A fun lesson for writers who hate to practice

“Jeopardy” is a great TV show for writers and Writers alike.

It has a surprisingly large writing staff if you consider only that something like 500 words must be written daily to cover 61 clues.  Not surprising, though, if you consider the bent of creative, the need for impeccably accurate research and the sheer variety of topics.  And none of the content can replicate past shows.

In fact, 500 words, eight terse words at a time, is damnably tough.

Yesterday’s show had a category called “Dumb Down the Cliché,” which is a classic lesson for writers who over-write ... who use three 25¢ words when a nickel’s worth would do nicely, thankyewverymuch.

The novice writer might well practice by rewriting cliches or other well-known passages in order to experiment with combinations and contrasts of clarity and obfuscation – both of which have their place in prose presentations.

Yesterday’s first-round category went like this:

$200 – Retrieve a hare hidden within your beret. (Pull a rabbit from your hat)

$400 – My nostrils detect the aroma of a gnawing rodent. (I smell a rat)

$600 – Spending an interlude anticipating the descent of the additional slipper. (Waiting for the other shoe to drop)

$800 – Seize a male bovine with grips to its forehead protuberances. (Grab the bull by the horns)

$1000 – Pilfer from Mr. Pan in order to enrich Mr. Bunyan. (Rob Peter to pay Paul)

It’s interesting that judges awarded a correct “question” to the contestant who replied by asking “What is ‘Steal from Peter to pay Paul.’ ”  The essence of the cliché is present, to be sure, but in the colloquial spirit of the category, “steal” is one of those words you’d want to “dumb down” to “rob.”

Still, it’s only one word different, right?  What’s the difference?

After all, let bygones be themselves.

It’s not like it was the star-spangled flag or anything.

But maybe we should run one more idea up the flagpole and see who stands at attention ...

Nah ... Leave well enough by itself. 

Next: A practical lesson for writers who hate to practice

[For personal writing assistance, go to www.fixadocument.com]

More lessons for the would-be Writer

Simple lessons are the best.  Lessons we learn and internalize early on are lessons we return to – even years later when those simple skills have been transformed into virtuosity. 

When I was eight, Mrs. Alice Manzuetti handed me a book of Hanon exercises.  Along with the diatonic and chromatic scales, these exercises formed the core of my piano regimen.

Over the last five decades, I’ve played for pleasure and I’ve played to vent anger and frustrations; as an accompanist to Sunday School choirs, and to accompany drunks around a piano bar.

Never the “Piano Man” that others urged to the piano bench to experience the joy of my virtuosity, I proved competent at an eclectic array of musical styles.

Composer-pianist Franz Liszt once said that if he failed to practice for a day, he noticed; for two days, his wife noticed.  If he lapsed his routine for a week, however, the audience noticed.

And whenever my practice lapsed for a week (or a month, as it often does, or even years, as it did once), I return to simple scales and Hanon to warm my fingers and regain confidence and competence at the keyboard.

Writing is like that.  Simple exercises help the novice writer.  Returning to those simple exercises helps the expert Writer.

The cursive equivalent of diatonic scale rendition is the dictation and expansion of the five-word sentence.  Just as with notes on a piano keyboard, repetition and familiarity flow with the outpouring of letters and words and phrases.

And, just as any series of notes offer infinite variety and beauty when interwoven with dynamic and rhythmical variance, the English language provide surprising harmonies as words combine and conflict on the page.

Do this:

          •  Write a five-word sentence.

          •  Then write ten words, which offers increased 

              opportunity for intricacy.

          •  In twenty words, you’ll observe a seeming increase 

             in communicated substance, when, in actuality, the

             underlying message is substantially identical.

          •  But understand: Five words suffice.

Each time you expand and contract the word count, rewriting essentially the same content, you’re learning to stretch and compact words to suit the needs of varying circumstance.

Long sentences require lots of commas, usually, and the care to observe that, in adding length and breadth, you don’t stray from the core message, even forgetting it entirely amidst the melody of sing-song words rattling onto the page.

Short sentences enforce discipline.  Spareness. They paint a stoic portrait – Napoleon, not Tolstoy.

Medium-length sentences offer a buffer between the desert and the floodplain, a spring morning and a stormy night.

All are necessary tools in your palette. Master them.  Use them.  And never let it be said that virtuosity strained against measures of talent for lack of necessary practice. 

Next: A fun lesson for writers who hate to practice

[For personal writing assistance, go to www.fixadocument.com]

Lessons for the would-be Writer

The Pennsylvania Dutch have a wonderful way with words.

“Outen the light,” someone might say to you.  It’s perfectly clear upfront that the speaker isn’t from here (unless “here” happens to be Lehigh County, Pennsylvania).

It’s also perfectly clear, with a little thought, that the speaker would like you to flip the light switch to the “off” position (if you’re in Lehigh County, pinch out the kerosene lamp to satisfy your companion).

The ubiquity of television in the last half of the 20th century eradicated the predominance of quaint linguistic idiosyncrasies of regional spoken English.

Wow.  You could say it that way.  To make the point, perhaps, that one shouldn’t say it that way.

How about: TV showed Americans how people in other parts of the country spoke, virtually wiping out the “Texas Drawl,” for example, and even softening the “Down East” and “Boston Brahmin” dialects.

Once compelled to listen and speak to “foreigners” from other states, Americans homogenized their speaking patterns (to the detriment of Character Authors everywhere, who now are forced to insert illegal immigrants into plot lines to inject diversity in the conversation).

