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 |   A tentative blog to test the temperature. |
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Ten years ago I was writing several blogs on various subjects - F1 motor racing, Music, Classic Cars, Great Romances and, most crushingly, a personal journal that included my thoughts on America, memories of England and Africa, opinion, humour, writing and anything else that occurred. It all became too much (I was attempting to update the journal every day) and I collapsed, exhausted and thoroughly disillusioned in the end. So this blog is indeed a Toe in the Water, a place to document my thoughts in and on WdC but with a determination not to get sucked into the blog whirlpool ever again. Here's hoping.     |
| There are six million stories in the naked city. And I can't think of one of them... |
| Where’s the Realism? I was opening yet another can to feed the cat this morning and I thought, not for the first time, It’s no wonder Pookie doesn’t like the taste of this one. I can’t really believe that any cat has killed a cow in the wild. If we don’t count lions and tigers as cats, obviously. So how could a cat ever acquire the taste for a bit of beef? Most of the cat food flavours are in the same boat. It seems unlikely that cats ever see mackerel or tuna, let alone stand a chance of catching them. Chicken I can believe, although I read somewhere that birds are not natural prey for cats. It’s just that domesticated cats don’t get many chances at small rodents these days, so they make do with anything small and mobile. Why the cat food manufacturers don’t produce flavours like mouse or hamster, I don’t know. It would seem the best solution from the cat’s point of view. But I suppose that would offend too many delicate human sensibilities. Better to make the stuff (whatever it’s made from - but I won’t get into that) and then just label it as something more acceptable. The cats aren’t going to spill the beans, are they? It does explain why cats have their reputation for extreme pickiness, however. I, too, would dig my heels in if I was constantly presented with something shaped nothing like the little rodent delicacy of my dreams and tasting the same as everything else I was offered. And I can imagine the cats’ mockery and disgust if they could read the optimistic promises on the label. Ah well, it’s beef today, Pookie. Thought you might like a change from the seafood platter you’ve been getting fed up with of late. Suddenly I have a vision of a lion on the open savanna of Africa, turning to his companion and saying, “No, no, old girl, you go ahead and don’t worry about me. Never could stand the taste of wildebeest myself.” Word count: 338 |
| Names and Things I have lots of little text files that were started to record ideas, sudden thoughts and useful “stuff.” Most of them start well but never get very far and a lot of them are never opened again, having been forgotten in the general hubbub of the brain’s life. I am fairly certain that there are duplicates in there, files that were opened for a specific purpose, forgotten, and then a fresh file begun for the same reason. Not that I’ve done the research to prove this one way or the other, of course. This is what passes for organisation in my life. You could say that it’s just a complicated way of forgetting things and, in most cases, you’d be right. But, occasionally, a file is opened that isn’t forgotten. It may survive through being useful enough to be added to regularly. And, once it has proved its worth, it will enter the hallowed halls of the indispensable. I have a small herd of these that follow me around wherever I go. Since I have managed to survive without the files that have been forgotten, it may well be that I have hit upon an extremely efficient way of retaining things that are worth keeping, while dispensing with those that I don’t really need. And that must be why I keep doing it, opening files that usually end up in limbo. I opened another one this morning. It’s called Useful Names and it’s for those place and personal names that occur to me as having potential for use in short stories and such. Names are quite important as prime indicators of atmosphere or character and I am fortunate in that, normally, I don’t have a lot of trouble dreaming up new ones when they’re needed. It can happen that I have a blank at times, however, and that is when my new file should prove useful. I’ve had countless names occur to me over the years and almost all are lost within a few days, since they’re not recorded. Now I have the answer to that. Already my new file boasts the amazing total of two names stored. The first came completely out of the blue and it’s rather delicious. Here’s the text of my entry: Greesham Ware - Old Yorkshire place (or house) name meaning the area of a village (the hamlet of Gree - Anglo Saxon name) to be wary of (ware - Old Norse "afraid of"). Note that it came with ready-established provenance, thus setting the style for all subsequent entries. Then it occurred to me to enter a name that I’ve used once already but that might prove suitable if ever I need a village name in Northumberland again. Witherkins - Northumberland village west of Newcastle (wither - cold or inhospitable, kins - neighborhood, both Anglo Saxon). Not a bad start for a file, even if I do say so myself. Of course, I doubt it will ever grow large enough to provide a database for the use of others (for a small fee), but it could be a life saver on those days when the brain refuses to get into gear. Word count: 521 |
