It's hard to find an easy answer to what releases a writer to write and what makes one retreat. In talking to a few Ensemblees lately though, it seems as if we may have clammed up en masse—a collective writers bloc/k.
I love the scene in Adaptation where Charlie Kaufman (played by Nicolas Cage) attempts to sit down and write. What transpires is a marvelous internal dialogue between conflicting voices that come up with a bunch of reasons why he needs to write...and yet things aren't quite right.To begin... To begin... How to start? I'm hungry. I should get coffee. Coffee would help me think. Maybe I should write something first, then reward myself with coffee. Coffee and a muffin. So I need to establish the themes. Maybe a banana nut. That's a good muffin.
For a few minutes, Kaufman considers all the possible reasons for his blockage: the position of his desk, his general writing location, his level of tiredness, and his hunger. They're more explanations than causes though.
My guess is that for most, the number one enemy of unbridled writing is time. Pretty obvious I guess. Writing is generally the product of thought. And talking, reading and listening. Rumination, meditation and contemplation. Lots of 'shuns' all over the place that gestate and give birth to written expression.
These things take time.
So, while the Ensemble loosens the bowels of their minds with the fibre of contemplation and motivation, why not start talking? What gets you unstuck? Assuming you figure that writing stuff down is a better-than-average means of processing the gear in our internal and external worlds, what gets you un-stuck when you become a tad constipated?
I figure we could all use a little help...
Sunday, August 5, 2007
The Writers' Bloc
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Caffeinated words
I'm working on a design project for a coffee client at the moment and have unearthed a few piquant coffee quotes along the way (and conjured a few of my own). If you've got some grist for the mill, feel free to pony up! There's a coffee in it.
Here's a tidy little fella to ponder:As soon as coffee is in your stomach, there is a general commotion. Ideas begin to move...similes arise, the paper is covered. Coffee is your ally and writing ceases to be a struggle. (Honore de Balzac)
And here's another good'un:I never drink coffee at lunch—I find it keeps me up all afternoon (Ronald Reagan)
Monday, May 21, 2007
In praise of mediated texts
There are plenty of reasons why Simon and Fi’s ‘One Day in July’ holds the top spot on my Weddings-O-Friends Leaderboard and one of them is a cd. Seventeen songs attended my way on the drive to New Norcia last year, and they’ve attended most of the social events held at the Bessell Vessel since then too. As a cd, it’s a perfect mix of sweet songs and true songs and songs by Michael Jackson and it plays beautifully when driving or drinking coffee. But I don’t love it for the songs; I love it for what it tells me about Simon and Fi and the plans they had for that day.
A High Fidelity friend put together some cds for my birthday, and by the third time through, I realized that I actually have a thing for mixes. When I buy a cd, it takes ages to get beyond the assessment stage – do I like it, should I have spent the money, am I going to end up stashing the darn thing with the other embarrassing mistakes, Gwen…? But the HFF has pretty reliable (if firm) views on the tunes, so I came to it expecting good stuff – and there it was. Sure, there were surprises. And some stuff I can only shake my head at. Still, the whole thing feels like a meandering, generous, disputative conversation, and I like it.
It got me thinking: there are actually lots of things that I like better when they’re mediated through someone with a point of view. Thus: Nick Hornby published a collection of columns he wrote about books he’d bought and books he’d read, and it was officially the best thing that happened to me last summer. It helps that Nick can reliably elicit a chuckle and a half per page, but I felt like I’d read all the good bits, and skated lightly over the stodgy bits of the things he’d read. It was like getting dessert without having to eat my veggies, and given that the proportion of carrots to carrot cake in my reading diet is getting really out of hand, that was a Very Good Thing.
I haven’t had a tv for a while now, and I don’t miss it, mostly because I experience secondhand programming through televisionwithoutpity.com; it’s a case of secondhand being very definitely not second best. So, for example, I don’t care at all about American Idol – I don’t even care about Australian Idol – but host-of Ryan Seacrest as a cross between Frankenstein’s monster and Dorian Gray? Heh… Who’da thought a karaoke competition habitually won by outfits rather than singers could work better without sound or visuals?
