Grammar
 An editorial by George L. Trigg in Physics Review Letters, (Volume 42, Issue 12, pp. 747-748, 19 March 1979).

"I will not go down to posterity talking bad grammar."
- Benjamin Disraeli













It is said that back in the 1940's, the following message was prominently displayed at the front of the main chemistry lecture hall at a major university:

"The English language is your most versatile scientific instrument. Learn to use it with precision."

In the intervening years, the teaching of proper grammar in the public elementary and high schools fell into disfavor. The inevitable result is that manuscripts submitted to us are often full of grammatical errors, which their authors probably do not even recognize (and often would not care about if they did).

We regard this state of affairs as deplorable, and we want to do something about it. For many years we have tried to correct the grammar of papers that we publish. This is toilsome at best, and sometimes entails rather substantial rephrasing. It would obviously be preferable to have authors use correct grammar in the first place. The problem is how to get them to do it.

One fairly effective way is to provide examples of what not to do; it is particularly helpful if the examples are humorous. We have recently seen several lists of grammatical examples of this type. A few weeks ago we found taped to a colleague's office door the most complete one we have seen. (He tells us it was passed out in a class of Darthmouth - not in English - at the time a term paper was assigned). We reproduce it here in the hope that it will have some effect.

1. Make sure each pronoun agrees with their antecedent.
2. Just between you and I, the case of pronoun is important.
3. Watch out for irregular verbs which have crope into English.
4. Verbs has to agree in number with their subjects.
5. Don't use no double negatives.
6. Being bad grammar, a writer should not use dangling modifiers.
7. Join clauses good like a conjunction should.
8. A writer must be not shift your point of view.
9. About sentence fragments.
10. Don't use run-on sentences you got to punctuate them.
11. In letters essays and reports use commas to separate items in series.
12. Don't use commas, which are not necessary.
13. Parenthetical words however should be enclosed in commas.
14. Its important to use apostrophes right in everybodys writing.
15. Don't abbrev.
16. Check to see if you any words out.
17. In the case of a report, check to see that jargonwise, it's A-OK.
18. As far as incomplete constructions, they are wrong.
19. About repetition, the repetition of a word might be real effective repetition - take, for instance the repetition of Abraham Lincoln.
20. In my opinion, I think that an author when he is writing should definitely not get into the habit of making use of too many unnecessary words that he does not really need in order to put his message across.
21. Use parallel construction not only to be concise but also clarify.
22. It behooves us all to avoid archaic expressions.
23. Mixed metaphors are a pain in the neck and ought to be weeded out.
24. Consult the dictionery to avoid mispelings.
25. To ignorantly split an infinitive is a practice to religiously avoid.
26. Last but not least, lay off cliches.

An editorial by George L. Trigg in Physics Review Letters, (Volume 42, Issue 12, pp. 747-748, 19 March 1979).

For a one-page printable version of this post to pin up on your bulletin board, go here: Grammar -- Printable Version



Don't Leave Yet! More Stuff Ahead ...


The first time I read this it drove me nuts; I wanted to correct Mr. Trigg's humorous examples of bad grammar. Even as we speak I am all too aware that you the reader are now watching to see If I make some type of error in this post. Isn't that a kick in the Irony Pants? You won't find any though. I am never more vigilant about bad grammar then when writing a post about it.

A lot of times bad grammar does tick me off; I see it everywhere I go. Restaurant signs, newspaper columns (even a HEADLINE was botched a few times, deplorable) and it's not so much the human speak that bugs me, but the people who make the signs and write the newspapers, they should know better, shouldn't they? And If you're going to pay out a pile of dough for a sign for your Restaurant, shouldn't you do a little spell checking?

The reason I don't bug people about their atrocious grammar is because it just exasperates me, and what the heck, it makes people more colorful doesn't it? And If I went the route of chastising these people for not speaking the Queen's English I guess I'd have no friends left. This role of Grammar Cop usually leads to blow-back: I'd have to speak with the guile of a master elocutionist ever after so these phonetic manglers couldn't get back at me for mispronouncing the word 'affidavit' or leaving a participle dangling. Also, correcting someone's grammar in the middle of a conversation is just bad form and will only make you look like an elitist asshole. Better to write down said person's grammatical indiscretions and send them in a polite email far from flying fists and harsh language.

Time for me to stop talking and show you some examples of bad grammar that drive me absolutely batty. Some are funny, and some ... well ... as Chuck Jones says, "... they'll leave linguists swooning in phonetic horror ..."

(Note: This post was written under extreme duress due to the subject matter and any glaring typos or grammatical errors are in fact attributed to mischievous elves who on occasion open up my files during the night and purposely hack up my docs. Carry on my wayward reader ...)





Okay, this may not count as a grammatical error; more of a bone-head mistake.





Just because we make signs doesn't mean we have to be grammatically precise or anything! Chee whiz!




To a wandering astrophysicist this road sign may mean the secret to time travel has finally been discovered!




Not picking on McDonald's here but ... that sign's not gonna sell too many burgers.



That's what yah get for cutting back on proof-readers!





















You heard Mayor Stranczec! No Excetions!




Heath Isurance? really?





Grammar and tpyos are a crime! (this one SOUNDS correct at first, but it's dubious ...)

Thanks for playing ...

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The Den Gets a Paint Job

"Reports of my demise have been greatly exaggerated." ༺༻ Mark Twain















Hey all, I know I've been away for a while, couple weeks, but I had been contemplating changes to the old site and took some time to work on things. I needed new scenery, a new place to bring you my particular brand of wordiness. Hope you like!

Anyhow, Stay tuned for more stuff here at the Den, my life, my love; my pursuit of writing. For now, here's a few nuggets of wisdom on writing from some of my literary pals:


❝If you stuff yourself full of poems, essays, plays, stories, novels, films, comic strips, magazines, music, you automatically explode every morning like Old Faithful. I have never had a dry spell in my life, mainly because I feed myself well, to the point of bursting.❞ ༺༻ Ray Bradbury

❝The novel is an event in consciousness. Our aim isn't to copy actuality, but to modify and recreate our sense of it. The novelist is inviting the reader to watch a performance in his own brain.❞ ༺༻ George Buchanan

❝Writing wasn’t easy to start. After I finally did it, I realized it was the most direct contact possible with the part of myself I thought I had lost, and which I constantly find new things from. Writing also includes the possibility of living many lives as well as living in any time or world possible. I can satisfy my enthusiasm for research, but jump like a calf outside the strict boundaries of science. I can speak about things that are important to me and somebody listens. It’s wonderful!❞ ༺༻ Virpi Hämeen-Anttila

❝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

❝Are we, who want to create, in some way especially talented people? Or has everybody else simply given up, either by pressures of modesty or laziness, and closed their ears from their inner need to create, until that need has died, forgotten and abandoned? When you look at children, you start to think the latter. I still haven't met a child who doesn't love - or who at least hasn't loved - drawing, writing or some other creative activity.❞ ༺༻ Natalia Laurila

❝Like everyone else, I am going to die. But the words – the words live on for as long as there are readers to see them, audiences to hear them. It is immortality by proxy. It is not really a bad deal, all things considered.❞ ༺༻ J. Michael Straczynski

❝I learned that you should feel when writing, not like Lord Byron on a mountain top, but like a child stringing beads in kindergarten - happy, absorbed and quietly putting one bead on after another.❞ ༺༻ Brenda Ueland


❝Coleridge was a drug addict. Poe was an alcoholic. Marlowe was killed by a man whom he was treacherously trying to stab. Pope took money to keep a woman's name out of a satire then wrote a piece so that she could still be recognized anyhow. Chatterton killed himself. Byron was accused of incest. Do you still want to a writer - and if so, why? ❞ ༺༻ Bennett Cerf

❝Writing is the hardest work in the world. I have been a bricklayer and a truck driver, and I tell you – as if you haven't been told a million times already – that writing is harder. Lonelier. And nobler and more enriching.❞ ༺༻ Harlan Ellison

❝People on the outside think there's something magical about writing, that you go up in the attic at midnight and cast the bones and come down in the morning with a story, but it isn't like that. You sit in back of the typewriter and you work, and that's all there is to it.❞ ༺༻ Harlan Ellison

❝It's tougher than Himalayan yak jerky in January. But, as any creative person will tell you, there are days when there's absolutely nothing sweeter than creating something from nothing.❞ ༺༻ Richard Krzemien


Thanks for playing! Come again soon, and .... keep scribbling.

