Grammar Precisionism Is a Big Fat Pyramid Scheme Part I

By El Ochiis

     There, I said it. No, actually, another critic in a

literary magazine stated that Grammar was a Ponzi Scheme and I,

not only agreed, but was glad someone else, who already had a

publishing career and contract, finally said that which I’ve

always believed.  Every time I write something, I have imagined

a secret underground bunker in some location in the universe

that houses volumes of Grammar Penal Codes; Therein is a list of

all the things I’d be in error to commit – crap, have I just

violated a grammar tenet of monumental stature? I feel so

bohemian – a rebel with a very valid cause.

     Who is this grammar enforcement and who appointed them said

title?

     Even the Ponzi scheme is a Ponzi scheme.  The original idea

had already been carried out by a woman named Sara Howe, in

Boston in the 1880’s. But, someone, with some concealed regulation book of rules and appointments of history, attributed the concept, renaming it, after an Italian man, named Charles Ponzi, much later, in the 1920’s. The same appointees, who robbed Sara Howe of her rightful authorship of the schematic fortitude to defraud solely female clientele by charging them an eight-percent monthly interest rate, and then stealing the money that the women had invested, could, possibly, be the very ones overseeing grammar guidelines. A scheme in a scheme, I resound. And, yes, the sentence before this short one, as well as others herein, is lengthy; all hail long sentences. Martin Luther King: “A Letter from Birmingham Jail.” 310 words; Marcel Proust: “Remembrance of Things Past.” 958 words; and, Gabriel Garcia Marquez: “The Last Voyage of the Ghost Ship.” 2,156 words. Go off you scribes of creative fiction, build great and extended sentences. Don’t forget to toss in some necessarily appropriate words ending in “ly”.

     I meant, “ladies and gentlemen of the jury, who really

knows what an infinitive is?”  And having acknowledged this,

what human can actually, decipher when he or she has split one.

An infinitive is the uninflected form of a verb along
with to – to jump; to run; to correct. “She urged me to casually walk up and complain,” should be written, instead, as: “She urged me to walk up and casually complain.” Listen you, alleged,

grammar purists, Henry James and Rudyard Kipling split

infinitives and they weren’t detained.

     A dangling participle, you say?  And, which offenders keep

dangling them?  Participles are a type of verbs; they act as

adjectives. See, this is so confusing.  “The filtered water

tastes great.” Filter is an adjective that modifies water and is

derived from the verb: “filter.”  “Sitting on the park bench,

the moon disappeared behind the building.”  “Sitting on the park

bench” has nothing to modify and is just existing there, by

itself, thus, dangling.

Which and what governing body decided that the following sentence is incorrect: “Him wants to eat dinner”. I can hear your imperiously hifalutin tone there, Ms. Prudence Persnickety, when you emphatically replied: “It’s ungrammatical, the pronoun is in the object form instead of the subject form he.” But the rule that says to use a subject pronoun here was not decided by some governing body. It wasn’t an idea someone came up with and then demanded English speakers comply. Instead, this grammar rule is derived from how people actually use the language. Grammar, therefore, is at its heart, a set of standards based on common practice. If suddenly everyone in the English-speaking world started saying him wants instead of he wants, sometime in the next century him would be correct, sanctioned by every grammar authority alive.

Grammar Precisionism Is a Big Fat Pyramid Scheme Part II

By El Ochiis

“Oh dear”, admonished Madame Persnickety, with a supercilious sneer: “That’s not JUST non-standard English, it IS complete and utter, savage colloquialism.” Stick a pencil behind your ear, position yourself in a James Dean stance, by folding your arms across your chest, and diplomatically demand: “Tell me the rule I have broken your ladyship?” I’ve refused to capitalize the “L” in protest, that may or may not be entirely due to my intent of a grammar revolt.

Firstly, if Prudence Persnickety began using a phrase and it caught on, everyone else would be using it. Take for example, “currying favor.” It’s “currying Favel”, from a French poem about a horse. “For all intents and purposes,” not, “all intensive purposes”; “A damp squib”, not “squid”.

     If all the people made the same mistake, it could come to

take root in our collective consciousness, sometimes replacing

the original phrases entirely.

If someone was wildly mistaken, would you say they had another thing coming? Well, it’s actually another “think” coming. But, this correct phrase, to most of you, just sounds all kinds of wrong.

     These are the sorts of changes that keeps lexicographers

updating their dictionaries so that they reflect how language is

really being used by people, rather than instruct on how

language should be used.

