and here is the story.
http://www.windsweptpress.com/Casca Trek.docx
Monday, April 30, 2012
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Mom And the U.S. Constitution
I was musing the other night on crime and punishment and freedom. I often think deeply on issues in which I have no expertise and feel quite satisfied when I solve any of humanity’s crucial problems.
I had read of a prisoner’s case brought against the government for cruel punishment. I think a prisoner’s rights are related to my personal freedoms, because the government's sway over both of us is limited by similar law. Damage to his rights could eventually lead to a weakening of mine. So, the proper administration of justice is important to all of us.
Probably the most effective person I knew when it came to punishment was Mom. Her personal attention to my boyhood faults and her precise judgments were executed from a base of love, but they clearly trampled on my civil rights. She could not have cared less.
Mom would have no problem running a prison. She knew how to call 'em and she knew what you were thinking and she knew what hurt and what didn't and she didn't give a rat's ass if your best friend Tommy got away with murder. But if you said "rat's ass," you got another night of jail at home with no TV.
As I grew toward puberty and asked Mom who gave her the authority to Lord it over me, her answer snapped back without hesitation. "GOD anointed me. Now go clean up your room!" At age twelve I was almost as tall as the little woman. When I offered to arm wrestle her to determine if it was really my turn to do the dishes, she accepted. And won.
The United States Constitution would not allow my mother’s brand of punishment to violate an inmate’s human rights. Mom might do a great job running the State Prison, but she would eventually spend all her time in court defending herself against civil rights suits.
The Constitution also serves to prevent the practice of Mom-ism outside prison walls by those who want to control us as though we were children. Laws said to protect us continue to whittle away our freedoms. Rights are demoted to privileges and whatever is dangerous becomes licensed. We see this over-protective attitude in the public sphere’s fixation on safety and security. Often the solutions offered seem very practical.
But that's the great thing about America. Sometimes we’re willing to substitute impractical abstractions for practical wisdom, because without an impractical idea like freedom our personal abilities could not unlock our promise. We wouldn’t live up to our potential nor mature as a nation.
My mother knew when to stop acting like a Mom. It was probably difficult for her. Allowing me to follow my own paths may have seemed impractical to her at times as I grew up. But she knew I would in some ways be rid of her in the future, as she had grown beyond her parents. I would build a worthwhile life based on my freedom rather than her wisdom.
The power Mom wielded over me as a child was long ago replaced by a mutual respect, built brick by brick while I advanced to maturity. Mom became important to me as a person and not as a set of rules. I was free to do as I pleased, to enjoy the fruits or accept the consequences of my actions. She might have continued to insist I obey her, but she was smart enough to know that seldom succeeded. Instead she let the reins slacken a little at a time while she rode herd on my adolescence and I galloped toward my independence. I arrived there certainly not without her help, but without her holding my hand. Although I suppose that’s just a son’s opinion.
I had read of a prisoner’s case brought against the government for cruel punishment. I think a prisoner’s rights are related to my personal freedoms, because the government's sway over both of us is limited by similar law. Damage to his rights could eventually lead to a weakening of mine. So, the proper administration of justice is important to all of us.
Probably the most effective person I knew when it came to punishment was Mom. Her personal attention to my boyhood faults and her precise judgments were executed from a base of love, but they clearly trampled on my civil rights. She could not have cared less.
Mom would have no problem running a prison. She knew how to call 'em and she knew what you were thinking and she knew what hurt and what didn't and she didn't give a rat's ass if your best friend Tommy got away with murder. But if you said "rat's ass," you got another night of jail at home with no TV.
As I grew toward puberty and asked Mom who gave her the authority to Lord it over me, her answer snapped back without hesitation. "GOD anointed me. Now go clean up your room!" At age twelve I was almost as tall as the little woman. When I offered to arm wrestle her to determine if it was really my turn to do the dishes, she accepted. And won.
The United States Constitution would not allow my mother’s brand of punishment to violate an inmate’s human rights. Mom might do a great job running the State Prison, but she would eventually spend all her time in court defending herself against civil rights suits.