Oh yeah. Remember the slow bits in Spiderman 3? (Which ones, you say? All of ‘em.) Now imagine sitting through them with the phrase ‘Evil Space Licorice’ running through your head. Way better, right? OK, I rarely go into a movie without being able to give a pretty good précis of the major plot points. But I’m happy to give up being surprised in favour of being able to greet Spidey’s nemesis like an old friend. Dana and David come to the movies with me and they're good people to hang with.
It would be nice to have a point to make here. Maybe something about experiencing God through other people? The importance of both creation and interpretation? How 'bout: I'll bake for mixtapes!
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
Name it. Claim it.
Over the last few months, Fi and I have been in the name-hunting business. Twelve weeks out from meeting our little girl, we've got pretty much the same shortlist that we had 6 months ago (we jettisoned some boys names at the 13-week mark), but we've done a bit of clarifying along the way.
Names mean things. Through the passage of time they've either been invested with meaning or derived from words with a particular meaning. And words have power.
It turns out I'm a listener, I'm snub-nosed, and curiously, I'm a little hyena. I fare a litle better with Elliott (close to God, the Lord is my God). Monica, a counsellor at Riverview that I work with, translates 'to warn', 'to guide' and 'to counsel'. Bronwyn, who I work with at The Globe, means fair-breasted one. I remind her often.
Names can reflect the relationship with the 'namer' or the visionary intent of the namer for the namee. Moira (longed-for child) tells you more about the 'namer' perhaps. Verity (truth) might be something you want to talk up in your little girl compared to Jezebel (follower of idols) as much as you might think it has a certain ring to it. Misty (clouded and obscure) might be fine for a swimmer, but maybe you're after a little more clarity. If it's a faithful friend you're after, Kylie (boomerang) could be the way to go. Flynn (son of the red-haired man) could be the deal if you're a wranger although Geraint (old man) mightn't be kind to your infant. Gilbert (bright hostage) is probably not a mandate you want to place on a life and Dwayne (dark little one) could be a difficult one to overcome, although Gideon (powerful warrior) or Lorimer (harness maker) could be more up your alley. Horses for courses I guess.
In the story of the People of God, we see names changed to reflect a change in mission or direction. Sarai has a name change to Sarah and has a bunch of kids. Abram, with a simple 'ha' becomes the father of many nations. Jacob is permitted to assign his misdemeanors to different name and, in his struggle, becomes Israel. Simon has a name change to Peter and becomes the foundation for the church. Perhaps it was all this name-changing shenanigans that prompted Eric to write 'would you know my name, even if it was Kevin'?
When you name something, you both ascribe or invest a particular meaning to it. And you declare 'I know you'. This is relevant in Jacob's story, but not right now.
Got a name?
Sunday, April 29, 2007
A hard hat and an orange vest...
Is how I’m choosing to accessorize these days. They match well with my steel capped boots, dirty jeans and hard yakka shirt that just won't die.
The smell of diesel and hydraulic fluid becomes comforting after a while, kind of reminds you of the size of the machine you're in charge of. I tend to find a sense of isolation in personal protective equipment; ear plugs, hard hat, safety glasses seem to soften the world a bit and somehow promote escape to a world of thought and wonder. The noise of the drill rig drifts off into the background and I think of my God, ponder a few verses from 1st Timothy, my thoughts escape to my wife and how much I miss her, one starts wondering about the exchange rate between the American and the Australian dollar, and what will become of the Iraq war and I wonder how many people died from a suicide bomb in a Baghdad market today and is it more or less than will die tomorrow.
The view laid out before me is breathtaking. High Andes Mountains with cloud forest, so named because the cloud lingers in the valleys like some kind of lord of the rings scene. Waterfalls slide over crevices in the rock faces and tumble hundreds if not thousands of metres crashing to the valley floor below, fed by high alpine lakes nestled an equal distance above in the zone where the air is to thin to sustain much vegetation beyond a few isolated clumps of tussock. The sun glints off the corrugated iron roofs of the mud huts across the valley, a firm indication of just how much rain this place gets in the wet season as its not common for a campesino to spend money on things that aren't absolutely necessary.