Does a practical lesson lie in the weeds here, somewhere?

Well, novice writers must decide what they want to “sound” like.  At first, this is a wholly unconscious decision: Your writing “sounds” like whatever words have hit the page.

But the wise novitiate studies his completed work (if written works ever can be deemed “completed,” for even when published, their interpretation and historical context is constantly emerging and reemerging).

Like a football coach scouting an opponent, the writer should note his tendencies and observe which tactics seem to produce consistent results.

And, like successful coaches, the writer never gets stuck in a rut, calling upon the same tired strategy, even though it’s long been “defensed.”  Readers and commercial prospects, after all, quickly learn to throw up “defenses” against the same tired plots, the same tired sales ploys, the same tired anything.

The writer must be flexible, adapting to new situations, new conditions, new opportunities as they present themselves ... like the dentist in an old Pennsylvania Dutch joke: 

          A young brunette goes in to see the dentist, who is much

          impressed with his young patient's wicked beauty.

         "Doctor," she says, "you know I think that I would chust

          as soon have a baby as have a tooth pulled."

         "Well," replies the good doctor, "Chust let me know, lady,

          so I can adchust the chair."

Perhaps it’s lost in the translation, but a little miscommunication sometimes goes a long way.

Next: More lessons for the would-be Writer

[For personal writing assistance, go to www.fixadocument.com]

Lessons for the novice writer

What kinds of skills does a “novice” Writer need?

Regular readers will know that I’ve consistently (more or less) made a distinction between a “writer” and a “Writer” – the former being anyone who commits pen to paper (fingertip to keyboard), the latter, capitalized denotation reserved either for those making a living at writing, or with a superior command of the craft.

A “writer” needs a pen and paper (or pencil, or laptop ... whatever).  Being a writer is largely a question of opportunity.

A “Writer,” on the other hand, needs discipline, courage, a strong work ethic, introspection, resilience and a passing acquaintance (at minimum) with inspiration and even genius.

A Writer tends to be experienced, both a writing and at Life.  More than an observer, more than even a trained observer, the Writer is an avid observer ... to the point of voyeurism.

A Writer is critical.  He looks at the human condition, yes, observes and notates.  But he also analyzes the verity of his observation, and the accuracy and completeness of his notation (i.e., he’s an Editor, Copyreader, Proofreader and Critic).

A Writer is realistic – knowing that 500 words do not magically appear on the page each day ... knowing that 2,500 will magically appear on some days ... knowing that 25 words is sometimes better than 250 – even if you really liked the 225 that you have to expunge for reasons of clarity, digression, budget, space or general principal.

A Writer knows how to spell “principle,” and how to spell “principal,” and the difference betwixt the two that shall inevitably meet inside the brain and effect confusion.

A Writer know how to spell “affect,” and uses the word with good effect, eschewing all affectation, no matter how vexingly it affects his creativity.

A Writer knows which words have an impact on the course of human events, and which impact events adversely – no matter how tempting it may be to utilize “impact” as a transitive verb.

“Lessons” in this blog, will generally have practical application to the writer/Writer’s craft.  This lesson has only a smattering of such practical application.

But until the “writer” begins to care about these kinds of issues, he will forever remain uncapitalized. 

Next: Lessons for the would-be Writer

[For personal writing assistance, go to www.fixadocument.com]

A different kind of Ride on the Reading

A couple days ago, we took “A Ride on the Reading” as part of our Seven Days of New Years resolutions. 

This particular New Year’s resolution contains a double-entendre – but no, it’s not risque ... and not even risky. 

Taking a Ride on the Reading, on Tuesday, was all about “Train of Thought” writing – riding on the train out of Imagination Station, with a stream of consciousness plume of stream trailing behind. 

Today, “Taking a Ride on the Reading” concentrates on the long-e pronunciation: It’s all about the fine art of Reading – reading a book, for example, a magazine, eZine or blog.  Heck, read a billboard if it fuels the creative juices. 

I’ve mentioned before several excellent books and authors.  I’m old.  I tend to read fiction. 

Because I find myself with less and less control over the nonfiction world around me, I find it comforting to retreat to the realm of make-believe.

Used to read Time.  Ain’t got the time no more. 

Used to read Newsweek.  Find them weak on news and long on opinion. 

Used to subscribe to the Denver Post.  Switched to the Rocky Mountain News because they had a better sports page, and I wasn’t reading the news so much any more.

Then the Rocky died, so I try to keep up with the Nuggets, Broncos and Rockies online as best I can.  (I used to follow hockey and boxing, but gave that up as the lines between the two began to blur) 

As the days and years pass, I suspect more and more subscriptions and interests and illusions about my impact on the world around me will begin to dissolve into the stream of heavenly consciousness that I hope envelopes me at the bittersweet end. 

I promised, today, a Ride on the Reading – with a long-e.  I implied that a “Fiction Book List” might be at hand, or a list of recommended reading to replace the disappearing sources. 

But I lied. 

What I’m just completing is a Ride on the Reading – with a short-e.  Words that are virtually unreviewed, unedited and unchanged as they’ve rolled from brain to fingertips to computer to blogpost. 

There’s too many instances of the word “I” and there’s a bunch of too-personal commentary that needs to be worked out.  The point of view dithers, and there are too many “There are” sentence constructions. 

