I decided to continue with this series because I see so much bad writing out there, browsing through excerpts from fellow Nanowrimo competitors. Please read more advice here.
Continuing on:
Seven, to avoid the revisions your editor will give you anyway, proofread your own work for weaknesses. Look for passive tense (remember E-Prime from Part I?)
A good hint at finding where your work might need strengthened is to simply do a search for the word "There" at the beginning of sentences. Set your Find&Replace to match case, and see how many times you start a sentence with that weak word. Chances are, it will also be a passive phrase. Same for "It." I give a 90% chance that you will look at all the sentences beginning with "There" and "It" and think to yourself "What the hell was that about?" Explain "It."
"There was a loud noise. It woke me up." This weak line can easily be spruced up to "A crashing sound in the driveway set the neighbor's dogs barking and forced me away from sweet dreams of kissing Sue."
I also go through and replace "was" just by habit. Not 100% removal, as I would if I followed E-Prime, but enough to seek out weaknesses. "It was cold" is a sentence first graders learn. Write like you at least attended high school! "The frost bit my nose like an angry cat and decorated my windows with Winter's lacy undergarments." Wohoo, see how you can make things sound great? It's so easy.
Eight, and here's a tough one... keep dialog free and flowing. Unless your character is a vampire from the 12th century and speaks very formal for a reason, chances are your character will be an average joe who uses slang and incomplete sentences. "I couldn't make it to the store. Damn Walmart. Always open my ass."
In a creative writing class, my fellow students severely criticized me because one of my characters didn't cuss enough. I thought they were nutters (I rarely cuss) until I read through the story years later and realized they were right. For the girl's personality, her use of profanity should be extreme to an almost comical level. I still don't like cussing, but I invent characters who are not necessarily reflections of myself.
Nine, make your characters so distinct in their speech, either with phrases they overuse, accents, or just by the way they present their opinions, their tone of voice and manners, that during long dialog passages you can avoid "he said/she said." I hate those. Read Section Three for more. At the very least, get creative. Come on, how many of us talk so dull in our lives that we simply "say" something? We gasp, shout, vent, whisper, expound, yip, tattle, tantalize, leer, jeer, peer. Avoid "he said" by telling us what he did.
"Never!" John's words echoed through the empty hall.
"Sorry, mate," Bill shrugged casually.
"I will never give in to you." His hand swiped out so hard it broke the vase. "I thought you were my friend."
"Just a messanger, y'know."
"You'll have to fight me."
"Look, mate, I ain't fightin' no one."
"Fight! I know you can!"
"Eh, it ain't my choice, y'know."
"Fight me, you coward!"
"Coward what now? Mate, I'm just here to tell you, y'know. It ain't nuttin' personal."
"You're all bastards, every one of you. You're all alike."
"Maybe so, mate, but I don't wanna kill you."
"Coward!"
Can you tell John from Bill? Of course you can! Anger on one side, aloof nonchalance on the other, a bit of an accent, that's all it takes. Make me see your dialog like a movie in my head.
Ten, and for this I will use alliteration to emphasize my point ... ahem ... please, people, punctuate properly. Thank you, thank you!
Seriously, though, punctuation goes inside quotes. I can't tell you how many emails I get that say, "It's a joke", he said, "get it"?
OMG people, did you drop out of 3rd grade? If you write like this, please do not shoot yourself when your editor turns you down after skimming the first page. Then again, if you write that bad, maybe you should voluntarily cleanse the gene pool. I have a revolver under the bed for you to use!
The only time I can think of offhand (and it's bloody early, so don't kill me on this) is when you use quotes outside of dialog. Example: What did John mean by "It'll be exciting"?
Of course, ideally you should use italics, but that's all I can come up with. Otherwise, quote are like condoms, they wrap around to protect. You don't want to catch a communicative disease, you know.
Happy writing, and rewriting, and rewriting....
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Friday, November 23, 2007
Thanksgiving Idiot
I wasn't going to post about this, but I figured it's a good lesson to everyone out there. Learn from my idiocy!
Yesterday was Thanksgiving, and dinner was at my place. My hubby's uncle said he was coming at 4pm, and I know his family tends to eat early. Now, I learned a thing or two about etiquette, including how to set a formal table, how to fold napkins into interesting designs, and how to time all your cooking so that everything is hot and ready when your guests arrive. I turned off the stove, put everything on the table, and was ready to go two minutes before 4. Then Matt's uncle was an hour late. Then he decided he wasn't hungry and wanted to watch a movie. So we watched Fantastic 4 since he hadn't seen it. By the time it was over, it was 7:30 and dinner was icy. So I decided to toss it all in the stove and warm it real quick, that way it doesn't have that microwaved dryness about it (dry turkey, yuck!)
My logic was, the stove had been off 3.5 hours, it was cool (no heat when I opened it), so I just grabbed the casserole dishes and turkey pan and tossed them all in at once. No gloves, no mitts.
Folks, I don't care if that stove has been off all frickin' day, put a glove on!!!
Typical, I was in a hurry, and my hand hit the top grill of the stove. Ouch, hot, no pain, kept loading. It wasn't until I finished putting the dishes in there and started the stove up that I looked to see how bad the burn was.