Families pass each other on the roads on the way to and from the village at the base of the valley where they load their donkeys high with supplies of beans, rice, potato and corn, perhaps a few beers as a treat after a hard day tilling the fields in the rain behind the ox. Each group of people carry a large antiquated AM radio to listen to the local notices broadcast from the small township about two valleys over, as that is the nearest place with a power supply. This is the only means of communication for the people at this end of the valley who live in the primitive collection of mud huts perched on the slopes. The radios remind me of the kind that grandpa used to have in the shed where the mellow sounds of the national program would drift out while he did something as meaningful as tinkering with an old rotary hoe or tapping the lead out of lead head nails to take to the scrap metal dealer. Today is a festival in the village at the bottom of the valley and many of the men have a rooster under their arm to compete in the cock-fight later this afternoon. The union between man and poultry is not easily broken. Many of the men will drink too much and fall asleep on the horse on the way home, or perhaps not make it home at all and stop by the track near the river for a spell while the rooster, tethered to the mans leg by a red rope, pecks at the bugs oozing out of the wet soil. The nightly rainfall may wake him up in time to find shelter, or he may be woken from the mud the next morning by a large bulldozer thundering past.
The valleys are a patchwork of green and more green; the crops springing up in the fields on the distant slopes offer the appearance of the world’s most difficult golf course. The rivers are swollen from the end of the wet season rains and the tranquility of the valley makes you wonder why all that water is in such a rush to get somewhere. In actual fact it is headed swiftly to the Rio Chotano, which will eventually meet with the Rio Amazon, make its way past Columbia across the border to Brazil and emerge on the other side of the continent where after about 200km of travel into the Southern Atlantic Ocean that same bit of water will for the first time meet with some salt and become part of the liquid blue that surround our humble home. I sit down by the river while waiting for my equipment to equilibrate in the cold murky water, write a prayer on a rock and launch it into the torrent. The splash is swept away in a millisecond. In the distance I hear the reversing alarm of some earthmoving equipment which has been replaced by a device that plays the first line of the Lambada tune every time the driver shifts into reverse, instantly reminding me of where I am and the work I need to continue doing. In a few days, God willing, a helicopter will land and take me back to the traffic and heat of Chiclayo, followed by the craziness of Lima and the warm embrace of a wife.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
The Occasional Ensemblee Series:
Revelation by the banks of St. Lawrence River
Cacophony's first occasional ensemblee steps aboard from the northern half of the earth. Ladies and Gentleman, please give a warm Cacophony welcome to Mr Gavin Eva.
Today, I needed to escape the daily hustle and bustle of the centre downtown Montreal streets, so I walked about 5 kms to the quiet banks of the St Lawrence River, and sat for a few hours. I read Psalm 86 which tells of God's ever present help whenever we need him—all we need to do is ask. Whatever situation we find ourselves in, God's love is there in the troubled storms of life and the unforgivable mistakes we make along the diverse paths we travel along (He snatched me from the brink of disaster). The last verse says it all for me;As You, God, gently and powerfully put me back on my feet.
This made me think about all the unanswered questions in life that I have faced over the past couple of days.
(The Message)
1. Why is it that I take the common approach in life; and begin to rationalize my decisions dependant on what others are doing? I find that my mind will find any reason to find what is right/wrong, and if everybody else is doing it or not then it is not that bad. I believe the easiest way to answer this conundrum in life is my interpretation of the bait, and learning to steer clear of those moments (and what comes out of my mouth) through constantly renewing my mind. All I ask God is that he grants me the attitude of integrity; to have courage in the face of adversity, for there is never a wrong time to do the right thing.
2. Why is it that I sometimes choose to take the easier path, rather than seizing the God-given opportunities placed before me? I know through my journey of life that God is more interested in my character than my comfort.
I figure God would not have allowed me this awesome opportunity to travel if I was not being greatly challenged to grow. Problems in life lead to perspective, perseverance, and perfection ('P' words); and the difference with successful people is not that they have less problems; they just handle those problems differently. I know that problems that bubble through to the surface for me cause me such frustration, heart ache and angst, yet I need to learn that is part of the growing process (pain is what makes me more human). The potential possibility for growth is inside us all, and yet sometimes I fail to discover my real destiny. Why did I miss the
opportunity and avoid speaking to the lady (the one with 'chicken bum' lips) at the hotel today who just wanted to tell me about what was happening in her life. Why didn't I give her my listening ear even for a few minutes? Why did I only start writing down my trials, struggles and elation after leaving everything behind in Perth. Why did I leave so many missed moments uncaptured?