The Wednesday Evening Post

Random samplings for your consideration ...



The #ShutUpAndWrite Badge of Honor Awards

For their meritorious service to the writing world, and for telling me to ‘shut up and write’ on numerous occasions in the last few weeks, I am proud to announce this round of #ShutUpAndWrite Badge of Honor inductees:

Layna Pimentel, AKA @LaynaPimentel, Natasha Hollerup, AKA @NatashHollerup, And Katherine Grubb, AKA @10MinuteWriter

You can't imagine how annoying it gets when you introduce a hashtag like #ShutUpAndWrite and then you are expected to do just that! These three are exemplary examples of hard working writers who find it in their hearts to tell me to shut up and get writing every chance they get, all while disappearing into the ether themselves to get work done. In this case, being told to shut my yap and get working has been well worth it. Honorary mention goes to Joseph Lane ~ AKA @JosephLane on Twitter ~ for making the pages of the Urban Times, and writing a great article on the G20 Summit ...

Note: To qualify for the #ShutUpAndWrite Badge of Honor Award you must do few things well:

~ Be Able to extract yourself from Twitter's devious grasp for at least a few hours a week

~ Produce wordage of at least 1000K a week: This rule is not hard and fast; but you know, you gotta write something!


~ Bug me! Tell me to go away and write once in a while! Don't feel bad doing it; it's all in fun, and it'll remind me that I need to get work done.

All in all, #ShutUpAndWrite has been a great experience so far; this mere hash tag has given me pause to stop and smell the ink. You know you've been online too much when you're Tweeting what you had for breakfast or reciting John Keats poetry in 140 characters. Yes, that's an occasion to really start reflecting on your writing life!

In Other News ...

Currently listening to Paul Robson singing Old Man River ...

Check out my pal Joseph Lane! Getting published at the Urban Times! Give it a click.

Are the G20/G8 Summits worth the hassle? | The Urban Times http://bit.ly/a8t0dn

In Case You Missed it: Latest and Greatest David Hunter posts:

What a Riot! A G20 Summation by David Hunter at the National Affairs Desk

Opening Gambit: First Lines From Classic Novels


Writing Quotes Too Long For Twitter

Also, remember to check out the Biblio Files: the Why We Love Books series

I would like to thank Katherine Grubb over at the 10 Minute Writer blog for giving me the Versatile Blogger award, for which I'm very grateful (I'm always grateful and perplexed when I get any kind of award!)

Coming soon: More stuff from David Hunter, your resident nut-ball and leader of the Shut Up And Write movement.

Keep Scribbling ...

Opening Gambit: First Lines From Classic Novels

"I always write a good first line, but I have trouble in writing the others." ~ Moliere




Every time I start a story or a novel I always recall that famous opener in John Steinbeck's The Grapes of Wrath:

"To the red country and part of the gray country of Oklahoma, the last rains came gently, and they did not cut the scarred earth."

At once a beautiful and ominous line, it sets the tone of the story completely. Why do I recall it in this context? Truthfully, I've always wanted to write an opening line as devastatingly lovely as the one in Grapes of Wrath. Like a lot of us, I usually don't succeed!

Perusing some of the better opening lines of famous novels gave me a sense of what a successful one is. Here's a compilation of some great opening gambits in Literature (Please, If I missed an obvious one, let me know and I'll add it!)





❝life is hard.❞ ༺༻ the Road Less Traveled, by Scott Peck.


❝There was a boy called Eustace Clarence Scrubb, and he almost deserved it.❞ ༺༻ The Voyage of the Dawn Treader (1952), C. S. Lewis


❝Ships at a distance have every man's wish on board.❞ ༺༻ Their Eyes Were Watching God (1937), Zora Neale Hurston


❝If you're going to read this, don't bother.❞ ༺༻ Choke by Chuck Palahniuk.


❝There is a lovely road that runs from Ixopo into the hills. These hills are grass-covered and rolling, and they are lovely beyond any singing of it.❞ ༺༻ Cry, the Beloved Country (1948) Alan Paton


❝James Bond, with two double bourbons inside him, sat in the final departure lounge of Miami Airport and thought about life and death.❞ ༺༻ Goldfinger (1959), Ian Fleming


❝Once there were four children whose names were Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy. This story is about something that happened to them when they were sent away from London during the war because of the air-raids.❞ ༺༻ The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (1950), C.S. Lewis


❝On they went, singing 'Eternal Memory', and whenever they stopped, the sound of their feet, the horses and the gusts of wind seemed to carry on their singing.❞ ༺༻ Doctor Zhivago (1957), Boris Pasternak



❝In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.❞ ༺༻ The Hobbit (1937), J.R.R. Tolkien



❝The year 1866 was signalized by a remarkable incident, a mysterious and inexplicable phenomenon, which doubtless no one has yet forgotten.❞ ༺༻ Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea (1870), Jules Verne


❝A few miles south of Soledad, the Salinas River drops in close to the hillside bank and runs deep and green.❞ ༺༻ Of Mice and Men (1937), John Steinbeck


❝At ten minutes to three in the morning, the city of wells lay inert, hot and stagnant.❞ ༺༻ In The Heat of the Night


❝No one would have believed, in the last years of the nineteenth century, that this world was being watched keenly and closely by intelligences greater than man's and yet as mortal as his own; that as men busied themselves about their various concerns they were being scrutinized and studied, perhaps almost as narrowly as a man with a microscope might scrutinize the transient creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water.❞ ༺༻ The War of the Worlds (1898), H. G. Wells


❝Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the Western Spiral arm of the Galaxy lies a small unregarded yellow sun.❞ ༺༻ The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (1979), Douglas Adams


❝As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect.❞ ༺༻ The Metamorphosis (1915), Franz Kafka


❝All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.❞ ༺༻ Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy


❝Who is John Galt?❞ ༺༻ Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand


❝It was about eleven o'clock in the morning, mid October, with the sun not shining and a look of hard wet rain in the clearness of the foothills.❞ ༺༻ The Big Sleep, by Raymond Chandler


❝This is a tale of a meeting of two lonesome, skinny, fairly old white men on a planet which was dying fast.❞ ༺༻ Breakfast of Champions by Kurt Vonnegut


❝Hapscomb's Texaco sat on US 93 just north of Arnette, a pissant four-street burg about 110 miles from Houston.❞ ༺༻ The Stand, Stephen King


❝If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth.❞ ༺༻ The Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger.


❝It was a pleasure to burn.❞ ༺༻ Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury.


❝We were somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold.❞ ༺༻ Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas by Hunter S. Thompson


❝Scarlett O'Hara was not beautiful, but men seldom realized it when caught by her charm as the Tarleton twins were.❞ ༺༻ Gone With The Wind by Margaret Mitchell


❝In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice I've been turning over in my mind ever since.❞ ༺༻ The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald


❝There was a hand in the darkness, and it held a knife.❞ ༺༻ The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman


❝Mr and Mrs Dursley, of number four Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.❞ ༺༻ Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone by J.K. Rowling


❝No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality; even larks and katydids are supposed, by some, to dream.❞ ༺༻ The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson.


❝If I am out of my mind, it's all right with me, thought Moses Herzog.❞ ༺༻ Herzog by Saul Bellow


❝The village of Holcomb stands on the high wheat plains of western Kansas, a lonesome area that other Kansans call "out there."❞ ༺༻ In Cold Blood by Truman Capote


❝Here is an account of a few years in the life of Quoyle, born in Brooklyn and raised in a shuffle of dreary upstate towns.❞ ༺༻ the Shipping News


❝Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul.❞ ༺༻ Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov


❝When Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventy-first birthday with a party of special magnificence, there was much talk and excitement in Hobbiton.❞ ༺༻ The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien


❝It was inevitable: the scent of bitter almonds always reminded him of the fate of unrequited love.❞ ༺༻ Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel García Márquez


❝It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.❞ ༺༻ Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell.


❝I am a sick man… I am a spiteful man. I am an unpleasant man. I think my liver is diseased.❞ ༺༻ Notes from Underground by Fyodor Dostoevsky


❝I did two things on my seventy-fifth birthday. I visited my wife's grave. Then I joined the army.❞ ༺༻ Old Man's War by John Scalzi


❝It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents — except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness.❞ ༺༻ Paul Clifford by Edward Bulwer-Lytton


❝All this happened, more or less.❞ ༺༻ Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut


❝The drought had lasted now for ten million years, and the reign of the terrible lizards had long since ended.❞ ༺༻ 2001 - A Space Odyssey by Arthur C. Clarke.


