I lean towards sarcasm. Life is often absurd and
contradictory (a conclusion I reached with the help of my
Catholic upbringing
and Mark Twain). The danger, of course, comes when people misinterpret my
sarcasm. It has gotten me in trouble a few times.
The most recent incident has come with my synopsis,
which I am continuing to hone. It seems that my critique group has fallen in
love (that is sarcastic—let’s say they have come to enjoy) the sarcastic
voice of my protagonist. Phrases such as, “…going down the crapper,” or “You
kicked him in the balls so hard I thought he would cough up a wisdom tooth,”
resound with this small audience.
So now they are encouraging me to incorporate some
of this voice into my synopsis. Yeah, right. I have compacted a near
100,000-word novel into two pages (and not a line more) and now they want me to
add a few words.
(Sarcastic sigh).
According to an article on sarcasm in a digital age
in today’s Wall Street Journal, Doug Sak, an accountant in Michigan, has
developed the SarcMark, described as an upside-down, stylized lower case e with
a dot in the center (see the illustration accompanying this blog). The SarkMark
is intended for use in electronic communications where it is often difficult to
determine sarcasm, and misunderstandings are common. It is not punctuation.
Look at it more as closer to an emoticon. A sign that says, “Hey, I’m being a
smartass.”
Forget electronic communication! I have a problem with
sarcasm in everyday conversation. I am getting a t-shirt with the SarkMark
emblazoned across the front of it. I might even incorporate it into the cover
design of every novel I write.
See ya’ later.
NOTE: When it comes to religion, I classify myself as a card-carrying
heathen, but I maintain an open mind. More of my sarcastic nature. That is why
I often check out the blog of Nadia Bolz-Weber, an ordained minister and author of the blog Sarcastic Lutheran. Nadia was
named by CNN recently in a group of ten women who are changing religion. Her
unofficial motto is, “Nailing shit to the church door for five hundred years.”
Look up Martin Luther on Wikipedia if you don’t understand that.)
The best scene in the movie Heat is when career criminal Robert De Niro and police
lieutenant Al Pacino sit
down over a cup of coffee. De Niro’s character
confesses to a recurring dream in which he is drowning. Al Pacino’s character
asks, “Do you know what it means?” Deniro’s answer, “Yeah, not enough time.”
I’m waiting for the drowning dreams to come.
Now that Rules for Giving is completed, I was
looking forward to working on my next project. The working title is The Orange
and The Black. I even went so far as to resign from the board of directors of a
regional non-profit so I can dedicate more time.
But that’s not happening. Between meeting my goal
of five queries a week, keeping up on my reading, working my day job, being a
husband, a father and a grandfather, there is not enough time. I get up at four
o’clock in the morning, read for thirty minutes to an hour, and then start
working on a writing project, which gives me at least ninety minutes of writing
time before anyone else gets up. Then I go for longer stretches on the weekend.
Things keep getting in the way, though, like the
time I had to spend this morning reading material for the paying job, and going
to bed late last night because we were carving Halloween pumpkins.
I am thinking that if I set aside two evenings a
week for queries, as well as Sunday evening, that should be enough time to get
out my goal of five queries a week. This
frees up my mornings for ninety to 120 minutes of time to work on my next
novel. It is all about time management.
Of course, I could always start getting up at three
o’clock…
Photo by Tim Houlihan
(Own work) [CC-BY-SA-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0) or
GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html)], via Wikimedia Commons.
The gig that puts food on the table and pays the bills in my
house is marketing and advertising. Several
years ago I was asked to judge
submissions by various colleges and universities as part of the annual
collegiate competition, sponsored by the American Marketing Association.
I recall one submission clearly. Within their marketing
plan, the students included a proposal for a new website. Nothing new there.
What made me cringe was the description of the website.
“Once the client gets this really sweet website…” I could
read no further. Seriously, the slang word “sweet” in a formal marketing
proposal? I think not.
Obviously, as mentioned in an article in the Wall Street
Journal this past weekend entitled “Ain’t
this Good English,” the student forgot that there is a difference between
formal and informal language—or maybe he was never taught otherwise.