3. Why does God only speak to us when we are ready to receive? As I lie in the lush green grass, see the magnificence that was created, soak up the sun, look down on the wide cobblestone road below, the century old market place buildings on my left, and the tremendous amount of water flowing in front of me; I start to feel some of God's presence. Why is it that in my vain efforts to achieve anything, be someone notable, and be recognized or
status driven; I forget about the simple fact that all God wants is for us to take time out and be still. I have discovered that worry and worship do not mix at all, and that all that really matters in life is God and relationships with people. I must keep reminding myself to take time away from what needs to be achieved daily, and spend more time in God's quiet presence.
I'll let Henry David Thoreau finish up for me:A single rain makes the grass many shades greener. So our prospects brighten on the influx of better thoughts.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
You're tops: The Moleskine Notebook
I'm not sure what I did before Moleskines. I think I used some boofy A4 spiral notepads (not the Spirex variety that Karyn Ash has a penchant for) that some paper companies had given me.
My writing life changed quite radically in 2002. I discovered the humble Moleskine notebook lurking in a store in King Street, Perth. Since then I've written and designed my way through a tower of these marvels of simplicity.
The Moleskine (pronounced with an Italian tongue, mola-skina) carries on in the tradition of the legendary leather-bound notebooks of intellectuals and artists such as Van Gogh, Matisse and Hemingway. For these giants, the notebooks carried the sketches, thoughts and musings of their day. They briefly disappeared after centuries of production in 1986 but re-appeared following the outcry of one man: Bruce Chatwin. Bruce got the ball rolling once more and we're the beneficiaries of his passion.
There's nothing remarkable about the Moleskine other than its elegant simplicity. A rigid black moleskine cover, an elastic closure and thread binding. Either blank, lined or squared and two sizes: pocket and large. While a lithe 80-page cashiers-style journal exists, the classic variety is the hard-covered, 240-page icon.
And that's about it. Except that there's something alluring about these babies. A call to write, design, plan or ponder that still calls me.
From the first one I purchased I realised that there was some heritage to live up to. There was something about the first moments of taking it from a 'book in a bag' to 'my journal' that gave it gravity. Since then, mine have all begun in exactly the same fashion: name, phone, reward.
Along the way there's been some different starts and false starts. Journal Numero Uno began a little something like this:This is a creative writing space. No daily journalling—no matter how succinct, inspirational or piquant—should ever find its way into here. Unless of course, its creativity and craftedness renders it a necessary addition. It may contain some 'occasional thoughts'. After all, a premise such as this should be liberating, not stifling. One more challenge: use this space wisely. Stretch your writing, expand your thinking, hone your craft. Make it a place of depth and length and breadth. And take it a little further than before.
Yep, it's fair to say I'm prone to a little hyperbole when let of the leash...
A new journal in 2003 begins with this inscription:These are the thoughts and musings of a man with an eternal destination made possible through the inexplicable grace and mercy of the Lord Jesus. A man who will, on that glorious day, be presented faultless, spotless and without guilt or shame before His presence with exceeding joy.
And so it goes...
These days I don't attempt the profound opening inscription but usually begin with a fresh 'prime' journal reflecting the 'word of the year' and the year ahead (usually the same thing). My 2007 word is 'spacious' so the first entry in this year's journal articulates what it means to have a spacious year/be spacious/embrace spaciousness/extend boundaries. 2006 was robust, 2005 - gidiup!, 2004 - fresh, 2003 - simplicity, 2002 - revel, 2001 - also. 2000? No idea - I was probably surprised we got past midnight.
I have about six on the go at the moment (I dealt with the narrow usage specifications a little while back):
1. My basic writing and devotional journal (240pp, black)
2. A journal for lectures, sermon notes, cell-group prep. and BusinessLife notes (240, black)
3. Slimline version #1: For my weekly songlists for leading worship at Riverview (80pp, kraft)
4. Slimline version #2: Household budgeting and financial planning (80pp, kraft)
5. Slimline version #3: Globe work gear: meetings/budgets/goals and stuff
6. My 2007 Moleskine Diary
I'm pretty sure that I've boarded the M-train.
There's something sensorily-stimulating about running your fingers over the handwritten text contained within a Moleskine. I limit myself to using a ball-point for any writing so that I can embrace the pleasure.
I'm not alone in my veneration of the little black book either. Blogs pay homage. And, just recently, an exhibition in London featured the artistic works contained within 72 different Moleskines.