| Garbled Lexicon As I get older, my fingers get more inaccurate on the keyboard. They start adding unwanted letters, crashing down between the desired and the ignored, selecting both. I have to watch carefully and go back often to take out the gratuitous letters that attempt to make my writing into nonsense speak. Just occasionally, however, the fingers come up with happy accidents. Why, only today I wrote of something that was quite beautifulo. Word count: 72 |
| A Question I have an interesting question. At least, it’s interesting to me and may be the same for others as well. Some may even have an answer to it. Before I ask the question, I must tell you about Harry (without whom the question cannot be fully understood). Way back when the world was young and the internet no more than a decade or so old, I met Harry in something called Yahoo Chat. He lived in Illinois and I was still in England at the time but we had similar interests and soon formed a strong friendship. Then I came to the States, settling first in Oklahoma and then in Massachusetts. My son back in England persuaded me to start a personal blog detailing my experiences in the States. As a web developer, he designed and built a blog for me and I did what I knew best - writing. While this was happening, I discovered that Harry was a writer too. I discovered a link to some of his work and sneaked off to take a look. He was good. In fact, there was so much colour and fun in his stuff that I, ever lacking in confidence, feared that he might be better than me. Even so, I felt duty bound to tell Harry how highly I regarded what I had read and we began to talk about the writing game. As part of that, I showed him my blog and, the next thing I know, Harry has started a blog of his own and is filling it with his delicious tales about and based on his rather vagabond life story. Very quickly Chat was abandoned and we wrote furiously every day, adding to the blogs and then commenting upon each other’s efforts. Yes, there was an element of competition in it all (that was inevitable, given how alike we were in so many ways) but more importantly because we spurred each other on to greater heights. Other writers we had known in chat started blogging too and there formed a small but passionate circle of writers that interacted every day. It was a heady time that lasted for a few years but fell apart very quickly in the end. One of our circle disappeared without a word (Andrea did some detective work and established that the cause was nothing to do with the group but originated in the real world outside). Then Harry, who had been ill for years, sometimes severely, departed for the brighter realms of the great publishing house in the sky. Without him to hold us together, the remaining members drifted away to other things. For a while I existed without the group, somehow still writing the occasional addition to the blog, but it was hard going without that glorious conversation on all things that we’d had. And then I realised that I would just have to find another group. Google suggested Writing dot Com and the rest, as they say, is history. I love WdC but there are still occasions when I miss Harry. It’s strange that someone I have never met in real life could have such a hold on me. I am not normally sentimental but today I had the idea of seeing if Harry’s old blog was still there. And it is. It runs from November 2004 until April 2010. I read a few of the posts and then noticed that the comments were still existent at the end. And I was one of the commenters (under my chat name of Wyrfu). That brought things back even more strongly. But it was the quality of Harry’s writing that raised the question for me. He wrote with an easy style, ignoring grammar when it suited him, and speaking in a natural voice that I’m sure was exactly how he spoke in daily life. It was what he wrote of that really speaks to the reader, however. Tales, both fictional and autobiographical, that come alive on the page as though we had been there too. And these interspersed with the occasional whimsical verse or poem. It is something that I cannot bear to think will be lost and gone in a few years as all those who knew Harry follow him up to his home in the sky. So this is my question. It is not my business to decide what should be done with Harry’s work. That must surely lie with his wife and family. But would it be unseemly of me somehow to point people to his blog and encourage them to read? The thing is out there on the net and, as we all know, what’s on the net is no longer ours - it belongs to the world. Do I dare to be a signpost to the writing of such an unknown master without some sort of go ahead from someone? So there is my question. I’d be interested in anyone’s answer. Word count: 822 |
