Copywrite

One of the bon mots of the positive thinking movement goes something like “The reason we struggle with insecurity is because we compare our behind-the-scenes with other people’s highlight reels.” As sayings go and as a product of the positive thinking movement, which can go way too far (The Secret Q.E.D.), this isn’t a bad one as its general intent is a reminder that people tend to show their best to the world and if you compare your struggles to everyone else’s best you are bound to come up wanting.

This is not to say that comparing ourselves isn’t a good thing. It’s a human and absolutely necessary thing in almost any endeavor in life. Comparison tells us whether or not we’re hewing to social norms, or by how much we’re missing them. When done constructively comparison also gives a standard to which we want to aspire or surpass.

Comparison is particularly hard to avoid in a stats-driven society. How does this baseball pitcher compare with other pitchers on his team? In his league? To himself the previous year? What was your grade point average last year? Where does it rank you compared to the rest of your class? Numbers control who wins elections and who loses. But comparison happens even when you’re looking at something that isn’t trackable with numbers and stats.

Comparison is how we determine if we, or something we’ve produced, is “good enough” and while in some forms of art comparison is pointless – try comparing a Monet to a Van Gogh sometime and see how far you get – in some art forms comparison is both useful and necessary because it not only helps you aspire it also teaches you. [Read more…] about Better than The Gap

Universe help me but I disagree with Stephen Fry about language.

I don’t wholly and completely disagree with him so I suppose I’m not damned to linguistic hell where everything is in Textlish or Twitterlish and nothing sings, dances, or rolls off the tongue like George Carlin in the back 30 minutes of a sixty minute show. And while I do not entirely disagree with him, I don’t believe he is absolutely correct either.

Someone has turned a portion of a Fry monologue about language and language pedantry into a clever animation which, sadly and ironically, lacks context like so many of the bits and bobs on the Internet. Sadly and ironically because one of Fry’s main points about why we need to abandon linguistic pedantry of the type that shudders at sentences like “She was wearing less clothes then me.” or “The data is clear.” is how context should influence how much we expect people to adhere to the rules of language.

Fry argues those of us who object to the random apostrophe thrown in out of ignorance, who would prefer that the subject in a sentence actually agree with the verb in a sentence, and who want to slap the living fuck out of people who don’t know the difference between infer and imply are overlooking the basic function of language: communication. He insults by saying people who believe linguistic rules have a place don’t enjoy language, a statement with which I disagree with every cell in my body on behalf of myself and least a handful of my friends. He states baldly any insistence rules be followed “for clarity” is merely a sop and that all we are is humorless pedants who insist language must be regimented and controlled and if someone is able to communicate what does it matter if the apostrophe is in the wrong place?

It matters.

Granted, I’ve come to accept certain conventions in context. Abbreviations that would otherwise make me want to pull my teeth out without anesthetic are now fine in the context of Twitter. You can only jam so much into 140 characters and when they steal an additional 5 characters for the technical “envelope” around any included URL you’re working with very little space in which to communicate an idea. Fry posits that we “clean up” for certain contexts. Just as you would put on a suit for a job interview, so too do you clean up the way you speak and write in a business context. It’s highly unlikely if you are prone to calling male acquaintances “dawg” you would do the same in a white collar work environment if you wanted to stay in that environment for very long.

Because I’m trying to be open minded I listened to Fry’s monologue sitting firmly on my inner pedant and I must admit he has a point. Some things that are truly linguistic sins, some things I am sure occur not only on this blog but more than likely within this very blog entry, are not only forgivable but also pass unnoticed they have become so common. I’m willing to admit this may be because American English is in many and varied ways a separate language from British English. Our vernacular is much more common, slippery, and prone to a mental hand wave when it comes to “the rules” of language. I very much doubt, in fact, that students are even taught any more that ending a sentence with a preposition is undesirable. And why would they be because that, like many rules of grammar, really doesn’t matter.

The thing is, I am a very minor linguistic pedant. Again, I suspect you could easily attribute this to being American rather than being British. I can’t get exorcised over someone using disinterested when what they mean is uninterested nor will I burst a blood vessel when someone ends a sentence with of or when they split an infinitive. I am a champion splitter of infinitives.