❝Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Four shots ripped into my groin and I was off on the greatest adventure of my life!❞ ༺༻ Sleep Till Noon by Max Shulman


❝It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way - in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.❞ ༺༻ A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens.

❝It was a dark and stormy night.❞ ༺༻ A Wrinkle in Time by Madeline L'Engle



If you have any great opening lines to share, leave them in the comment section and let me know. Thanks for playing!

༺༻ David Hunter

Thoughts Too Long for This World: Quotes on Writing and Other Things …

I love posting quotes on Twitter and Facebook, but often they’re chopped up and edited to fit stringent character limits or are just too long to post because friends and followers alike prefer short sound bites, and if a phrase is longer than Gone with the Wind usually they’ll tune out after the first few sentences. It’s a shame because a lot of the longer quotes on writing are very interesting, and I feel a twinge of horror when I have to edit one of them down into small edible bits. Here are a few that you might enjoy. So, uh … enjoy!









❝...After all, all he did was string together a lot of old well-known quotations.❞ ༺༻ H.L. Mencken on Shakespeare










❝You can approach the act of writing with nervousness, excitement, hopefulness, or even despair; the sense that you can never completely put on the page what’s in your mind and heart. You can come to the act with your fists clenched and your eyes narrowed, ready to kick ass and take down names. You can come to it because you want a girl to marry you or because you want to change the world. Come to it any way but lightly. Let me say it again: you must not come lightly to the blank page.❞ ༺༻ Stephen King ~ On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft


❝If you stuff yourself full of poems, essays, plays, stories, novels, films, comic strips, magazines, music, you automatically explode every morning like Old Faithful. I have never had a dry spell in my life, mainly because I feed myself well, to the point of bursting.❞ ༺༻ Ray Bradbury


❝Do not be grand. Try to get the ordinary into your writing — breakfast tables rather than the solar system; Middletown today, not Mankind through the ages.❞ ༺༻ Darcy O’Brien

❝A writer who does not speak out of a full experience uses torpid words, wooden or lifeless words, such words as "humanitary," which have a paralysis in their tails.❞ ༺༻ Henry David Thoreau

❝The commas are the most useful and usable of all the stops. It is highly important to put them in place as you go along. If you try to come back after doing a paragraph and stick them in the various spots that tempt you you will discover that they tend to swarm like minnows into all sorts of crevices whose existence you hadn’t realized and before you know it the whole long sentence becomes immobilized and lashed up squirming in commas. Better to use them sparingly, and with affection, precisely when the need for each one arises, nicely, by itself.❞ ༺༻ Lewis Thomas

❝All the fantasy writers I know have a way of dwelling on their own fears and phobias. A writer spends his life being his own psychiatrist.❞ ༺༻Charles Beaumont

Semicolons . . . signal, rather than shout, a relationship. . . . A semicolon is a compliment from the writer to the reader. It says: "I don’t have to draw you a picture; a hint will do.❞ ༺༻ George Will

❝Writing is the hardest work in the world. I have been a bricklayer and a truck driver, and I tell you – as if you haven't been told a million times already – that writing is harder. Lonelier. And nobler and more enriching. ༺༻ Harlan Ellison

❝In many cases when a reader puts a story aside because it ‘got boring,’ the boredom arose because the writer grew enchanted with his powers of description and lost sight of his priority, which is to keep the ball rolling.❞ ༺༻ Stephen King, On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft

❝The good writing of any age has always been the product of someone's neurosis, and we'd have a mighty dull literature if all the writers that came along were a bunch of happy chuckleheads.❞ ༺༻ William Styron


❝The basic rule given us was simple and heartbreaking. A story to be effective had to convey something from the writer to the reader, and the power of its offering was the measure of its excellence. Outside of that, there were no rules.❞ ༺༻ John Steinbeck

❝We are lonesome animals. We spend all our life trying to be less lonesome. One of our ancient methods is to tell a story begging the listener to say—and to feel—”Yes, that’s the way it is, or at least that’s the way I feel it. You’re not as alone as you thought.❞ ༺༻ John Steinbeck

❝When I am attacked by gloomy thoughts, nothing helps me so much as running to my books. They quickly absorb me and banish the clouds from my mind.❞ ༺༻ Michel de Montaigne

❝Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested: that is, some books are to be read only in parts, others to be read, but not curiously, and some few to be read wholly, and with diligence and attention.❞ ༺༻ Sir Francis Bacon

❝When I read a book I seem to read it with my eyes only, but now and then I come across a passage, perhaps only a phrase, which has a meaning for me, and it becomes part of me.❞ ༺༻ W. Somerset Maugham (1874 - 1965), 'Of Human Bondage', 1915

❝One nice thing about putting the thing away for a couple of months before looking at it is that you start appreciate your own wit. Of course, this can be carried too far. But it's kind of cool when you crack up a piece of writing, and then realize you wrote it. I recommend this feeling.❞ ༺༻ Steven Brust

❝The novel is an event in consciousness. Our aim isn't to copy actuality, but to modify and recreate our sense of it. The novelist is inviting the reader to watch a performance in his own brain.❞ ༺༻ George Buchanan

❝Writing is a cop-out. An excuse to live perpetually in fantasy land, where you can create, direct and watch the products of your own head. Very selfish.❞ ༺༻ Monica Dickens

❝Writing wasn’t easy to start. After I finally did it, I realized it was the most direct contact possible with the part of myself I thought I had lost, and which I constantly find new things from. Writing also includes the possibility of living many lives as well as living in any time or world possible. I can satisfy my enthusiasm for research, but jump like a calf outside the strict boundaries of science. I can speak about things that are important to me and somebody listens. It’s wonderful!❞ ༺༻ Virpi Hämeen-Anttila

❝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

❝Are we, who want to create, in some way specially talented people? Or has everybody else simply given up, either by preassures of modesty or laziness, and closed their ears from their inner need to create, until that need has died, forgotten and abandoned? When you look at children, you start to think the latter. I still haven't met a child who doesn't love - or who at least hasn't loved - drawing, writing or some other creative activity.❞ ༺༻ Natalia Laurila

❝Reading usually precedes writing and the impulse to write is almost always fired by reading. Reading, the love of reading, is what makes you dream of becoming a writer.❞ ༺༻ Susan Sontag

❝Like everyone else, I am going to die. But the words – the words live on for as long as there are readers to see them, audiences to hear them. It is immortality by proxy. It is not really a bad deal, all things considered.❞ ༺༻ J. Michael Straczynski

❝All writers are vain, selfish and lazy, and at the very bottom of their motives lies a mystery. Writing a book is a long, exhausting struggle, like a long bout of some painful illness. One would never undertake such a thing if one were not driven by some demon whom one can neither resist nor understand.❞ ༺༻ George Orwell


❝I learned that you should feel when writing, not like Lord Byron on a mountain top, but like a child stringing beads in kindergarten - happy, absorbed and quietly putting one bead on after another.❞ ༺༻ Brenda Ueland

I can’t help but to write, I have an inner need for it. If I’m not in the middle of some literary project, I’m utterly lost, unhappy and distressed. As soon as I get started, I calm down.❞ ༺༻ Kaari Utrio

❝Coleridge was a drug addict. Poe was an alcoholic. Marlowe was killed by a man whom he was treacherously trying to stab. Pope took money to keep a woman's name out of a satire then wrote a piece so that she could still be recognized anyhow. Chatterton killed himself. Byron was accused of incest. Do you still want to a writer - and if so, why?❞ ༺༻ Bennett Cerf

❝The quality which makes man want to write and be read is essentially a desire for self-exposure and masochism. Like one of those guys who has a compulsion to take his thing out and show it on the street.❞ ༺༻ James Jones

❝It's tougher than Himalayan yak jerky on January. But, as any creative person will tell you, there are days when there's absolutely nothing sweeter than creating something from nothing.❞ ༺༻ Richard Krzemien

Got a long quote that won’t fit Twitter? Send it along and I’ll post it in future additions of “Thoughts Too Long …”

Thanks for stopping by the Den. Take care now, and keep scribbling …

Shut Up and Write: A Master’s Thesis

"... Kill the procrastinator inside you. Kill the lazy bastard writer and nurture the benevolent workaholic writer. He’s in there somewhere. Check the closet; he’s probably cowering in the back behind the shoes ..."