| Writing for the Morrow Hunting through my old blog out there on the net, I came across a post that still holds some relevance for today. Being not averse to using old stuff to fill in gaps of inspiration in the present, I decided that it was worth copying it to my WdC blog. That way, I get a vacation of sorts. Very often it's what you don't say, you know. We are strange creatures and much of our communication consists of an expression about the eyes, a pause where none was expected, a tug of the ear or a sigh. Ask any married woman and she'll confirm that most of what she knows about her husband comes from what he never said. It's the same with writing. If we try to say it all, we end up with a textbook, something that leaves the reader with no room to add or interpret. The best work a writer does is in the selection of what really matters and in discarding the rest. The reader will supply the details, very often much more than the writer had imagined. So the piece, whatever it is, becomes a joint project, a framework upon which many possibilities can be draped. And this is how it becomes what we call "engaging". It is not a writer's trick, a technique that can be employed as part of a formula. The writing itself dictates what must follow next, the demands of flow require that each sentence is a result of the form and intent of the previous; the writer stands between the thought and the text, a filter that rejects far more than it accepts. That is not something that can be learned, I think. It is in blogging that one can see how this functions most immediately. The possibility of comments has introduced an extra dimension that moves the ancient skill of writing into new and untasted pastures. I have always thought that to write a book is to have an opportunity to have your say without fear of interruption. But to write a blog is merely to introduce a topic for discussion. Of course, this whole thought process has been brought about by my previous post, An Unlikely Dream (http://www.madtv.me.uk/goneaway.aspx?BlogID=160). As many commenters pointed out, it is a simple story that functions on many levels and allows the readers to take from it what they will. But the contributions of the readers through the comments system have added to the original concept until it becomes a conversation touching on many subjects (and ending in a discussion of Linux, of all things!). Take, for instance, the perceptive thoughts of Trée (who has one of the most original and interesting blogs on the net): "I suppose everyone will read into the story what they will, and why not? Once posted the post is really not yours anymore but becomes a small piece of all who read it and in that way multiples itself into thousands of variations, like pieces of a mosaic, each individual, yet all part of the same. Beautiful message, as I filter the story through my own lenses and see more of what is inside me than what is inside you." From a literary point of view, the comments system has raised the potential for blogging beyond its present achievements. The blogosphere is already becoming known to the outside world through the influence exerted by its political exponents. Is it possible that this new medium might impact the literary world in the same way? Will readers of the future expect to be given the opportunity to answer back? Must writers ply their trade with the knowledge that thousands peer over their shoulders even as they tap at the keyboard? It is something to think about. The book will not be supplanted, of that I am sure. But every day, as I learn more of blogging and bloggers, it strikes me more forcibly that this is something entirely new, a challenge to writers and a medium with potential that we have hardly begun to tap. And yes, you're right: I have not said it all… Word count: 694 |
| Not So Elementary Today I got a Facebook reminder of a post I wrote years ago. It was about all the invites I’d been getting to a game called The Lost Detective. It’s a strange title for a game. For a start, I wonder how you lose a detective. You’d have to own one in the first place, of course, and then losing him would be a truly shocking instance of irresponsibility. Besides, how many of us can claim to have their own detective tucked away out of sight? If we haven't lost the detective but he has wandered off somewhere and can't find his way home, how good a detective can he be? Not sure I’d want to own such a second rate detective anyway. I really can't see Sherlock getting into that sort of a bind and I know George Gently wouldn't. Or maybe I am supposed to be this lost detective and it's my job to find out where the heck I am. That would figure actually since I'm male and refuse to ask for directions. But it would also mean that I'm unlikely to be any good at the game. These are the questions that used to bother me as the invites rolled in. But my curiosity was insufficient to drag me into having a look at the game. I’ll probably never know the answers to my questions. And the mystery of the game’s name will fade into oblivion now that I’ve had my reminder from Facebook. Unless Facebook starts sending out reminders of reminders… Word count: 255 |
