Recently Read: Eats, Shoots & Leaves: The Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation by Lynne Truss

Eats, Shoots & Leaves: The Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation by Lynne Truss
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Why? Bite: This is an interesting and humorous look at the evolution of punctuation, its proper application, and its possible future from a British perspective.

This book is highly enjoyable for anyone who is easily irritated by today’s lack of writing savvy, be it in print or on the internet. Originally written for the British market, and thus primarily dealing with British usage, this best-selling book was very popular with American readers as well. This publication offers an introduction that addresses the most noticeable differences between American and British styles. As an American, I appreciate that Truss does not lay blame for the degeneration of proper punctuation solely on our shoulders. Sometimes she playfully belittles American style, such as our practice of putting ending punctuation inside quotation marks rather than outside, and sometimes she give us kudos for doing something right, such as our continuing to use formal punctuation in the way we structure addresses. Ultimately, there is enough blame to go around, be it the casualization of communication or the advancing technology.

The best part of Truss’ approach is the ultimate conclusion that while a few, very few, rules are hard-fast and required for comprehension and clarity, the majority of rules that either people scrabble over, such as the cantankerous Oxford comma, or have fallen to the wayside altogether, such has hyphenating words, seem mostly a matter of individual style and taste. The writer is left to determine which punctuation is best suited, both for clarity and comprehension and for aesthetic value.

This book is especially informative in regards to the development and evolution of punctuation usage. Most of us use such devices every day, taking them for granted, and never giving them a second thought as to who first came up with writing a squiggly line over a dot to end a question. I would also wager that most Americans, even those who actually know the style rules we are supposed to adhere to, are unfamiliar with how our style varies from the British. I never realized the small yet significant differences, even though I studied English Literature extensively in college.

Here’s my two cents’ worth on the fate of punctuation. Necessity being the mother of invention, punctuation developed out of the need for clarity in printed text. Certain rules came to be out of demands and limitations of the technology at the time. But as technology advanced - from printing press – to typewriters – to word processors – etc. – so the outmoded rules slowly evolved to adapt. Now we find ourselves in the heart of another revolution of communication. Just as the printing press changed how information was conveyed, the internet is doing the same. No longer at the hands of the elite, educated scholars, the written word is now produced by anyone with internet access and the time to waste writing entries for Wikipedia. Punctuation is in the process of evolving to match these changes. There may be 17 uses for the comma, but many may be deemed unnecessary in today’s medium. Just as has occurred since the invention of the first punctuation marks, some uses will cease, while others will arise. At some point, someone decided italics were necessary to denote emphasis. When italics weren’t available on early computer programs and current social media, asterisks picked up the slack. When the problem of conveying tone and/or emotion arose, emoticons were invented to solve the problem. Unlike Truss, I do not feel that emoticons are “a paltry substitute for expressing oneself properly.” They serve a real purpose, to clarify the intention of a sentence, even a grammatically correct and expressive one. They are also fun to use and cute as the dickens.

So, I take comfort in knowing that, barring typos and mistakes, that I am not wrong when I make artistic choices in my writing. As long as I am following the most basic rules that are necessary, I am right regardless of whether or not I put a comma before the “and” in a list. I need to make sure the sentence conveys the message I intended, and that apostrophes, quotation marks, colons, semi-colons, and ending punctuation are properly placed and used correctly. If I choose to use ellipsis to ease into a pregnant pause, or a dash to abruptly interrupt a sentence with a separate thought, or if I eliminate an extraneous comma to clarify my intended meaning, it is of no concern of fellow grammar nazis. The goal of every “stickler” should be to encourage everyone to express themselves, not to appoint ourselves as holier-than-thou grammar police.


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Recently Read: "Look at the Birdie: Short Fiction" by Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.

Look at the Birdie: Short Fiction by Kurt Vonnegut
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

The first book by Kurt Vonnegut that I read was “Cat’s Cradle.” It hooked me, and even as a high school sophomore I identified with the cynical world view. For many, the first introduction to Vonnegut’s writing is “Slaughterhouse 5.” I think this is unfortunate. That particular work requires a lot more than most high school students are willing to give a book they didn’t choose to read on their own. “Cat’s Cradle” is a much gentler introduction, I think. However, that’s just my opinion. One could debate it either way until the cows come home.