A few weeks ago I was telling a friend of mine about how I’d love to get published, and all the wonderful things I’d do with the advance money and the travelling and book tours and all that good stuff that comes with being a successful author.

She sighed heavily and said, “Just shut up and write already!”

Naturally I was kind of offended by this statement at first. I write, don’t I? It may not look like it sometimes, because I tend to stare off into space (which is the way writers work, coincidentally) but to the outsider this only sounds like excuses – and if heard often enough they begin to sound like what they really are; a deflection , a ruse, a way to make the question go away. I write, sure. Am I producing anything? Maybe not. I blog a lot, gotta build a fan base, get to know people. But in the end we write to produce stories, not blog posts. At least for me that’s the goal.

I’ve had a blog for about a year now, and it seems pretty successful. A good number of people follow it. What has been missing for me is the fiction that I love so much. Blog posts have become the crutch for me; whenever a story gets tough or doesn’t feel right, I turn to blogging because it’s easy. I can open a Word Doc and just vamp. They’re great because, as I am writing this, I am slightly hung over and in a writing mood, and a blog post is something that wakes my brain up enough to deal with the agonizing prose.

So when is a good time to Shut Up and Write?

For me it’s when I know I should be writing and I decide it’s easier to go on Twitter or do a blog post (which is still writing, but I digress) or when I have a Word Doc open, write a few lines, then start perusing my Facebook profile or checking my email, which eventually leads back to Twitter and that’s where the troubles all begin, kind of like avoiding a lover during an argument. It’s remarkable how we can love something as much as writing and yet avoid it like a plague sometimes!

This all came to a crashing reality when one of my followers wrote to me, “shouldn’t you be writing or something?” when I was happily updating away on Twitter.

Yes, I should.

I needed a battle cry to stop this behavior, so Shut Up and Write was born.

Whenever someone tells me to stop talking about writing and just write, my first reaction is to become indignant:

Hmmph. Who does this person think they are, the Queen??

Right! You think writing is easy, don’t you? Try it sometime!

You’re not a writer, you’ll never understand.


These are statements we’ve often made to people who are only trying to tell us that we are being very lazy and not producing anything and sometimes we just don’t want to hear the truth, because the truth sucks sometimes.

In truth, writing IS hard, and sometimes I can’t face the page (not writer’s block, I don’t acknowledge its existence, thank you very much) and finding other things to do is simply easier. It’s crude, and kind of childish, but you have to see the complexities behind it.

Shut Up and Write means going silent online so you can concentrate on what you love most, writing. I know it’s not fun to leave a party early to go home and write, but if we’re ever to be successful at this business it must be done. Shut Up and Write also means stop talking about writing and start actually writing. Kill the procrastinator inside you. Kill the lazy bastard writer and nurture the benevolent workaholic writer. He’s in there somewhere. Check the closet; he’s probably cowering in the back behind the shoes.

That being said, Twitter and Facebook are great companions for writers; they offer all kinds of advantages and connections and opinions and ideas, but as Kenny Rogers says, “You got to know when to fold ‘em …” and know when enough is enough. The words, the pages, your book is what’s important.

So, the sermon is over. Some of you may think I’m being whiny. Please excuse me; it's the hang-over talking.

Today, I nurse this headache and sip my tea (Advil, I love you!) due to the 7 cups of Wine and Vodka Sangria I had last night, I am functioning on that groggy half-minded plane we call Hang Over City. It’s mean stuff! But I’ve decided to write through it. Got some big plans today, and they all involve writing.

So, time to Shut Up and Write.

~ Keep Your Pen Poised


Related Madness:

A great post by @DreamsGrafter at Journey of a Screenwriter ~ What Does It Take to become a Successful Screenwriter? http://bit.ly/c3aoZN

Going Retro! Here's a great post explaining the profound nature of Shut Up And Write:

The Art of Mind: Shut Up and Write

http://theartofmind.wordpress.com/2008/03/18/shut-up-and-write/

The Biblio Files, Part Five: Ex Libris Terri Locker and Katherine Grubb and a Million Thanks ...

It's been a great week here at the Den. You may not know this, but this month marks the 1st anniversary of The Writer's Den, and I wanted to celebrate this occasion by asking a few good friends to drop by and say hello, and maybe write a few posts! I'd like to thank all our contributors for taking the time to write down their thoughts and sharing them with us. I know it's not easy to write a blog post on the spur of the moment, but they did it, and they all outdid themselves! I suppose when it comes to the subject of books you can never shut a writer up, no matter how hectic life gets.

I'd like to thank ...

Donna Carrick, AKA @Donna_Carrick on Twitter, for taknig the time out of her busy schedule to write her great post "Why Do I Love (Reading and Writing) Books?" She's made a loyal friend out of me for her effort ...

ggSpirit and Valerie Brooks, AKA @ggSpirit and @VariantVal of Twitter fame, for composing some very spirited and wonderful posts, "Where the Wild Things Are", and "Confessions of a Brazen Book Whore" ... and I am ever grateful that I can call on them anytime and they'll be there for me. I hope the feeling is mutual!

Layna Pimentel, AKA @LaynaPimentel on Twitter, is not only a sweet person, but a very industrious writer. She's always writing, and I am happy that she took time out to write her post "The Fight for Literacy."

Joseph Lane, Also Known As @JosephLane when prowling the feeds on Twitter ~ I knew his sardonic wit would be a great counterpoint to my post "A Boy and his Book", because I remain a sentimentalist, and he remains in the abstract, as he likes to say. At any rate, he came through for me with a great post called "Isaac Asimov and Beyond" which I have re-read a couple of times already.

Terri Locker and Katharine Grubb, AKA @ShadyMutton and @10MinuteWriter on Twitter, are two very fine writers, and their posts are coming up next, right after I finish babbling!

Thanks again everyone for dropping by and enjoying the Biblio Files at the Writer's Den. Please Come again soon ...



It's a Love Affair
by Terri Locker


Books and I met at a young age. I'm sure I had cute little fabric books as a baby, but it wasn't until a routine trip to the grocery that I found books for myself. The highlight of this trip to the grocery, (and every trip there after), was the 'Golden Books' display by the registers. The deal was, if I'd been helpful and behaved during the trip, I might just earn a book of my very own! Nice bribery Mom!

When I was older, my mother became a member of the Disney Club. Every week the local grocery would offer a new Disney Hardcover Book with classic Disney stories inside. Yes, we accumulated the entire set, and I read every single one of them gleefully.


I had also started to read something else. Yes, Magazines and I had a trist. We had a bi-yearly date at the dentist office where I'd get together with a whole new stack of 'Highlights' and 'Turtle Magazines. I loved the stories with little pictures inserted for words. and was inspired by the poems from other kids like me so much that I submitted a poem of my own. I was so excited when I was published in an issue of 'Turtle' magazine! Unfortunately, the copy I had of that issue is now long gone, but far from forgotten. Magazines and I still get together and spend a little time catching up every once in a while.


Somewhere during this time, my relationship with Books became more serious. We regularly began meeting at the library for Saturday story time and summer reading programs. I'll admit signing my name to my own Library Card was my first experience of responsibility to the outside world. Now we had a serious commitment. It got to the point where I was choosing Books over television. I know, but we had a real love, and it was still growing.


Books have introduced me to some very good lifelong friends. Disney, who told me great stories; Dr. Seuss, who allowed silliness and fun into reading; Nancy Drew & Hardy Boys, who let me practice my own deductive reasoning and witness empowerment of young people; Edgar Rice Burroughs, who drew fabulous and intricate worlds that my imagination could actually see using only his words; Edgar Allen Poe, who showed the true artisan ability of the written word; Erica Jong, who introduced sensuality to a teenage girls life; Ayn Rand, who asked me to look inside myself and think on levels I didn't know I had.. and there is so much more for our future. Books and I will always share something special. They are my source for escape, humor, enlightenment, discovery, commiseration, relaxation, entertainment, joy, information, inspiration, imagery, and perspective. My relationship with books is stimulating, comforting, and sometimes surprising and they will always be a welcome friend.


Books, I love you.