The Constitution also serves to prevent the practice of Mom-ism outside prison walls by those who want to control us as though we were children. Laws said to protect us continue to whittle away our freedoms. Rights are demoted to privileges and whatever is dangerous becomes licensed. We see this over-protective attitude in the public sphere’s fixation on safety and security. Often the solutions offered seem very practical.
But that's the great thing about America. Sometimes we’re willing to substitute impractical abstractions for practical wisdom, because without an impractical idea like freedom our personal abilities could not unlock our promise. We wouldn’t live up to our potential nor mature as a nation.
My mother knew when to stop acting like a Mom. It was probably difficult for her. Allowing me to follow my own paths may have seemed impractical to her at times as I grew up. But she knew I would in some ways be rid of her in the future, as she had grown beyond her parents. I would build a worthwhile life based on my freedom rather than her wisdom.
The power Mom wielded over me as a child was long ago replaced by a mutual respect, built brick by brick while I advanced to maturity. Mom became important to me as a person and not as a set of rules. I was free to do as I pleased, to enjoy the fruits or accept the consequences of my actions. She might have continued to insist I obey her, but she was smart enough to know that seldom succeeded. Instead she let the reins slacken a little at a time while she rode herd on my adolescence and I galloped toward my independence. I arrived there certainly not without her help, but without her holding my hand. Although I suppose that’s just a son’s opinion.
copyright 2012, David Griffin
A Case For Peace
by June Tuthill Bassemir
This is 2009. Sixty five years ago in 1944 my brother Bruce W. Tuthill gave “the supreme sacrifice”…his life for his Country in WW2. It was supposed to be the last war. We lived for about a month with the “Missing in Action” notice until the final dreaded telegram of “Killed in Action” came. As hard a blow as it was for us to bear, the taxi man who delivered it had just as hard a time. He tried for as long as he could to delay the news of the delivery. Mr. Miller was the husband of Bruce’s first grade teacher and his job was to relay these telegrams as they came in to the parents in our small town. It was a dark day in November when we received the news. Its devastation is no less potent today than it was then but there are fewer and fewer folks still living to remember him. Gone are his Mother, Father, his oldest brother; both Grandmothers; the only Grandfather he knew; Uncles and Aunts…. Gone are his two closest buddies; his first girlfriend and his admiring Floridian cousin who thought so much of him that she even named her son - Bruce.
He was born on April 18th 1924 and died twenty years, four months and eight days later – in 1944. He was very proud of his birthday and never failed to let people know that it was the date of the ride of Paul Revere – no less a hero. He graduated from H. S. in 1942 and after working at Grumman Aircraft for a short time, he enlisted in the Army Air Corp in 1943. His basic training was at Camp Upton, NY and from there he went on to Miami FL; Tulsa OK; Las Vegas NM; and Sheffield, TX. In Tulsa he met “Billy” Emmons, a nice girl whom I am sure he was planning to come home to.
Finally, he was ready to be shipped out and the Army gave him a “Ten Day Delay en Route” to visit the family in the spring of ’44. The pictures of that time are curled and yellowed now, but oh how the memory lingers. All four siblings lined up in profile for that picture – from the tallest and oldest brother; then the second oldest brother, then Bruce; then me his only sister. That day he showed off his bulky brown shiny flight suit and his khaki uniform with the Staff Sgt. Insignia on the sleeve. At one point he noticed I was wearing the gold plated locket he sent me. Someone snapped a picture of us just as he said, “Oh… you’re wearing my locket – and my picture is inside”. I still have that picture with the locket attached to the outside of the frame.
I look at it and see two young people unaware of the photographer …absorbed in the joy of the moment.
He loved his family and his home town and wrote frequently from the day he enlisted to the bombing days while stationed in Italy. We didn’t know then where he was but afterward we learned that he was part of the bombing raids that targeted the Polesti Oil fields in Poland. I became the recipient of all his letters and tried to put them in a book but reading them with his hope of what he wanted to do when he came home expressed in all the letters caused my heart strings to stretch and the tears to flow. I put them aside thinking that time will ease the sorrow.