What would definitely, without a doubt, be a horrible introduction for someone who has yet to read Vonnegut is “Look at the Birdie,” a collection of previously unpublished short stories. This is a posthumous publication, and that fact is rather obvious to anyone who has ever attempted to write themselves. Anyone who has ever given it a go is more than likely to have accumulated a file folder (whether digital or actual paper – I personally have both.) full of stories that aren’t quite right. We save them, perhaps with the intention of working on them further to fix the problems with dialogue, plot or continuity. We set them aside and await the elusive “A-ha” moment when we magically know just what to do with a lackluster story. Or perhaps each story, while painfully inadequate, contains a few clever nuggets that could be salvaged and used in a better story. Or perhaps we are simply anal pack rats who never throw anything away. Regardless, our overall intention is that the stories in that file will never see the light of day in their current state.  I have the strong suspicion that the short stories in this collection were discovered in such a folder in Mr. Vonnegut’s filing cabinet.

There are some who find the posthumous publishing of such stories offensive. Mr. Vonnegut, no doubt, didn’t publish them for a reason. It violates the deceased last wishes, some would say, and invades his privacy. I’m not of that opinion. Anything left behind is fair game. I felt that way when they ransacked Douglas Adams’ old Macintoshes, and I feel that way now. For this exact reason, I plan to include a clause in my will that will specify that upon my death certain papers, journals and files are to be destroyed without ever being opened. Of course, I will never know if my wishes are carried out. Not that it matters, as I doubt I will ever be remotely famous enough for anyone to care. But, I digress.

We all have our literary heroes, and certainly they earned such adoration. Still, we usually only read (and reread) their polished masterpieces. These works, in their magnificence, are a wonderful introduction to an author. And, if the author happens to be prolific, these works can give us years of amazement, joy, and endless provocations of deep thoughts and profound realizations. Yet, after you have explored much of what the author wanted you to see, there is some benefit to reading what the author wasn’t ready to share with the public at large. That’s the opportunity “Look at the Birdie” gives us … a chance to see a different side of Vonnegut’s writing – the unfinished side.

Not all of these stories are very good, which helps the diehard fan of Vonnegut see him as a flawed human who worked through a process to give us such great works. As a fledging writer, this can be inspiring. “Slaughterhouse 5,” “Player Piano,” “Cat’s Cradle,” etc. didn’t just flow from his typewriter like honey. They didn’t fall onto the page like manna from heaven. Mr. Vonnegut worked at it, and he worked hard. Sidney Offit writes in the Foreword, “Unpublished is not a word we identify with a Kurt Vonnegut short story. It may well be that these stories didn’t appear in print because for one reason or another they didn’t satisfy Kurt. He rewrote and rewrote, as his son, Mark, as well as agents and editors testify. Although Kurt’s style may seem casual and spontaneous, he was a master craftsman, demanding of himself perfection of the story, the sentence, the word.”

I’ve read much of what Mr. Vonnegut considered “perfect” enough to publish, but it was enlightening to read stories that didn’t meet his demands. Much like reading first drafts of heavily reworked manuscripts, you get the sense of raw imagination and creativity. You can almost see the flow of thought as an idea develops. Sometimes the story doesn’t really go anywhere, and some plots are not developed to the satisfaction of the reader, but always evident is the author’s inspiration and the idea he was trying to convey. It’s a glimpse of the master at work, a chance to peek behind the scenes. I once saw an exhibit of Van Gogh. It wouldn’t have been a complete experience if it didn’t include pencil sketches that later led to some of his famous paintings. It’s the same idea that made the Beatles Anthology series (released in 1995-1996) so intriguing. Here the average music lover was given the chance to hear the bad takes and mistakes made by the legendary band as they pieced together the versions of famous songs we know and love. You don’t have to know much about music to be able to enjoy listening to them attempt a song as a waltz and later decide it sounds better in 4/4 time, work out complex guitar fingering or play around with lyrics. You end up appreciating their music even more. Much the same, I put down “Look at the Birdie” appreciating Mr. Vonnegut’s talent and hard work more, even the less than “perfect” pieces.

I only wish the editors had provided a time line for these stories, so I could know when each of these stories was written and whether or not parts were “salvaged” for use in later works that were actually published. I found myself being reminded of other works by elements of certain stories, which made me wonder if it was written prior and Mr. Vonnegut simply recycled particular elements into a more “perfect” story line. Also, some stories seem downright optimistic, which I don’t normally associate with Vonnegut’s writing and makes me wonder if they were written when he was much younger and still working through what had happened to him during the war. I also found myself wondering if one or two were written before he was captured by the Germans and held in Dresden. I haven’t come across any biographical indication that he wrote prior to his post-war life, but it seems writing ran in his family. I’d like to think it’s possible he started writing as a young man, since it seemed such a logical choice for him to pursue the career after he was discharged and really had something to say.

