Tag Archives: writing

Taking some time off

Just so you know where I’ve gone, I’m taking a bit of time off.  I foresee a couple of weeks doing the trick.

I have gotten quite addicted to my internet activities, blogging most of all.  I love to read and I love to write.  Probably my favorite aspect is getting and leaving comments, just because that means we really cared about and/or enjoyed what the other person had to say and took the time to respond.  That means the world to me.

But I am losing more than a few marbles at the present moment because of the weight I feel on my head.  For the sake of my sanity, I fear I have to ditch all the priorities that I can, which means not my family or my familial duties, but everything else, no matter how important a part of my day it is, in order to relieve the pressure I feel.  Come at it again hopefully refreshed and eager for more.

I might just be taking everything a bit too seriously.  (Ya think?)

It makes me sad even thinking about it because I do love these words, I do love to sit here and imagine you reading them, I very much love visiting your sites and seeing what is new in your world and what you make me ponder or remember or dream.  It feeds my brain, my social self and my soul.

From my overwhelmed position under the mountain of life that has fallen on my head, I don’t know what else to do right now.

Sorry, too dramatic.  You can see why I need to back off and get a grip.  Or maybe let go.  Whatever gets me where I need to be.

I will see you, or rather, read you all soon.  

Take care, my friends.

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Renaming

My first lesson gleaned from studying Mark Morford‘s columns in the San Francisco Chronicle is how concisely he adds meaning by simply renaming things.

For example, in his column entitled “When History Spanks,” he talks about the Republican campaign team and refers to them once as “vile, cold-blooded tacticians” and then as “these Rove-trained dung-flingers.” Apart from the humorous element, renaming is also a tidy way to cram a lot of opinion into a quick statement. I can see a more clumsy writer saying instead, “The campaign team members, who were trained by Karl Rove to fling dung,…” Doesn’t pack the same punch.

To rename is to cleanly insert ideas and impressions without pausing to go down an explanatory side street.

Naming is a very powerful act. Think of how profoundly important it is to choose the name of a child or to be the first to discover a new species or star and have the honor of establishing its moniker. Imagine the god-like power of the people who “found” certain islands, rivers, mountains, and even though their own name may be forgotten, generations of people have referred to that particular chunk of earth by the title they designated.

To rename is to reclaim this power and use it to your own ends.

Gertrude Stein had this to say about nouns, which represent the basic act of naming: “Things once they are named the name does not go on doing anything so why write in the nouns.” Why, indeed, continue in one’s essay to refer to something or someone by a noun that has become an empty shell, like an anonymous finger pointing. Instead, assume the divine right of a writer to express the world as you see it, which includes the essential job of creating a fresh, revealing name to replace the old lifeless one.

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Autodidact curriculum

Some folks, after being plied with a couple of brewskis, might shyly admit to having fantasies of being a star quarterback, a rock god or maybe even royalty. My confession: I fantasize of being a syndicated columnist.

My first hero was Molly Ivins, who unfortunately for the world of words and intelligence has passed on.

But I’ve found someone else I’d like to learn from: Mark Morford of the San Francisco Chronicle.

I love to read him for his wit and intelligence, but I hate to read him because he gets away with so many “illegal” writing conventions that come fairly naturally to me (I am NOT saying I can pull them off as well as he can) but that I am told to drop from my writing because “it is not allowed.”

Similar to how, fifteen years before the Harry Potter phenomenon, I was told by my fifth grade creative writing teacher that I shouldn’t continue my story about the magical girl but should focus on “reality.”

One of Morford’s apparently successful infractions: using second person.

I’ll be writing an essay and I’ll want to build an imaginary scenario for the reader. Without making the conscious decision, I find myself talking to the reader, inviting, suggesting, seducing their imagination to follow me down some rabbit hole where we might get a glimpse of a new world, or at least the old world turned on its head. It works so well to say, “You.” But you’re not supposed to.

And yet week after week he uses this tactic, among many others, to great effect.

Though it’s been a couple of years since I took my last class, still I spent enough years being indoctrinated into the scholarly method that I think I will give myself some study materials to figure out what makes Morford’s writing so damn good. I have a pile of his articles that I will inspect, analyze, but above all, enjoy.

I will be writing at least one follow up blog post to let you know what I’ve discovered.

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My Original Inspiration

When listing my favorite writers, my husband comes second, then Ousmane Sembène, Carlos Fuentes, Assia Djebar, and Beryl Markham.  It’s impossible to list every author I admire and can’t get enough of, so I just toss out whichever names come to mind at the time.

But my husband is always second.  And the name I always put first, and I know my husband doesn’t mind, is my father, Lewis Horton. 

A few months ago my Dad sent me an article from his local paper written about his recent publication of a short story in an anthology called Big Water.  He has one whole shelf of a bookcase filled with anthologies and magazines that he’s been published in over the years.  