~Gimme a Hug~

~For the Black Sheep in all of us~





Louisa, Laura and Me
by Katharine Grubb

















"...They had a destiny to write, they must have known they would be famous. I thought, through that biography, Louisa May Alcott was calling me to write too ..."




I grew up in the middle of the Bible Belt. This meant that I went to church with my family twice on Sunday and on Wednesday night. My church had a “library” in the lobby that housed a small collection of books. I always assumed the books were for children to pick up and thumb through during the services, so that’s what I did.

On the chapter book shelf, in a faded cloth cover, was a biography: Louisa May Alcott. I didn’t know that the book was part of a series -- Childhood of Famous Americans. All I knew was that the cover showed a girl in an old-fashioned dress sitting at a desk, writing. What was not to love? This was the ’70’s. I was already immersed with Little House On The Prairie on television and collected Holly Hobbie dolls. Louisa May Alcott probably owned a bonnet, so she was already a friend.

I read this book all through the church service. I was fascinated by her life, which was vastly different from mine. She had sisters. I had a brother. She lived in an exotic location -- Massachusetts. I lived in Oklahoma. She wrote stories, grew up, wrote more stories and became famous. I went to church and daydreamed about writing. I put Alcott with Laura Ingalls Wilder -- real people who wrote about their lives and were published. They had a destiny to write, they must have known they would be famous. I thought, through that biography, Louisa May Alcott was calling me to write too.

I read this book repeatedly during church. I regret that I never had my own copy of it. Sadly, the updated versions of the books have a garish red, white and blue cover, not the faded orange cloth I treasured. (Ebay, you and I need to talk.)

As I grew up, I read all the Little House books, Little Women, Judy Blume, Beverly Cleary and all those pre-teen angst type books that were threadbare in my school library. I also collected Peanuts comics, wept through The Diary of Anne Frank, and read through my fourth grade teacher’s set of World Book Encyclopedia for fun.

I knew I would write someday. Eventually, I wrote for my high school newspaper and yearbook. I went to college on writing scholarship. I left journalism school disappointed that they didn’t coddle me in the same way my small town teachers did. After years of detours and unusual writing assignments, I find myself now, in Boston, Massachusetts, blogging, raising my family and writing my first novel.



Someday I’ll hold my own book in my hands, just I did Alcott’s biography. Maybe I’ll do something sappy, like take a copy to her grave in Concord, MA or dedicate it to “L.A.M.” Or maybe I’ll put in the hands my kids or their friends and say, enjoy. Follow your dreams. Write and be happy.

But please, try to pay attention in church.

The Biblio Files, Part Four: Ex Libris Layna Pimentel

All this week at the Den we’ll be exploring our love affair with reading through various contributors. I’ve asked a diverse group of people what their thoughts are on books, and how they’ve inspired us.

Coming up after this post by yours truly is Layna Pimentel, who has graciously agreed to appear here and write about why she loves books, and the importance of literacy for children. Hope you enjoy Part Four of the Biblio Files ...



















The Desert Island Game
By David Hunter

If you could only have one book while stranded on a desert island what would you choose?

For an inveterate reader like me this is a hellish question – stranded on an island? With only one book?? Just hang me now?

This question has been asked of many things; music, food – but what about books? What book would you choose to spend all that time – maybe years – reading before you go mad and toss it into the ocean or off a cliff (an impossibility: I’d never toss a book off a cliff. I’d just keep reading it …) as a voracious consumer of the written word I always need something to keep my eyes busy. If there’s nothing else around, I’ll even read a detergent label to sate my soul. Any port in a storm, I always say.

So what would you choose? Here are some types of books that you might get stuck with. Please remember, I have a penchant for the absurd.

A Phone Book
You’d never finish it!

A James Joyce, or a James Michener book
These tomes are generally 1000 + pages … by the time you start re-reading them you’ll have forgotten what happened at the beginning.

The Back of a Cereal Box
I’d just have to kill myself. Or read the bark on a tree.

A Copy of Reader’s Digest
Those 'Life’s Like That' pages never get old!

A Biology Book
Well, it’s no Gone with the Wind, but you’ll learn something! You’ll be dissecting wild-life on that desert island in no time.

Algebra for Dummies
Just hang me.

Encyclopedia Britannica Vol M-P
It doesn’t get any worse.

Any Book, as long as it’s a big fat one with 1200 pages
Self-explanatory.

An instruction book on how to build a raft and get off of a deserted island before you go crazy because you have nothing to read.
Self-explanatory.

A Graphic Novel
Now we’re talking! You can look at pictures all day!

A Hardy Boys Mystery
As long as the pages are thin enough to cut my throat with.

A Brain Teaser Book
What if it’s too hot to think?

A Large Webster’s Dictionary
I’m probably the only person who would choose this.

Canadian Tax Code Book for 1978
You could easily use the pages from this book to build a fire to keep warm with!

The Cat in the Hat
I could only Imagine how my brain would atrophy after being stuck on a deserted island with this book for 5 years.

Shakespeare, Whitman, or maybe Ginsberg
A book of poetry is always a good choice of reading on a deserted island – you can recite verse to the trees!

The Screenplay to Ishtar
Generally I wouldn’t mind being stuck on an island with a screenplay as my only source of reading material as long as that screenplay is not Ishtar.

In all seriousness …

So, what would you choose? I’m looking forward to hearing what kind of books some of you would pick to be stranded with. As I type this, I am really struggling to choose one myself.

One book to spend 5 years with …

Your comments are welcome!



As promised, here's our guest post today, by Layna Pimentel ...





The Fight for Literacy
by Layna Pimentel

"..libraries are overwhelmed with out-dated materials and the only ones who are suffering are our children ..."








So, the question of the day is, why do I love books. There are far too many reasons to list, but here goes.

While people go to the gym, shop, eat and drink to de-stress, I read. It’s the only way I know how to relax without having to drag a bathtub around. Besides, you can fit a paperback novel into your purse with ease and take it anywhere with you. You never know when you’re going to get stuck in that traffic jam for a few hours or be in a line up at the grocery store.

There’s something calming about taking a time-out in the middle of the work day, to sit outside under a tree and completely surrender to a good book. It gives you an opportunity to unwind, before tackling that dreaded report you’ve only been staring at for the last four hours.

Other than a midday distraction, one of my other reasons for reading is to escape, and not to Fantasy Island. I don’t care who you are, but all of us can admit to wishing we were someone else for just a little while. Whether it's the damsel in distress, or a Wizard just about to unleash something truly wicked. We’ve all had a moment or two where we’ve imagined what we would do in that situation instead of this character.

You’re probably thinking I’m out of my mind, but kids aren’t the only ones allowed to have those kinds of thoughts or imagination. Whether you’re a published author or not, I think it’s fantastic when you can invoke that kind of emotion in someone. You’re no longer reading just a line on a page, but an experience that draws you in and creates an adventure all your own.

While books can take up plenty of space, they’ll last a lot longer than a child’s favorite stuffed animal or a pair of stiletto’s, which will be out of style by next month. So why not love them?

You don’t have to buy them, you could borrow from the library for free, or you can also swap books with friends. The nice thing about swapping them is you’re likely to get a good one if your friend enjoyed it and you won’t feel like you’ve wasted a few bucks.

While I’ve probably given you more than enough reasons why I love books, I just wish there wasn’t the nagging thought in the back of my head of how many Canadians don’t actually get to enjoy reading them because of their lack of literacy skills.

For example, did you know that back in 2005 approximately 9 million Canadian’s had low literacy skills? I’ll be honest, I was taken aback with that figure. I would have never thought there were that many people missing out on the simple pleasure of reading a novel.

Did you also know that in 2001 teachers and principals spent $143 million dollars of their own money to buy books and learning materials for their students? I can’t begin to tell you how much the fact saddens me. Our school libraries are overwhelmed with out-dated materials and the only ones who are suffering are our children.

It’s so sad when we take in to account how fortunate we are, and yet we’re still faced with these problems. I’m a firm believer that change starts at home, and only then will it branch out from there.

For more information on how you can help out our schools and World Literacy Canada, check out the links at the end of this post.



Well, now it’s my turn to ask you the question, why do you love books? And if you say they make excellent paper weights, I really don’t know how well I’d take that as an answer. Please feel free to leave a comment, your feedback is always appreciated.