It’s not tight, concise, perfectly grammared and grampawed.  To be a work of art, well ... this and 99.44% of everything that falls to my fingertips probably needs hours, weeks and years of polishing. 

But it does “sound” different to my ear.  It’s breezier.  It’s a different person, perhaps, that presents himself. 

And it does, I hope, illustrate the value of letting words roll onto paper.  Because even if they’re not perfect, the words sometimes surprise you. 

And that’s a good thing.  You can work, as a Writer, with surprise.  Maybe I’ll scratch out a book list some other day. 

Next: Lessons

[For personal writing assistance, go to www.fixadocument.com]

Resolved (Part 7) – Edit

Here we are.  Fans already are piling into the Rose Bowl for the BCS Championship game, and this seven-installment package of New Year’s Resolutions for Writers is nearly complete.

Having discussed “Eye” checks and “I” checks earlier, let’s look today at “Reality” checks.

First, of all, once a document is written, check it.  Ask yourself: “Has what I’ve written stayed on track?”

The reality is, the document you started to write may well have “evolved,” and you’re left with a semi-finished product that’s ... well, different.  

“Different” may be good or bad – that’s for you to determine.  But you’ve hopefully recognized it now, and that’s what reality checks are all about.

Now, edit, revise and rewrite, and then run the next reality check.  Ask yourself: “Is what I’ve written worth someone else’s time to read it?”

It’s a shame that this question can’t really be answered until you’ve written, checked, edited, revised and rewritten the document – which still, after all, isn’t a finished product.  But do it anyway, and steel yourself to the consequences: You may have to trash the whole kit and kaboodle and start again from scratch.

(Think of this as a Green resolution: It’d probably save a lot of paper if every “writer” ran this particular reality check.)

Polish up, because now it’s time for another reality check.  Ask someone else: “Is what I’ve written worth your time to read it?”

That particular reality check can be a real ego crusher.  Healthy, but potentially harsh.  A sort of “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” sort of test.

But the last reality check is the toughest of all.  Ask yourself: “Is what I’ve written going to make money for me?”

Whether you’re selling a freelance magazine article, or writing brochure copy for the boss, America remains the Capitalism Capital of the World.  Somebody’s got to make a buck on your work, or you’re just spinning your wheels in the mud. 

Next: A different kind of Ride on the Reading

[For personal writing assistance, go to www.fixadocument.com]

Resolved (Part 6) – Edit

The Twelve Days of Christmas have come and gone, and the Seven Days of New Year’s Resolutions are winding down as well.

Previous resolutions advocate making a firm decision to write, and then sitting down to actually do it ... employing the time-honored practice of “Train of Thought” writing, as appropriate, to get something – anything – down on paper ... and then taking breaks from both the physical and mental stress of this deceptively arduous task.

As explained many times over recent months in this space, that’s the easy part.  Yes, at the risk of beating a dead horse: Writing is Easy ... it’s the process of rewriting and editing that’s hard.

It’s hard, in the sense that it demands commitment and the sweat from the writer’s brow – and it’s hard because it’s hard to acquire the book-learning, mentor-taught, experience-honed skills required.

We can talk about these valuable skills later.

Leave for another day, a full discussion of the fine distinction between a “new-player list” and his “new player list” (the former being a list of new players, the latter a list that’s new).

... for another time, the rationale for never, ever referring to an item as “extremely unique” (it’s like being a little pregnant).

... for another chapter and verse, a discussion of over-capitolization and mispellings (intended or not).

These skills are much-needed in revising or editing a document.

But like the automobile commercials that caution “Professional Drivers on a Closed Course” or the slapstick clown who warns “Now kiddies, don’t try this at home,” it sometimes is simply best to leave the editing to a professional.

Corporate marketers know that outsourcing a writing project is apt to yield copy that’s wildly off the mark from a content and “voice” standpoint – not to mention a copywriting invoice that rivals the national debt (well, not really ... but BIG).

But how about doing the “writing” in-house (the easy part), and contracting out the hard parts?

Outsourcing only the editing, rewriting and/or proofreading tasks gives the marketing executive substantial control over text and tone, while investing in a much smaller commitment to the professional writer/editor.

Put together a rough draft and send that puppy out for polishing.

You and a writer could spend three hours in meetings just to hash over nebulous options for the language and structure of a “from-scratch” manuscript – and you’d still pay for several hours of the writer’s time.  Or, you can lock yourself in a room, compose a substantially complete rough draft in an hour or two, and let the pro spend a couple hours correcting, revising and polishing.

You’ve got the right content up front.  You generally like the way it sounds.  And you avoid screwing with the corporate identity brand.  

The writer?  He avoids an aspirin bottle full of headaches, and frees himself up to work with all those other clients who don’t have their collective acts together.

And oh, by the way, should you need a professional, contact me by clicking the link at the top-right of this blog (www.fixadocument.com), or email fixer@fixadocument.com ....

You’ll be glad you did. 

Next: Resolved (Part 7)

[For personal writing assistance, go to www.fixadocument.com]

Adding tergiversation to the conversation (Supplemental)

The word “tergiversate” popped up here yesterday.  by the way, tergiversate means "to change repeatedly one's attitude or opinions with respect to a cause, subject, etc.; equivocate."

For anyone curious, tergiversate was “dither” on first draft, but that’d already been used several grafs back.

Other options included ruminating, cogitating, brooding, mulling, musing, anguishing over and chafing.