Still no pain ... because there was no skin!
It looks a lot better today. Just to gross you all out and show you to always ALWAYS be careful, I should have snapped a picture of just how nasty that burn looked.
My index finger isn't too bad, some melted skin and a blister. My ring finger was spared injury by hitting the stove with my wedding ring (the stone was big enough to deflect it, don't worry, the ring is not damaged). However, my middle finger has a long gash like I got attacked by a Doberman, and about three centimeters of that is burned through the dermis, deep and white! That means 3rd degree. It's small, so I'm not going to the hospital unless it continues to be a problem, but you can see the different skin layers as the burn moves out. There was also a long section of melted skin that just fell off eventually. Yeah, nasty.
I ran cold water, but it didn't hurt, so idiot me figures I'll be fine, and I have a guest to entertain. I put Neosporin on it and a band-aid and just waved it off with a laugh. But then...
Y'know, I burned myself this bad once before. I should have known it was coming. Still, it's a shock when a part of your body which feels fine at the moment suddenly feels like it has been submerged into a vat of liquid metal. There I was, trying to keep conversation going and cut my turkey, when all my brain knows is the fires of Hell and they are concentrated into my left hand straight into my middle finger like I'm whoring Satan's mistress or something. I excused myself, hid an icepack in my lap napkin, and avoided anything I couldn't eat one-handed. Once dinner was over - almost crying by now - I ran to my bedroom, took the strongest painkiller I could find, and fell asleep with an icepack sitting on my hand unsuccessfully attempting to quench the flames.
Moral of the story: never assume a stove is cold. Always examine burns as soon as they happen. Even if there is no pain, keep that cold water running on it. And most important, entertaining your hubby's uncle is not as important as caring for a 3rd degree burn.
Thought for the day:
If your motto is "Live and Learn," prepare to have 911 on speed-dial.
Yesterday was Thanksgiving, and dinner was at my place. My hubby's uncle said he was coming at 4pm, and I know his family tends to eat early. Now, I learned a thing or two about etiquette, including how to set a formal table, how to fold napkins into interesting designs, and how to time all your cooking so that everything is hot and ready when your guests arrive. I turned off the stove, put everything on the table, and was ready to go two minutes before 4. Then Matt's uncle was an hour late. Then he decided he wasn't hungry and wanted to watch a movie. So we watched Fantastic 4 since he hadn't seen it. By the time it was over, it was 7:30 and dinner was icy. So I decided to toss it all in the stove and warm it real quick, that way it doesn't have that microwaved dryness about it (dry turkey, yuck!)
My logic was, the stove had been off 3.5 hours, it was cool (no heat when I opened it), so I just grabbed the casserole dishes and turkey pan and tossed them all in at once. No gloves, no mitts.
Folks, I don't care if that stove has been off all frickin' day, put a glove on!!!
Typical, I was in a hurry, and my hand hit the top grill of the stove. Ouch, hot, no pain, kept loading. It wasn't until I finished putting the dishes in there and started the stove up that I looked to see how bad the burn was.
Still no pain ... because there was no skin!
It looks a lot better today. Just to gross you all out and show you to always ALWAYS be careful, I should have snapped a picture of just how nasty that burn looked.
My index finger isn't too bad, some melted skin and a blister. My ring finger was spared injury by hitting the stove with my wedding ring (the stone was big enough to deflect it, don't worry, the ring is not damaged). However, my middle finger has a long gash like I got attacked by a Doberman, and about three centimeters of that is burned through the dermis, deep and white! That means 3rd degree. It's small, so I'm not going to the hospital unless it continues to be a problem, but you can see the different skin layers as the burn moves out. There was also a long section of melted skin that just fell off eventually. Yeah, nasty.
I ran cold water, but it didn't hurt, so idiot me figures I'll be fine, and I have a guest to entertain. I put Neosporin on it and a band-aid and just waved it off with a laugh. But then...
Y'know, I burned myself this bad once before. I should have known it was coming. Still, it's a shock when a part of your body which feels fine at the moment suddenly feels like it has been submerged into a vat of liquid metal. There I was, trying to keep conversation going and cut my turkey, when all my brain knows is the fires of Hell and they are concentrated into my left hand straight into my middle finger like I'm whoring Satan's mistress or something. I excused myself, hid an icepack in my lap napkin, and avoided anything I couldn't eat one-handed. Once dinner was over - almost crying by now - I ran to my bedroom, took the strongest painkiller I could find, and fell asleep with an icepack sitting on my hand unsuccessfully attempting to quench the flames.
Moral of the story: never assume a stove is cold. Always examine burns as soon as they happen. Even if there is no pain, keep that cold water running on it. And most important, entertaining your hubby's uncle is not as important as caring for a 3rd degree burn.
Thought for the day:
If your motto is "Live and Learn," prepare to have 911 on speed-dial.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Writing Advice for the Creatively Inept
People often ask what advice I can give them to help promote their writing career. The following assumes you know how to write. These are ways to take that short story or novel an clean it up.