This collection contains fourteen stories, of various length and theme. I will try my best not to give too much away in the form of spoilers. All were intriguing and interesting in one way or another. I didn’t like a couple of them, and absolutely loved a few others. Many left me scratching my head, not sure what to think. I am refraining from sharing which ones I liked and which ones I didn’t, mostly because that is a particularly subjective assessment. Besides, it was worthwhile to read every single one.

“Confido” is the story of how a device that talks in your ear affects the inventor’s family.
“FUBAR” seems to be perhaps a precursor to “Player Piano.” The first paragraph ends with this sentiment: “Fubar is worthy of a better fate, meaning as it does fouled up beyond all recognitionly useful and interesting word in that it describes a misfortune brought about not by malice but by administrative accidents in some large and complex organization.”
"Shout About it from the Housetops" is funny and light-hearted. The protagonist is a straight man who absentmindedly wanders into a comical scene.
"Ed Luby's Key Club" is an interesting portrayal of the best and worst of humanity, two polar opposites with nothing in between to temper the two extremes.
"A Song for Selma" is uncharacteristically upbeat, positive and ends on a hopeful note.
“Hall of Mirrors” could have been featured on “Alfred Hitchcock Presents.” It’s rather predictable and corny until the very last two short paragraphs, which slap the reader in the face with a twist out of nowhere. This is the first of two stories in the collection that mention a specific round ballroom lined with mirrors and it’s connection with therapy.
"The Nice Little People" is an intriguing concept that I wish had been more developed. It would have made a great episode of “The Twilight Zone.” It ends on a decidedly hopeless note.
"Hello, Red” is very depressing portrait of humanity at its most base and ugliest.
“Little Drops of Water” was entirely unpredictable and clever, but again doesn’t paint a pretty picture of society. I imagine it would be similar to “Fatal Attraction,” if that movie starred Doris Day and Rock Hudson and Tony Randall was the narrator.
"The Petrified Ants," clearly influenced by the Cold War era in which it was written, is a heavy handed commentary on communist Russia that compares humanity to pre-Mesozoic ants. The comparison bears a striking resemblance to the current situation in the good ol' USA.
"The Honor of a Newsboy" is told from the point of view of an adult who is jealous of the world seen through the eyes of a 10 year old idealist. Preserving the boy’s innocence is his highest priority. And, I mean highest.
In "Look at the Birdie" a man is hustled in a rather alarming, sadistic way. In today’s world of surveillance and camera phones, I can totally see this type of crime happening. This is the second story that mentions a mirror lined ballroom with a connection to some form of therapy.
"King and Queen of the Universe" is a loss of innocence tale that takes place during the Great Depression, but could be retold during modern times. I couldn’t help but think of the Occupy Wall Street Movement, particularly the kids graduating with staggering debt only to find there are no jobs available. In this story, two offspring of the 1% open their eyes to the suffering of a member of the 99%. (I might have given too much away on this story. Sorry.)
I couldn’t tell where "The Good Explainer" was going, and wasn’t sure where I was once Mr. Vonnegut took me there. It left me thinking the tragedies of our past will always leave a mark on our present and future, and sometimes the reasons are impossible to explain.

I hope I left you intrigued.

Needless to say the second volume of unpublished stories by Mr. Vonnegut, entitled “While Mortals Sleep” has been on my Amazon wish list since its release this past January. Now that I’ve read “Birdie,” I’m really looking forward to reading it.


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Recently Read: "Postcards from Ed" by Edward Abbey

Postcards from Ed: Dispatches and Salvos from an American Iconoclast by Edward Abbey
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I have been fascinated by Cactus Ed since reading "Desert Solitaire" for an Environmental Ethics class in college. The only other book by Abbey that I've read is "The Monkey Wrench Gang," so I didn't know a whole lot about the man before reading this book. The only thing I was clear on was his overall views on the environment and mankind's encroachment on untouched and supposedly protected lands in the U.S. After reading this collection of letters, I now know a whole lot more about the man. The man had more layers than an onion. While many of his opinions I agree with, there were a few ideas that surprised me. I’m actually pleased at this. I like the idea that someone I admire held some ideas and opinions that I disagree with. It brings new interest to his writings.