Layna Pimentel



Links to check out:



Indigo Love of Reading Foundation

http://loveofreading-org.sitepreview.ca/code/navigate.asp?Id=18#426



World Literacy of Canada

http://www.worldlit.ca/

Related Madness -- Don't miss these previous posts:
The Biblio Files, Part Three, With Valerie Brooks and ggSpirit
The Biblio Files, Part Two, with Donna Carrick
The Biblio Files, Part One, With David Hunter and Joseph Lane

The Biblio Files, Part Three: Ex Libris ggSpirit and Valerie Brooks ...

All this week at the Den we’ll be exploring our love affair with reading through various contributors. I’ve asked a diverse group of people what their thoughts are on books, and how they’ve inspired us.

Up next, guest posts by ggSpirit and Valerie Brooks, two terrific writers who have graciously agreed to tell us about why they love books. Hope you enjoy it...


CONFESSIONS OF A BRAZEN BOOK WHORE
by Valerie Brooks


It’s a sign of an insane mind, I know. I don’t deny it. I suppose I am genetically inclined to accept this madness. It is my Father’s fault after all. He suffers from this insanity too. It’s a frenzied desire to consume and own all of the knowledge, the fantasy, the intriguing notions of another’s mind.

I have a vague recollection of being a small child, sneaking his books so I could look at them. There was one filled with artwork; I remember staring at Rembrandt and his paintings, fascinated with the colors, the sharp lines, and hoping one day I could see the real thing. I wanted to meet this man. I wanted to watch him paint. Little did I know at the time it would be an impossibility.

I was amazed when I found a copy of Sherlock Holmes that had the inside covers imprinted with the initials V.R. I knew that book was just for me, it was stamped with MY initials!! AND I knew who Sherlock Holmes was!! I wondered how the author, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, knew my name?? Oh to be a child again, with the world’s wonders at your fingertips!!

The first “big people” book I ever tried to read was The Iliad. I got into quite a bit of trouble for sneaking this book. “I’m glad you want to read, but you don’t understand!! This is a collector’s edition!!” My Father berated me, then walked out of my room. I had no clue what a “collector’s edition” was, but it made me like that book even more. So much so, I convinced my Father to give it up to me, along with my personalized edition of Sherlock Holmes, as a going away gift when I had grown and left home.

I’d like to claim that my collecting obsession began at this point in my life, at the ripe old age of 17, but I’d be lying. So I must backtrack again to when I was about 13 and read my first Stephen King novel. It was mental ecstasy!!! I related with the little girl who could burn things with her mind, albeit the fire department didn’t have to come clean up after me. I then found out there was a Stephen King Fan club. Birthday!! It’s all I wanted, so my Mother signed me up. Every couple of months a new King novel would arrive, right to my door step!! A beautiful hard back edition that was mine, mine MINE!!!

Since then, I have had Poe, Koontz, Shakespeare, Frost, Gibran, Tolstoy and Wordsworth. Yes I confess, I have had all of these men in my bed, plus many more. I have had more respect for each of them the morning after. I have been in relationships where I am told I love these men more than the man I am with. There was once jealousy to the point; I came home from work and found a crazy beast of a man burning my collection. Many books died that day, and many tears were shed. I still harbor a hate for a certain person for this crime against me. Bastard!

They’re very intimate to me, books. The feel of the cover in my hands, the excitement as my eyes course along each and every word. My mind conjuring images of characters, towns, worlds, snowy forests, log cabins, monsters, outside my window or in my drains, paranormal creatures, and anything the mind can imagine. Shopping for books is akin to a sexual experience for me, a really good sexual experience. Choosing who I will bring home with me is most conflicting. I can easily lose control. Wanting all of them!! Very seldom have I been let down, more often I have been left wanting more.

Many people in my life think I am odd. My books are some of the most valuable and precious things I own. They just don’t understand. In the end, I am thankful for my insanity, and work daily to perfect it. I would love to show you a picture, but I am in the middle of moving and the first thing I packed was my books. I chose the very best boxes for them, to lovingly pack them away while I envision where they will live when we get to the new place. They are the only possession that I would never leave behind. Insane? Oh yes I am, to many in this world. A book whore I shall be till the day I die!! Who’s next?















WHERE THE WILD THINGS ARE
by ggSpirit



"...today words seduce me, tomorrow I reciprocate."



Books, reading, writing, or words for that matter, were my first love. What drew me to them? I have no idea but I know I am hooked. The first book I can remember falling in love with was Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak. My mother used to take us, me and my sister, to the Brooklyn Public Library on Saturday afternoons. There I was, surrounded by volumes and volumes of books, large and small, thin and thick, illustrated and plain. Of course my experience at that time was limited to the children’s section and week after week I would select the same book. When prompted to choose something else I would, but I always managed to sit and repetitively read the entire book before I left the library.

Recently that book was made into a movie and nostalgia kicked in. Of course I had to take my son to go see it. The movie was okay but it did not leave me with the same impression the book had, although, to be honest, I couldn’t remember one word of the book for the life of me.

I think what I fell in love with was the world of possibilities which lie between the covers, amid the pages. The stimuli for a creative mind are abundant. I can remember as a preteen I read another book that has since been made into a movie, I Know What You Did Last Summer by Lois Duncan. For the record, I was no punk – I watched horror movies and went into haunted houses without hesitation. Yet this book managed to scare the hell out of me. My imagination went wild and I started having nightmares. My parents hid the book but I found it and had to finish the thriller before my mind wrote an even scarier ending.

Beyond entertainment value, words have provided education, guidance and comfort. Sometimes when you’re going through something or need to know something or just want to feel something that no one around you seems to understand or you are not ready to share yet, reading provides the perfect accompanied solitude. Judy Blume gave me a sneak peek at puberty and feminine hygiene products, Terry McMillan helped me laugh through some painful dating experiences, James Baldwin showed me how to make sense of being black in America and E. Lynn Harris taught me I still had a lot to learn.
Above all else I think I love the written word for its ability to heal. To me, writing is therapeutic. It allows you to sit with your thoughts and feelings, pouring them onto a piece of paper much like an artist with watercolor and a blank canvas. I have written many a letter to reopen dialogue when people just stopped listening. There is something powerful about words. Yes, they can also do a lot of damage but when used correctly they can also do a lot of good.

Writing is symbiotic: today words seduce me, tomorrow I reciprocate. That’s a quote I came up with to describe my relationship with words and writing. Books seduced me into a love affair with words which led me to writing. Whether I am reading them or writing them, I am forever drawn to words. Words seduce me and just like any love affair, there are moments of joy, pain, exhilaration, anger, curiosity, humor and the list goes on.

As I writer I hope to reciprocate. I like to think when I have cleverly woven an insight or joined together words in a way not previously used, that I am replicating the climactic experience which led me to fall in love with words. There’s a line in the Matrix movie, the sequel I believe, when a man describes his love of French expletives with these words: “ It’s like wiping your ass with silk.” For me, that says it all!

Don't miss these previous posts:

The Biblio Files, Part Two, with Donna Carrick
The Biblio Files, Part One, With David Hunter and Joseph Lane

The Biblio Files, Part Two: Ex Libris Donna Carrick

All this week at the Den we’ll be exploring our love affair with reading through various contributors. I’ve asked a diverse group of people what their thoughts are on books, and how they’ve inspired us.

Without further ado, I am happy to present author Donna Carrick ...



Why Do I Love (Reading and Writing) Books?
by Donna Carrick

Whew – this is a loaded question!

When Twitter pal and fellow book-lover David Hunter (known to his friends as @TheWritersDen) asked me to participate in this week’s discussion, I jumped at the chance. After all, I’m a bibliophile, right? Surely, with the exception of family, there can be no greater love than the one I feel for the stories I harbour in my memory.

Then I re-read David’s request. Took a second look, so to speak. Realised the crux of the question was not ‘whether’, ‘how’ or ‘how much’ I love books, but WHY I love them. Oooh – that’s a tough one…

Books have always played a central role in my life. I’ve never considered existing without them. The thought is terrifying. From the moment I learned to read, I’ve always had a book in my hand, purse, or on my nightstand. I don’t know what it’s like not to be part way through a book, with another waiting to be read.

On top of that, I’ve published three mysteries and I’m married to a writer! (Insurance, perhaps, against the fear of having nothing to read?)