The grammar enforcement, the screiben das Gefangnis, yes, it’s my opinion they could, most likely, be German. What other language can scare the daylights out of you when vocalized by humans in black uniforms wearing monocles? Your punishment, though, will be British – literature that is – the most insipid English prose. Your reading list will consist of three sleep inducing novels – read one-hundred times each - staying awake is imperative: Nathaniel Hawthorne’s “The Marble Faun”; Spenser’s “Faerie Queene”; and, John Milton’s “Paradise Lost. Quizzes on all things Milton will be given for the sole purpose of driving you to ways to plot your escape. Consequently, the guards will apprehend you and throw you into solitary confinement with a bound copy of George Elliot’s “Silas Marner,” along with, copies of: The Cambridge Handbook for Editors, Authors and Publishers; The King’s English; and, The Oxford Style Manual – the guards are, indeed, sadistic.

     Good luck on your appeal to the non-existent, invisible

guardians of the grammar penitentiary system.

Their source, conveniently, is never revealed. They know what’s wrong but they will never tell you how they know – as if they have the only copy, in existence, of the “Grammar Penal Code” and you don’t, so you will forever be at their mercy.

     Be careful what you write in your petition and how you

write it because every word you pen or speak, will put you in

danger of an extended sentence or, re-incarceration for breaking

a rule you never knew even existed.

     However, there is hope, if enough people commit the same

grammar infraction, yours might end up in the dictionary -

paradoxically confusing, isn’t it?  The grammar law universe can

reverse itself.

If, by chance, you do manage to get released from grammar detention, as you exit the gargantuan, iron doors, peer upwards and pay attention to the inscription to your left: “Caesar non supra grammaticos.” After gathering your meager belongings, you should, timidly, ask the release guardian what that quote means? She, most likely, will pull her monocle further down on her nose, contorting her mouth into a smug sneer and reply, in contemptuous condescension, “The Emperor is not above the grammarians.”

     You hang your head and affect an obsequious mannerism – oh

hell, you become a complete sycophant, realizing that

grammarians surely have taken themselves way too seriously. They

not only produced imperative, language usage demands, on mere,

lowly writers like you and me, but on one of the most notable

Emperors of Rome - they be bad. You WILL go forth and continue

to anguish about whether you had dangled a participle or split

an infinitive because the Grammar Ponzi Police still wields the authority to batter ram your mind and force entry into you writing with all intents and purposes of making your writing so much better that you will earn enough money and fame to break their rules without risking arrest.

WRITING MEMOIR

By Sandra Schmid

My memoir began when I thru-hiked the Appalachian Trail twenty years ago. Like many memoirs, something extraordinary happened, something so contrary that I had to remember and try to put it into words. I needed to know why hiking in nature for six months, alone, made me so happy.

My search for words started a new journey. When we moved to Maryland, I published my first short story about my trail experience. The thrill of being in print was comparable to standing on Mt. Katahdin all over again.

In Boise, I joined a writer’s group. We shared our deepest stories. Vulnerable, we became friends. My book gave me a home. 

In Tallahassee, writing classes and seminars opened doors to more publications and friends. I had a focus. I would finish my book.

By the time we moved to Asheville after following work with the Forest Service for twenty years, my story went into a suitcase holding candles and incense on the floor. 

Moving to Columbia just last year, poetry sprouted from the musty case. I read one out loud at Kool Beans with Al Black. 

My memoir is my life. I don’t want it to end. Until I find the right words to express my love for the trail, the journey goes on.

PUT A LIFETIME INTO WORDS

By Kasie Whitener

  

Jessica was working on the obituary when I arrived Saturday morning. She wouldn’t let me read it or help her wordsmith it at all. She complained it was just another thing to be done on the very long list she’d been working since her mother, Carol, died Monday.

I stayed in Tucson about 24 hours and when I left, I wanted to write. My fingers itched to express all I’d seen, to process how it all felt, to frame it with the right words ordered in the right way. I think I would have been a passionate obituary writer.

What obits say is relatively standard even for extraordinary people. Carol’s brothers and daughter had a tough time summarizing who she was into five paragraphs. And, really, who can blame them? She was clever and ambitious and decisive and direct. She loved to laugh and have a good time. The stories we told all weekend bore witness to her strength, endurance, faithfulness.

Carol was the working mother who had it all: a family who loved her, friends who adored her, a polished and admired career, and the love of her life at her side.

But it’s the subtext of the obituary that really matters. What does it mean to earn the love of your family and friends? It means you were loyal and kind, steadfast and reliable. How does one build a polished and admired career? With dedication, sacrifice, a growth mindset and a willingness to learn.

When do you realize you are on this journey with the love of your life? Tom and Carol would have been married 47 years this week. They were perfect golf partners, had a well-scripted morning routine (he grinds the beans, she makes the coffee), and shared space like two planets orbiting one another.

After a loved one’s death, we all stand united by that person’s influence and value in our lives. The obituary writer’s requirement is to capture that value. It’s such a challenging task that writing instructors sometimes assign it to students: Write your own obituary or write the obituary of one of your characters.

My novel about Brian-whose-best-friend-killed-himself required this exercise. What would Brian put in Tony’s obituary? How would he tell the story of his best friend, dead at 22?