The book opens with a letter Abbey wrote to his parents while in college. He humorously asked for money and was rather candid about his extra curricular activities. Yet his philosophical references gave away that he was actually studying. A hilarious letter to open the book with! The collection spans from his college days to the last month of his life, March 1989. It includes personal correspondence to family and friends, correspondence (both personal and professional) to colleagues, fellow writers, editors, publishers, etc., and quite a few complaint letters to book reviewers as well as a large number of letters to the editors of various newspapers and magazines. These last type of letters usually espoused Abbey's opinion on various hot button topics of the day. Many of these topics are still major points of contention in our society decades after Abbey argued about them. And oh boy was Abbey argumentative. He was also witty as hell. If Abbey were alive today, I'm sure he'd be making headlines with controversial and irreverent Twitter posts. I have yet to join Twitter myself, but if Cactus Ed were tweeting, I'd be following him for sure. I found myself reading this book with a pencil, underlining one liners and passages that I wanted to remember, quote and/or come back to later. I also found the personal insights into the publishing and writing business particularly interesting. Some may find the letters regarding business details of getting a book out to print mundane or boring. As a would-be-writer, I found these glimpses into the business fascinating.

My only complaint is in regards to the formatting. The editor chose to use end notes, rather than footnotes. I found this distracting. I would have much preferred footnotes on the bottom of the page so that I did not have to constantly flip to the end of the book to see who the recipient of the letter was or the explanation to some random reference in a letter. This disrupted the flow of reading for me. However, even that is not enough of a complaint for me to take away a star from the Goodreads rating.

Clearly Abbey was taken well before he was done. In letters from 1988, he referred often to future dates, like when he promised Robert Redford an advance copy of his last novel when it was published in 1990. It's such a shame Abbey died before he could finish what he started, both personally and professionally. After finishing this book, I’m inclined to explore more of his work. I want to read more of his fiction, nonfiction, and especially the posthumously published journal entries. I’m currently interested in desert writing, which is an underrepresented genre. Edward Abbey is definitely the perfect example of someone with great talent, writing about a region of this country he loved more than the one he was born in. It is clear that the editor was a close friend of Abbey’s by the loving and careful way the letters are presented, by the concise introductions to each year of correspondence, and by the careful explanations in the endnotes.

(Originally posted on Goodreads.com)
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Five-Seven-Five is Sublime

I have been inspired of late to write in haiku. For the few who don't know, a haiku is a type of Japanese poem written in three lines of seventeen syllables. The first line has five syllables, the second seven, and the third five. There are many beautiful haiku written in Japanese. Unfortunately for us, the structure does not translate into English. The greatest haiku, though extreme in brevity, have beautiful imagery. Often the last line has a punch to it, making the reader's head spin. The last line is supposed to make you think.

I like playing with the structure of haiku, in English of course. As someone who tends to be overly verbose in her writing, the limiting nature of haiku makes for a good exercise in saying more with less. I've gotten fairly good at it, except for the last line being the grand finish it is intended to be. I am seldom very good at that. Often times, I end up with a bunch of haiku on the same subject, none of them good enough to stand on their own. However, I don't like to be wasteful, so I sometimes "recycle" these short, inadequate poems into one longer one. The individual haiku become stanzas in a poem that I think is stronger and more expressive of my intent. That is what I ended up doing recently with a series of haiku.

I am sharing three poems with you. The first you will find at the end of this post. It is an example of a haiku that lacks that special punch. But it still has some charm, and so I decided to share it. The second is a longer poem, a series of haiku, concerning a subject that is often on my mind. The illustration is from the National Gallery of Art website: http://www.nga.gov/home.htm. It happens to be one of my favorite depictions of the Crucifixion. It was supposedly painted for the private devotions and prayers of a Dominican nun.  The third is another single haiku and a little better than the first. It was inspired by my in-laws' recent landscaping project. It has a little bit more zing to it. The illustrations are indeed the before and after photographs of the landscaping project in question.

Here is a haiku to start the ball rolling.

Opportunity

All my energy
Drained in monthly bloodletting.
Knock on door ignored.

Two poems to share

I have two poems to share with you. The first is entitled “Simple Girl”

The other day I experienced a moment of inspiration. For the first time, in a rather long time, I actually wrote a piece of poetry. I must admit I’m a bit out of practice. I went about it “old school” and dusted off my journal. What I put to paper was actually rather long and rambling. The germ of the idea was there, but the form and language were clumsy. It was a horribly wordy attempt that came across as somewhat preachy. The odd thing is that the theme was not something one would normally be preachy about, so that confused me a little. So I put it down for a while and returned to it later. After rereading the mess of images and ideas, I pieced together a completely different poem. Still free verse, this time there was a semblance of order, and the words expressed the ideas in a much more concise fashion. While there is still a little more “tell” than I’d prefer, the second attempt had a little more “show” in the way of images, which is usually what I’m aiming for in my poetry.