My parents were not big readers. My father grew up during the Great Depression and was lucky to have achieved a grade eight education. My mother surpassed him with her grade eleven, but was forced to leave high school prior to graduation to care for her mother.

They could both read quite well, but I don’t recall ever seeing them do so for pleasure. Their primary printed resource was the T. Eaton’s Catalogue, hardly the literary playground of princely imaginations.

After their deaths I discovered boxes filled with reams of curled up pages wrapped lovingly in satin ribbons – letters from my father to my mother written in the early days of their relationship. Thousands of pages, composed by a young man separated from his sweetheart, an expression of his yearning and isolation, crafted in places as lonesome and unreachable as Moisie, Quebec and Cold Lake, Alberta.

As a child I read constantly. Even now, if I listen closely, I can hear my mother calling, “Get your nose out of that book, Donna, and come to dinner!”

Why the intense passion for writing? Was it merely an extension of my love for reading? Or was it some innate driving force passed down by my father?

I wasn’t aware of it then, but my love for books was a clichéd desire for escape. My family was not a happy one. There are parts of my childhood that I still find impossible to speak about. Books carried me away to other lands, to other families, to times of nobility and beauty and grace. Times of heroism and even of simple respect.

That explains my love of reading. I can still recall the power those words lent to a frightened child – still hear the rush of freedom in my ears as I was transported by those stories.

I suppose I write the stories I used to read, the stories that explain who I am, why I am and what is to become of me. Of course, I do so through the convenient vehicle we call characters – each one possessing his share of nobility and his own tenuous understanding of the human condition.

In the end, for me at least, the reasons I write are quite separate from my love for reading. I read for the thrill of escape, to be swept away from the everyday routines into the greater landscape of ‘imagination’.

When I write, though, I am often keenly aware of the lost child within. I become someone else, someone with greater courage and the will to battle the wrongs of this world.

I write, quite simply, to say the things I cannot say aloud.



Donna Carrick is the author of three literary mysteries: The First Excellence, Gold And Fishes and The Noon God. Donna's books are available through Amazon.com or at her Website: www.donnacarrick.com .

You can Tweet with Donna @Donna_Carrick or join me on FaceBook.

Donna Carrick
www.donnacarrick.com

The Biblio Files: Part One

Ex Libris: A Bookish Love Affair
All this week at the Den we’ll be exploring our love affair with reading through various contributors. I’ve asked a diverse group of people what their thoughts are on books, why they mean so much, and how they’ve inspired us.
A Boy and his Book
by David Hunter

A book is the only place in which you can examine a fragile thought without breaking it ~ Edward P. Morgan
When I was 12 my mother took us to a Shelter for Abused Women. My father, a violent alcoholic, had finally forced her to leave after coming home drunk and destroying the house in a blind rage. And by forced, I mean literally fleeing out the door at 3 am on a cold October night, two children in hand, nowhere to go.

The shelter was a warm and safe haven. We arrived in the rain soaking wet at the front door and they took us in and fed us. While my mother talked to the counselors, they gave me and my little sister a room and we fell asleep. I was 12, and scared; we had left everything behind; toys, friends, books; our whole life.

I wasn’t a big reader of novels as a kid; I read the usual stuff -- Spider-man and Archie comics -- I read a lot of Beverly Cleary and Judy Blume too, Including a very racy copy of Wifey that my mom had left lying around (The image of Frank the Plumber doing the nasty with Wifey still haunts my memories) but there in the confines of the Shelter was a large reading room, complete with about 4 million books. It was warm there, even though you could see the cold autumn day through the large bay widow. I spent hours wandering through those books – there were so many. I finally picked up this one book that had an illustrated cover of an explosion – It was called The Monkey Wrench Gang, by some guy named Edward Abbey.

This book was a revelation for me!

It had curse words!

I must admit, I didn’t understand the sub-text; it was far too dense and mature for my age level. Plus, one of the counselors kept taking it away from me. But I kept going back for it. Sometimes I’d sit and stare at that cover, and at that name, Edward Abbey. I’d wonder who he was. I had this impression that he was from England or something; I guess when you’re twelve, logic takes long hikes and forgets to come home. When I finally had access to this thing called Internet, long about 2001, I searched for him, and finally found out who he was. I was more than a little sad to find he had passed away in 1989. It was kind of like a friend had died, without me knowing.

That book had me mesmerized though; I loved the pages, the words, the paragraphs, the peculiar algorithm of the spaces, and I instantly wanted to write a book too. When I spotted the electric Olivetti typewriter in one of the offices I asked if I could use it to write stories. They were very encouraging; they let me sit in there for hours, typing away to my heart’s desire. It was my escape. Something was illuminated when I played with words. And all that other stuff just melted away.

When we left the shelter weeks later, after my Mother had found a place, I liberated that book. I snuck it out with me, inside my jacket.

It wasn’t until High School a few years later that I found it again amongst all my things, and I read it for the first time, REALLY read it; I was slightly more literate and able to understand it. This time there was no mistaking the sub-text; Phrases jumped out at me, ideas, inspirations. This book made me want to write. And every time I read it, I get the same tingling sensation; the need to grab a pen and start scribbling.

Edward Abbey may not have written a great classic, but for me, it saved my immortal soul. Probably too dramatic, and I wish I were talking about something with a little more Americana to it, like The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn or The Grapes of Wrath, but this is my story Jack, and I’m sticking to it.

I’m proud to say I still have this book. Its a little care worn; the cover isn’t doing too well, and page 231 is now a loose leaf. I had to buy a back up copy because it’s now too fragile to carry around with me to the beaches and coffee shops I frequently haunt (okay, I have TWO back-up copies!) It’s sitting beside me right now as I write this, like an old friend seeing me through the recollections, keeping me company. Our 30 year friendship continues.

The crux of this post is, why do we love books?

Stephen King says he reads to study the craft, but he also reads because he enjoys reading.

Me? I can only answer as a writer; my desire to create my own worlds and characters is overwhelming, and I take pleasure in the works of others, a kind of voyeuristic pleasure. I like to see what other writers are up to, and when I find those rare sorts of books that resonate with me, they make me want to create. But if I were to answer as a plain old reader, the answer would be simple; sometimes I just want to be whisked away, to go gallivanting through the pages of history with the many characters that I’ve come to love and admire. I read because writing is hard enough without that back-knowledge of literature; Huck Finn, Jay Gatsby, Holden Caulfield, The Joads – all have been goods friends to me, gotten me through some tough times.

They all stand at my back as I write for the future.





I am enormously grateful to have a wonderful line-up of guests at the Den this week. Today I’m happy to present Joseph Lane’s ruminations on his love of books, and what they mean to him. Hope you enjoy! I know I did.



Isaac Asimov and Beyond
by Joseph Lane

'Happiness is doing it rotten your own way.' ~ Isaac Asimov



I wasn't always a bibliophile. When I was in high school I rarely read the literature the English teacher assigned. It seemed like work. I hated the idea that I was expected to consume something that I didn't yet yearn for. That, and well, I was lazy. I had a knack for writing essays high on bullshit and light on content. I still have that skill, hell it's become my life's work... but where was I? Oh yes, books. I didn't become an avid reader until the summer after I graduated from high school. I was a late bloomer. My English teachers weren't to blame. They exposed me to 1984, Animal Farm, Lord of the Flies, The Old Man and The Sea, lots of Shakespeare. I was not spared the opportunity, I just hadn't found the intellectual drive to read yet.

The summer after my graduation I got a job working with a nonprofit arts organization. They operated in the basement of a small defunct church. The job had me doing a lot of office administration stuff. There was photocopying, stamp licking, letter mailing; I once had to book plane tickets and accommodations for Farley Mowat. Fun. I spent most of my time, however, reading sci-fi and organizing used books which we sold out of the basement. My love for books grew, I believe, because I was surrounded by them. I can still smell those musty old books. There were boxes and boxes of them. I bet I touched and thumbed through each and every one of them, even the Reader's Digest Condensed Books, The Harlequin Romances, and the Louis L'Amours, all of which seemed to be in infinite supply.

I was hooked on sci-fi at first. I read every little bit I could find. I found sci-fi easy to read, I could go through a book every day or so. Along the way I bumped into Vonnegut, who at my tender age of 18, seemed to me to be egomaniacal and prickish. Hey, I was young, we all go through stages. Isaac Asimov was my favorite. My father was also a fan. I recognized his name from books that were found in the bathrooms and on bookshelves of my youth.

