National Poetry Month, but any day of the year is the right time to learn a new appreciation for verse. Old or new, high or low, rhyming and metric or not, three-line haiku or thirty-thousand-line epics, whether composed by Shakespeare or your fellow humble blogger; today is an excellent day to read, or even write, a poem. 

O is for…

O is for One, the Only One. Not the One Who Got Away, because if s/he was meant to be the Only One, would you let that person slip through your fingers? No, the Only One is the One you fight for, risk it all for, never, ever give up on, because s/he will never, ever give up on you. The light in your darkest hour, the kindler of your brightest dreams. The One without whom you are not One yourself, only half of what you are meant to be. The One who you didn’t know you were missing, only because you could not conceive of any One person bringing so much joy to your life; you would not have thought One human being could make another so happy, until you experienced it for yourself. May the two of you find each other and be each other’s Only One if the One Above so wills it.

N is for…

N is for No. “No” was my first word (not until I was three). Many of us, including me, have a hard time saying “No” to people. We’ll say more socially acceptable, qualified statements like “maybe” or “I’ll try.” 

But it is hardest to say “No” to yourself. “No” to the easy, but poor, and ultimately self-destructive choices. “No” to the harming of the flesh. “No” to the numbing of the mind. “No” to playing the victim. “No” to giving up because it’s too hard.

Sometimes, we need to say Yes to saying No.

M is for… (plus, Halftime Recap of A-to-Z Blogging Challenge)

M is for Man, Male, Masculine. Being one, I have some insight on the subject. 

Purple everything. I’m a man and that’s my color!

It’s a confusing time to be a man in America. Just among straight men, there’s a spectrum from metrosexuality to the reactionary “real man” lumberjack throwback.We are told to be both strong and sensitive, patient and protective. We should respect women’s autonomy and ambition, and hold open car doors. I’m not saying that any of these contrasts are unfair– in fact, they may not really be contrasts at all. But I can see how they could be confusing to some men. It’s difficult to play multiple, and sometimes (seemingly) conflicting roles– but then again, women have been doing that for centuries. 🙂

I was listening to a radio show this morning and they were discussing a list of the top five qualities of a “real man.” I hope it was meant to be amusing, as it certainly amused me… (Here is the podcast if you’re curious).

1. Investigate strange noises at night… no problem. Have my bunny slippers, flashlight, and softball bat at ready. No cell phone flashlight, I mean one of those 4xD-battery models that could double for headlights if they went out in your car at 3 a.m. in East Bumble.

2. Carry bags. Again, one of those potential conflicts; you want to be nice, but you don’t want to suggest the woman is weak and dependent.

3. Handling the barbecue. This is the one that’s a big fail for me. I tend to burn things and have no concept of marinating and seasoning.

4. Changing tires. I can and have done this single-handedly, but as I pay for roadside assistance, I’d just as well call if the wait is half an hour or less.

5. Deal with spiders. This one amused me because it was always a point of contention when I was married. From the female members of the family, spiders evoked a range of emotion from cringing paralysis to rabid arachnicidal rage. I, on the other hand, was the kind who always insisted on catch-and-release (outside). I hope those spiders lucky enough to find their fate in my hands, instead of theirs, feel grateful. Maybe I just saw Charlotte’s Web one too many times.

Yes, it’s tough being a man, but I’d prefer not to hemorrhage monthly, so I’ll grin and bear it.

Halftime Recap of the A-to-Z Blogging Challenge:

We’re now halfway through the month and halfway through the alphabet. I’m not sure how I feel about this challenge. Yes, it’s made me write everyday, but it’s hardly produced my best quality work (though I think this post is better than most of the others). Yes, if one wants to be a writer, one has to write daily, just write for the sake of writing, but when you’re not just writing but blogging, which by definition is writing for an audience, you start down a slippery slope when you knowingly put out less than your best just because you’re fulfilling a self-imposed mandate.

Part of me wishes I had gone with Poem-a-Day for National Poetry Month instead. But who’s to say that would be better? Maybe next April I will find out.

I could be industrious and link each post here, but they are easy enough to find just going back through recent posts; each has the creative title of M is for…, L is for…, K is for… etc. I understand if you choose not to indulge my laziness. Thanks for reading in any case. 🙂

Lost Language

This is currently my 4th draft of my Sunday post for Squirrellywriter.  You see, Jason asked me to write a post about “…books.  Lit.  Your faves, or your tastes and how they change, or anything you like on the topic.”  Seems easy, right?  Not for me.  This topic has been addressed by thousands of people, so I feel I can hardly put a unique spin on it.  Since I pride myself on not being boring, this was quite the mountain to climb.

If you know me, I am a perfectionist when it comes to writing. I fuss with editors if they don’t go through each sentence with a fine-toothed comb.  I want to put my best foot forward.  In this, I sometimes get lost in writing to my audience and forget about myself.   Writing is a combination of both embracing the reader and entwining a piece of the author into the work.  One without the other is just words.

How does this translate into literature?  Today’s world is all about instant gratification.  This “right here, right now” mentality has its pros and cons.  Writers are able to produce a novel and then publish it immediately.  This is wonderful, because many people never had the opportunity to publish in the past.  My problem with it?  Crap gets published and sometimes does very well.

Fifty Shades of Grey, by E L James, is a prime example.  Although the original stories were self-published online, a major publisher picked up the novels and put them on shelves without any apparent editing. I am not arguing that the book doesn’t have some draw to it.  The story has seduced audiences worldwide into a fetish sex frenzy, but the writing is elementary at best.  If you read my satirical take on the book, I broke it down by word choice.  It looks like she didn’t take the time to have anyone read it over.  She just published.  She may be laughing all the way to the bank, but does money define a good book?