One: beware the verb "to be." Learn to eradicate it whenever possible. Don't become anal about it, though. I mean, we don't want to exterminate "to be" from the English language. Just realize this world contains a plethora of descriptive verbs waiting for us writers to manipulate them like tools. Using "to be" tempts a writer to fall back into lazy styles: simple words, writing without thought, and the dreaded passive voice. The next thing you know, your work sounds like an eighth grader typed it up while using meth. Passive tense haunts me, and I constantly fight the urge.
How do you prevent this habit? By using something you probably never leaned in high school: E-Prime. It forces writers to really think about what words we use. Often, we write simply to get words out of our heads before the concept vanishes. In moments like that, we forget what we learned in school and go barbaric, chaotic. E-Prime forces us back into a study of words. Just try it. Take a short story or poem and go psycho with E-Prime. Give the proverbial birdie to Shakespeare's "to be or not to be." Be creative! I bet the weaknesses in your work will jump at you like monkeys at a banana-scented tourist.
Two, for god's sake, people, learn to establish and stick to a verb tense. I had a college professor who pointed this out to me rather harshly, in front of the whole class, then spent the rest of the night going over basic grammar because obviously none of us knew anything and we were all as juvenile as 2nd graders. You think middle school kids can be cruel, imagine a forum filled with college students glaring at you because you made some taboo mistake and now they ALL are paying by the most hideously boring class in the history of college-dom. I've never made the mistake again. Don't suddenly say "They went to the fair, but he forgets his glasses." Went implies past, they already visited that fair, like yesterday, or last century. Forgets implies present. See the clash? In a creative writing class, they called me the Tense Terror and Grammar Goblin because I jumped on peoples' cases about keeping stories in the proper verb tense. It's easy to break the habit and it will improve the quality of your writing ten fold. Congrats, you now write like an 8th grader is SUPPOSE to!!!
Three, even if it's just dialog, make it descriptive. He said/she said grows boring after a page or two. Use a thesaurus if you must, but make the audience see your characters' faces. I imagine I'm a director and I want these actors to really understand the character in that moment.
1) "I can't believe it," he said. --- boooring
2) "I can't believe it," he cried out in disbelief. --- eh, getting there
3) His eyes opened wide as his mouth unhinged, as if opening it wider would allow him to ingest the wonder before him, or at the least vomit it back up into something resembling logic. "I can't believe it," he muttered numbly, not caring if it sounded so cliche that he would have been jeered out of a drama class.
You got the idea? Dialog is not the time for writers to take a creative break. Yes, there are times when the punchy, fast jabs back and forth work for showing the wit between two characters, but eventually your reader will imagine two spotlighted characters on a propless stage, not an heiress to a kingdom who turns into a unicorn.
Four, make all events in the story relevant. I have a problem with this, merely because I write a great part, then forget what happened. Please, don't spend five chapters writing an awesome scene, only to have it so disjunct that you could scrap it and it won't change the book one bit. Your universe! Make it meaningful and fun.
Five, write your synopsis way in advance. Now, I'm one to write outlines and then throw them out the window, but at least know sort of what you want to do. Otherwise (and yes, this happened to me too) you get this awesome first five chapters, then hit a brick wall. What is the hero supposed to do with his stolen dragon egg? Nurrr... I dunno... Story gets shelved, byebye idea.
Six, realize you will likely write the beginning last, so don't sweat it. If you can totally visualize sections, feel free to write them out and keep the notes all together. Work out a character sheet. Yeah, sort of D&D, but it totally helps. What color of eyes? (I learned that when my character went through 3 eye colors and two hair colors). Does he have hobbies? Can you work that in? Strengths? Weakness? All main characters have weaknesses. Even Superman did, right? It makes them believable.
Well, I can think of many other things that make the difference between okay writing and something that will have the NY Times screaming in bold caps, "RIVITING!" but, I don't want to write much more or I'll never get back to my nanowrimo novel. I'll leave you with this final bit of writing advice that works wonders. To quote Mark Twain: "Substitute 'damn' every time you're inclined to write 'very;' your editor will delete it and the writing will be just as it should be."
Happy writing!
One: beware the verb "to be." Learn to eradicate it whenever possible. Don't become anal about it, though. I mean, we don't want to exterminate "to be" from the English language. Just realize this world contains a plethora of descriptive verbs waiting for us writers to manipulate them like tools. Using "to be" tempts a writer to fall back into lazy styles: simple words, writing without thought, and the dreaded passive voice. The next thing you know, your work sounds like an eighth grader typed it up while using meth. Passive tense haunts me, and I constantly fight the urge.
How do you prevent this habit? By using something you probably never leaned in high school: E-Prime. It forces writers to really think about what words we use. Often, we write simply to get words out of our heads before the concept vanishes. In moments like that, we forget what we learned in school and go barbaric, chaotic. E-Prime forces us back into a study of words. Just try it. Take a short story or poem and go psycho with E-Prime. Give the proverbial birdie to Shakespeare's "to be or not to be." Be creative! I bet the weaknesses in your work will jump at you like monkeys at a banana-scented tourist.