The other poem, “Summer Storm” was written last summer. The weather in the desert can be incredibly fascinating, as if each storm has it’s own personality.

Vonnegut & Stringer Rubbed Elbows with Deity

I’m a Kilgore Trout junkie. I was first exposed to its affects in high school. I read Cat’s Cradle sophomore year and was hooked. I had almost kicked the habit, till I read Slaughterhouse 5 for Dr. Schwartz’s class in college.

After that class, I asked Dr. Schwartz if he’d be my faculty advisor instead of the philosophy professor I had been assigned. I had nothing against that professor, but he wanted me to be practical and think of practical matters. During Frosh orientation, he had asked each of us what we wanted to be after graduation. I had it all figured out. I had been writing lousy poetry for a couple years and was one of the few incoming freshman with a declared major. I was there to study English so I could be a writer. He said, “That’s great. What do you plan to do for money?” Where the philosophy professor wanted me to think about my future, Dr. Schwartz allowed me to procrastinate for four years while I explored literature in ways completely inapplicable to any career goals. He was the type of English professor you find in novels and independent films: messy office, slightly disheveled appearance, leather satchel full of papers and paperbacks, the light in his office still on long past midnight. Maybe I’m romantizing my memories a bit. He was the type of professor who graded your papers based on the ideas you presented, not how many typos he could find. He engaged me to consider themes and find the author’s points of passion, while never actually betraying any of his own passions, beliefs or biases. In fact it wasn’t until two years ago, while talking at an alumni event, that I learned he was gay. Earlier that year, he had married his partner of 20 something years during the small window when California had legalized gay marriage. I liked Vonnegut before college. I read Vonnegut, but it wasn’t until Dr. Schwartz that I consumed his writing, actively participating in the experience.

I had promised myself when I graduated that I was going to read all of Vonnegut’s novels. While I have read the last few books he published before his death, I have yet to read all of the old dusty books I bought years ago at Bart’s Books in Ojai, CA. The funny thing about being hooked on Kilgore is that it takes a long time to work through your system. I think the last fix I had was A Man Without a Country in 2007. It took three years for me to feel the pangs of withdrawal. Vonnegut’s writing is like that. It sticks with you for a while, much like a most excellent dinner at your favorite restaurant. You may not get to go as often as you wish. When you do make it there, you savor every morsel and if you’re lucky, there are leftovers to devour later on.

I just finished the short Like Shaking Hands with God: A Conversation about Writing featuring Kurt Vonnegut & Lee Stringer. It is the transcript of a public discussion that took place in a bookstore in Manhattan in 1999. Vonnegut had most recently published Timequake, a book, by the way, of which I received two copies for my birthday. One was from my parents, the other from my future husband. Lee Stringer had published his first book entitled Grand Central Winter, a memoir of his life being homeless and writing for “Street News.” I’ve never read it, and honestly wouldn’t even have heard of him if it wasn’t for his relationship with Vonnegut. Vonnegut praised Stringer, comparing him to Jack London.

The 78 pages of Shaking Hands is an interesting read. There are many points where Stringer and Vonnegut debate each other in the good-hearted way that colleagues do. For instance, Vonnegut sees writing as a method of activism. “Anybody reading the book is bound to say: My God, something’s got to be done about this.” He saw Stringer’s story as a call to action. Stringer, however, dismisses Vonnegut’s idealistic optimism that people can affect change. He wrote Winter with the intent for the reader to determine their relationship with homelessness, not do something to help with the problem. “I don’t know if there’s anything to be done about it [homelessness] . . . except to find what your relationship is to it. . . . . Not to eliminate what offends our sense of what should be, or who we are. Just to find a relationship to it. . . . I mean, how as human beings do we relate to each other?” Even when Vonnegut asked Stringer if he would help a friend get off the street, Stringer replied that it was all he could do to help himself.

Overall, I found the transcript of two writers conversing on their craft to be inspiring, particularly thoughts put forth by Vonnegut. I freely admit my bias here. Here are some of my favorite quotes.

On the writing process:

Vonnegut: “If you have a hell of a lot on your mind, the language will arrive, the right words will arrive, the paragraphing will be right.”

Vonnegut in the novel Timequake:

“There is this: Attempted seductions with nothing but words on paper are so stuff for would-be-ink-stained Don Juans or Cleopatras! They don’t have to get a bankable actor or actress to commit to the project, and then a bankable director, and so on, and then raise millions and millions of buckareenies from manic-depressive experts on what most people want.”