| Success! I don’t mind telling you, I was getting worried. First, Andrea says something about me being known for poetry more than prose. Well, if I were known for anything, of course, but I know what she meant. And then I enter this period, lasting for two or three months, when I seem able to write nothing but poetry. There’s the blog, yes, but it’s hardly the same as writing short stories, is it? The fact remains that I seem to have written nothing substantial apart from poetry for ages. I’ve never really seen myself as a poet. So that is why I have been hunting for some contests for short stories ever since SCREAMS!!! decided to take a break. I found a few but couldn’t think of a decent story to write. This was becoming serious. When Lilith of House Martell  posted on the Newsfeed to advertise her new contest, Only Short Stories (https://www.writing.com/main/forums/item_id/2252653-Only-Short-Stories), I hinted that I was thinking about it. Yesterday I had an idea about the setting. But no plot. It refused to appear.Desperation struck today and I decided it would have to be one of those “just start and let it tell itself” things. I did and it worked. In the end, I had to be careful about word count and even trimmed quite a bit when it was finished. Now all I have to do is worry about whether it’s any good. I like it but that doesn’t usually mean a thing. The point is, however, that I’ve done it. And, if I can do it once, I can do it again. Poet, schmoet, I can write anything! Word count: 279 |
| A Trying Subject Just been slapped in the face with it again. One of my oldest grammatical bugbears that still succeeds in raising my blood pressure, getting me fuming and ruining my day. Why, I think silently at the page, why? It’s so simple and makes no sense at all the way you’re saying it. Let’s take a brief look and see what we can do about it. You want to say, “Let’s try and do something.” But that’s not what you mean. Cover up the last three words in the sentence and what have you got? “Let's try.” The immediate question that must spring to mind is “Try what?” And your answer will be, ”To do something.” Not “And do something.” So the original sentence should be “Try to do something.” Now we know exactly what we’re going to attempt. This horrible phrase “try and do” makes no sense at all. It means literally that you’re going to try (to play the guitar, milk a cow, talk backwards, anything) and, at the same time, you’re going to do something else (go to the moon, fish for trout, stand on your head, whatever). Good luck with that. We would only say “try” without adding the word “to” if we’ve already established what is to be tried. So we might say, “Jump over that fence.” To which, the answer might be, “I’ll try.” It’s the only exception I can think of where the verb “try” doesn’t immediately demand a “to” after it. It’s hardly rocket science. Now you can go on at me about the language changing and new forms becoming accepted. Yeah, and one day it’ll be so changed that it’ll be useless for communicating with any precision at all. At least let’s try to keep those forms that make a modicum of sense. I know we all (except me) say “try and” when speaking but, please, in print let’s show we know the correct form by writing “try to.” Word count: 326 |
| Endless Repetition My problem with these Media Prompt Challenges is that the music they choose is always (how shall I put it?) after my time. This latest one, for instance - OK Not To Be OK - really? What does that mean? I listened. Twice. Nothing to write about there. But who’s this Demi Lovato? Wikipedia told me. Seems a fairly standard modern show biz jill of all trades. And what do I know of them? But wait a minute. Who or what is this Marshmello she’s teamed with for this recording? I asked Google. And then I listened on YouTube. And guess what, it’s something I can understand. It’s that old secret obsession of mine, electronic music. And this guy’s not bad. Not the Postal Service standard, I grant you, but better than most. And I should know. Heck, I must be the only Kraftwerk fan left outside of Germany. And I still go back and listen to Eiffel 65’s Blue occasionally. Something about the hypnotic and endless repetition about that one. So at last something for me has come out of Media Challenge. Thanks for that, oh mighty ones! Word count: 187 |
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I've always remembered that episode and thought that was a fun idea.
Quite good is quite a good compliment 
As someone who just reviewed an item in your port, I can't help but wonder, Did I pick an item that you'd throw out? 