The final choice hinged on two factors: First and foremost, the accurate use of the word; second, its ability to demonstrate an option that no one – I repeat, no one – would ever produce on first draft, but discover only in the tedious process of revision.

In the end, the word did quadruple duty:

          •  It accurately communicated an action.

          •  It illustrated the process of revision.

          •  It taught a new word to you, cherished readers of my blog.

          •  And it provided a rhythmically poetic title for this 
             supplemental entry.

Not bad for 25 seconds on Thesaurus.com, wot?

Oh ... and for another word doing double-duty, visit the post coming up Friday for a second reading on the word “reading” (which, after all, can be pronounced with a long “e,” now can’t it?) ...

Resolved (Part 5) – A Ride on the Reading

A time-tested tactic for wanna-be writers is buying a ticket to “Ride on the Reading Railroad.”

A “Ride on the Reading” is steeped in railroad lore ... get on board at Imagination Station.  Take some “Train of Thought” transport.

Train of Thought is all about being impulsive.  The Train of Thought engineer doesn’t dither over whether something is silly or trite.  Train of Thought writing defies every social convention we’ve learned since, oh, 'bout the age of 2:

                    “Johnny, be careful.  Are you allowed to run off
                      into the street?”

                    “Don’t eat that candy!  What are you thinking??!”

                    “I suppose if everybody else jumped off the cliff, 

                      you’d jump off a cliff right after them, wouldn’t you?”

                    “Marcie, now that’s just plain stupid!”

Remember: Writing is easy.  Editing and rewriting are tough.

In order to edit and rewrite, you’ve got to have something down on the page to begin with.  And there’s the rub!

I’m tellin’ you: Write something. Anything!
 

Yes, you have to be careful about what you publish to the world.  But for now, you’re just writing.  For right now, just write, and worry about being careful when you edit.

Yep, you’re thinking too much.  Not allowed.  Write.  This is train of thought, and your engine’s still back at the station admiring the chassis of some cute caboose.

Yeah, it sounds just exactly like the same old crap everybody else is writing.  Get unique later, when you revise this crap.  For now, do what every 6-month-old dog has learned to do: Crap on the paper!  Now!

And yes, it’s better if it’s pithy and smart, but you’re more apt to write something stupid.  So put something stupid down, get over it and move on.  You can improve on it later.

Write now! While you tergiversate in search of precisely the right word, three tremendous ideas have gone in and out of your brain before you could jot them down.  

Write now! Let your imagination fly across the landscape, white steam streaming back against the powder-blue horizon, parallel to main track; the gnashing of metal gears and wheels a mere click-clack in the distance.

Write now! There’ll be time enough tomorrow for shoveling of coal and clearing  the track of fallen debris.

Write now! Get the inspiration down and stir in the perspiration later.

Write now ... and get it right later.

Right now, the Muse won’t wait – and shouldn’t have to ... she’s a passenger on board the Bard Express.

Next: Resolved (Part 6)

[For personal writing assistance, go to www.fixadocument.com]

Resolved (Part 4) – Add ‘I Breaks’ to your Writing arsenal

Let’s talk about “I Breaks.”

Friday, I discussed  “Eye Breaks,” simple ways to combat the physical stress of eye strain and other afflictions of the chronically chair-bound.

“I Breaks” are simple ways to combat the psychological and emotional stress that can strike at the heart (literally) of the lonely writer.

Writing is a solitary art.  Boarders may scratch to a halt in a public park and watch curiously over the shoulder of some guy struggling in front of a watercolor canvas.  The Writer’s pen labors in obscurity.

As tedious as marble sculptor might prove to be, I suspect an artist’s hand looming motionless over a block of Italian Alabaster is high drama compared to the blocked writer’s flop sweat plunking to the keyboard at his fingertips.

The dynamic hum and mold at a potter’s wheel?  A Jackie Chan double-feature.

Writing truly is a solitary art (except in the various branches of government, where “writing by committee” is elevated to an art form – much to the detriment of the public welfare).

Vivid scenes of high drama and romance are splashed with silent screams across synapses totally inside the Writer’s brain.  The Writer wearies of sound of his own voice ... even if he hasn’t spoken a word aloud since barking at the dog three hours ago.

Solitary confinement can be a problem for writers clad in a metaphorical jumpsuit of neon orange.

That “stand up and stretch” I recommended Friday?  Pace into the kitchen a grab lunch.  Flop in the armchair and check out the latest goings-on in Mayberry.

If that seems too frivolous, read (nothing too heavy ... it’s a break, remember?), pitch some tunes onto the CD player, or play a game of pocket poker.

Toby Ziegler bounced a pink rubber ball against a plate-glass wall.  Rob Petrie had a piano at his beck and call in the writer’s room to help inspire Buddy and Sally whenever ideas dried up.

(FYI: Experimenting with karaoke is ill-advised except to inoculate against intense and otherwise irresolvable inclination toward isolation-induced infirmity.)

Sometimes, though, such comfort food leads only to a counterproductive nap.  A stroll to the park might be a better remedy – a heart-pumping, head-clearing jog through the hills, if you’re so inclined (cold, snowy weather is best, followed closely by rankly sweaty climes).

And, as good as these I Breaks may prove to be, a “We Break” can be equally invigorating: Busy yourself with real conversation – the sound of someone else’s voice for a change: Coordinate your admittedly erratic schedule with family and friends.  Carve out some quality time with networking colleagues and other members of your adoring public.