I quickly outgrew sci-fi: by midsummer I had moved on to physics, spirituality, and comparative religion. Big jump? Nah, they are not all that different in theme or content than sci-fi. They were all chasing the same ghost. I found Buddhism, I found Ginsberg. I read Howl, the gateway to the Beats. Ginsberg lead to Kerouac, Kerouac to Burroughs, Burroughs to Kesey, Kesey to Hesse, Hesse to Dostoevsky, Dostoevsky to Camus, etc, etc. Hunter S. Thompson arrived as if through osmosis. Vonnegut was rediscovered.

The purist in me would love to proclaim that I became the reader and the writer I am now because of an early run with Holden Caulfield, or perhaps the tragic story of Piggy and his broken glasses, but that would be a lie. My love of books started with Isaac Asimov. It quickly grew from there, but it was his stories, and those of his 50¢ a paperback colleagues, that gave me the itch. I have been scratching myself raw ever since. Thank you Mr. Asimov.

My First Year on Twitter - Confessions of a Crazy Writer

@TheWritersDen ~ Writers, need a place to share inspiration, info and tips? Come join @TheWritersDen, the more the merrier 7:07 PM May 31st, 2009 via web


That was my first innocuous Tweet.

May 31st, 2009. One year, 13,711 Tweets.

I’ve picked fights with PETA, talked to Tony Robbins, and been constantly ignored by Alyssa Milano.

I’ve been followed, un-followed, cursed at, ignored, praised, loved, hated; the whole nine yards.

But what has Twitter meant to me?

I started out on Twitter as a lark. I had this vague notion that I’d meet some writers and share information; tips on writing, things like that, and that would be it. It took me a month to figure out how to reply to people, and switching between my Profile, Home and Mention page was a minor catastrophe. And who were all those people following me? Or was I following them?

I sometimes got rambunctious. I tweeted too much. I think I lost 50 followers one day. And I learned that people can get touchy if you behave like an ass.

In all, Tweeting is not the simple thing people make it out to be; there’s nuances, rhythms, beats. There’s a way to do it. Just don’t ask me how! I’d never be able to articulate it.

I’ve met so many wonderful people; editors, writers, artists, sheep herders, degenerates, nut jobs, bad spellers, geniuses, losers, goofballs and a crazy contingent of Aussies and Brits; I truly have loved you all. Even the one's who've gone to oblivion. Some have even passed away. Also, For those of you that don’t know, I fashion my twitter feed for a very eclectic mix. I mean, writers are crazy and they entertain me endlessly with the nutty stuff they come up with, but I also have a few celebs (shame, I know) and the odd person outside the literary circle. Mostly it's a crazy stewpot of characters. Also, I’ve had followers who’ve had no discernible motive for being on Twitter; then out of the blue I’d get a message from them saying that I’ve motivated them to start writing again after giving it up.

I find that very inspirational, and I feel honored by that.

I never thought I would have as many followers as I do. More impressive: I have some of the best followers on Twitter. Most of my originals are still hanging around. They Tweet less than they did a year ago, but as they say, life gets in the way. I know the feeling. I once had a love affair of sorts with one of my Twitter people, and it didn’t end well (maybe it did; we’re still great friends) and I had to take a break from it all. It’s funny, I’ve been accused of taking Twitter so seriously, but in the final analysis we’re still dealing with human beings, emotions, feelings. Yes Tweets are only text messages flashed across my Stream, but those words come from real people. If you’re asking me to be cold and unemotional about it, forget it. I love people, it’s just my way. I don’t care if I’m face to face with them, or just messaging them from 3000 miles away. That’s just how I roll, to paraphrase the hip-hopsters.

Our Twitter has been equated to a giant online cocktail party. The writers, our little island on the net, are probably the most ideal people for this type of medium: we yap a lot, have our heads full of useless information, and we can talk ad nauseum about our craft. The hard part is keeping it at 140 characters. This is something that is antithetical to writers! Which brings me to the quotes…

Yes, I post a lot of quotes. In the beginning I followed a few people whose tweet stream was based on posting quotes on various subjects. Then they started getting repetitive, and I mean re-posting the same shit over and over. Naturally I un-followed after a while (Something I don’t normally do. You have to be really nasty for me to un-follow, and even then you’d probably un-follow me first) I started posting quotes on writing, among others. I suppose I’ve gotten a reputation for it. Here’s a secret: I have thousand of quotes about literature, from movies, television, any unlikely source, all on a word doc ready to Tweet at a moments notice. I really put my heart in to it. Someone pointed out that I was using quotes as a proxy for my inner feelings. So If I was feeling sad, I’d post something sad. Happy? I’d post something happy. I was doing it unconsciously. I tend to run on intuition.

So now, after a year, I continue to reinvent myself. Twitter, according to stats, is mostly a broadcast medium (I disagree) where the majority of people tend to just tweet without interaction. I find that limits the potential of such a wonderful social tool. I know intuitively that people are social animals – and if you reach out to them they’ll respond. And I have met some wonderful people. Maybe it’s my goofy nature that disarms them.

So what does it all mean?

This may sound dramatic, but Twitter has changed my life. As a writer it has become a daily need. If I need a beta reader, someone’s there for me; someone to read my blog post? Someone to talk to when I’m feeling blue, and my writing is sucking bigger then a vintage Hoover vacuum? Someone’s there for me. And for a writer, that’s the most important thing; that instant interaction, that instant gratification! I’m in a happy place now where I’m more motivated than ever to write because I know that there’s always someone willing to read my stuff. Without Twitter I was kind of lost. I don’t know about you, but I don’t meet writers going to the grocery store, or bump into them in the men’s room very often. You meet them on Twitter. You get to know them. You become friends. And it’s been one of the best experiences of my life.

Here’s to another year of fun and writing. Huzzah!


Related Madness: Tweeversary Reflections: Celebrating One Year on Twitter http://bit.ly/9lrfnK (via @addthis) by my Good Friend @ggSpirit

Also, if you're so inclined, I have archived all my tweets since January (the rest are in oblivion) on my site Project Hunter

Addendum: This post was inspired by @ggSpirit, who, amazingly, started on Twitter the same day I did. I recommend her post above; her thoughts on a year of Tweeting.

You Might be Addicted to Writing if ….

…You find typos in newspapers, books, magazine articles, bus stop advertisements, hell anywhere at all, and they send you into cataclysmic, apoplectic and phonetic swoons.

…You look around nervously because you can’t resist sticking your nose into a book because you like the smell of new ink and musty old tomes.

…When people are telling you tales of woe, confiding in you about what a hell their life is, and you’re not really listening; you’re trying to figure out a way to use it in a story without any litigious ramifications.

…You have a pen collection the size of the national debt, and you never use them.

…Libraries and book stores turn you into a drooling zombie-like creature oblivious to man or beast, and only a slap upside the head will awaken you from this trance.

…You flip through empty notebooks in stationary stores for no good reason.

…Everything’s a story.

…Thoughts fly! Ideas sear your brain! You search madly for a pen and a scrap of paper to jot this masterpiece down! (You can only find a bus transfer, but use it anyway)

…You stare at your page, write a sentence, scrutinize it, and then go for some ice cream.

…Your idea of fun is spending a sunny afternoon with your nose in a copy of Catch 22, under an Elm, or buried in your dimly lit room with the 40 watt bulb giggling to yourself.

…You find yourself sneering at friends who’ve never heard of Proust or Moliere.

…Your friends say things like “Cumulous Nimbi? You mean clouds, right?”

…You correct not only your friend’s grammar, but the guy on CNN who just mispronounced Uzbekistan and Eyjafjallajökull.

…You can’t help but take those interesting looking pens lying around on people’s desks at work.

…Your idea of light reading is a Webster’s Dictionary, and sometimes the phone book.

…When oddly enough, no one without a College degree in ancient English knows what the hell you’re talking about.

…You gotta buy that old No. 2 Underwood which has no ribbon, no hope of ever working, but would look great in your study.

…You love the smell of fresh newspaper ink in the morning.

Do you have any crazy writer habits and peccadilloes you'd like to share? Leave a comment, and I'll get back to you!

Related Madness: @ZiggyKinsella ~ The 9 unsavory character traits of real authors - match them to yours http://fecklessgoblin.blogspot.com/