But when it comes to fiction, I am of the mind that you
write for the audience. If the audience is of a culture that uses words
differently, then you should embrace that lexicon.
There is a clique within the literary community with feels
as if the English language should be kept at its highest standard. These are
the same folks who, when Merriam came out with Websters Third Dictionary came
out in 1961, were horrified to see A-bomb, astronaut and den mother among the
new additions. Strangely enough, not many folks raised a stink when the Oxford
English Dictionary (the one that comes in two huge volumes with a magnifying
glass so you can read it) added “bootylicious” in 2004.
According to the National Council of Teachers of English,
though, “correctness rests upon usage” and “all usage is relative.”
In Rules
for Giving I use the word “breeder.” It has nothing to do with horseracing.
Breeder is a slang word used in the gay and lesbian community. It is a derogatory
(usually) term used to refer to anyone that is not gay. Most of the folks who
read my novel and were not gay were not familiar with the term in that contact.
But, “all usage is relative.”
For those of you who don’t get around as much as you would
like and sometimes wonder what younger people are talking about, I refer you to
the Urban Dictionary. It is the
best source I know of when you come across an unfamiliar term or word that is
obviously being used in a more contemporary context. By the way, prepare to be
shocked. Some of this this is racy.
There were a few things that made me laugh when I read the
article in the WSJ. The biggest argument when Websters Third came out was the
inclusion of the word “ain’t,” “possibly the most famous stink word in the
English language.” I was not familiar with the term “stink word.” I figured it
out quickly, because in the movie Juno they use the term “stink
eye,” which is a more modern version of giving someone the evil eye.
The other was a headline by the Bingamton Sunday Press in
1961, complaining with Websters Third—“Ain’t Still Has Taint.”
That newspaper might have thought twice about using “taint” today.
If you don’t know what it means, look it up in the Urban Dictionary—and prepare
to be shocked.
Photo by Thegreenj (Own work) [GFDL
(http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html) or CC-BY-SA-3.0
(http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/)], via Wikimedia Commons
The gig that puts food on the table and pays the bills in my
house is marketing and advertising. Several
years ago I was asked to judge
submissions by various colleges and universities as part of the annual
collegiate competition, sponsored by the American Marketing Association.
I recall one submission clearly. Within their marketing
plan, the students included a proposal for a new website. Nothing new there.
What made me cringe was the description of the website.
“Once the client gets this really sweet website…” I could
read no further. Seriously, the slang word “sweet” in a formal marketing
proposal? I think not.
Obviously, as mentioned in an article in the Wall Street
Journal this past weekend entitled “Ain’t
this Good English,” the student forgot that there is a difference between
formal and informal language—or maybe he was never taught otherwise.
But when it comes to fiction, I am of the mind that you
write for the audience. If the audience is of a culture that uses words
differently, then you should embrace that lexicon.
There is a clique within the literary community with feels
as if the English language should be kept at its highest standard. These are
the same folks who, when Merriam came out with Websters Third Dictionary came
out in 1961, were horrified to see A-bomb, astronaut and den mother among the
new additions. Strangely enough, not many folks raised a stink when the Oxford
English Dictionary (the one that comes in two huge volumes with a magnifying
glass so you can read it) added “bootylicious” in 2004.
According to the National Council of Teachers of English,
though, “correctness rests upon usage” and “all usage is relative.”
In Rules
for Giving I use the word “breeder.” It has nothing to do with horseracing.
Breeder is a slang word used in the gay and lesbian community. It is a derogatory
(usually) term used to refer to anyone that is not gay. Most of the folks who
read my novel and were not gay were not familiar with the term in that contact.
But, “all usage is relative.”
For those of you who don’t get around as much as you would
like and sometimes wonder what younger people are talking about, I refer you to
the Urban Dictionary. It is the
best source I know of when you come across an unfamiliar term or word that is
obviously being used in a more contemporary context. By the way, prepare to be
shocked. Some of this this is racy.