Bottom line, all manner of I Breaks can produce long-term benefits for your physical, mental and financial well-being ... unless, of course, it is precisely the madness of your muse that inspires your pen-on-paper / fingers-on-the-keyboard art.

Next: Resolved (Part 5)

[For personal writing assistance, go to www.fixadocument.com]

Resolved (Part 3) – Take eye breaks when you write

As outlined yesterday, the first “tactic” of the successful Writer – Do it – was simple, if time-consuming.

The next, by contrast, is deceptively difficult to master – though it takes but a fleeting second.

Tactic 2: Eye breaks.

Writing, in and of itself, can be a headache.  It’s hard work.  Stress is involved.  Deadlines, self-imposed or elsewise.

So why add to the stress and headaches by failing to pay attention to your eyes?

I was fortunate, most of my career, to have a desk looking out one second-story window or another.  My mind is wont to wonder, so it was second-nature to look away from my work and gaze into the distance.

But right now, I’m looking at the wall – barely an arms-length away.

Trust me on this: Don’t spend your day looking at a computer screen and a white wall three feet away.  Every minute or two, make a conscious effort to turn you head (and/or body) and shift your focus to an object at least six or eight feet distant.

Changing the focal length of your eyeball exercises the muscles that coordinate the work of your cornea and your retina.  Think of it as isometric calisthenics.

Aside from that, listen to your mother: Sit up straight, chin up, feet flat on the floor.  If your back, shoulders or wrists are talking to you, stand up and stretch – a good idea every 20 minutes or so even if you don’t have audio hallucinations emanating from various body parts.

One excellent tactic, even if you don’t believe it’s a good idea to drink an ounce of water a day for every pound you weigh: Drink an ounce of water a day for every pound you weigh.  Doctors will tell you it hydrates your brain and skin, keeps the bloodstream hydrated, and is a generally good idea.

That’s all well and good.  Me, I don’t always wear a watch.  If I drink a ton of water, I have too get out of my chair every 20 minutes or so to pee ... offering the untimed but on-time opportunity to stretch a variety of body parts.

Next: Resolved (Part 4)

[For personal writing assistance, go to www.fixadocument.com]

Resolved (Part 2) – Writing is work, but DO it

Once the fledgling writer commits to becoming a Writer, a modicum of discipline must emerge.

Writing doesn’t just happen.  It’s crafted.  Molded.  Cogitated over.  Revised, reviewed, reworked and rechecked.

How’s that done?  What’s the secret?  What does the fly on the wall see when it looks down upon the struggling author?

Probably, in Winston Churchill’s immortal words, a lot of blood, toil, tears and sweat.  It’s war.  And the words always win.

It’s only a question of whether the author is wise enough to quit fighting the words, and sign on as an ally.

Between now and the end of the kickoff of the BCS Championship Game in Pasadena next Thursday, let’s look at six tactics the wannabe writer can pursue – not tips or tricks or strategies, but physical actions that real-world Writers all embrace.

Tactic 1: Do it.

Yeah, it’s really that simple.

The Great American Novel doesn’t write itself.  You’ve got to move the pen.  Punch the keyboard.  Delete, cut, paste, undo ... but most of all, DO.

Create a benchmark: 500 well-crafted words is a good day – 250 superbly crafted is probably better, but that depends on the sophistication of your audience.

Devote two, maybe three hours a day to the keyboard – more if you’re really on a roll; less if the muse escapes you.  And realize that the physical act of typing words into a dumb terminal is only one phase of the writing process.

The rest?  Read, research, talk on the phone, network, sell yourself, market, blog, and then read some more.  Any time you dedicate the attention of your brain to the writing chore ... well, you’re writing.  You can do it standing in line at the movie theater, daydreaming in the park, pumping iron at the gym or stuffing a breaded pork chop in your left cheek.

Doing it, however, is not recommended when you’re doing it, if you catch my drift.

Bottom line, you need only spend half a day working at it to become a successful writer.
What you do with the other 12 hours is your own business.

Next: Resolved (Part 3)

[For personal writing assistance, go to www.fixadocument.com]

Resolved (Part 1) – New Year's resolutions for writers

It’s nearly New Year’s Day.  Most resolutions made 363 days ago have (unlike old acquaintance) long since been forgot.

The inside skinny on that diet I committed to?  Down 28, up 13; net decline – 15 pounds.  Not bad, but it’s near the top of the Friday morning list.

Reading paves the road to Writing, and my Kindle has been burning up.  A recently re-discovered library card got renewed usage this year, but a long list of unread classics remains (and the latest James Patterson / Alex Cross thriller sits, unopened, on the shelf).

But 2009 was the year I finally confronted a long-held regret.  The resolution came, not in January, but in mid-November.

I transmogrified years of sheepish resolutions into leonine resolve and embarked on a journey in pursuit of the Joy of Writing – a joy that was so much a fixture of my youth.

I left the day-job behind, and plunged into icy waters of dysprosperity.

I built a website (www.fixadocument.com).

I created this blog, religiously posting daily entries (weekends and legal holidays excepted).

And I opened the door to a new adventure as a writer for Examiner.com, an online source of local and national news, features and commentary – a fledgling home for “citizen journalists.”

In short, I have many promises to keep, and many words to write before I sleep.  And there’s no turning back.

The single best advice I can provide to a would-be Writer, is to commit.  Go out and burn bridges (not in the classic sense of the phrase, of course ... keying the car door of your soon-to-be ex-boss is a bad idea).