But that shelf is not the reason I list him first.

I have watched him practice his craft since my earliest memories.  Every evening he would retire to his bedroom where he had a desk and a typewriter (now he has a computer and an office in his home).  He would be in there for at least three hours.  

A few years ago he finally had his first book published: Escape From Mexico.  It is a memoir of his adventure on a weekend leave in Mexico while he was in the US Army.  It is a funny and exciting story, so well written that at the end, when he is describing his escape from a Mexican prison, I couldn’t help wondering if he made it out alive, even though I knew perfectly well he was sitting at home the very moment I was reading it!  I admire him so much for teaching me that even if it takes 20 or 30 years, you can get published.

And now, after over five years of trying to sell his second book, he has again succeeded.  I don’t even know the title yet, but I will definitely post an update when it gets closer to publication.

He is also my favorite writer because when I read his stuff, it is a guaranteed laugh.  I’m not sure if other people find it as gut-bustingly hilarious as I do, because they don’t have the added advantage I have of being able to hear his voice and see the facial expressions he would be using when telling the story.  Reading his work is never just me in my own head digesting meaning; it has visual and audio effects as well, which makes for a lot of fun.  Any sense of humor I have I attribute to his example and influence.

I got a lot of great stuff from my mother as well, just as good but in a whole other realm, interests such as cooking and baking, sewing, gardening, mothering, and having faith.  I owe her just as big.

But when I see his picture in that newspaper clipping, holding up a book in which yet another of his stories has been published, and when I hear that, finally, he will have another book on the shelves, I am proud that I have a father who had a dream, went for it, and continues to pursue his craft and explore his talent.  I hope I have inherited at least some of his determination, and that I can be even half as successful.

Thanks, Dad.

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“Each instant…”

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“Each instant is a place we’ve never been.” — Mark Strand

And here you are with me.

Even though as you read this, I have gone off somewhere else, to another place.  But I was here in this moment of now once, as you are.  I was aware of the letters on the screen, how they were coalescing neatly into words that you recognize, that trigger “Aha!” because we’ve seen them all before.

The familiarity of the words does not prevent them causing an almost imperceptible shiver down the spine at the moment we realize the mysterious dance of human communication.

Each word I write has been used countless times before, worn along the edges so that they slide effortlessly into your mind and fall into the groove of understanding, but you’ve never heard them exactly as I say them to you now.  Each time is the first time that you look at the screen today, at this hour, with the new experience you have acquired since yesterday.

This instant now is another place we’ve never been, many thoughts away from the first sentence, where you took my hand and I yours and we walked a ways.  We ended up here, in this other place, this new instant, looking each other briefly, perhaps affectionately, catching the awareness there inside the eye, before saying farewell, until next time.

May the places you go and the instants you live today feed your soul.

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Comments on comments

I’ve been wanting to write this post for a long time.  I don’t think the time will ever be right, but I’m tired of having it floating around in my head.

Figuring out how the comment function “should” work in this medium has been awkward at times.  When I first started blogging, I would encounter blogs where leaving a comment met with a “Your comment is awaiting moderation.”  I check back and the writer never approved it.  A perfectly innocuous comment, agreeing with what the poster said.  I take that as my signal never to return.  Why do these people have their blog public?

Some writers are vigilant about commenting on everyone’s comments, and this is great.  It makes it a real conversation, back and forth.  But sometimes when I start to do this, it feels forced.  Sometimes I know that a comment does not require a response.  At the same time, I don’t want to make the commenter feel unheard or unappreciated.  That is a dilemma I struggle with.

There is one blogger whose writing I admire for its humor and commentary on pop culture.  I’ve left a couple of well-crafted comments, hoping maybe to strike up a conversation or let her know I like her work, and she has never responded, nor has she ever visited my site, according to the blog stats page.  She doesn’t get many comments on her site, maybe a couple for a post on a good day, or else I would just make up the excuse that she is too busy and overwhelmed by her readership.  Though I feel like a little kid standing in humble admiration, I continue to visit her page because it is worth it, even if she doesn’t have time for me.  (At least she doesn’t moderate my comments into the cyber round file!)

Another blogger whose writing I very much enjoy brought up the desire for honesty in comments, an idea to which I myself subscribe.  Respectful honesty: to me, I’ve always thought this is the goal of communication, right?  

But now I think, maybe not always.  Sometimes maybe it is good to have a place to come and just get support from people.  This world tends toward the hostile, and sometimes even respectful honesty feels hostile when you’ve had enough strife in the rest of your day.  Sometimes we just need people to relax with and not feel like we’re being criticized or picked apart every minute.  This is definitely legitimate.