There were a few things that made me laugh when I read the
article in the WSJ. The biggest argument when Websters Third came out was the
inclusion of the word “ain’t,” “possibly the most famous stink word in the
English language.” I was not familiar with the term “stink word.” I figured it
out quickly, because in the movie Juno they use the term “stink
eye,” which is a more modern version of giving someone the evil eye.
The other was a headline by the Bingamton Sunday Press in
1961, complaining with Websters Third—“Ain’t Still Has Taint.”
That newspaper might have thought twice about using “taint” today.
If you don’t know what it means, look it up in the Urban Dictionary—and prepare
to be shocked.
Photo by Thegreenj (Own work) [GFDL
(http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html) or CC-BY-SA-3.0
(http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/)], via Wikimedia Commons
All of
my kids are out of school. It has been that way for a decade. When you are away
from that scene for any amount of time, it is easy to become jaded about the state
of our youth. You tend to
judge by what you see on the street or in the media,
which is not always good.
One of
our sons teaches high school English, which makes it even tougher. Since
I tend to only notice the things he mentions that surprise or bother me, I sometimes get the impression that half the girls
in his sophomore classes are either pregnant or already mothers. Even for
someone with a liberal bent like me, it is easy to slip into the mode of, “I
fear for the future,” when referring to the next generation.
But
this past week those concerns were erased, at least for a little while. My son
invited my wife and me to a Halloween carnival at his school. I was not
expecting much—lots of cops and gang bangers walking the perimeter of the quad,
giving each of the stink eye, and a bunch of pregnant teenage girls.
That
was not the case. I am happy to report that there are still a lot of kids
having a great time in high school. There were clusters of skittish girls and
boys, stealing glances at each other. Other groups were talking to each other, acting
a little less bashful. The majority of the clubs on campus had booths selling
food and offering games. Those kids were all welcoming and polite and cheerful.
Everyone was behaving themselves and having a good time.
There
was music courtesy of a deejay, and most of the dancing was girls dancing with
girls, because the boys still don’t have the courage to get out there. Oh,
yeah, remember those couples in high school who always ended up in the dark corners
playing suckface? They are still there, too.
Yeah,
there were some spiked hair and mohawks, but not as much as you would think.
There were also lots of nose rings and lip piercings, but that is the style. When
I look back a photos of me in high school my first thought usually is, “Yeah. What
the hell was I thinking?”
But
mostly it was just kids being kids and having a good time. Driving home that
night, I was conscious of how the experience had proven me so wrong. I realized
there were a lot of things going on that my son had told me about, but I did
not hear, like how he teaches classes where the goal is to take solid B students
and motivate them to strive for the colleges reserved for the A students. How
so many parents push their kids to make the best grades, even when they know
their immigration status may make college difficult. There are also those
pregnant girls who, after giving birth, return to complete school, even though
it is that much harder.
There
is vitality, even in a high school that is not in the white bread section of
town.
I am on vacation and right now we are in Portland. If you have ever been here then you know that between the bookstores and the coffee houses and the scenic views (so many rivers, so many bridges) it is sort of like heaven for writers. In the meantime, here is a post from last year. See you in a few days.
The
eleven-year-old boy in our house needs to learn some of the more manly things,
so every once in a while we sneak off to the local pool hall. During the years
of my misspent youth, I invested a fair
amount of time in bars with pool tables
and I got to be a decent pool player. I once came within two balls of clearing
the table without letting the other fellow get a turn.
Now I
am out of practice. The ball seldom goes where I want it to go.
There
was a piece in the Wall Street Journal this morning on Practice Makes Perfect. It was
an interesting read as I asked myself what a writer can learn from this. The
piece initially talks about the pursuits where practice is so important—playing
a cello and tennis, specifically. Then it talks about areas where the idea of
practice is more nebulous. Customer service was one of them.