My life went on; I married; children were born; houses were built; moves were made – and still the letters followed with me. Now, my oldest son in his 50’s is interested in his Uncle Bruce that he never met. I dug out the letters to read and to supply the information my son wanted. What kind of a plane did he fly; what was his position in the plane; did the plane have a name; what was the number of the Bomb Squadron; how many missions did he fly? I found that even though tears flowed again, the more I read of Bruce’s familiar hand writing, the closer I felt. He lived in a tent and frequently he would write his letter as “the candle is getting low” or “I’m writing this by flashlight”. He had adopted a dog, a mutt really, and the guys called him “Elmer”. Elmer slept with Bruce on his cot. At one point he and his crew went to the Isle of Capri and he thought it was “the most beautiful place he had ever seen”. When servicemen wrote home they only had to write “Free” where the stamp would be and V-mail was another method of receiving mail. One sheet of writing was photographed and sent in a small envelope. While it was good to receive those letters, it was less intimate than a regular hand written one. Quite often the letters were censored if something was said that would imperil the safety of the soldiers or give information to the enemy. He said, “After fifty missions, we get to fly to Miami Beach for a 21 day rest”. I don’t know if that was a rumor or if it was really true. Fifty was the magic number. - But he was on his 35th mission when his plane was hit. All but two of the crew was able to parachute to safety but Bruce was not one of them. He occupied the Top Turret Gunner position on the B-24, having proven himself to be a good marksman. One of the crew, who lived in Brooklyn, came to visit us after he was sent home. He told us more than we wanted to know of that last flight. Too late to stop him, he said my brother’s chute failed to open.
I have come to the end of this writing… my eyes are swollen again but this time it has been comforting to share my brother’s thoughts and activities with my interested son…. sort of a visit with my brother “Bru” and his Uncle. Maybe some day wars will cease but I doubt it. There always seems to be another generation in the wings that has not learned that hatred, revenge, envy, greed and fighting only lead to bloodshed and heartache for those left behind. Of course, they say that WW2 was “an honorable war” but really in the end “honorable” or not, if you have lost a loved one in any war the sadness never really goes away.
copyright February, 2009, June Tuthill Bassemir
This is 2009. Sixty five years ago in 1944 my brother Bruce W. Tuthill gave “the supreme sacrifice”…his life for his Country in WW2. It was supposed to be the last war. We lived for about a month with the “Missing in Action” notice until the final dreaded telegram of “Killed in Action” came. As hard a blow as it was for us to bear, the taxi man who delivered it had just as hard a time. He tried for as long as he could to delay the news of the delivery. Mr. Miller was the husband of Bruce’s first grade teacher and his job was to relay these telegrams as they came in to the parents in our small town. It was a dark day in November when we received the news. Its devastation is no less potent today than it was then but there are fewer and fewer folks still living to remember him. Gone are his Mother, Father, his oldest brother; both Grandmothers; the only Grandfather he knew; Uncles and Aunts…. Gone are his two closest buddies; his first girlfriend and his admiring Floridian cousin who thought so much of him that she even named her son - Bruce.
He was born on April 18th 1924 and died twenty years, four months and eight days later – in 1944. He was very proud of his birthday and never failed to let people know that it was the date of the ride of Paul Revere – no less a hero. He graduated from H. S. in 1942 and after working at Grumman Aircraft for a short time, he enlisted in the Army Air Corp in 1943. His basic training was at Camp Upton, NY and from there he went on to Miami FL; Tulsa OK; Las Vegas NM; and Sheffield, TX. In Tulsa he met “Billy” Emmons, a nice girl whom I am sure he was planning to come home to.