Moleskines don't scream from the mountaintops. Nor are they hungry to consume space. They're understated, simple, functional, reluctant heroes capable of being home to the profound, the mundane, the trivial and the memorable. Beware of using the Moleskine... decisions can be made, books written, ideas hatched, dreams incubated and desires nourished that may result in radical life-change. Deeper intimacy with God, greater clarity of purpose, a financial plan, a better way, increased courage and, perhaps, more succinct expression. I'm still working on that last one.
Come to think of it. If it does half of those things, don't beware—just go out and buy one. Tell your story.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Count the cost
More often than not, I write because I have something to say. Sometimes though, I just want to write. In those times, my muddling prose doesn't see the light of day (other than on the pages of a journal). Today, it's being dragged into the annals of cacophony.
Last Thursday, I was talking to a mate of mine, Mal, about speaking and preaching... We talked about an exercise that's fairly typical in a presentation skills course or a Toastmasters meeting. In the exercise, you stand up, introduce yourself and tell the audience that 'you will be speaking on the subject of...'. At this point, you pause momentarily while some pre-ordained member of the audience yells out the topic and away you go. A little like theatre sports, yet most likely of no comedic value.
I just asked my wife, Fi, what it might be good to write on and she filled the blank space with... the spiritual lessons to be learned in building a house.
This is relevant to us right now. Given the small size of our home and the family expansion program we have undertaken (a little girl while be showing up in around eighteen-and-a-half weeks!) we're planning to build. We've had sporadic conversations about it over the last twelve months, but they've started to ramp up in colour and intensity over the last couple of months. The plan is to begin to build (or pitch a larger tent) by the end of the year. And that's where the fun begins. Having built once before I can testify: there's not much fun involved.
The process of building can reveal a lot about us. It can say a few things about our vision for the future as well. Not to mention the future of our bank accounts.
The first hurdle for me has been: do we really need to build? Fiona tells me the answer to that question is very definitely 'yes' so perhaps I should simply move on to the next hurdle. But let's camp here for a few lines. Our natural, societal-informed inclination is that my answer must be 'yes'. In fact, I not only need a bigger house, I need a bigger car, a bigger investment portfolio, a bigger boat and a bigger business. Somewhere along the way, any glimmer of simplicity is extinguished. I'm not advocating martyrdom or pauperdom, but I am keen for simplicity to burn brightly. My thought is that we should think. We should think about the necessity of stuff and things and the trade-off for that stuff and those things. This clearly has implications beyond me.
Simplicity isn't poverty, it's economics: making decisions about the allocation of scarce resources. And that definitely goes beyond me. If we all decide to leave our lights on, we'll either have a power shortage or a need for bigger power stations. Yet, if we decide to only use electricity when we really need it and not be wasteful, we'll find there's enough. This obviously comes back to stewardship. I think it was John Wesley who said: 'Gain all you can, save all you can, give all you can'. What I can give is determined by what I have left after I've done what I'm going to do with what I've gained. My consuming/spending decisions have a profound effect on my ability to give.
Yes, this is all coming back to building a house.
Jesus said, in Luke 14:28, "Suppose one of you wants to build a tower. Will he not first sit down and estimate the cost to see if he has enough money to complete it? For if he lays the foundation and is not able to finish it, everyone who sees it will ridicule him, saying, 'This fellow began to build and was not able to finish.'
In many ways, Jesus was throwing out a no-brainer. But he knows us better than we can know ourselves. Depending on our wiring, we can be more about chasing a one-dimensional dream than counting the cost.
The second hurdle for me has been a spiritual one as much as a financial one. If a decision I make in one area of life could remove the ability for me to say 'yes' to God in another, then I need to ponder that decision prayerfully and intentionally. If I feel called to serve God in a particular way (that perhaps requires a more frugal existence) and yet I plough ahead and build something that determines that I need to earn even more over the next 25 years, then I'm intentionally or unintentionally telling God the parts of my life that are available and those that can't be touched. I'm not for a moment discounting the ability for God to supernaturally provide. He does: I've seen it and experienced it. And yet, I think he blesses our obedience and our desire to give ourselves to him. Sometimes He blesses us despite ourselves (just to remind us who's in control) but, most times, it's about partnership; us putting our hands in His and going for a long walk. On that walk we learn the unforced rhythms of grace that issue from a life that operates on his economy not ours.