Two, for god's sake, people, learn to establish and stick to a verb tense. I had a college professor who pointed this out to me rather harshly, in front of the whole class, then spent the rest of the night going over basic grammar because obviously none of us knew anything and we were all as juvenile as 2nd graders. You think middle school kids can be cruel, imagine a forum filled with college students glaring at you because you made some taboo mistake and now they ALL are paying by the most hideously boring class in the history of college-dom. I've never made the mistake again. Don't suddenly say "They went to the fair, but he forgets his glasses." Went implies past, they already visited that fair, like yesterday, or last century. Forgets implies present. See the clash? In a creative writing class, they called me the Tense Terror and Grammar Goblin because I jumped on peoples' cases about keeping stories in the proper verb tense. It's easy to break the habit and it will improve the quality of your writing ten fold. Congrats, you now write like an 8th grader is SUPPOSE to!!!
Three, even if it's just dialog, make it descriptive. He said/she said grows boring after a page or two. Use a thesaurus if you must, but make the audience see your characters' faces. I imagine I'm a director and I want these actors to really understand the character in that moment.
1) "I can't believe it," he said. --- boooring
2) "I can't believe it," he cried out in disbelief. --- eh, getting there
3) His eyes opened wide as his mouth unhinged, as if opening it wider would allow him to ingest the wonder before him, or at the least vomit it back up into something resembling logic. "I can't believe it," he muttered numbly, not caring if it sounded so cliche that he would have been jeered out of a drama class.
You got the idea? Dialog is not the time for writers to take a creative break. Yes, there are times when the punchy, fast jabs back and forth work for showing the wit between two characters, but eventually your reader will imagine two spotlighted characters on a propless stage, not an heiress to a kingdom who turns into a unicorn.
Four, make all events in the story relevant. I have a problem with this, merely because I write a great part, then forget what happened. Please, don't spend five chapters writing an awesome scene, only to have it so disjunct that you could scrap it and it won't change the book one bit. Your universe! Make it meaningful and fun.
Five, write your synopsis way in advance. Now, I'm one to write outlines and then throw them out the window, but at least know sort of what you want to do. Otherwise (and yes, this happened to me too) you get this awesome first five chapters, then hit a brick wall. What is the hero supposed to do with his stolen dragon egg? Nurrr... I dunno... Story gets shelved, byebye idea.
Six, realize you will likely write the beginning last, so don't sweat it. If you can totally visualize sections, feel free to write them out and keep the notes all together. Work out a character sheet. Yeah, sort of D&D, but it totally helps. What color of eyes? (I learned that when my character went through 3 eye colors and two hair colors). Does he have hobbies? Can you work that in? Strengths? Weakness? All main characters have weaknesses. Even Superman did, right? It makes them believable.
Well, I can think of many other things that make the difference between okay writing and something that will have the NY Times screaming in bold caps, "RIVITING!" but, I don't want to write much more or I'll never get back to my nanowrimo novel. I'll leave you with this final bit of writing advice that works wonders. To quote Mark Twain: "Substitute 'damn' every time you're inclined to write 'very;' your editor will delete it and the writing will be just as it should be."
Happy writing!
Monday, November 12, 2007
Help for the Anxiety Prone
I wrote this to a person seeking help for chronic anxiety disorder, and I thought, well, everyone panics at some point, I should post this. Maybe it'll help someone out there.
I have agoraphobia so I know right where you're at. I've done the psycho-treatments and they didn't help. I did the pills and hated them. I tried yoga and hurt myself. I learned that if I wanted to beat this, it was up to me, not some shrink telling me "write down your dreams" and crap.
First, look at what you can do to your environment to simply relax. Get some Native American flute music, play an Enya CD, cut out alcohol, cigarettes, coffee, and other stimulants and go to herbal teas, particularly mint and lavender. A detox diet honestly does wonders. And there are so many herbs out there that you can pick yourself, or if you're a city girl like me, you can buy them cheap. I've found lavender to take a load of stress off my day. It's cheap at Trader Joe's and other such stores, smells amazing, and tastes delicious. I have lavender bundles in the bathroom, lavender pillow spray for the bedroom, I love cooking lavender and lemon chicken, and I add lavender to my teas. Or find other aromas that soothe you. Maybe vanilla or sage or cedar, whatever works. I totally suggest lavender and mint tea every morning sweetened with honey. It'll help your stomach. We all know how stress screws your digestive system.
Next, take a moment each day for meditation. Not necessarily odd positions and "ohm" chants, but just sit in a comfortable chair or lay in bed and be quiet for a few minutes, whatever you can spare. Think of the one place you love to be, maybe the beach or mountains, somewhere peaceful. Visualization is a powerful tool in psychiatry. Really put yourself in that place, imagining it so vividly that you can feel the air and smell the breeze. Absolutely forbid yourself from thinking of stressful things.
Next, give yourself a mantra of peace. This is one I'm still working on for my anxiety issues. After you've done the soft music and herbs, if you still feel that horrible nervousness creeping in, tell yourself out loud so you hear the words: "I love to be at peace. I refuse to give into fear." Make up whatever you want, but make it a firm declaration, you are not going to let this anxiety get the best of you.