When
it comes to writing I find that if I have not written for a while—if I’m on
vacation or I’ve been sick—getting back into writing mode takes a little bit of
work. I get out of practice. There are also the more rote parts of writing
that, if you practice them, become automatic. Whereas a baseball player might
practice his follow through as a way of increasing the speed of his pitch,
using the search-and-replace function on my computer to eliminate all the
places where I use the phrase “going to” (We are going to the market, as
opposed to, We are going to go to the market) leaves me critically aware
of all the places I use the phrase “going to” in my future writings. Soon I find
myself unconsciously eliminating them.
As the
article notes, “When
performers master one aspect of their work [and writers are performers], they
free their minds to think about another aspect. This may be why many of us have
our most creative thoughts while driving or brushing our teeth.”
I also find that writing, and hearing others’ stories at my
critique group, help me keep my mind open to possibilities. Several times a week
I witness an exchange or analyze an experience and realize: there is a story in
there someplace. When I was making my first meager attempts at writing fiction
when I was younger, this used to happen to me all the time. When I got away
from writing, though, it did not happen as much. I fell out of the habit.
Now that I am actively writing fiction again, I am
unconsciously looking at everything that happens to me as a potential story.
Sometimes it is amazing.
Photo by TagTeamDesign (Own work) [CC-BY-SA-3.0
(http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0) or GFDL
(http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html)], via Wikimedia Commons.
Did you catch this article is yesterday's Wall Street Journal about MAD Magzine? It has been years since I bought a copy, but more than anything else, MAD is responsible for my sense of humor (often juvenile, but mostly sarcastic and situational). Nothing was sacred with those writers and cartoonists, and as far as I'm concerned, there is still nothing sacred. The latest MAD anthology, which is the way the magazine makes its money, is based on the "Twilight"movies. It is called "The Toliet Saga."
Leaving town early this weekend for a brief holiday. In the meantime, I will leave you with a post from last year.
A good friend of mine referred to the protagonist in my novel as
having an “existential crisis.” I’ve never been able to get a handle on the
existential thing, so I texted my
nephew, Eddie, via Facebook yesterday
morning. He majored in philosophy at UCLA. What follows is our conversation,
which I think is interesting.
ME: This is your Uncle Tim professing his
ignorance and coming to his nephew the philosophy major for an answer. What
does it mean to be existential? I have read some Albert Camus, and I have
looked up the definitions, but damn, I cannot get a straight answer on what it
means.
I need the bonehead answer, something I can
understand.
EDDIE:
Simply: to 'be' existential is to eat pizza when you want to eat pizza. There
is also the sense that 'being' existential is to somehow deeply acknowledge
that you are living the life that you are living. Does that make sense?
ME: Okay, the pizza thing, I understand. The
second definition is where I get screwed up. It seems to beg the question.
EDDIE: Then you do understand. Ha ha.
ME: Fuck!
EDDIE: Hahaha. It goes like this—A man walks through
a city with a spoon full of oil. He makes to his master’s house. His master
asks him about all of the people he met in the city. The man says that he was
too concentrated on carrying the oil to meet anyone. The master, displeased
with this answer, demands that the man walk back through the city with the
spoon full of oil and meet everyone. The man leaves, walks through the city,
talking with everyone he passes, and returns to the house. His master now asks
him about his spoon. The man looks down, his spoon now empty, and explains that
he wasn't paying close enough attention to the spoon as he was walking and
talking and it must have spilled. The master asks, "Which path is more
valuable--the careful path, or the social path?" The man responds that
both are valuable, as they are both a path
ME: So which one is the existential path? Let me
guess. The one without the oil.
EDDIE: Hahahaha. The answer is existential. Both are
lives. Both have been lived. The answer is the recognition of the fact and that
is existential in the very plain sense.
[At this point I have to resist saying, "Fuck!" again.]
One trick of the whole existential thing is
that it is really like ice cream, there are many different flavors. For
example, Camus would go further and say that the point is to live, and let others
do the same. Most of existentialism values conscious living, but not too much
more.
Various thinkers will add little elements. For
Camus, the point is to live and value that life, as well as let others do the
same.
