On Writers' Avoidance

Procrastination, in many cases, is really a form of Avoidance.  I’m practicing a form of avoidance right now, actually, by writing about my trouble with it instead of facing what I’m avoiding: writing my book.

It’s quite ridiculous, really.  I get everything prepared.  I open my computer, get my document to the place I left off, make my tea, sit down to write… and all the while, my eyes look everywhere except at the words on my screen.  I devise reasons I should check my email and daily comics (to get it out of the way so it won’t be on my mind and distracting me later), play with the cats (to wear them out so they stop coming up to get my attention), wash the dishes (it has to be done sometime), and any other number of tasks.  I can’t type when I eat a meal, so I read a book or watch YouTube videos instead, and get so caught up and relaxed I forget about writing for a time.  

In between these distractions, I open the document, resolving to write… and it’s as though some magician has cast an “ignore me” spell; my eyes slide away.  I can’t bear to look at the text long enough to read a word.

A little bit of psychoanalysis suggests I’m afraid of something.  But what?  Afraid I’ll read what I’ve written and hate it?  Afraid of not expressing the story well?  Afraid I’ll get interrupted and lose my momentum?  Afraid of failing?  Afraid of succeeding?  Am I just uncertain about how to proceed?

I tell myself to just write--editing can come later.  But I’ve revised some of the characters’ personalities in my mind, such that their behavior needs to change, and I have a few scenes that need to be re-written to avoid being trite or preachy or simply long-winded.  The way I do that will affect future scenes and the amount of exposition needed.  But when I just edit, I make no substantial progress.  (Except I feel more confident about the beginning now.  ...Kinda.)

If I have all these ideas, what is stopping me from acting on them?  Is this “spirit of restraint” writer’s block in my own mind, or a divine stop sign?  I hardly think it’s demonic--nor external pressures.  Prayer, well, maybe I’m not “praying the right way.”  I feel no direction or restraint when I pray.  I’m more productive with a pencil and paper, but then I can’t bring myself to type the scenes up where they belong in the document because I am avoiding the sight of it.  This has gone on for months with very brief progress on only a couple occasions.

Has anyone else experienced this?  What worked for you?

On Being a Novelist (Someday)

      I don't like strangers and friends knowing I'm writing a book.  (Ironic, right, since I'm posting this on the internet?  But please don't ask me for a summary.)  I don't mind my immediate family knowing my progress; they're my support group.  Yet, I feel uncomfortable when it comes up in conversation with others.  It's almost like a bragging point for those close to me (or at least a conversation topic for moments of silence), but I'm not comfortable sharing the tentative plot lines behind my projects; it sounds a little juvenile in summary, and not everyone cares for the particular genre I write in.  I likewise wince when others ask me what I've been up to today and I can only answer "writing."  "Writing what?" they inevitably ask, and there we go...
      My reticence is not true modesty but more like embarrassment.  It took me some time to think through the cause since I do rather like the general direction of my story (though I perpetually feel it needs improvement).  Fear of criticism is always part of revealing one's work, but in this case, it occurs to me that talking about the unfinished book feels rather like counting one's chickens before they hatch--like empty boasting, especially since I've yet to publish a book and I've been at my main project for over ten years--and stuck with an incomplete story of around 28 chapters for at least two.  Will I ever finish it?  I hope so.  When I do, then I'll be much happier to promote my work (or so I trust).  Do other writers feel this way?  Let me work in anonymity though I publish in (one can hope) renown.

On an E

English needs to add a new word to its dictionaries.

Yes, I know, English surely could use several new words, each designed to convey in one word a concept that currently requires a whole sentence—or a little-known foreign expression—to communicate.  However, I have only one such concept on my mind at present: that wordless, high-pitched noise of delight or exaltation best resembling the sound of the letter E.  One hears it emerge primarily from females who are in a state of excitement.  Por ejemplo…

My best friend whom I’ve not seen in years arrives at my door?  Eeeee!  I just bought the sequel to my favorite book and sit poised to read it?  Eeeee!  I just wrapped my hands around a mug of hot tea and took a sip of vanilla-y-chai bliss?  Eeeee!  I just got off work and get to stay home the rest of the day?  Eeeee!  I see a kitten acting adorably at the animal shelter?  Aww!  I get to keep said kitten?  Eeeee!