I suck at self-editing.  That is why I have a list of people I call on to help me read over my blog posts and anything else I write.  This is because I take pride in my work.  What happened to pride in writing?  When did it become okay to write IN ALL CAPS and not use any punctuation or spel check

Our society thinks phrases like “Verbally Ejaculate” are naughty, though they can easily be found in works like Wuthering Heights.  I feel we are losing something in current works.  Writers used to embrace the written word as though it had a life of its own.  Now it seems we are sentenced to read novels written in Newspeak.  I often will look back at classical works of fiction to remember the beautiful potential we can find in literature.

x,

Becca

Lady or Not… Here I Come!

Ladyornot.com

Check out Jason’s guest post on my blog: http://wp.me/p2BLLc-UX

L is for…

L is for Love and Literature— and the love of literature. Love is patient, love is kind, and love is probably the most misused, overused, and over-written about subject in all this world. I’ve waxed poetic about it many times and don’t want to drop an essay on you here.

As for literature, well, I have a B.A. in English, I’m an English teacher, so it’s expected territory. I don’t know when I fell in love with literature, but I know it has been at times passionate and other times cold. The key question is always, what qualifies as literature? Does it have to be a certain age? Does it need to convey a certain degree of social commentary? I’d call The Hunger Games literature, but not at least half of what was written before the year 1900.

People seem to think English majors have read everything. To help dispel this rumor, I’m going to list some authors I’ve never read one word by:

Jane Austen
Brontë (either sister)
William Faulkner
James Joyce
Ernest Hemingway*
Dostoevsky
Tolstoy
Nathaniel Hawthorne
James Fenimore Cooper
the list goes on I’m sure…
* I think I read Old Man and the Sea sometime in high school, but don’t recollect clearly.

I actually could have earned my B.A. in English without almost no Shakespeare. I chose to take a Shakespeare class, but didn’t have to– you only had to take one class in the “Big Three” (Chaucer, Shakespeare, Milton). I never read anything by Mark Twain in college, even though I have taught Tom Sawyer  every year. Likewise, I never read Charles Dickens in college, but I remember Great Expectations some time in high school and reading A Christmas Carol on my own at some point. In college and (aborted) grad school, I focused much more on poetry than prose, but that is a subject for the “P is for…” post.

I never read Moby Dick but I did read “Bartleby the Scrivener,” the intriguing tale of a protagonist who simply “prefers not to,” often heralded as a harbinger of modernity. I am an Atlanta native, but I’ve never read Gone With the Wind. No Catcher in the Rye either, or even, and this I hate to admit, The Outsiders, or 1984 (though I read Animal Farm multiple times).

None of them hold a literary candle to Douglas Adams, though.

 

K is for…

K is for Kindness, one of the most essential of human qualities, which has come to be in short supply.  It seems people have become more self-absorbed in this age of pervasive technology and the ability for anyone to “market” oneself. The result is that people who think first of others before themselves become more uncommon. Perhaps it was always this way. There were no “good old days,” no time that everyone was nicer to everyone else. Half a century ago we were still in the throes of segregation and expectations of women to stay barefoot and pregnant, so I wouldn’t say that was a kinder, gentler age. But I will still argue that technology has eroded common civility. In the end,  I contend that true beauty is shown by how one treats others.

K is for Kisses, one of my favorite things, when they are available from the right person. Of course it’s also for KISS– Keep it Simple Stupid, which is sound advice in almost any situation.

K is also for KISAS. If you’re not familiar with this disease, I will elaborate. It only strikes males, typically straight men in their 20s, though it can target others. It stands for Knight-in-Shining-Armor Syndrome. It manifests itself as a psychological delusion in which the victim sincerely believes that he can “rescue” or “save” women who are troubled by past (and/or present) traumas. Having suffered from KISAS myself, I can speak to the debilitating nature of this disease. My early twenties were marked by a quick succession of three such damsels in distress, and all these relationships did for me was wreck my finances, friendships, and college education. It also managed to drive a dagger deep into my decaying heart, dashing my once ebullient romantic idealism. On the plus side, I suppose, it inspired much of my poetry. I didn’t “save” any of those three, or the one I later married for that matter. I don’t think I still suffer from it, but I have to be wary of KISAS still rearing its ugly head. Everyone has their baggage, including myself, but it’s not healthy to expect that you can permanently relieve a partner of it– or, if you’re a woman, to expect a man to rescue you. At best you can lighten the load, and you can understand each other. Your past is part of you, but it doesn’t define you; for as long as you allow your past to define you, it will hold your future hostage, no matter what knight or damsel you may pair with.

J is for…

This street is only two miles from where I live. So kind of them to give credit where it’s due!

J is for Jason, my given name, half of my long-time blog-name. It comes from the ancient Greek name Ιασων meaning “healer” and was, of course, attached to the mythological hero who sought the Golden Fleece. I’m not particularly good at healing– I should begin with myself– and what I seek is of rare value but not made of any precious metal. The most famous recent holder of the name is a hockey-masked, machete-wielding, horror movie icon who came to fame in my childhood and led me to endure tediously constant joking in school. 

Jolly jocks take joy in jocularity and jaunt into the jungle to find jokes but jeer at justice when raising the jib to sail… I’m tired and that’s all I got; oh, last but certainly not least, my wonderful friend Juliana.