What I object to, and where I disagree with Fry, is the idea that passion is a valid excuse for sounding dumb as pig shit. Yes, you are communicating your point of view in your all capital letters comment on Facebook or on a blog but when you spell it “confewshun” I am forced to wonder not only about your level of clarity but also about the strength of your reasoning.

I am willing to concede that when it comes to language Marshal McLuhan was, indeed, correct about the medium being the message. No, Twitter, blog comments, and Facebook posts don’t require perfect spelling and perfect grammar, particularly when you factor in the ridiculousness of auto correct on mobile devices. Some sins are forgivable; I’m sure there’s a comma splice in this entry somewhere but I’ll be damned if I can find it right now. Some, however, are not.

So yes, I will continue to whine, wince, and whinge over the fact that people don’t seem to know the difference between your and you’re as, based on Fry’s criterion that communication be paramount, they aren’t actually communicating what they mean. I will continue to write green crayon letters in my head when a reporter on NPR, someone who should theoretically know better, tells me “the criteria for the court coming to a decision is clear.” I will continue to judge you when you don’t fucking know the difference between it’s and its because you sound like the equivalent of a chronic drunk trying to argue profoundly about politics at 2am when all the bartender wants to do is close up and take off her damn shoes.

After all, if we can’t agree that particular object is an apple or this linguistic convention means a particular thing we no longer have commonality of knowledge and once we no longer have commonality of knowledge we might as well be apes in the jungle.

Intention is an interesting beast. There are times when intention absolutely doesn’t matter; if you run over my dog with your truck it really doesn’t matter that you didn’t mean to, my dog is still dead. There are times when intention matters but it’s not enough without action; I have been intending to get back to this blog, to refocus, to start writing again, for months now, and but, no blog entries manifest, I’m three months behind on exercises for my writers’ group and my novels still remain unedited and singular.

Yet…

Without intention, without those first steps we’d never do anything. Action would not be possible without the intent to act, without the desire, so how do you cross that bridge from intention – “I meant to lose that 10 pounds/to write that novel/learn to program/go on that trip around the world.” – to action?

Inaction is certainly a function of inertia. For most of us, it’s infinitely easier to stay in whatever rut we’re in than it is to change. Indeed, most people, if you can extrapolate from the 10,000 people studied, move in an orbit of less than 6 miles in diameter. And is it any wonder? Change challenges our assumptions about the world. It pushes us to the edges of our comfort zones with our perceptions of the world, ourselves, and how those two things relate. At what point does inaction become a conscious choice to “not do?”

Wu wei, the concept of “not doing,” is a key principle in Taoism but it’s not really that simple. From the interpretation that wu wei literally means “not doing” and the only way to practice it is to withdraw into mediation to the idea that wu wei is more about right action at the right time with the recognition that you are part of a larger system, this “not doing” isn’t the same as inertia nor does it require intent. With wu wei intent is irrelevant because you are so in tune with the universe you know exactly what is needed when.

What I want, bad Taoist that I am, is to get to a place where this reflex to write not only fires at all but is sharp enough and trained enough that I only notice it when it doesn’t fire.

I’m finding that I don’t much enjoy reading like a writer. Yes, I know I need to do it.

After all, it can only help my own craft to be able to look critically at something someone else had constructed and figure out how it works. This deconstruction is something I do all the time in my day job, and I have no problem doing it with movies  – part of my mind unconsciously analyzing where the lights were when the scene was shot and where the edits are both visually and aurally in a film doesn’t seem to detract one bit from my enjoyment of the motion picture which is why a long time ago I started asking people if they wanted the film school review or the normal person review – but doing the same thing with fiction seems to sap all the enjoyment out of the story for me. Perhaps it’s just a matter of training. I can still vaguely recall when doing the same with movies wasn’t routine.

So, I’ve been trying to read more consciously, more critically if you will. I set myself an easy starting target: Stephen King. He’s easy not because his writing is less than but because it is so good and so accessible at the same time. I’m just afraid it’s going to take me a while given the size of his latest.

Oh, yes, and there are couple of dribbles of small fiction in the fictionblog with more to come.