Cut the ties to daily routines – no matter how comfortable – that keep you from the creative process.  Desperation is not necessarily an unhealthy state of mind.

Climbing out of the well-worn rut may mean quitting a job and investing time and money in the tools you’ll need to succeed – a computer upgrade, perhaps, or membership in writer/sales networking groups (live or online).  And, you just may need to drop an hour of TV and 45 minutes of sleep to get the hard work of writing accomplished.

Over the next two days, we’ll look at six ways to get where you’re going – six New Year’s Resolutions, if you will – with an eye toward substantially improving your craft in the coming 12 months.

Next: Resolved (Part 2)

[For personal writing assistance, go to www.fixadocument.com]

PUN-ditry

The term “bad pun” is at least redundant, if not fully oxymoronic.  If it ain’t bad, it ain’t a pun (though I’ve never comprehended why everybody thinks the ox is so dumb).

Shakespeare punned.  A flock of doves puns when it stages a coo.  W.C. Fields drunkenly professed he’d “rather have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy” ... a gag further pickled by Dean Martin, who said, “I would rather have a free bottle in front of me than a pre-frontal lobotomy.”  Even Jesus punned, suggesting  He’d build his church upon Peter – a solid foundation – playing on the similarity of the apostle’s name and the Greek word for “rock.”

At Christmastide, when Guinevere saw that Lancelot’s bright new armor had been rent repeatedly with swords, she reputedly bent over the pronate form, lamenting her dying lover: “Oh holey knight!”

The best and worst of writers alike struggle for topics.  Puns are definitive proof that a Writer can write about anything – absolutely anything.

As a daily newspaper columnist, I would stare out the window when blocked, and found that a bed of flowers, a fire hydrant, a telephone wire – virtually anything visible – might nurture my sleeping but unquenchable fire to communicate (sorry ’bout that).  My own version of the Holy Grail was a column filled with 350-syllable words ... er, 350 salable words (can’t help it).

In college, during Finals Week, I sat with elbows splayed across a dormitory dinner table, my bleary eyes closed in rest, buried in my sleeve.  My roommate approached, carb-heavy tray in hand .... “Eddie ... Eddie,” he said, gently shaking my shoulder.

“Are you tired, Eddie?” he asked in a lame Topo Gigio imitation, plucking a paper napkin from the dispenser nearest my left forearm.

“Cause if you’re tired, you know ...” he continued, brandishing the paper catalyst of his somnambulant wit, “When you’re really tired, a napkin help.”

The groans of those nearby assembled stirred me from my reverie.  Nap ended.  Possibly the worst pun ever.

And proof again that anybody can write 350 syllable words (exactly), if their backs are to the wall.

Next: Resolved (Part 1)

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Your two cents worth

A 74¢ check arrived in the mail last week from Bank of America.

You remember B of A – the HUGEST holding company on Planet Earth.  Borrowed 58 gazillion dollars from the U.S. taxpayer to keep from going belly up a year ago.

Pays its top execs $25.75 a week, plus stock options valued at, oh, $42.7 million annually, give or take a decimal point or two.

B of A sent a cashier’s check for “NO DOLLARS SEVENTY-FOUR CENTS.”  Seriously – would you ever pull out a checkbook to belly up 74¢ ’cause you only had $3.24 in your pocket for a $4 draught of Schlitz?

Now, the details aren’t interesting: Suffice to say, B of A inexplicably delayed payment on an insurance claim for three weeks or so ... (but apparently only about 17 hours longer than the bank deemed necessary – interest would have amounted to a little over a buck a day.
 
Already a month late (in my book), it took ’em six weeks more to write and mail the 74¢ check.  Truth be known, nobody here much cared about getting the 74¢ to begin with, but it apparently allowed B of A to close its books on the matter.

The incident offers several telling lessons to the Writer:

• First, meet your deadlines, or there are penalties to be paid (in this case, 74¢ plus a perception of stultifying incompetence).

• Don’t invest in a 42¢ stamp, $2.12 of somebody’s work day, 19¢ worth of perforated check stock, a 9¢ envelope and $24.34 of someone else’s much more valuable time – all just to chip your two cents worth into the general discourse.

• Most importantly, recognize that Joe Sixpack revels at turning a blind eye to the multi-billion-dollar ineptitude bankrupting international coffers ... but he’ll spring from his couch ranting at the idiocy of a 74¢ foible he’s got stuck in his craw.

B of A’s 74 pennies were meager redress for a wound already healed ... scarred, but healed nonetheless.  The obsequious proffer of a filching manservant.  A nickel tip in a tin ash tray.  A condescending nod, regurgitating all the inconvenience, aggravation and suspicion.
If what you have to communicate isn’t enough to put a digit to the left of the decimal point, keep it to yourself.  

On the other hand, if you contrive to make it personal, the most trivial of communications can carry a stinging wallop.

Good writing is personal.  Bad writing – no matter how grandiloquent – ain’t worth a buck.
 
Next: PUN-ditry

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God, the Damned

Tomorrow is the birthday of God’s only begotten Son.

Jesus – the Christian incarnation of God – been much abused since the middle of the 20th century, when trippy-hippie philosophers proclaimed him “dead.” Holiday marketers began ripping references to God’s son from the public discourse.  Nativity scenes and Ten Commandment scrolls seem quaintly out of step with today’s politically correct doctrine.