Doesn't work and still feel tense? I learned this from a stress management professor. If you feel the panic attack starting up, start at your toes and tense them, then relax. Then your calves, tensed, relaxed, then thighs, stomach, arms, chest, neck, face. Tense up for five seconds, then relax for five seconds. One, you're doing the counting thing. Two, you're forcing adrenalin into those muscles that are struggling with the fight-or-flight of the panic attack, and the release phase sends endorphins into your system which will relax your muscles. Three, you're paying attention to your whole body so you will not hyperventilate. Four, you are consciously telling your body "stop, deal with this, tense up if you must, but then relax." I learned about this five years ago and it works wonders. Also works great just before bed if you can't sleep.
I have agoraphobia so I know right where you're at. I've done the psycho-treatments and they didn't help. I did the pills and hated them. I tried yoga and hurt myself. I learned that if I wanted to beat this, it was up to me, not some shrink telling me "write down your dreams" and crap.
First, look at what you can do to your environment to simply relax. Get some Native American flute music, play an Enya CD, cut out alcohol, cigarettes, coffee, and other stimulants and go to herbal teas, particularly mint and lavender. A detox diet honestly does wonders. And there are so many herbs out there that you can pick yourself, or if you're a city girl like me, you can buy them cheap. I've found lavender to take a load of stress off my day. It's cheap at Trader Joe's and other such stores, smells amazing, and tastes delicious. I have lavender bundles in the bathroom, lavender pillow spray for the bedroom, I love cooking lavender and lemon chicken, and I add lavender to my teas. Or find other aromas that soothe you. Maybe vanilla or sage or cedar, whatever works. I totally suggest lavender and mint tea every morning sweetened with honey. It'll help your stomach. We all know how stress screws your digestive system.
Next, take a moment each day for meditation. Not necessarily odd positions and "ohm" chants, but just sit in a comfortable chair or lay in bed and be quiet for a few minutes, whatever you can spare. Think of the one place you love to be, maybe the beach or mountains, somewhere peaceful. Visualization is a powerful tool in psychiatry. Really put yourself in that place, imagining it so vividly that you can feel the air and smell the breeze. Absolutely forbid yourself from thinking of stressful things.
Next, give yourself a mantra of peace. This is one I'm still working on for my anxiety issues. After you've done the soft music and herbs, if you still feel that horrible nervousness creeping in, tell yourself out loud so you hear the words: "I love to be at peace. I refuse to give into fear." Make up whatever you want, but make it a firm declaration, you are not going to let this anxiety get the best of you.
Doesn't work and still feel tense? I learned this from a stress management professor. If you feel the panic attack starting up, start at your toes and tense them, then relax. Then your calves, tensed, relaxed, then thighs, stomach, arms, chest, neck, face. Tense up for five seconds, then relax for five seconds. One, you're doing the counting thing. Two, you're forcing adrenalin into those muscles that are struggling with the fight-or-flight of the panic attack, and the release phase sends endorphins into your system which will relax your muscles. Three, you're paying attention to your whole body so you will not hyperventilate. Four, you are consciously telling your body "stop, deal with this, tense up if you must, but then relax." I learned about this five years ago and it works wonders. Also works great just before bed if you can't sleep.
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
St. Augustine: Quantum Measurement in the Making?
While doing Shadowstrider research, this time on quantum measurement and the troubles therein (i.e. Schrödinger's Cat), I came across this. Although not the research I was aiming to find, it brings up hypotheses that are geared toward my character's personality and how she would analyze the given situation.
In other words, instead of sounding like I'm writing straight from a physics book (which I've been accused of on occasion) I decided to have Ahaovathea take a more existential POV concerning Time ("time is a protraction of the mind") rather than her mother's POV, which definitely follows a more literal scientific definition.
The only area where I imagine her thinking differently is St. Augustine's theory that "temporal existence is taken to be equivalent to 'being in the present.'" As a Native American, I think Ahaovathea would definitely disagree with both that and the theory that past and future, in a sense, do not exist at all. Although this is a main focus on this treaty, it is one point my character would certainly not agree upon.
My research and wonderful discussions with Native Americans have showed one constant perception that is so different from "Western" thought: Time is fluid, alive, past and future are living things, and the present moment is a knife's edge dividing the two. The Hopi believe that life is filled with things either manifest (thus belonging to the past) or coming into manifestation (and thus categorized as future). A house, tree, memory, etc. exist and are manifest, but hopes, dreams, and expectations are things of the future.
If the future did not exist, does this also mean our dreams do not exist? And yet we have dreams, which proves the existence (even if existentially) that there is a living future out there.
So in that sense, St. Augustine (as is common among European-influenced cultures) veers far from the indigenous respect for Time. Instead of acknowledging the existence of these two major temporal forces, he brushes past and future off as inconsequential.
However, the end result is the same as if you took Ahaovathea's ideas. Time is a protraction of the mind, but St. Augustine's conclusion negates the inclusion that the mind could protrude into past and future.
Like tentacles on an octopus, we reach out in all directions and grasp the world around us. We reach into the world, and we are the world. We reach into Time, and we are Time.