A recent foot-in-mouth comment of mine leads me to consider the nature of individual blogs, what their purposes are.  I above all want to be respectful of people’s intended audience and atmosphere.  I think the most disrespectful comment is the one that tries to tear the fabric of the blog without consideration of its nature.

Which leads inevitably to the question, what is the nature of my blog?  I get the sense from people’s comments that they are inspired to think about the content, and sometimes have a good chuckle, when reading my posts.  I confess I’ve never had a disruptive comment.  Luck, I suppose, or lack of traffic!  I don’t feel like I’ve clarified the purpose of my own blog in my mind, other than having a forum to express myself and see how people react to it, how they can add to it or spin the topic in a way I hadn’t thought of.  I do really like the idea of making people laugh.  I think this is a valuable objective.  I want to cultivate my own sense of humor and learn not to stand in the way of others’.

Lately I’ve taken to commenting on some of the articles on the website of the local paper.  Most of it is democrat/republican sniping, and I like to jump into the fray if I feel there is something worth addressing.  I know the paper welcomes all comments so they can sell ads to advertisers, so there is no danger of disrespecting a certain atmosphere that someone has worked hard to create.  As you can imagine if you are familiar with how I operate, I don’t launch personal attacks or try to ridicule anyone individually.  But neither do I hold back much on what I really think.

But blogs are a different kind of public forum.  I am so blown away by bloggers who open up themselves to the world and try to make honest, real connections.  I am equally impressed with readers who take the time to digest and react in their own words to what the blogger has offered up for thought.  I have always loved books and words, and I’ve always loved to sit around and chew over some issue or other with friends, but this experience on the internet combines both activities and takes them to a whole new level.  It is amazing to be in a global conversation and I have not stopped being overwhelmed at how lucky I am to be participating in it.  Really, it is unprecedented in the history of humans.

I look forward to many years of experimenting with this great exchange.

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Writing your own legend

My kids and I have been watching “The Grizzly Man Diaries” on Animal Planet.  I absolutely love it.

I’d seen the movie about him a few years ago, but this series gives me the chance to get a continuous drip of it.

First, I love to watch tv when I feel like my kids and I are educating ourselves at the same time: seeing the animals’ life cycles, ecology, food chain, behavior, etc.  That in itself gives the activity about 20 points right off the bat.  We have DVR, so we record the show and replay it whenever the time is right, and we constantly pause it so we can discuss things or share our thoughts.  

I love the show because it is an ongoing investigation of the idea of objective observer vs. meddler in a natural process.  This is one of the most important fundamental issues in the documentary genre as well as in the scientific community:  how much does an “objective” observer interfere with and change what they are observing, and how much should they participate in the events they are witnessing?  Most documentary filmmakers would say you should participate as little as possible, so that we usually observe from a distance things that might be heartwrenching, like a cute little bunny being eaten by a wolf or an orphaned cub starving to death.  It is generally accepted that this is the way things are and they should not be tampered with by humans.

But the Grizzly Man, Timothy Treadwell, has a completely different take.  We saw him get up out of his tent in the middle of the night to scare the wolves away from his fox family.  We also saw him move rocks in a too-shallow creek (not enough rain that year) and create a deep channel so that some of the salmon could make it up to the lake to spawn.  He spoke to the camera and reasoned, Humans are already interfering through our development, industrialization, pollution, etc. to such a great extent, that there is no point in pretending that our hands aren’t already dirty.  Why not step in when we see things we think we could help with.  

Why not indeed.

This is perhaps the part I love most about the show:  Timothy Treadwell is very aware of what he is doing, of what his life is about, of his goals, feelings and priorities.  He submits his actions to us all on camera.  He does not appear to have a hidden agenda, he does not seem to have any dreams that he puts off for a rainy day, he does not seem to be trying to manipulate the audience.  His words and actions seem genuine and personal.  He appears to live spontaneously whatever his brain and/or heart say to him.  He knows that he is part of the story he is telling, and he is not going to conceal any of it.

He wrote his own legend.  From his diaries and videos and still photographs, the producers of the show are constructing stories, which cannot be exactly the same as how Treadwell would have put them together, which cannot be exactly the same as how the bears would have related them, which cannot be exactly the same as the story of nature without us in it, which story we can never know.  We can only know the story through our own eyes, even if we are sitting quietly and watching it on tv, we are still filtering it.  We are understanding it by making it our own.  

I myself have no desire to document every second of an ecological niche the way he did, but I am inspired by the idea of giving up the pretension that I can be objective, of accepting that I am going to have to participate in what I am observing if only by being another body in the room staring.  I am intrigued by the idea of steering my life according to what I am most passionate about, of leaving behind the things that society insists require my attention but which I no longer have time for.

I love the idea of writing my own legend, with eyes and heart open.

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