Finally, he was ready to be shipped out and the Army gave him a “Ten Day Delay en Route” to visit the family in the spring of ’44. The pictures of that time are curled and yellowed now, but oh how the memory lingers. All four siblings lined up in profile for that picture – from the tallest and oldest brother; then the second oldest brother, then Bruce; then me his only sister. That day he showed off his bulky brown shiny flight suit and his khaki uniform with the Staff Sgt. Insignia on the sleeve. At one point he noticed I was wearing the gold plated locket he sent me. Someone snapped a picture of us just as he said, “Oh… you’re wearing my locket – and my picture is inside”. I still have that picture with the locket attached to the outside of the frame.
I look at it and see two young people unaware of the photographer …absorbed in the joy of the moment.
He loved his family and his home town and wrote frequently from the day he enlisted to the bombing days while stationed in Italy. We didn’t know then where he was but afterward we learned that he was part of the bombing raids that targeted the Polesti Oil fields in Poland. I became the recipient of all his letters and tried to put them in a book but reading them with his hope of what he wanted to do when he came home expressed in all the letters caused my heart strings to stretch and the tears to flow. I put them aside thinking that time will ease the sorrow.
My life went on; I married; children were born; houses were built; moves were made – and still the letters followed with me. Now, my oldest son in his 50’s is interested in his Uncle Bruce that he never met. I dug out the letters to read and to supply the information my son wanted. What kind of a plane did he fly; what was his position in the plane; did the plane have a name; what was the number of the Bomb Squadron; how many missions did he fly? I found that even though tears flowed again, the more I read of Bruce’s familiar hand writing, the closer I felt. He lived in a tent and frequently he would write his letter as “the candle is getting low” or “I’m writing this by flashlight”. He had adopted a dog, a mutt really, and the guys called him “Elmer”. Elmer slept with Bruce on his cot. At one point he and his crew went to the Isle of Capri and he thought it was “the most beautiful place he had ever seen”. When servicemen wrote home they only had to write “Free” where the stamp would be and V-mail was another method of receiving mail. One sheet of writing was photographed and sent in a small envelope. While it was good to receive those letters, it was less intimate than a regular hand written one. Quite often the letters were censored if something was said that would imperil the safety of the soldiers or give information to the enemy. He said, “After fifty missions, we get to fly to Miami Beach for a 21 day rest”. I don’t know if that was a rumor or if it was really true. Fifty was the magic number. - But he was on his 35th mission when his plane was hit. All but two of the crew was able to parachute to safety but Bruce was not one of them. He occupied the Top Turret Gunner position on the B-24, having proven himself to be a good marksman. One of the crew, who lived in Brooklyn, came to visit us after he was sent home. He told us more than we wanted to know of that last flight. Too late to stop him, he said my brother’s chute failed to open.
I have come to the end of this writing… my eyes are swollen again but this time it has been comforting to share my brother’s thoughts and activities with my interested son…. sort of a visit with my brother “Bru” and his Uncle. Maybe some day wars will cease but I doubt it. There always seems to be another generation in the wings that has not learned that hatred, revenge, envy, greed and fighting only lead to bloodshed and heartache for those left behind. Of course, they say that WW2 was “an honorable war” but really in the end “honorable” or not, if you have lost a loved one in any war the sadness never really goes away.
copyright February, 2009, June Tuthill Bassemir
June Tuthill Bassemir is the widowed mother of four and grandmother of 10. An artist and writer, she volunteers as a docent in a 1765 farm house. June loves old cars and antiques, and has also enjoyed furniture stripping and rug hooking. "I used to say I was a stripper and hooker.but with so many trips around the sun, no one raises an eyebrow anymore. They only laugh." June has given up furniture stripping, but is still an avid rug hooker.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Monk In The Cellar
The rental car had a luxurious new smell. I drove while Harpo held on to the arm rest and the seat belt strapped across his chest.
“Do you have to drive so fast?” he asked.
I slowed down to 45 as we headed east over Oriskany Boulevard.
“I have a secret to tell you,” I told him.
Harpo sighed. “I already know it. We’re rich.”
“You don’t sound happy, but I can guess why,” I said.
“I didn’t become a monk to get rich,” he said. “Any inclination in that direction could eventually turn us into a St. Anne and his ilk.”
