I'm going to post a few older rambles that I never got back to. I need to release some of these raw thoughts so I can see the more clearly (see "Article" posted 29 October 2009. The link to the article is under "article" (duh!) on the sidebar. I just need to get back into a writing habit of some sort--something besides research proposals and crap like that. So, enjoy...or not.
Flow: 15 January 10
I suppose I must write. Dum de dum de dum. Well, I’m not really getting anywhere quickly. I wanted to write about the inspiration I was remind of as I was doing my walking—laps around the school burns more calories than walking around the neighborhood due to all my head steaming. Parent conversation—story later…maybe. As I rounded the last corner for my last lap of the day, what should come up on the shuffle but my good friends the Beastie Boys.
“Let it flow. Let yourself go. Slow and low that is the tempo.”
Yeah, I was getting into a flow with my walking, which has now been interrupted. I had a flow going with my Old Testament reading (starting to get into the incestuous eewy stuff). But the real question was whether or not I was establishing a flow for my writing.
Several years ago as I was mowing the lawn and listening to said Beasties, I noticed that as I got into a groove, the task became less arduous, less monotonous. My attitude changed if I cut a cross pattern in the front lawn and ran diagonal down the side and went in circles in the back. The idea struck me that the same thing needed to happen to my reluctant readers and writers. At the time I was struggling with some moronic, lethargic, apathetic, just-ick 8th and 9th graders who vehemently protested the application of the written language, either producing or absorbing it. Come to think of it, they mostly communicated through a series of simple grunts and gestures.
I thought, “Hey, I should write an article about this. And so I put it on the back shelf. The inspiration came again, when I was on the campus of Utah State University in Logan. I was reading Tom Newkirk’s Misreading Masculinity, and made the same connections. That summer, as I was living bachelor life while the fam hung out at Amy’s parents’ place in North Carolina, I read more into flow and discovered Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi and his flow theory—it was exactly what I had been pondering while carving circles in the grass around my bushes, only he ad lots of cool, confusing data and research to back up his theory. I just had Ad Rock, Mike D, and MC A.
Maybe I still will write that article some day, but for now, I just need it to apply to me. Whenever I produce writing it’s because I establish a flow. I set aside time. When I had my first professional article published this past fall, it was because I had the time set aside in the Central Utah Writing Project. When I produced all those pages of manuscript for the BYU Writing Conference with Chris and Carol, it was because I made myself write. I had a set-up, a routine, something bordering on a ritual when I would write. But now that I have nothing, well, I have…nothing to show for it. Sure, I’ve been able to eke out a few poems, but those were gifts. When I really work for the writing, it will come—maybe not immediately, but it will come. Geez, now I’m starting to sound like I’m from Field of Dreams. What’s with me and baseball movies lately. Hmm…idea…I’ve got that quote about poets being like pitchers…I’ll have to find it and use it. Ken Burns will provide the rest of the inspiration.
I need to make time. Scribbling a couple times a week is not going to cut it if I want to truly achieve something. But for now, I’m trying slow and low as I let myself go. And my mom said the Beastie Boys were a waste of time….Ha!
21 July 2010
18 July 2010
Swears and Voice
Last night, I read Stephen King’s novella Blockade Billy. My son seven-year-old found it on the YA shelf at the public library and picked it up because it was a baseball story. I, recognizing the author, decided to read it myself first.
The story was intriguing, and I enjoyed the reflective point of view from which the tale was spun, but the profanity was so strong that it interfered with the story.
It made me reflect on a question my writing fellow Claudia posed via email a few days prior, questioning the need for profanity in writing to create strong voice. Here is a snippet from her email:
“Here's the question: Do you have to swear to be a voice-ful, authentic writer? Certain words do shock, surprise, pack a punch, generate humor, sometimes nail the emotion, the situation, but what of those of us who are religiously uncomfortable with expressing ourselves with that sort of ‘authenticity’? Yes, I sometimes think such words, mutter them under my breath, and (on very rare occasions) let loose with one -- living in the world and not always resisting being of-the-world, and having grown up with a farmer dad who responded to uncooperative cattle and tractors and kids with plenty of damn's and hell's.
“However, when in control of my speech and writing, I shrink from using words I think of as offensive -- though I was tolerably comfortable with writing damn's and hell's above.