Stringer: “I had a lot of fun trying to figure out how I was going to fill up these pages, and then, convinced that I’m not going to figure it out, bingo! Something happens. It’s like shaking hands with God. It’s really a great payoff for the hours you sit around wondering if you can do what you’re trying to do.”

Vonnegut: “But again, I’ve written a hell of a lot of crap. I’m glad I didn’t publish most of it. But there it was. I’d write for three or four hours, or all day, and ‘This is lousy.’”

Vonnegut: “Now we’re talking politics . . . . There was a time, if you were gay, you would cut out anything in the book that would give that away. Because gays were hated. And you don’t want the reader, no matter what a prick he or she may be, to hate you. . . . But that’s no longer a consideration.”

On writers and the reasons they do what they do:

Vonnegut: “And so I said in a piece in Harper’s, or a letter I wrote to Harper’s, about ‘the death of the novel’: People will continue to write novels, or maybe short stories, because they discover that they are treating their own neuroses. And I have said about the practice of the arts that practicing any art – be it painting, music, dance, literature, or whatever – is not a way to make money or become famous. It’s a way to make your soul grow. So you should do it anyway.”

“[Bill] Gates is saying, ‘Hey, don’t worry about making your soul grow. I’ll sell you a new program and, instead, let your computer grow year after year after year . . .’ – cheating people out of the experience of becoming.”

Vonnegut: “I just want to add that virtually every writer I know would rather be a musician.”

“Because music gives pleasure as we never can. Music is the most pleasurable and magical thing we can experience.”

Vonnegut: “Novelists do not envy each other, and if a writer succeeds, makes a lot of money, say, that makes all other writers happy.

So it’s a most agreeable field we’re in and I think, in a sense, we are veterans of the same battle and we know what the hell it was like. We’re not like Duke Wayne, who was never in a battle. We know what that fight was like and we respect each other for making it.

And anyone who has finished a book, whether the thing is any good or not, is a colleague of ours.”

On the reading audience:

Vonnegut: “Expecting a large number of people to be literate is like expecting everybody to play the French horn. It is extremely difficult”

(By “to be literate,” Vonnegut means to be able to read using their imagination to envision the story in their mind, to be players and produce a production, if you will, of the story for themselves. By this definition, I was not able to truly read Vonnegut until college.)

Vonnegut: “You cannot fool a reading audience!”

Vonnegut: “Partly it’s about how you hold an audience. Because they can leave.”

Vonnegut: “Nobody gives a fuck about you. They care about the book.”

On experiences of life:

Stringer: “What I’ve taken away is a certain brand of optimism. Even the bad stuff is an opportunity. There are possibilities there. In fact, I see more possibilities in adversity than in, say, lying on satin pillows.”

Vonnegut in the novel Timequake:

“We are here on Earth to fart around. Don’t let anybody tell you any different!”

Vonnegut: “Because some people are born musicians, some people are born chess players, or whatever. In school some people could run a lot faster than I could. I could write better than most people could. So, yes, I’m lucky.

Joe Heller and I recently confessed something which is shameful for writers to confess. We’d both had relatively happy childhoods, which is no way for a writer to begin.”

Vonnegut: [Regarding education] “I went to a good high school, and everything was noise after that.”

So now that I’ve had a small taste of the magic elixir that is Kilgore Trout, I need more. I can’t decide which to devour next, Player Piano or God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater. What exactly is Kilgore Trout, you say? You’ll have to read Vonnegut’s works to find out.

Vonnegut, Kurt, Lee Stringer, and Ross Klavan. Like Shaking Hands with God: a Conversation about Writing. New York: Seven Stories, 1999.

[Editor’s Note: With the exception of Cat’s Cradle, Slaughterhouse 5 and God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater, the links attached to book titles will take you to a preview of each book on Google Books. If you enjoy the preview, I suggest purchasing the book, either electronically or in hard copy. I recommend hard copy because . . . well that’s a subject for another blog post. The links attached to Cat’s Cradle and Slaughterhouse 5 will take you to entries for the titles on vonnegutweb.com (This is a great site except for the fact that it was evidently abandoned in 2005 and lacks mention of both A Man Without a Country and Vonnegut’s death in April 2007. Otherwise it is a great source of information.), which include short passages and a synopsis taken from Gale Research. These two titles are not available on Google Books, or at least I could not find them. Interestingly enough, both titles are listed among books routinely challenged or banned each year.]