In schools, “God Damn You” is more readily tolerated than “God Bless You.”  A centuries-old doctrine of prayer in the school has been relentlessly trampled by Courts drunk with the new wine pressed from the vineyard of secular righteousness.

When I was in high school, it was fashionable to teach “The Bible as Literature.”  I believed then that the nomenclature was a convenient invention to sidestep an inane Supreme Court decree.

In retrospect, however, reducing the Bible to mere “literature” cheapens it.  Yes, writers of scripture are placed alongside Shakespeare, Flaubert and Dostoevsky – but also tripists like Vonnegut, Baudelaire, Roth, Chaucer, Ginsberg, Kerouac, Koontz and Krantz.

In short, the pedantic proprietors of academe – landed lords of literacy – condemned The Ten Commandments to cohabitation with The Seven Words You Can’t Say on TV, and let the chips fall where they may.

More than 9 of 10 Americans believe in God – mostly in the Judeo-Christian tradition.  Writers should avail themselves of the tradition of Christian allusion unabashedly, where appropriate.  To ignore it, while fashionable, ignores a wealth of cultural richness dysobviated by Cultural Correctness.

Next: Your two cents worth

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God Bless Us, Every One!

Charles Dickens was not one to over-capitalize, or to exclaim with an exclamation mark when a simple declaration and a period would suffice.

Yet, in Christmas Carol, he capitalized each separate word of the signature “God Bless Us, Every One!” and added an exclamation point for good measure.  What are we to make of that?

Well, the exception proves the rule ... and the exception emphasizes the new and different element being used.  Dickens understood the emotional impact those five words would have on the Reader, who has witnessed the tale lovingly unfold, like a Christmas treasure from a ream of silver paper and bows.

Pacing. Pitter-patter.  Words that flow across the page in long and sweeping paragraphs ... and then are suddenly adorned by the staccato flourish of a catch-phrase sentence.

Today, nearly two centuries later, most can readily identify Tiny Tim as the speaker of the prayerful affirmation (though they might lack the perspicacity to reckon those who lectured on the mustard seed, the value of a penny saved, or of peace in our time.

Tiny Tim’s exclamation (Dickens actually characterized it as an “observation”) is variously recorded in source materials, though the five-words version – each capitalized, with a comma and exclamation point – seems most authoritative.  But tinkering with the craftsman’s art can leave us far from the mark.

Altering it ever so slightly to “God bless us, everyone” for example, seems to invite a rather mundane and secular blessing – calling for those assembled to take note of the invitation.

“God bless us! Everyone!” sounds like the whole room just sneezed.

The proper “Every One!” places staccato emphasis on you, and you and, most especially YOU, great-uncle Ebeneezer.  Capitalization lends an air of formality – even holiness – which might also be inferred from the application of the word “truly” a few words prior in the Dickens script (the Gospels utilize the phrase “Truly I say to you ...” when Jesus wanted particularly to stress a parabolic subtlety).

In any case, it seems clear that Dickens intended to invoke the authority of the Christian God, having previously interwoven an easily recognizable theme of Christian forgiveness and redemption with four rather pedestrian Pagan “spirits.”

It’s fortunate Dickens’ artistry was spawned in the free-enterprise journals of 19th century England.  Clearly his profanely “spiritual” message would never survive the blue pencils of the NEA-driven dilettantes churning out contemporary manifestoes.

And such is our loss.

Next: God, the damned

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Bah, Humbug!

“Bah!” said Scrooge.  “Humbug!” he added.

And our English-speaking world was never again the same.

Now, the word “humbug,” in and of itself, predates the Dickens Christmas Carol by nearly a century – an archaic exclamation even then ... the callous utterance of a wrinkled curmudgeon graying of hair and spirit alike.

“Humbug” is variously defined as “Rubbish, pretense, deception, or a sham.”  Its documented origin dates to 1751 as student slang for a “trick, jest, hoax, deception ... of unknown origin” ... even referring to a type of British hard candy (though that repugnant name surely negates whatever dulcitude it might possess).

Skulduggery.  Buggered.  Don’t bug me.  Repugnant.  Ugly. Somehow the “u-g” (or “ugh”) construction proves onomatopoetical in most of its varied incarnations.  But that may just be me, bludgeoning you, tough guy, with curmudgeonly sludge.

The sound of a word often enhances its inherent meaning.  Consider how simple rhymes of “power” can mirror the emotion when we speak of “a towering triumph,” for example, a “shower” of gifts, or a “glowering” gaze ... and even “cowering” in a corner seems to carry timidness to a powerful extreme.

You can “plunk” cash on a counter, or plunk away at the keys of a piano – implying a carelessness in dealing with “junk.”  The word “fiery” carries so much more impact that “hot.”  Words like “aloof” and “benign” look and sound like we shouldn’t pay attention.

And I never cared a lick for hicks like “Tricky Dick” and “Slick Willy” – and I could tick off a hundred reasons they made me sick in their day (yet “Nick” is the devil, and “Old St. Nick” the jolliest of elves ... go figure).

Still, I always find it ironic that “onomatopoeia” doesn’t sound like what it means (else rather than describing a word that sounds like its meaning, it would describe a word that not pronounced the way it’s spelled).

Bottom line: Powerful words can add “pop” to a passage of text – a little “zing” to linger on the lips.

Next: God Bless Us, Every One!