“It’s a lot of money, Harpo,” I said.
“I know,” he answered. “Lance told me so you wouldn’t have to bear it alone.”
“He doesn’t trust me, probably,” I said.
“A hundred thousand? Two hundred? I don’t remember the amount,” said Harpo, “but it’s a windfall. And Lance says there may be something from Agnes’ estate.”
“I didn’t know that,” I admitted. “Should we tell anyone else?”
“We're Brothers, Bouncer! How could we not tell them,” he said. “We can only hope that as a group we do the right thing.”
"If you were to become our abbot," I said, "then you could simply edict what is to be done with the money."
Harpo sighed again, this time more deeply.
"The same is true for you," he said. "The Abbot Bilhild would be totally free to dispense with the money as he sees fit."
I looked over at Harpo and he was smirking.
"You know I'd build the most monastery I could with the money," I said.
"And lose your peace in the process," he said. "Poverty, dear Bilhild, is a very underrated state of bliss."
Side By Side - Martin & Lewis
test title
It was in 1944 and I was visiting my southern cousin in Miami, FL. We finished our roller skating that night and were headed back to her house by bus. A small black grandmother got on with her packages and stood in the aisle. I got up to give her my seat. Being a teenager from New York, I didn’t know that the South had an unwritten law in those days that blacks could only sit in the back seat of the bus and the back seat was filled. My cousin said she wouldn’t take the offered seat and… she didn’t. I felt terrible.
I felt terrible because prior to this, when I was about 8 yrs. old, my older brother (10) and I did a terrible thing. While our mother shopped, we sat in the car in a parking lot in Freeport. A black man walked by the car and we used the “N” word and then ducked down so as not to be seen. But he knew the voices were ours and he came to the car. He scolded us until we were ashamed and that guilt has remained…all this time. I have no idea where we heard that word ….. certainly, not from our parents.
Now, in 2012, I offer an apology, to that man long gone and to all black people. I want to be able to see each other as just plain people not as black, tan white or yellow. It felt so good this past holiday, when on four separate occasions, kind words were spoken to me by men and women of color. It was so infectious; I found I wanted to do the same thing to the strangers I met. In other words, the love expressed to me was being passed along to others. Let’s promise to un-see each other’s skin color. It’s really only a wrapping of what is underneath.
copyright June T. Bassemir 2012
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by David Griffin
I wish I could find the reference, but a few years ago a housewife whose hobby was reading scientific journals happened across a series of articles on (I think) some theoretical aspect of biology and figured out a solution to the scientists' questions. So she wrote a scholarly article with the correct references supporting her opinion and sent it in to (I think) Nature, the world's "most cited interdisciplinary scientific journal." The article's initial reception was cool. Selection for publication is a peer reviewed process and none of the scientists had ever heard of her. However, a few recognized the truth and value of her opinions and championed her cause. Eventually her article was published.
With that in mind, I thought I'd provide here a Wiki-inspired List Of Unsolved Theoretical Problems in Physics. You won't need a zillion dollar laboratory to solve these mysteries, just your noggin. If your Physics is a little rusty and you can’t remember the difference between a coulomb and a cumquat, you can begin a refresher with a basic text in physics at a good technical library and work your way down the shelves until every article in Nature or The Journal Of Applied Physics makes sense to your ever-expanding mind. Good luck! You could be the next Einstein, who wrote his early important papers while working at the Swiss Patent Office. With just a pen and paper and his brain he revolutionized our modern world.
Here are the questions, with my initial thoughts following each.
Vacuum catastrophe - Why does the predicted mass of the quantum vacuum have little effect on the expansion of the universe? I always thought a vacuum meant there was nothing there, like what my teachers claimed was between my ears. So how could it have any effect, huh?
Quantum gravity - Can quantum mechanics and general relativity be realized as a fully consistent theory? Is spacetime fundamentally continuous or discrete? The times I've been spaced I've been very INconsistent, to be honest, and often indiscrete.