“My qualms are not just religious. Attention to audience matters to me, and even more than that, I've long been convinced that ninety-nine and forty-four one-hundredths percent of the time, the ‘foul’ words are not the best, most precise, or even the most powerful words. When we call such words ‘strong language,’ we are often giving them more credit than they deserve. (An interesting line of thought would be wondering why we use the words we do to describe THOSE words. Are they ‘strong,’ ‘crude,’ ‘foul,’ and so on?)”
Claudia poses a good question. Are these four-letter wonders really the best choice in these situations? Or do they merely show the extent of someone’s intelligence and negligence to vocabulary? I would hope that most adults, if not just junior high students, could be more imaginative in their descriptions and insults. Seriously, if you want to hear originality listen to kids before they’ve been corrupted by their older siblings and the punks hanging loafing down the street (and television). Really, go listen to a handful of toddlers just starting to construct language. My favorite comes from my friend Erin’s little girl, who told her mommy she wanted to dream about “lemonade rain.” How awesome is that? And from a preschooler.
Voice is so much more than swearing. I enjoyed Debbie’s response to Claudia’s question:
“I have often wondered about that same point and worried that voice gets correlated with the use of ‘strong’ language just because it is so shocking. I have to say that to me voice is making the most of whatever is appropriate for the situation. And most writing situations don't really require swearing. I worry that the concept of voice sometimes get carried away to mean that kind of shocking, saying what no one else would say, language use. I think it's more a matter of knowledge and the other traits Tom [Romano] mentioned on Friday, but the advocates of voice tend to think of only one kind: the ability to shock and be on the edge. The other aspect of that view is that the content or subject is almost always personal experience. Very few of these proponents help students see that voice can be found in all kinds of writing--and it isn’t the kind of voice that most of them address with students. Part of the discussion has to do with what we mean by voice, certainly, but for the expressivists (biggest proponents of voice as a concept) there is only one voice and only one kind of writing--thus the feeling you've had that the shocking, even without the strong language, is the only representation of voice. You might try reading Harris or Darcie Bowden on voice. They are about the only two ‘voices’ speaking differently about voice. I know that when people say my writing sounds like me, I think that's voice--it's academic without being dry, I hope. No swearing. So I think voice can be much bigger than it is often considered.”
Thinking about those who are proponents of swearing for shock value, I have a question. Why? Where did that “power” come from? Who even determines what constitutes a dirty word, or even inappropriate ones? It gets old. Fast.
If I were to create my own word (freb), keep it at four or five letters—it can’t be too complicated for those with the intelligence most likely to use it (dumb frebbers)— and start using it in derogatory ways, conjugating it in verb form (you frebbing idiot! Go freb yourself!), could I create the NEW “f” word? Shocking, isn’t it? (See also Frindle by Andrew Clements.)
And when said frebbing words become so commonplace, don’t they lose their frebbing significance? M.T. Anderson’s Feed, for example, illustrates such a case. The characters—good-for-nothing teens, adults, children—use a few common swears as if they were nothing. It was overbearing and cumbersome to wade through them and uncover the characters’ actions and actual thoughts (heh-heh). But by the end of the book, I hardly noticed them. My senses were dulled to this SHOCK factor; it didn’t work any more. Don’t get me wrong; it’s an excellent plot and commentary on our frebbed up society.
Another frebbing interesting example of what a pile of freb this argument is can be found at NPR’s “Power Players And Profanity: It Can Be &%#@ Risky.” When I read this I was , like, “Holy freb!” and I laughed my freb off.
I remember hearing Chris Crutcher quite a few years ago speak on censorship in writing. I don’t remember if he brought it up, or an audience frebber during Q&A, but the discussion about art reflecting society surfaced.
So I ask all you frebbing writers out there, or you who just read this frebbin’ blog, who the freb wants to imitate a society so frebbin’ stupid they can’t speak worth a flyin’ freb? Do we want to perpetuate the freb flow?
What about the frebbin’ argument that society imitating the mutha frebbing media? Well, I’ll leave that to you frebs. I’d love to hear your take on any of these arguments.
The story was intriguing, and I enjoyed the reflective point of view from which the tale was spun, but the profanity was so strong that it interfered with the story.
It made me reflect on a question my writing fellow Claudia posed via email a few days prior, questioning the need for profanity in writing to create strong voice. Here is a snippet from her email:
“Here's the question: Do you have to swear to be a voice-ful, authentic writer? Certain words do shock, surprise, pack a punch, generate humor, sometimes nail the emotion, the situation, but what of those of us who are religiously uncomfortable with expressing ourselves with that sort of ‘authenticity’? Yes, I sometimes think such words, mutter them under my breath, and (on very rare occasions) let loose with one -- living in the world and not always resisting being of-the-world, and having grown up with a farmer dad who responded to uncooperative cattle and tractors and kids with plenty of damn's and hell's.