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You will be visited by Three Ghosts

A trivia question: How many spirits visited Ebeneezer Scrooge in the Dickens’ classic, Christmas Carol?

Without thinking, most will respond “three!”  Cleave to those who correctly reckon “four,” for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven.  Verily, Jacob Marley was the first of four spirits who visited the cowering hermit – telling him to expect three (more) spirits ere the dawn of that Christmas morn.

Christmas Carol is a favorite work of fiction (or of nonfiction, for that matter).  Were ever such characters caricatured, before or after?  “Christmas Eve Scrooge” is the epitome of the Anti-Christ, the antithesis of the Spirit of Christmas.  Likewise, Tiny Tim embodies the innocence of a child seeking something unseen to be believed (a mother’s love, perhaps, or the miracle of Santa Claus.
In my own career as a “ghost writer,” I often have been asked to infuse spirit into the text of greedy and spiritless offerors of products and services as empty and cold as the offices of Scrooge & Marley.

“Please make the writing more stylish and elaborate ... simple and strong,” my taskmaster begs of me.

I may be willing to lay aside, for the moment, the observation that “stylish and elaborate” are pretty much the EXACT opposite of “simple and strong.”  And I may even bite my tongue at applying these kinds of attributes to a box of 3-inch wing nuts or a bank’s mundane offering of “free” checking.

But I am forever doomed it seems – without no prospect of reprieve at the rising of the Christmas Day sun – to grasp at some chain that might bind strong and stylish words to some product or service whose benefits are ethereal, at best.

Yes, the English language is gorgeous, melodic.  The mere rhythm and pace of well-formulated rhetoric can entertain and even hypnotize.

But if rhetoric is to be more than eloquent pomposity, there has to be some there ... THERE!  To write effectively about some commercial product or service, I have to touch, feel, comprehend its essence.  And if there is no there there, it’s a ghost, and no measure of elocution blended into the ghostwriting recipe will save the sales campaign.

Fiction and narrative nonfiction writers are faced with the same dilemma.  You can write about nothing, and the words may ring admirably in the air ... but they won’t ring true.  It is a great exercise to write words simply for their own sway – sound and fury signifying nothing, if you will.

Writers, demand of your employers the substance to ply your craft.  For if you are blessed with the tools of a carpenter, yet have no wood to shape, you are little more than a well-meaning spirit wielding no tool of shape or substance.

In the end, substance, and substance alone, begets great writing.  The exercise of wordsmithing begets sweat.  It is practice.  And while it may even be practice worth committing to, you are left, in the end, with an idiotic voice crying in the wilderness at the silent, fallen tree.

Next: “Bah, Humbug!”

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Back to Basics (Part 8) – Love!

A Writer must have love in his heart, love the craft, love the subject, love the chase for the perfect word, the perfect phrasing, the perfect construction.

If you don’t love to write, give it up.  It’s much too hard, much too taxing, the rewards much too elusive and fleeting.

Syndicated columnist Charles Krauthammer recently marked his 25th anniversary as a writer with a column of apologetic self-reflection (see 25 years).  He notes that producing a column three times a week “is like being married to a nymphomaniac – as soon as you’re done, you’ve got to do it again.”

Love has to be your mistress (mister?), with all the intrigue of excitement, guilt, ennui, power and hopelessness inherent in such furtive pursuits.  Writing is at once a secret pleasure and a secret sin – the kiss of an arrogant mistress threatening more to consume than to consummate.

But if you can embrace the mistress in spite of that, writing is easy.  You may not write inspiringly, or even competently … but it is akin to el acto sexual: It cannot be done badly.

The cathartic scrape of pen on paper alone is a productive act of holy – nay, unholy – personality.  The act distinguishes our uniqueness, for no one can ever again communicate any precise thought in the same way, with the same history of personality, occupying the same point in space and time.

Like a loving mate, writing completes us and, in making us whole, simultaneously shreds the fabric of the constituent components.  Blood, coursing through arterial and venous highways, fills the heart, engorges the organ, and fills us with the breath of life; spilled into the gutter, it is the extinguishment of our being through the dark power of evil and death.

The Writer bleeds on the page, whether in blistered anguish or with wrenching glee – whether with words meticulously crafted or divorced from the subjugation to self-discipline – or whether lighting upon any click of the cosmic compass orbiting between the extremes of infinite straight-line continua.

Truly I tell you, the creation of a written masterpiece is like God’s creation of time.  A succession of events move point-to-point in a straight line, yet always circling around to a point of origin as singular and infinite as an atom spiraling into the black hole of universal birth.

And each unique succession of events moves along a parallel orbit to another, and another, and another – smothering us in the entanglements of life.

In a world filled with creation, the expression of our own unique circumstance and perspective contributes, however ponderously, to the whole.  The innocuous, the trivial, the venal, the blasphemous all – all – contribute to the continuum in the same manner and breadth as the pompous, the significant, the inspirational and the pure.

As a moth is drawn to the light, we are inevitably drawn to the latter circumstances: We scorn the innocuous to embrace the pompous and the significant; renounce the vulgar in order to court the inspiring purity of holy verse.  And yet, the enigmatic juxtaposition of good and evil fuels our very being.  Absent the contradiction of black hole and the nova, the universe is less than complete.

Love your writing … love all writing.  Learn what you can, while you can, from the good, the bad and the ugly old hag staring back from the page with lust in her eyes.  And yes, strive to be better … but embrace every act of creation.

Next: You will be visited by Three Ghosts

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