Black hole information paradox - Do black holes produce thermal radiation, as expected on theoretical grounds? From what I've heard, I wouldn't know what to expect form a black hole, theoretical or not!
Extra dimensions - Does nature have more than four spacetime dimensions? I hope so. I'm going to need them if I gain any more weight.
Cosmic inflation - Is the theory of cosmic inflation correct, and if so, what are the details of this epoch? Finally, an easy question. The detail of the epoch of cosmic inflation is it's getting bigger.
Multiverse - Are there physical reasons to expect other universes that are fundamentally non-observable? None that I can think of, but if they wish to remain unobservable then I guess we better not mess with them.
The cosmic censorship hypothesis - Can singularities not hidden behind an event horizon, known as "naked singularities", arise from realistic initial conditions? I've never been very realistic about censorship. I happen to like being naked and if the event horizon is large enough I guess I'd hide behind it.
Arrow of time - What do the phenomena that differ going forward and backwards in time tell us about the nature of time? All that back and forth would make me dizzy and not tell me anything.
Locality - Are non-local phenomena limited to the entanglement revealed in the violations of the Bell Inequalities? I'm pretty sure Alexander Graham Bell would have limited his entanglements with any non-locals. I've read he never even went to a biker bar.
Future of the universe - Is the universe heading towards a Big Freeze, a Big Rip, a Big Crunch or a Big Bounce? I think I know these women! I tried to date Big Bounce back in college. And I did wonder if they had any kind of future, to be honest.
See you at the Nobel Prize ceremonies!
I wish I could find the reference, but a few years ago a housewife whose hobby was reading scientific journals happened across a series of articles on (I think) some theoretical aspect of biology and figured out a solution to the scientists' questions. So she wrote a scholarly article with the correct references supporting her opinion and sent it in to (I think) Nature, the world's "most cited interdisciplinary scientific journal." The article's initial reception was cool. Selection for publication is a peer reviewed process and none of the scientists had ever heard of her. However, a few recognized the truth and value of her opinions and championed her cause. Eventually her article was published.
With that in mind, I thought I'd provide here a Wiki-inspired List Of Unsolved Theoretical Problems in Physics. You won't need a zillion dollar laboratory to solve these mysteries, just your noggin. If your Physics is a little rusty and you can’t remember the difference between a coulomb and a cumquat, you can begin a refresher with a basic text in physics at a good technical library and work your way down the shelves until every article in Nature or The Journal Of Applied Physics makes sense to your ever-expanding mind. Good luck! You could be the next Einstein, who wrote his early important papers while working at the Swiss Patent Office. With just a pen and paper and his brain he revolutionized our modern world.
Here are the questions, with my initial thoughts following each.
Vacuum catastrophe - Why does the predicted mass of the quantum vacuum have little effect on the expansion of the universe? I always thought a vacuum meant there was nothing there, like what my teachers claimed was between my ears. So how could it have any effect, huh?
Quantum gravity - Can quantum mechanics and general relativity be realized as a fully consistent theory? Is spacetime fundamentally continuous or discrete? The times I've been spaced I've been very INconsistent, to be honest, and often indiscrete.
Black hole information paradox - Do black holes produce thermal radiation, as expected on theoretical grounds? From what I've heard, I wouldn't know what to expect form a black hole, theoretical or not!
Extra dimensions - Does nature have more than four spacetime dimensions? I hope so. I'm going to need them if I gain any more weight.
Cosmic inflation - Is the theory of cosmic inflation correct, and if so, what are the details of this epoch? Finally, an easy question. The detail of the epoch of cosmic inflation is it's getting bigger.
Multiverse - Are there physical reasons to expect other universes that are fundamentally non-observable? None that I can think of, but if they wish to remain unobservable then I guess we better not mess with them.
The cosmic censorship hypothesis - Can singularities not hidden behind an event horizon, known as "naked singularities", arise from realistic initial conditions? I've never been very realistic about censorship. I happen to like being naked and if the event horizon is large enough I guess I'd hide behind it.