Any comments to debate this temporal issue are encouraged. I love debating the mechanics of Time and hearing the ideas of others. I've flipflopped views on Time, destiny, and choice throughout Shadowstrider, allowing the different members of the family to express unique POVs.
[St. Augustine's treatment of time occurs in the eleventh book of the Confessions, and is connected to his investigation of the opening words of Genesis.]
1. There's no sense in asking what God did before creation because time itself is a creature. God, as for Boethius, is in eternal present. Hence, God precedes all things, including time, ontologically but not temporally.
2. Time seems something we all know well; however, upon further analysis it turns out to be something we barely understand. Some say its the motion of the heavens. But this cannot be right because:
In other words, instead of sounding like I'm writing straight from a physics book (which I've been accused of on occasion) I decided to have Ahaovathea take a more existential POV concerning Time ("time is a protraction of the mind") rather than her mother's POV, which definitely follows a more literal scientific definition.
The only area where I imagine her thinking differently is St. Augustine's theory that "temporal existence is taken to be equivalent to 'being in the present.'" As a Native American, I think Ahaovathea would definitely disagree with both that and the theory that past and future, in a sense, do not exist at all. Although this is a main focus on this treaty, it is one point my character would certainly not agree upon.
My research and wonderful discussions with Native Americans have showed one constant perception that is so different from "Western" thought: Time is fluid, alive, past and future are living things, and the present moment is a knife's edge dividing the two. The Hopi believe that life is filled with things either manifest (thus belonging to the past) or coming into manifestation (and thus categorized as future). A house, tree, memory, etc. exist and are manifest, but hopes, dreams, and expectations are things of the future.
If the future did not exist, does this also mean our dreams do not exist? And yet we have dreams, which proves the existence (even if existentially) that there is a living future out there.
So in that sense, St. Augustine (as is common among European-influenced cultures) veers far from the indigenous respect for Time. Instead of acknowledging the existence of these two major temporal forces, he brushes past and future off as inconsequential.
However, the end result is the same as if you took Ahaovathea's ideas. Time is a protraction of the mind, but St. Augustine's conclusion negates the inclusion that the mind could protrude into past and future.
Like tentacles on an octopus, we reach out in all directions and grasp the world around us. We reach into the world, and we are the world. We reach into Time, and we are Time.
Any comments to debate this temporal issue are encouraged. I love debating the mechanics of Time and hearing the ideas of others. I've flipflopped views on Time, destiny, and choice throughout Shadowstrider, allowing the different members of the family to express unique POVs.
[St. Augustine's treatment of time occurs in the eleventh book of the Confessions, and is connected to his investigation of the opening words of Genesis.]
1. There's no sense in asking what God did before creation because time itself is a creature. God, as for Boethius, is in eternal present. Hence, God precedes all things, including time, ontologically but not temporally.
2. Time seems something we all know well; however, upon further analysis it turns out to be something we barely understand. Some say its the motion of the heavens. But this cannot be right because:
- if motion of heavens stops but a potter's wheel spins, could it not turn faster or slower? Moreover, scripture tells us that the sun stopped and yet time went on;
- by time we measure the motion of bodies, and so that of the heavens.
- if nothing passed away, no past; if nothing were coming, no future; if nothing were, no present;
- the past doesn't exist anymore; the future doesn't exist yet; the present must be transient, from future to past (otherwise it would be eternity), and it cannot be extended, otherwise it would overlap with past and future.
NOTES:- Time, then, involves a flux from future through present to past.
- Temporal existence is taken to be equivalent to "being in the present."
- The treatment of the lack of extension of the present is identical to Aristotle's.
- Time, then, involves a flux from future through present to past.
- Relating the past and foretelling the future are not possible because what is not (past and future) cannot be related or foretold.
- Measuring time is not possible because:
- 1. We cannot measure past and future since they do not exist (what is not, cannot be measured). How, then, can we say "a long time past" or "a long time to come"?
2. We cannot measure the present because it has no extension.
NOTE:- A similar problem in involved in the attempt to explain how we can measure the duration of anything, e.g. a sound. It cannot be measured before or after it exists, and we cannot measure while its present, otherwise we don't measure the whole of it. In short, we cannot measure past and future because they don't exist; we cannot measure the present because it's unextended; we cannot measure passing time because it's not complete.
- 1. When we relate the past or foretell the future, we behold our present memories of things past (effects of past causes) and consider present "signs" of future things (causes of future events).
- Hence, time is a protraction of the mind: the future is expectation, the present enduring consideration, and the past memory.
- But why is measuring representations (instead of the things represented) a solution? Cannot all the arguments about things be reproposed about representations of things? The answer is that a long past is not a "long memory of the past" in the sense that it's a memory which lasts a long time, but an (instantaneous?) memory of a long past (that is, temporal length is not a formal feature of the memory, but an intentional feature of it).
2. When I temporally measure things, I don't measure things themselves, but my representations of them: I measure the "protraction" of the impressions of things in the mind. For example, a "long future is a long expectation of the future;" a "long past a long memory of the past."
NOTES:
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Where were you?
Where were you?