“However, when in control of my speech and writing, I shrink from using words I think of as offensive -- though I was tolerably comfortable with writing damn's and hell's above.
“My qualms are not just religious. Attention to audience matters to me, and even more than that, I've long been convinced that ninety-nine and forty-four one-hundredths percent of the time, the ‘foul’ words are not the best, most precise, or even the most powerful words. When we call such words ‘strong language,’ we are often giving them more credit than they deserve. (An interesting line of thought would be wondering why we use the words we do to describe THOSE words. Are they ‘strong,’ ‘crude,’ ‘foul,’ and so on?)”
Claudia poses a good question. Are these four-letter wonders really the best choice in these situations? Or do they merely show the extent of someone’s intelligence and negligence to vocabulary? I would hope that most adults, if not just junior high students, could be more imaginative in their descriptions and insults. Seriously, if you want to hear originality listen to kids before they’ve been corrupted by their older siblings and the punks hanging loafing down the street (and television). Really, go listen to a handful of toddlers just starting to construct language. My favorite comes from my friend Erin’s little girl, who told her mommy she wanted to dream about “lemonade rain.” How awesome is that? And from a preschooler.
Voice is so much more than swearing. I enjoyed Debbie’s response to Claudia’s question:
“I have often wondered about that same point and worried that voice gets correlated with the use of ‘strong’ language just because it is so shocking. I have to say that to me voice is making the most of whatever is appropriate for the situation. And most writing situations don't really require swearing. I worry that the concept of voice sometimes get carried away to mean that kind of shocking, saying what no one else would say, language use. I think it's more a matter of knowledge and the other traits Tom [Romano] mentioned on Friday, but the advocates of voice tend to think of only one kind: the ability to shock and be on the edge. The other aspect of that view is that the content or subject is almost always personal experience. Very few of these proponents help students see that voice can be found in all kinds of writing--and it isn’t the kind of voice that most of them address with students. Part of the discussion has to do with what we mean by voice, certainly, but for the expressivists (biggest proponents of voice as a concept) there is only one voice and only one kind of writing--thus the feeling you've had that the shocking, even without the strong language, is the only representation of voice. You might try reading Harris or Darcie Bowden on voice. They are about the only two ‘voices’ speaking differently about voice. I know that when people say my writing sounds like me, I think that's voice--it's academic without being dry, I hope. No swearing. So I think voice can be much bigger than it is often considered.”
Thinking about those who are proponents of swearing for shock value, I have a question. Why? Where did that “power” come from? Who even determines what constitutes a dirty word, or even inappropriate ones? It gets old. Fast.
If I were to create my own word (freb), keep it at four or five letters—it can’t be too complicated for those with the intelligence most likely to use it (dumb frebbers)— and start using it in derogatory ways, conjugating it in verb form (you frebbing idiot! Go freb yourself!), could I create the NEW “f” word? Shocking, isn’t it? (See also Frindle by Andrew Clements.)
And when said frebbing words become so commonplace, don’t they lose their frebbing significance? M.T. Anderson’s Feed, for example, illustrates such a case. The characters—good-for-nothing teens, adults, children—use a few common swears as if they were nothing. It was overbearing and cumbersome to wade through them and uncover the characters’ actions and actual thoughts (heh-heh). But by the end of the book, I hardly noticed them. My senses were dulled to this SHOCK factor; it didn’t work any more. Don’t get me wrong; it’s an excellent plot and commentary on our frebbed up society.
Another frebbing interesting example of what a pile of freb this argument is can be found at NPR’s “Power Players And Profanity: It Can Be &%#@ Risky.” When I read this I was , like, “Holy freb!” and I laughed my freb off.
I remember hearing Chris Crutcher quite a few years ago speak on censorship in writing. I don’t remember if he brought it up, or an audience frebber during Q&A, but the discussion about art reflecting society surfaced.
So I ask all you frebbing writers out there, or you who just read this frebbin’ blog, who the freb wants to imitate a society so frebbin’ stupid they can’t speak worth a flyin’ freb? Do we want to perpetuate the freb flow?
What about the frebbin’ argument that society imitating the mutha frebbing media? Well, I’ll leave that to you frebs. I’d love to hear your take on any of these arguments.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)