For a visual example of this phenomenon, enjoy these panels from a page of Girl Genius (see the full page at girlgeniusonline.com):

Of course, “eeee” already appears in writing—mainly on casual message boards and Facebook posts from what I’ve seen.  When uttered aloud—or when written in a clearly enthusiastic context, such as in the comments under a much-anticipated online announcement—this sound needs no explanation; one can hear the excitement in the speaker’s tone or due to the context.  Unfortunately, the sound is trickier to communicate in prose.  Even in dialog, the sound may require careful word choices or even extra words of clarification lest a reader first assume a character to be shrieking in fright.   (As an example of how not to write an "eeee" of excitement, "Nina opened her mailbox.  'Eeee!' she exclaimed.")

This conundrum is especially felt in narration—when referring to the sound rather than actually having a character utter it.  What does one call this sound?  For example, say one wishes to write something such as “I watched the kitten snuggle the teddy bear and felt like ‘eeee’ing.”  Awk-ward!  Consider also “A long, high-pitched yet silent ‘eeeeeee!’ of joy filled my mind”?  Five words could be eliminated from that bulky sentence if we had a proper word for the sound: “A silent [word] filled my mind.”

If you haven’t guessed the word I have in mind, one might now reasonably ask what this new word should be. 

Humor me as I first rule out existing dictionary words.  “Squeal” may come closest to describing the sound, but the word puts me in mind of a shrill, piggy noise, not necessarily made in delight.  My thesaurus offers several unsatisfactory alternatives, among them cry, moan, and wail (which have such sad connotations), scream (which implies fear or anger), yell or holler (as in “hey, you!”), yelp and squeak (noises too short for an “eeee”), howl (we’re not imitating a wolf!), squawk (nor a chicken), and finally shriek and screech (it’s nothing so discordant).   Certainly, one might refer to the instance when one might make the noise as “geeking out” or “a fangirl/fanboy moment,” but those terms alone don’t necessarily mean the individual made the sound; one can geek out in other ways, as well.

Clearly these won’t do.  Thus, I submit that English dictionaries should accept the word “squee” (with optional extra E’s when uttered).  This onomatopoeia sounds much cuter than “squeal” and expresses the speaker’s sense of delight more accurately than “squeal”’s synonyms.  If that’s not argument enough, it’s already in popular use!  It acts at various times as an exclamation, a noun, and a verb.

• The amusing photo website I Can Has Cheezburger has a “Daily Squee” …um, category?  Subsite?  Page?  Thingy.
• Kaja Folgio from Girl Genius & Agatha H. fame wrote on her latest blog post about the Seattle Steamposium’s voluntary decision to create a Girl Genius cosplay category for their costume contest, after which she wrote,

Excuse me while I squee a bit…

Squeeee!

Okay. I’m good.

• Tvtropes.org has a page defining “squee” as a sound made by fangirls, and the site postulates that it’s a portmandeau of “squeal” and “glee.”  (Reasonable.)  It also includes examples of instances of the sound in games, comics, online, etc. (warning—not all of them appear to be clean).
• Squee! (with the exclamation mark) is the name of a two-woman company designed to assist budding entrepreneurs. 

Plenty more examples may be found on DeviantArt, blogs, and social media sites.  Wikionary even has a definition of it!

            Get with the times, Dictionary.com (and your varied sources, too)!

Interesting Note: I’ve also found in researching this that “Squee” is the name or nickname of several people, real and fictional.

On a Few New Haiku (and Senryu)

Summer means weeding. (Ugh.) And mosquitoes. (Triple ugh.) I tried to use haiku to capture this "ugh-ness":

gardening—

mosquitoes in the coolness

or heatstroke at noon

~~~

(I thought of changing this next one, but realized I liked the play on morning / mourning.)

How unfortunate!

Mosquitoes also like

morning gardens.

Recently, I stayed up past 2 am (whoops) to read a new book. I didn't finish, but burning eyes and droopy eyelids finally convinced me it was time to stop (for a few hours, anyway). That incident inspired the following two senryu:

Reading—

time suspends itself

in ambush

~~~

A new book—

such a late hour, but

only the cat snores. (And it's such a funny snore, too!)