The question now is on you: Do you feel like
your protagonist lives life intentionally or is he inhibited by the pressures
of life and other people?
ME: He tries to manage the drama of his life, as opposed to letting it manage him, but crap keeps getting in his way and he has to overcome it. Come
to think of it, at one point his attorney is encouraging him to take a more
existential approach to a problem.
It's sort of like a friend of mine used to
say, "I knew if I ignored that problem long enough, it would solve
itself."
EDDIE: hmmm...[NOTE: This is a nice way of my nephew saying that he is starting to
realize his uncle might be an idiot.]
So there is an interesting turn in the
literary sense of existentialism, and that is that living life in a much more
vital way is shown through the characters as either rich exuberance or
unconventionality. Look at this link. This is a Camus
classic retelling of a myth. I call it literary philosophy. It’s what he was
known for.
ME: There is one distinguishing characteristic of
my protagonist. He gives to the homeless and street people. In fact, he has a
set of rules:
Gavin’s Rules for Giving
I give. Life has been good to me and I believe that somebody somewhere blesses
my benevolence. If you look like you need it, or you ask for it, I give you
money.
Four dollars a day. That doesn’t sound like much, but four dollars a day times
365 days in a year is close to $1,500 a year. That’s a chunk of change.
I don’t make judgments. I don’t care if the money buys a bottle of wine or a
bottle of milk. Once it leaves my hands it is not my concern.
If you approach me in a retail situation – outside of a supermarket or a
similar environment – I might say “No.” There are so many people in these
places I have to draw the line. Also, if I am dining outside at a sidewalk café
I am also likely to say “No.” I need peace somewhere.
I reserve the right to break these rules at any time. They are my rules.
In the end, the rules are part of what saves
him--in a very unintentional way.
EDDIE: The 5th rule says it, the rest is clearly
arbitrary.
ME: Sounds like there is a grey line between
existentialism and situational ethics.
EDDIE: Situational ethics are still a system of
thought. Existentialism really breaks down to the impetus behind action. So you
can be an existential Christian for example (and there are plenty examples),
passionately employing these systems of thought. But in the Thoreau sense,
passion often exceeds systems
ME: What's an example of an existential
Christian?
EDDIE: Kierkegaard. [NOTE: I know the name, but that
is about as far as it goes. I was hoping for a more contemporary person, maybe
Oprah, or Dr. Phil].
Loving God means doing so passionately and
without reason, the 'leap of faith.'
ME: What if you act passionately and without
reason, but it has nothing to do with God and all to do with just being a
decent human being, expecting nothing in return?
EDDIE: That’s existentialism. The idea that even
this moment, me laying here in bed talking to you is rich with life. Nothing
has to come if it. [NOTE: Please remember that this is a Facebook conversation.
We are, like, seventy miles apart]. It’s just what I want to be doing. But
waking up to the drudgery of an alarm and begrudging the drive to work and the
morning meeting, that is not. One can still do things they do not like, but if
they feel that the need to do them is based on the whims of some other thing,
then it is not their life they are living
ME: Okay, that last part explains it. Let's keep
the "laying here in bed talking to you" thing between us, okay?
EDDIE: Hahahah. Fair enough, Unc.
ME: So if I do things in my life with the idea
that if I do them because I WANT to do them, as opposed to doing them because I
HAVE to do them, I will enjoy life more, and life will be more meaningful. Is
that existential?
EDDIE: Yes. Living the life you want to live as
opposed to living the life you have to live is being existential. Living it
with passion, vigor, and vitality, as well as openness, uncertainty, and
questioning, these are the tenants of the passionate life...
ME: Sometimes it is a matter of taking the life
you HAVE to live, and making it the life you WANT to live. It is all in the
mindset.
EDDIE: Exactly!
ME: Okay. Just don’t call me Grasshopper, or I
will have to cut you out of the will.
“Close the door. Write with no one looking over your shoulder. Don't try to figure out what other people want to hear from you; figure out what you have to say. It's the one and only thing you have to offer.” ― Barbara Kingsolver
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