Arrow of time - What do the phenomena that differ going forward and backwards in time tell us about the nature of time? All that back and forth would make me dizzy and not tell me anything.
Locality - Are non-local phenomena limited to the entanglement revealed in the violations of the Bell Inequalities? I'm pretty sure Alexander Graham Bell would have limited his entanglements with any non-locals. I've read he never even went to a biker bar.
Future of the universe - Is the universe heading towards a Big Freeze, a Big Rip, a Big Crunch or a Big Bounce? I think I know these women! I tried to date Big Bounce back in college. And I did wonder if they had any kind of future, to be honest.
See you at the Nobel Prize ceremonies!
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Telling A Story
….maybe this will help.
Everyone has something to say. It feels good to put your thoughts down on paper and it’s often beneficial just to get them out. What’s a story? Well, the word doesn’t have to necessarily mean a tale or a narrative report. When I ask, “Do you have a story?,” I mean, “Do you have something you want to say?” We all like to talk, It’s easy, just open your mouth it will come out naturally, thanks to one kind of evolution or another. Writing isn’t always easy for everyone, but it’s more fun because you get to see it just like you thought it…..if no one is editing your stuff. Also, writing is a bit more permanent. Maybe it’s why it sometimes feels like an important task we’re doing when we write ….. in my case, even drivel.
So how does one begin? The only thing I know about writing is what I’ve read. I’m a voracious reader, always have been since my mother took me at age 9 to the Utica Public library in the deep summer of 1952 to get me out of her hair after we had just moved to a new neighborhood and I hadn’t made any friends yet. See? I just told a story.
And while I was doing the telling, I could look up and almost see the church-like interior of the library’s ornate lobby and smell all the books and feel the coolness of the air as we came inside from the hot day. Sorry, I can’t help it. Where were we?
OK, for those of you who may be a bit anal, here are:
3 Writing Tips
1. Choose a topic. From where? You can do this by writing down the first 100 words to come into you mind. You now have 100 perfectly suitable topics.
2. Just start writing. Start anywhere. I never know where I’m going. Can you tell? Well, sometimes I have an inkling. Type it right out of your head …. grammar be damned. Send the part of your brain that is your Editor out for coffee and don’t worry about those things until puberty, the writer’s kind.
3. Want to be creative? Follow Rule 2. Just get into it, because creativity never happens in advance; you can’t plan it. It happens as you are doing it. Years ago I
read this advice in a small book written by an advertising executive. A successful one.
It probably does help to type directly from your mind to the keyboard. Many people now do it as a result of using the Internet and computers. It’s a good thing, although I’m not sure I can say why. Maybe it’s because after a while we can type almost as fast as we can think and catch more of our thoughts. I think most writers do it this way.
There was a columnist years ago named Jim Bishop who said he purposely did not write this way. Instead, he would think of a sentence and form it completely in his mind…. choosing the tense and verbs and arranging the clauses… before typing it. When I tried it, I found it indeed made for a very economic style where each word and phrase hit the mark. But it was so tedious my head hurt. I figured the only way I could write this way was if I was getting paid as much as Mr. Bishop to write. Anyway……I’m not being paid to do this. I’m doing it for fun.
Well, OK … but only if you insist … I can think of some other suggestions.
3 More Rules
- Write it down and leave it alone. Write down more than one story…or pieces of stories….and leave them all alone. Come back later. This is supposed to be fun, after all. Don’t make it work.
- Carry pen and paper with you. Be like Hemmingway. Write down everything. Someone told me E.B. White would ask a fellow diner to repeat a phrase while he wrote it down on his napkin. It won’t make you a better writer, but everyone will think you’re cool. Or forgetful.
- Use a Thesaurus. You know what it’s for. There’s one contained in Word. This helps you to avoid writing a sentence like, “I told her she should raise the shade so when she raised it, the shade would be raised.”
So, that’s what I think! Do you have any other ideas? If so, I got ya! Write them down and you will have told “a story.” Be sure to send it to me.
David Griffin Copyright 2007
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