This question used to apply to Kennedy. Everyone knew where they were the day JFK was assassinated. Whether you believe is was a mass conspiracy or a lone gunman, it was an event that shook our nature and reshaped the fabric of our culture.
Now we face a new milestone. It was not just the death toll of those four planes and their devastating effects. It's not just the war on terror and its lasting effects. Whether you are pro-war, pro-peace, or prosaically indifferent to the whole thing, whether you are American, Mexican, Canadian, Japanese, British, Muslim, Buddhist, or even French (insert obligatory sneer, followed by politically correct "just kidding"), September 11, 2001 is a day that shook this world.
Those terrorists wanted something visual, and they got it! The site of those massive buildings falling, of the Pentagon in flames, of the atrocious loss of life on that Pennsylvania field, was a horror now ingrained into the human psyche. Centuries from now, children will read about this day as the first move in events that will shape the 21st Century. Millenniums will pass, and the story of the Two Towers (don't perk up so excitedly, Tolkien fans) will be recited around campfires, a story considered a myth, but an enduring one, like the Tower of Babel or the fall of Jericho.
So I ask you: where were you on 9/11?
I had gone to college early that morning. I had just finished a boring stint studying in the math lab. I noticed more than the usual amount of people on the computers looking up what I assumed was political news. Images of President Bush and views of New York. Odd for a math lab.
I finished early and decided to call up my then-boyfriend/now-husband to see if he could meet me for an early lunch. Matt sounded terrified, asking if I was alright. I was casually walking down the steps of the science/math building, thinking what a lovely day it was (ironic, because it was about to become dark). As I walked down, he frantically explained, "It's World War III out there! They've destroyed the World Trade Center, blew it up with airplanes, and they hit the Pentagon too. We're at WAR!!!"
Odd, but the news of the attack on the Pentagon hit me worse at that moment. The mind focuses on what it can grasp. Blowing of the WTC? That was something out of Hollywood. I imagined maybe a gapping hole, not that they were actually destroyed. But the Pentagon? A symbol of military prowess! How?
I stopped dead in my tracks, whispered "What?" in disbelief, and grabbed hold of the sprawling steps' handrail, barely able to keep hold of the phone as Matt gave me what few details were known for a certainty.
I looked around at the people around me. It was as if I had been blind just a moment before.
Lovely day???
I suddenly saw huddles of young women walking through the hallways, holding onto each other as they cried. I saw an 18-year-old Freshman walking like wood, his eyes strained, his jaw tight to hold in the anger and numbed horror. And there were some still walking to and fro to class, blissfully unaware, laughing and fooling around as college students should, blind, as I had been blind, to the gnashing and weeping filling the campus.
I vividly recall seeing a young Muslim woman sitting on her prayer rug on the Quad grass, she and a group of other Muslims joined together for daily prayer, now busy listening to a radio in gapping disbelief (this was, of course, before the words radical Muslims and the racial fear associated with it ever entered our innocent minds, a time when seeing Muslims praying in the Quad was not a deal at all). I remember she was shouting, "They are cowards, who do this! Cowards!" At the time, there was no clue who might have pulled off such a terrorist act.
Matt rushed to the school to pick me up, insisting I not go to anymore of my classes. I protested at first, but when I saw the images on TV, school was the last thing on my mind. Matt lived near John Wayne Airport, and the roaring sound of incoming and outgoing planes was usual, hardly even noticed after a while. On that day, the skies were silent, which added to the odd solemness. I called my mom, and she did not want me to take the bus back home. Even at that point, there was a fear toward public transportation. My parents would go on to drive me to school for the next week, fearing a bus bomb.
I did go to school the next day, a Wednesday. I had a light schedule, but I had band class that night. i remember sitting with the other French hornists, discussing what we saw on the TV, how the planes turned to the side for maximum damage, about where Flight 93 might have been heading, wondering still who might have orchestrated it all (if you remember, Osama bin Laden denied any involvement for years, and to this day the FBI admits he is still only a suspect, albeit a rather believable scapegoat).
The following days were numbed. I knew no victims, but I knew some people living in NYC at the time who saw the whole thing play out in too-real horror. Matt's cousin lived mere blocks away from the World Trade Center. A WTC employee my sister frequently corresponded with for work was killed. Plus there was the whole bus-bomb scare, and that was my sole means of transportation. The ripples of that day are still felt six years later, and will likely continue to affect us throughout our lives.
So, that's my story. That's where I was on that day, walking down the steps exiting the math lab, happy at such a beautiful morning. And into that stereotypical optimism and ignorance, the spear of hatred was thrust. Still, although some may toss spears and arrows of hate and fear at us, Godly love, respect, and honor shall prevail.
This question used to apply to Kennedy. Everyone knew where they were the day JFK was assassinated. Whether you believe is was a mass conspiracy or a lone gunman, it was an event that shook our nature and reshaped the fabric of our culture.
Now we face a new milestone. It was not just the death toll of those four planes and their devastating effects. It's not just the war on terror and its lasting effects. Whether you are pro-war, pro-peace, or prosaically indifferent to the whole thing, whether you are American, Mexican, Canadian, Japanese, British, Muslim, Buddhist, or even French (insert obligatory sneer, followed by politically correct "just kidding"), September 11, 2001 is a day that shook this world.