As I was reading, one of those teeny green grasshoppery things spent some time hopping between my blanket, wall, and lamp cover. (...One quick Google search later—the creature is a leafhopper, from the family Cicadellidae.   The one I saw looks most similar to the subfamilies(?) Iassine, Empoasca, or Balclutha.) The little fellow became the mental trigger—though clearly not the subject—of the next poem: 

Drawn to the flame and

blind to the open window—

Tragically unsaved.


I wrote this next one in honor of a friend of mine. By God's grace, she turned away from substance abuse to serve Christ, and one of the turning points happened when God sent a downpour on her birthday. Ever since, she's prayed for rain on that day and looks forward to it more than any other gift. She's gotten it each year. :) I made several attempts to convey her story in haiku form, and I like this the best—in part because of the multiple meanings of "clean" (literal, idiomatic, and spiritual).

Another year clean—

she praises the Lord
for her birthday rain.

On the Lure of Paper

            What is it about the smell and feel and look of paper that appeals so strong to my sense of aesthetics and my materialistic desires?  I can scarcely pass the office supply sections of a store without lingering and admiring their stock.  I have more than enough notebooks, plenty of cheap mechanical pencils, a range of lovely colored pencils, an array of patterned paper, a set of calligraphy pens and ink—yet I must always resist the impulse to buy more. 

            Is it their pristine newness?  Is my subconscious nostalgic about the pleasure of new materials at the start of a school year?  Is it the therapeutic sensation of writing that I look forward to? 

My affection (or affectation?) does not only extend to fresh, unblemished paper.  I hold antique paper in a kind of awe, whether displays of the ancient Dead Sea Scrolls or music books a mere century old.  And on paper of any age, I admire both the swirl of an elegant hand and the crisp type of a printer or typewriter.  I would wince at their loss, but I confess I feel no such attachment to abused papers--those that have been poorly treated, creased and covered in eraser marks and poor handwriting.  Destroying once-beautiful papers seems tantamount to a crime, but after the initial sorrow, practicality sets in; assuming the content of the text has no value, I can generally toss them without a second thought.

Certainly from an environmental standpoint, paper is inefficient and unnecessarily consumes natural resources.  Why not convert entirely to electronic documents that we can edit and delete without waste, and that we may view and share without cutting down trees?  Well, I do value and use electronic forms of writing.  Indeed, the smooth feel of a keyboard and the rhythmic clack of keys as words appear like magic on the screen before me has an allure of its own.  That doesn’t stop me from admiring a tidy sheaf of paper or a classic, leather-bound notebook.  Simply put, electronic books will never capture the smell and feel of paper--the tactile experience and joy of writing and reading.

 
            Am I bonkers, or have you felt this, as well?  Add your thoughts about paper in the comments below.

On a Pickle Jar: An Allegory

“Nnnngh!  Errgh!”  

Mia relaxed her grip on the dill pickle jar, panting.  Why did the canning process have to make food nearly inaccessible?  She sighed and flipped long brown hair out of her eyes and back over her shoulder.  As she began again to fruitlessly twist at the lid of the jar, her husband Henry came into the kitchen.  Spying her efforts, he aborted his walk toward the coffeemaker.  

“Hey, hon--you shoulda asked me t’ help.”  He stretched out his hands toward the jar, but Mia pulled it back.  

“I’ve got this,” she insisted with a polite but pointed glance.

“Um, alright,” Henry said doubtfully, dropping his hands and watching his wife renew her attack on the lid.  “But you know that brand’s always a bit too tight for you.  I could get it off in a couple seconds.”

“Maybe.”

After several more seconds of Mia grunting and Henry watching, he stepped aside to rummage in a drawer.  A moment later, he produced a round rubber jar opener and held it out.  

Mia relaxed her death grip on the metal lid, exhaled an annoyed breath of air, and considered the tool for a moment.  “Thanks, but I’ll get this soon.”  

“Come on--your hands have gotta be sore.  Use it.  It could help.”

She didn’t respond, but gritted her teeth and tried again to wrest the lid from its jar.  Henry sighed and set the jar opener on the blue laminate countertop.  When next she took a breather, she grimaced and swiped the rubber tool.  She tried again with the padded, grippy layer now between her hand and its quarry.  Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to make much of a difference.  It was as though some genius had used superglue on the lid.