My (Writers') Cramped Style

There is one thing you never see any Starfleet personnel do on any of the Star Trek TV series or films. Not one of them ever writes anything by hand. No one ever so much as signs their name. No one even types. Communications are mostly audio or visual. Data is imputed through audio commands, sensor readings, etc. The closest they come is tapping various digital buttons on a display. Entertainment media seems restricted to holodeck and recordings, both visual and audio. Occasionally, someone is seen reading from a handheld computer (the inspiration for "the Kindle", no doubt). Captain Picard was seen occasionally reading an antique book, but the implication was always one of novelty.

So where am I going with this? Well, it’s not just to illustrate my geek-dom.

Technology advances at a pace never before seen. Gadgets that once only existed in Gene Roddenberry's fanciful imagination have become reality. The prospects have always excited my sci-fi nutcase mentality. However, every good (or fantastic) advancement has one or two bummer side affects.

We are witnesses to the decline of the art of handwriting. Will our children be witnesses to the demise of writing by hand all together?

Before computers were commonplace household items, writing by hand was more convenient. Then email replaced letter writing, and often telephone calls, as the primary form of communication for most people. At least with PDAs, one could write with a stylus. However, you are restricted to a certain style of writing. Using the stylus to write proves clumsy at best. Also, it's really easy to lose the little sucker. Now that smart phones have replaced PDAs, typing is just easier, even without the luxury of a "qwerty" keyboard. These days people would rather send a text than make a phone call.

Mankind being creatures of habit and inherently nostalgic, we aren't giving up writing by hand just yet. Handwriting recognition technology has a long way to go before it is more useful than novel. But that doesn't keep researchers from seeking out innovative attempts. There are a number of tablets and pens on the market to choose from. For instance, I was given a Fly Fusion for my birthday. Marketed as a study aid for young students (5th to 9th grade), I thought I'd try it as an alternative to having to retype when I chose to write on paper. Unfortunately, it is inconvenient to use, requires rigid form in printing letters, and requires the continuing purchase of special paper. Also, I believe it is being discontinued, so the accessories are hard to find. It's little more than a passing fad.

At least perhaps it can help me improve my penmanship.

Addendum

I wrote the previous paragraphs using the LeapFrog Fly Fusion Pentop Computer. I was actually pleasantly surprised that it actually did a fairly decent job recognizing my handwriting. I guess recognition software has advanced further than I thought. Here is what I wrote:
Page 1
Page 2
Page 3
And here is the result after the program converted my effort to a word document. Obviously the document was heavily revised.
There are some nauseating draw backs, such as its tendency to end and start paragraphs at line breaks instead of when I indented. Further reading of the user guide may help to me to solve that particular annoyance. Then there’s the inability to cross out mistakes. Also, I was trying very hard to write as closely as possible to the example characters on the supplied reference guide. This is not the most comfortable way for me to write, since over the years my handwriting has taken on a style of its own. I don’t think that particular phenomenon is unique to me either. I had to concentrate on my writing so that I did not switch to cursive mid sentence. (Recognition software still has a way to go before programs will be able to read the way a person normally writes. Let’s face it; a device like this is pretty much worthless to anyone in the medical profession.) This not only made me write at a slower pace, it took my concentration away from the subject of the essay. To top it off, I quickly developed writers’ cramp due to writing so rigidly. It also didn’t help that I was writing with an instrument that is thicker than thick. If you own an electric toothbrush, try writing with it.

The biggest problem with the Fly Fusion and some other digital pens is the necessity for special notebook paper. At first I didn’t think it was that big of a deal. You have to buy notebooks anyway, and the Fly Fusion notebooks didn’t seem to be that expensive. It also requires special ink pen refills, which I didn’t think much of for the same reasons. I have Cross pens that I must buy refills for, and prefer them to the disposable kind. Leapfrog’s lack of consideration for its consumers has since changed my mind on this issue.

My sister in law is the queen of bargain hunting. She bought me the Fly Fusion for my birthday, no doubt because she was able to for around $30. She also bought it for her own kids to use for school work. Once I got it set up I started looking around the internet to buy supplies, namely notebooks and ink refills. That’s when I realized they were increasingly rare. I was able to purchase a few notebooks, but as of yet still cannot locate ink refills. So I contacted Leapfrog through their website and had a pleasant conversation in which they told me that the production of the Fly Fusion line of products (including the pens, software, ink refills and notebooks) has been discontinued. All that’s left is what’s on the market. They discontinued necessary accessories for a device that is not quite three years old, with no plans to release a new version of the device. Once I run out of notebooks and ink, I will be left with a useless electronic do-dad. Should I decide to replace it, it will be with a device that uses regular paper and preferably standard ink refills. I want to be able to use the device long after its production has been discontinued, at least as long as there are still office supply stores on every corner.