Those terrorists wanted something visual, and they got it! The site of those massive buildings falling, of the Pentagon in flames, of the atrocious loss of life on that Pennsylvania field, was a horror now ingrained into the human psyche. Centuries from now, children will read about this day as the first move in events that will shape the 21st Century. Millenniums will pass, and the story of the Two Towers (don't perk up so excitedly, Tolkien fans) will be recited around campfires, a story considered a myth, but an enduring one, like the Tower of Babel or the fall of Jericho.
So I ask you: where were you on 9/11?
I had gone to college early that morning. I had just finished a boring stint studying in the math lab. I noticed more than the usual amount of people on the computers looking up what I assumed was political news. Images of President Bush and views of New York. Odd for a math lab.
I finished early and decided to call up my then-boyfriend/now-husband to see if he could meet me for an early lunch. Matt sounded terrified, asking if I was alright. I was casually walking down the steps of the science/math building, thinking what a lovely day it was (ironic, because it was about to become dark). As I walked down, he frantically explained, "It's World War III out there! They've destroyed the World Trade Center, blew it up with airplanes, and they hit the Pentagon too. We're at WAR!!!"
Odd, but the news of the attack on the Pentagon hit me worse at that moment. The mind focuses on what it can grasp. Blowing of the WTC? That was something out of Hollywood. I imagined maybe a gapping hole, not that they were actually destroyed. But the Pentagon? A symbol of military prowess! How?
I stopped dead in my tracks, whispered "What?" in disbelief, and grabbed hold of the sprawling steps' handrail, barely able to keep hold of the phone as Matt gave me what few details were known for a certainty.
I looked around at the people around me. It was as if I had been blind just a moment before.
Lovely day???
I suddenly saw huddles of young women walking through the hallways, holding onto each other as they cried. I saw an 18-year-old Freshman walking like wood, his eyes strained, his jaw tight to hold in the anger and numbed horror. And there were some still walking to and fro to class, blissfully unaware, laughing and fooling around as college students should, blind, as I had been blind, to the gnashing and weeping filling the campus.
I vividly recall seeing a young Muslim woman sitting on her prayer rug on the Quad grass, she and a group of other Muslims joined together for daily prayer, now busy listening to a radio in gapping disbelief (this was, of course, before the words radical Muslims and the racial fear associated with it ever entered our innocent minds, a time when seeing Muslims praying in the Quad was not a deal at all). I remember she was shouting, "They are cowards, who do this! Cowards!" At the time, there was no clue who might have pulled off such a terrorist act.
Matt rushed to the school to pick me up, insisting I not go to anymore of my classes. I protested at first, but when I saw the images on TV, school was the last thing on my mind. Matt lived near John Wayne Airport, and the roaring sound of incoming and outgoing planes was usual, hardly even noticed after a while. On that day, the skies were silent, which added to the odd solemness. I called my mom, and she did not want me to take the bus back home. Even at that point, there was a fear toward public transportation. My parents would go on to drive me to school for the next week, fearing a bus bomb.
I did go to school the next day, a Wednesday. I had a light schedule, but I had band class that night. i remember sitting with the other French hornists, discussing what we saw on the TV, how the planes turned to the side for maximum damage, about where Flight 93 might have been heading, wondering still who might have orchestrated it all (if you remember, Osama bin Laden denied any involvement for years, and to this day the FBI admits he is still only a suspect, albeit a rather believable scapegoat).
The following days were numbed. I knew no victims, but I knew some people living in NYC at the time who saw the whole thing play out in too-real horror. Matt's cousin lived mere blocks away from the World Trade Center. A WTC employee my sister frequently corresponded with for work was killed. Plus there was the whole bus-bomb scare, and that was my sole means of transportation. The ripples of that day are still felt six years later, and will likely continue to affect us throughout our lives.
So, that's my story. That's where I was on that day, walking down the steps exiting the math lab, happy at such a beautiful morning. And into that stereotypical optimism and ignorance, the spear of hatred was thrust. Still, although some may toss spears and arrows of hate and fear at us, Godly love, respect, and honor shall prevail.
Sunday, July 01, 2007
The Volcano
I was riding through Portland a couple days ago with my folks. It was a lovely clear day, so as we crossed Marquam Bridge, I was able to point out both Mt. Hood and Mt. St. Helens to them. It's rare enough to see Mt. Hood with all the clouds we usually have, but even on clear days St Helens is hard to see. It's rare indeed to see it so pristine! But it was a lovely cloudless day ... except for the cloud coming from St. Helens! I didn't take this picture, but this is almost exactly what I saw, snow and all.
I've only seen the volcano 2-3 other times and never on an active day. It's actually a little unnerving! I know it's only steam, but it makes you think about what could happen ... and what did happen back in 1980.
Around here, 27 years have not really dimmed the memories of the native Oregonians. They still have their stories of the day the volcano blew. Then they glance over to "our volcano," Mt. Hood, the two looking at each other like giant siblings glaring down through the ages, and you can see in their eyes a wondering "what if" driving an old fear into them.
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