Proverbs 11:24 tells us that while 'The world of the generous gets larger and larger; the world of the stingy gets smaller and smaller'. My thought is this: we can be generous with little and we can be generous with much. And our decisions regarding the stewardship of 'all we have gained' financially determines the resources available for generosity. I'm not saying this to compare one person's generosity with another; the widow gave a coin and gave all she had. What I'm saying is that our world becomes larger through the stewardship of what we have - this is intrinsically linked to the decisions we've made. And the extent to which we've 'counted the cost'.
Each of us has particular needs. While people in Vietnam often have families of five on a small scooter, that would incur a fine where I live. And so a family of five is probably getting around in a larger car...or an SUV...or a station-wagon. That's practical for our context. I'm not arguing for us to sell up and move to a commune in the hills. What I am proposing is a reflection of what informs that stuff. What itch do our acquisitions scratch? And should they being scratch by someone other than stuff? Jesus said to seek his Kingdom before anything else. When our perspective is re-oriented we find that everything we need is added to us. We may also find along the way that the things that we thought needed to be added no longer need to be.
In some ways, the entire point of this post lies here: the stuff that we decide we need ends up making decisions for us. The houses we build, the credit we burn, the cars we drive, the energy we expend...all of these have a butterfly effect over the rest of our lives. Not always immediately apparent, but it's there. Sometimes filling in cracks where air could once be inhaled and exhaled, sometimes opening cracks where there was once relationship and the freedom to enjoy moments.
If you're waiting for the moment that I'll dismount from the soapbox, please forgive me. I've made my share of decisions that removed choices. Perhaps they make me more cautious now. Or it could be that the things I value have changed over time too. And so, the value I now place on some areas becomes more sacred than others. More worthy of protection. The preeminence of mission is gradually shaping what, why, when and how I build the things I try and build.
A legendary Australian, Daryl Kerrigan, once said that 'a man's home is his castle'. But he also said 'it's not a house, it's a home' and 'you can't build what I've got'. If there's a place to finish up, it's right there. Don't forgo the stuff of life that can't be built with money for the things that can. Legacies and relationships cannot be 'compulsorily acquired'...but our stuff can get eaten by moths and rust.
I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life. Deuteronomy 30:19
Saturday, March 3, 2007
The nonsensical world of spam
I recieve a daily spam letter with some hoax share tips, and a nice little paragraph composed of what appears to be several articles sewn together with a sentence from each in random order.
So, here's todays offering, quite an example of creative writing with a bit more of a human rights/social justice theme than the usual company announcements they throw together in a the melting pot of gobbledegook. Make sense of it if you can, maybe there's a deeper message in spam for all of us.....
Angella Imoni, 21, was summoned by her husband to Jinja. "With multiple point solutions and multiple products you'll never be able to reach the next level of information rights management," says Holt. But the benefits of extending banking services to women entrepreneurs are significant. Her historical antecedents attested that she was worthy in word and character to play the complementary role. SAVVIS' security legacy dates back over two decades and has demonstrated proven reliability and a superior level of protection. And local leaders, parents and teachers must give special attention and support to 'invisible girls'," said Ms Nepaul. "She disclosed that her mother, who left school at the age of 14, was her role model, because she raised her children single-handedly. "The lives of countless Africans have been lost or harmed by war, crime, famine or disease and abortion, legal and illegal threatens to destroy the next generation of African children," he said. The project was funded by VSO-Namibia through the British High Commission's Volunteer placement Support Fund. "We were particularly interested in the power of the Cisco ASA, and the fact that SAVVIS can now deliver it as a managed service makes it even more attractive. "He said what women in Africa need is obstetric care to treat pregnancy-related diseases not abortion in any form. Once the electroscope is charged, the gold leaf lifts away from the stem as a result of electrostatic repulsion. "Girls remained at high risk of being sexually abused, exploited and trafficked for commercial purposes. Violence, she said, remained pervasive and was perpetrated by family members, strangers and agents of the State in all regions of the world. TWikiPreferences: TWiki site-level preferences Notes:You are currently in the Main web. It is like a teacher-pupil relationship. No country in the world has achieved equality of the sexes in the key areas of education, health, employment and politics. Clearly, Reich's value for g is slightly higher than the accepted value for gravitational acceleration at the Earth's surface. The design of the Cisco ASA makes the creation of these independent networks less complex.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Why Post?