A matter of process

I went back through the archives of my blog on MySpace and was a bit disappointed. It seems not only did I not post very often, but I also didn't post much of consequence. Most of the blogs are, quite frankly, not worth reposting. So, never mind that. I've already posted the sole poem that I bothered to share on that blog. I seem to recall that the only real reason I posted it was because it was inspired by a generator someone shared on MySpace Bulletins. With inspiration coming at such rare intervals these last few years, I thought it was worth the repost. It goes to show that the muse can manifest itself in unexpected forms. It is also evidence that a person can use those silly generators to invent unique writing exercises. "Gone but not forgotten" will be the only repost to appear on "Sleeping Dragons."

I sat down to write a poem the other night and was stymied. Maybe I just wasn't in the mood. The inspiration was there, and the idea for the poem had been floating around in my head for a few days. I could picture the images I wanted to invoke. However, it was difficult to find the words and nearly impossible to find my voice. After struggling with it for a while I finally turned off the computer and slipped off to bed. I decided that I needed a different approach.

To get the creative juices flowing, I started to revisit some of my old works in progress. The better ones I will post here, starting with a short poem which makes use of a few lyrics from classic rock. This is a theme I have used once or twice in the past before I started saving my writing electronically. I am not sure if this constitutes infringement, but it hardly matters since I am currently an unpublished poet. When I post some of these older poems, I will include a date originally written, if known.

I only hope you enjoy reading them, as I did writing them.

"Come on People Now"

“Come on People Now”

God said the meek shall inherit the earth

I say let them have it

With the foul air and polluted waters

You quote your cannon and I’ll quote mine

Either “live a lie until you die”

Or “stand and be counted”

The choice is mine and yours

Having freedoms and rights

Is as pointless as having a voice

If you never speak

So “Shout” and “let it all out”

Already

Dunnica Harps

(written January, 2007)

Ulterior Motive

I used to be a writer. Specifically, I used to write poetry. It was college, perhaps the most inspiring time in a person’s young life. Everything was blissful and carefree. Everything was tragic torture. I wrote every day. Most of it mindless dribble akin to the doodles on the side of class notes. Some of it had promise. Some were even published in the school’s literary magazine. None won awards or any other sort of acclaim, yet it was an all encompassing part of my life. I couldn’t imagine there ever being a time when I wouldn’t write at least one short poem every day, let alone letting the well run dry for months at a time.

Then life happened.

I was in my twenties. I came home from work to a small one bedroom apartment and ate Top Ramen in front of the television. I went out with my friends and casually dated a slew of uninteresting bachelors who mostly were looking for the future Mrs. X. I reconnected with a past college love and eventually we were in love. I lost my long time job as an editor. Then came the wedding the same year I turned 30. I couldn’t find permanent work after that so I worked temp jobs until I became pregnant. It was a blissful time marked by moments of tortuous tragedy. I survived, but seldom wrote. Occasionally a poem would emerge, but oddly it wasn’t with the frequency of those past years.

We moved to a new apartment last year in anticipation of the birth of our son. Last week I came across my journal. It had been MIA since the move. I half-heartedly had been looking for it for a while, but it never occurred to me to just simply start a new journal. Coming across the journal triggered a realization of the apathy that I have been experiencing towards writing. Questions emerged:

What happened to the passion I once felt for my writing?

Have I changed so much that it is no longer of any importance?

Have I just been to busy? Surely I’ve had more than enough inspiration the past few years.

Is this something I really want to abandon forever?

Didn’t I always say that poetry and writing was something I wanted to pass on to my children?

Can I really live without ever writing another poem or story?

I can’t answer all these questions right now. But I still can’t imagine never writing another poem. It is still important. I do want my son to know the great joy and powerful healing that writing provided to both his mother and father. I think perhaps it is time that writing becomes a higher priority among my leisure activities.

For a while now I have been blogging on MySpace, although not with any sort of regularity. I will probably republish some of those posts onto this new blog. I hope that establishing a more formal blog will give me the push I need to take writing more seriously once again. Perhaps I can even work on two novel projects that have been collecting dust. In addition to observational and anecdotal posts, I plan to also post poems, short stories, and perhaps even excerpts from one of those novels. If I don’t do this, please send me a nasty email lambasting me for breaking my word. I will deserve it.