“How about you let me…”

“No.  There’s something else I can try first.”

As Mia fetched a butter knife from the silverware drawer one-handed, Henry said, “I get that you want to be independent, but there’s nothing wrong with asking for help when you need it.  It doesn’t mean you’re incapable or incompetent.”

“Look, thanks, but I’m fine.”  Without looking at her husband, she set the jar on the counter and held the knife by the blade and whacked the heavy handle onto the lid, a few centimeters apart all the way around.  Henry shook his head and poured himself some coffee, trying to ignore the banging.  Then he leaned his backside against the countertop to wait and see if Mia would need to borrow his muscles.  She twisted her arm and hunched almost in half in her efforts to loosen the lid.  

Henry bit his lips so he wouldn’t laugh.  When she paused, he cleared his throat.  

“Why don’t you let me try before you starve, huh?”

“I wouldn’t starve,” Mia said, rolling her eyes.  “I could eat something else.”

“Yeah, but you love pickles.  Come on--give it here.”

“Ahhhhhh,” she exhaled.  “Fine.”  She thrust the jar out at Henry.  He set his coffee mug behind him on the counter and took the recalcitrant jar.  With a relatively minimal amount of effort, he twisted, and a sucking pop heralded his success.

“Great, I got it!” Mia said, immediately taking the jar back and cheerfully exchanging the lid for the fork the she had laid out on the counter.  

“You mean I got it,” Henry corrected her.  

“Pff.  It’s not like you did much when I was having trouble.  I did the work to loosen it.  I’d’ve gotten it, myself, in a minute.”

“You don’t know that.  Come on, how about a ‘thank you’?”

Mia fluttered her eyes at Henry.  “Thanks, dearie.”  Then she ignored him and speared a pickle.

Henry sighed.  “You’re welcome.”  He took the remainder of his coffee back to his office and left Mia to her crunchy, vinegary bliss.

Are you ever like Mia?  How often is God like Henry here--in “the wings,” waiting for us to ask Him for help?  Do we ignore Him, or discount His ability to help?  How often do we refuse to submit what we can’t handle to Him--and when He helps, how often do we claim the credit?  Consider this story the next time you feel overwhelmed and wonder why you haven’t yet been able to handle it yourself.

On Winter—with Haiku

        Although snow teased us as early as October this year, just yesterday the air felt so comfortably warm that I shed my jacket in the afternoon! Unfortunately, winter reasserted itself last night with a cold front that dropped the temperature below 0 degrees Celsius, and then mocked us further by adding a freezing drizzle and a strengthened breeze.  (Despite this, I still just saw a student walk outside wearing a t-shirt, shorts, and flip flops. Incomprehensible!)

       Despite the recalcitrant weather, much can be—and has been—said in favor of winter and the cold: 

• "It helps one appreciate the other seasons more." 
• "If it didn't get cold, we wouldn't know the joys of hot drinks and piles of blankets."
• "The earth needs to rest up for spring."
• "We have fewer dangerous or annoying critters and bugs around."
• "Winter reminds us of our mortality."
• "Winter helps us practice our faith in eventual renewal and new life."
• "Snow is beautiful."
• "Snow forts!  Winter sports!"
• "Christmas traditions!  Generous spirits!"

       
        Etc., etc.  But in such an wretchedly chilly season, I find poetry of winter interests me more than prosaic praises of the same.  Haiku, in particular, seem an eminently suitable form since their content is often seasonal to begin with.  On that note, I hope you enjoy my poetic efforts and commentary below:

plaintive eyes—

frozen water bowl

stuck to the porch

        Most readers will sympathize with the frustrating problem of an immobile, frozen bowl, but I like when the meaning of a haiku such as this is a little ambiguous and when more than one interpretation may be accurate.  This could imply, for instance, that an animal wants water, that a person wants another to un-stick the bowl, or that someone wants the heavens to warm up the world.

 

stargazing

at the Milky Way—

what is Man…?

        Stargazing isn't strictly a winter occupation, but with such long nights and often clear skies, it does seem suitable.   

 

reaching for

Orion’s belt—

it wouldn’t fit anyway

        A haiku prompt regarding celestial bodies made me contemplate several ideas related to reaching for the stars when, in one of those odd leaps the brain sometimes makes, Aesop's sour grapes fable came to mind, resulting in the previous haiku.