‘Post’: to display something in a public place
It seems that the sword has triumphed over the pen (temporarily, at least) as the efforts to persuade me to post have succeeded.
Money could not; incriminating publicity could not (see‘Paid to Post’ scandle descends into “Postgate”; Tue Feb 20, 2007), but finally the ‘pen’ has submitted to the latest threats of physical assault, recognizing that I value my health and well-being more than my sustained resistance against joining the avalanche of happy-go-lucky, carefree cyber-writers, web-posters, and ‘my-space’ bloggers (Although, now that I think about it, the threats did come by word in the first place, so what did actually triumph?).
So, having maintained silence for such a long time, I suspect by now the audience anticipation for the “debut Post” must be so greatly heightened as to surely guarantee disappointment. I would at this point draw your attention to the words of an ancient writer who was instructing a group of wayward-but-well-meaning church-goers, who stated, “I care very little if I am judged by you or any human court. I do not even judge myself.”
In light of such opening remarks, I assure you my debut contribution will be brief.
Actually, it is more of a question. Two words, but ample room for response:
“Why Post?”
Perhaps I could better capture the tone of my question by asking, “Why bother?”
I recognize that I picked up this attitude toward posting not because I actually believed it had no value, but, in being honest with myself, something in me didn’t believe that what I had to offer was of any value.
Maybe you can only value the work of another if you first learn to see value in your own.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
'Paid to Post' scandle descends into "Postgate"
A radical underhanded plan to lure non-active writers into posting on The Cacophony Ensemble took a nasty turn yesterday amidst allegations that some writers were offered financial incentives and being subjected to undue emotional pressures to contribute.
Embroiled in the controversy, serial recalcitrant non-posters Mr Douglas Smythe, Booragoon and Miss Karyn Ash, Como felt they could no longer stay silent and visibly broke down earlier today. Ash said that it was not simply the efforts to persuade her financially that had forced her to break her silence.
'My ability to function effectively in the workplace and in the student environment has been severely undermined by the undue pressures placed on me to write by The Cacophony Ensemble', Ash said.
'It's the labels, the barbs and the on-going innuendo that have resulted in the whole situation becoming untenable', Ash added.
'While their intent maybe ultimately wholesome, some of the methods employed to induce contributions have left me feeling uncomfortable and quite honestly, a little sacred. Sorry scared.'
Douglas Smythe also weighed in to the scandal by accusing The Cacophony Ensemble of heavy-handed bullying.
'I don't think anyone should be subjected to these strong-arm tactics regardless of their gender, creed, colour or beliefs. What these writers fail to understand is that the sword is actually mightier than the pen. The euphemism is not reality. It's been a long time since I was involved in the martial arts game, but I still have my sword and am willing to take up arms against my oppressors', Smythe said.
While Smythe and Ash sought the counsel of other friends in their distress, they were largely assured that their 'Paid to Post' problems were probably piqued by a penchant for alliteration and perhaps of their own fabrication. A suitable solution, it was suggested, would be to 'get over it and write'.
George Orwell: 12 Writing Tips
Some good fuel for writing from George.
George Orwell has earned the right to be called one of the finer writers in the English language through such novels as 1984 and Animal Farm, such essays as “Shooting an Elephant,” and his memoir Down and Out in Paris.
George expressed a strong dislike of totalitarian governments in his work, but he was also passionate defender of good writing. Thus, you may want to hear some of George’s writing tips.*
A scrupulous writer, in every sentence that he writes, will ask himself at least four questions, thus:
1. What am I trying to say?
2. What words will express it?
3. What image or idiom will make it clearer?
4. Is this image fresh enough to have an effect?
And he will probably ask himself two more:
1. Could I put it more shortly?
2. Have I said anything that is avoidably ugly?
One can often be in doubt about the effect of a word or a phrase, and one needs rules that one can rely on when instinct fails. I think the following rules will cover most cases:
1. Never use a metaphor, simile, or other figure of speech which you are used to seeing in print.
2. Never use a long word where a short one will do.
3. If it is possible to cut a word out, always cut it out.
4. Never use the passive where you can use the active.
5. Never use a foreign phrase, a scientific word, or a jargon word if you can think of an everyday English equivalent.
6. Break any of these rules sooner than say anything outright barbarous.
* From “Politics and the English Language” by George Orwell.