There’s a part of me that wonders how we measure life journeys. Do we record how many miles she traveled, how much money she made, how many things she accumulated, how many people cared for her?

With her life’s ledger finished, the quantity swells but the quality surges back: Show me the love, the ease with which she navigated her life, those smiles and smirks, the pride, the duty, the honor, the loyalty, her own and that which she inspired in others.

It’s the final chapter, the one that summarizes the dash between the year of birth and the year of death. What would your obituary say about you?

PERSPECTIVES ON WRITING AS A CREATIVE PROCESS

By Ruth Saunders

The quantity and quality of words placed on the page are not determined by the amount of time spent writing. Inventing prose or poetry moves forward in fits and starts interspersed with occasional steps backward. On good days, words flow from the fingertips. On other days, hours of hard work produce one line which is later deleted. The outcome is uncertain each time we write. 

This fickleness is one of the reasons getting started is difficult. Another is the human tendency to continue doing the same thing. Overcoming inertia of rest, or the state of not-writing, takes energy. Writers must negotiate the reality of moment-to-moment uncertainty and the challenge of  inertia. I cannot change the unpredictability of the creative process or human nature, but I can offer some observations about writing as an activity.

First, the process is effective in the long run; one period of writing may not produce much, but consistent writing moves the work forward. Frequent practice alters the beginning state of inertia from not-writing to writing which begets more writing. More frequent sessions lower the stakes of each. Knowing this enables me to be more realistic about a single session and to keep going.

Second, it is easy to get frustrated and fall into the habit of nonproductive self-criticism. Internal dialogue such as “Why do I bother?” and “I am not good at this” tends to shift us toward a state of not-writing. But this thinking is an emotional reaction to a transient situation; it is not a reflection of yourself as a writer. It can be useful to create a positive internal dialogue that recognizes the other side of the coin, tailored to resonate for you. Examples which work for me include, “I love words” and “I am good at reaching my goals.”

Third, not all writing will be at the optimal level. Perhaps some people routinely produce the highest quality work, but most of us write a lot of ordinary lines, paragraphs, and pieces. Realizing this results in “perfectionistic procrastination” and not-writing. I remind myself, as I did when I played basketball in high school, you must shoot to score—but they’re not all going in. This means you need to shoot more, not less. High scorers take risks rather than waiting for the “right moment.” It’s commonplace advice, but you must keep writing.

Our perspective on the creative process of writing affects the way we feel and what we do as writers. Challenging our habits, expectations, and internal dialogue can reduce stress and make it easier to start and maintain frequent writing sessions, and this can enhance work quantity. Seeking and managing feedback from other writers is essential to improving writing quality. But that is the subject of a future blog.

ACCEPTING CRITICISM

By Sharon May

Imagine a great story comes to you. The words flow so naturally you finish a draft that week, and over the next few weeks, you tweak it. You have the urge to share your labor of love. The first reader is a relative, who points out the occasional error and brags about that line of dialogue you are so proud of. Emboldened, you begin sharing with others close to you, all of whom encourage you “to do something with it.”

Days later, leaving the library, you notice a flyer for a writer’s group. You debate whether to take your story to the workshop. Finally, you decide to join the group. Your turn to share your work arrives, and you bravely, but nervously, read your story.

One by one, the other writers evaluate your work. “I like how you.… You might try…. This sentence confused me. It would work better if this scene were moved. I’m not sure of the main character’s motivation.” An eternity goes by before they stop. You feel like a Mack truck rear-ended you. And, not a single one of them noticed that great line. Driving home, you replay the experience over and over, doubting your ability to write despite receiving some positive feedback.

Intellectually, we know receiving criticism requires taking the negative with the positive. Yet, negative criticism can cause a knee-jerk emotional reaction, especially the first time we experience it. Or, when we let the writing define us, i.e. “bad writing, bad person,” which is what many inexperienced writers have to unlearn.

If you want to improve as a writer, you will want any and everybody to give feedback. Readers show you what works and doesn’t work. You will see patterns in the comments, which gives you clues on what needs attention. Most importantly, you will get ideas for other ways to tell the story.

Learn how to accept criticism gracefully and how to benefit from it because you may decide to share your work with agents or publishing companies. If you can’t handle negative comments from peers, you certainly aren’t prepared for rejection letters.

Also hire an editor even if you have to save pennies to do so. It is the best monetary investment you can make in your writing. The best independent editors have worked for publishing companies. Do research to find one that specializes in your genre.

Readers’ comments are not about you, but the text, which can always be improved. Writers can lose perspective at times and thus, need a reality check. Criticism helps us distance ourselves from our work and helps us see our words through the eyes of a reader, an experience which leads us become our own best critic.

Remember you don’t have to change a word if you don’t agree with the readers. What you do have to do is respect the feedback and give it serious consideration, or you’ve wasted everyone’s time.