“celebrating"

Christmas for three months running—

stuffed ad nauseam

        Literally and figuratively!

avoiding the stores:

shameless consumerism

and scarce word of Christ

        Suitable for Christmas and Easter both, ne?

glass nativity—

God's plan to save 

our souls

        I like the implied comparison of this poem, as well as its extended metaphor: Glass may be transparent, but one can't see what's inside it unless one looks past the exterior.  Where are you looking this Christmas season?




         If you have any prosaic or poetic words of your own about winter, feel free to add them in the comments below!

On Contronyms

Language is an odd creature—as quirky as some of the creatures who use it.  Like them, it is a “living,” growing, changing thing with complexities and oddities that can make one laugh or scream.  Take contronyms, for example.  Maybe you’ve heard them called “Janus words,” “autoantonym,” “antilogy,” or “enantiodrome.”  Whatever you call them, they refer to terms with two opposite meanings.  To put it differently, such words can act as their own antonyms!  Fascinating, right? 

Not all contronyms cause confusion; a contronym may be clarified by accompanying prepositions, context, or plain common sense.  For example, an apology of something defends it (an apology of my beliefs); an apology for something more often expresses contrition for it (an apology for my erroneous belief).  Similarly, to tell whether a sanctioned company was penalized or approved, one need only to read on and discover what the sanctions were.  Finally, common sense tells us that one dusts a piano by removing dust and dusts a cake by adding powdered sugar or sprinkles.  

Of course, when the context doesn’t clarify the intended meaning of the words, then they do create some annoying ambiguities... or potentially amusing scenarios.  Amelia Bedelia comes to mind: What might she do with instructions to draw the curtains, trim the ham, and overlook the children playing?  (As I recall, she drew the former with pencil and paper!)

We might well wonder why any sensible group of people would let confusing contronyms form in their language.  In answer, I imagine people don’t realize an inherent ambiguity has arisen in a word until it’s too late to easily correct it.  Such change often creeps into a language without intentional effort, starting separately in one region and spreading to others, where it may conflict with an alternate usage.  Any people made aware of both meanings may not have it in their power—or see the point—in trying to streamline the language and “correct” people’s usage.  (Who’s to decide which version is correct, anyway?  “Correctness” in language is subjective and typically dependent on the majority usage or a publisher’s rules, both of which may change over time.)

Some contronym pairs are true homographs—words with the same form and sound but with different origins.  For instance, Old English clēofan (“to separate”) and clifian (“to adhere”) now share the same spelling and pronunciation in modern English: “cleave.”

Other contronyms are polysemous, meaning they share a common origin but have gained opposite meanings.  These are often nouns used as verbs with different, logically-derived meanings.  Hence, the noun “bolt,” used in “to fix a crossbow bolt in place” and “to be as fast as a loosed crossbow bolt” both became the verb and contronym “to bolt,” which we now use for things that remain fixed and that move quickly.  In some such cases, though, the contronym remains separated by dialect: Brits, for instance, “table” a bill when they want to debate it, and Americans “table” a bill when they want to remove it from debate.

Want to read some more contronyms?  Enjoy these: List of Contronyms

 

Other fun terms: 

Like contronyms, homonyms look and sound the same and have different meanings—but unlike contronyms, these meanings are not opposite.  For instance, the homonym “mouse” can mean a rodent, a quiet person, or a small computer navigating device.  Contronyms, however, are always opposites, such as “dust,” which can mean to remove dust or to add dust.

Metonyms are words that can refer to either their original meaning or something related to it.  E.g. “dish” can refer to a platter or its contents, “Hollywood” to the company or the whole film industry, “hands” to literal hands or hired workers, and “the law” to the written legal code or the police who enforce it.

Oxymorons are phrases with contradictory terms used together, such as “ground pilot” or “living dead” and “dark light.” 

Zeugma and syllepsis have various definitions but generally refer to amusing figures of speech that join parts of a sentence with one word, and one must understood the parts in two different senses (such as the English proverb "Eggs and oaths are soon broken.").  Zeugma may also refer to parallelism or ellipses, as in "Mark hoped for snow, but Mary for rain," where "hoped" is understood in the second clause.  To read more, check out http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zeugma.