Perhaps your laugh for the day

Part of the joy of being a writer is wasting time thinking up silly stuff. Here's an example. If you think it's funny (and it will be if you're of a certain age), pass it along. No reason I should laugh all by myself.

The Old Fogies' ABCs

 

A is for Arthritis, which you may not even know you have until you struggle up from the floor after a rousing game of Uncle Wiggly with your grandchild (see U).

 B is for Buttocks, which will either enlarge catastrophically or disappear altogether, making it impossible to find jeans that fit.

 C is for Cataracts, which have to ripen, like green bananas, before they can be corrected.

 D is for Diverticulitis, which means you give up strawberries, popcorn, nuts, seeds, and any other bumpy food you might have enjoyed in a former life.

 E is for Erectile Dysfunction (see V). Lack of this dysfunction is the best thing about youth (see Y).

 F is for Flatulence, which was a laugh riot when you were in kindergarten and now is a laugh riot to your five-year-old grandchild. When it’s yours.

 G is for Gastroesophageal Reflux Disease (GERD), a condition that requires you to elevate your upper body when you sleep, so that by morning you’re collapsed like an accordion at the foot of the bed.

 H is for Hair, which disappears from your head but sprouts from your ears and nose.

 I is for Ibuprofen, which you take for arthritis (see A).

 J is for Joint Replacement, which is what you get when the ibuprofen doesn’t work anymore (see I).

 K is for Kids, who move back home, with their kids, and that’s why you’re playing Uncle Wiggly again. (see U)

 L is for Liver Spots, which are now euphemistically called dark spots, which sounds faintly astronomical, which it kind of is because your parents told you baking in the sun was good for you—and it was the one time you listened to them.

 M is for “Mature Audiences,” which means the movie you’ve chosen to see will not be nuanced, thoughtful, or provocative; it will instead be crude, pornographic, drenched in blood, or just plain disgusting.

 N is for Nude, which can be disturbing when you see yourself in it.

 O is for Olden Days, which is the pitiable time in which you were born—before MTV and video games, or maybe before computers, or maybe even before television.

 P is for Prostate—and pee—the two of which are intimately related. The more of one, the less of the other.

Q is for Quiet, which you either have too much or not enough of.

 R is for Retirement, a quaint notion that has no meaning in the 21^st century (see S).

 S is for Social Security, which will disappear when it’s time for you to collect and the reason you will still be sending out résumés when you’re 90.

 T is for Teeth, which you can bleach. Your teeth will look 20 when your face looks 70. It has not been determined if this is a good thing.

 U is for Uncle Wiggly, a game your grandchildren love. It’s mind-numbing, takes forever to play, and is impossible to throw, no matter how you try.

 V is for Viagra™. Forget the rose-colored glasses. Enjoy life through a gauzy blue haze, and watch out for that four-hour limit.

 W is for Wisdom, which you finally have, but nobody pays any attention to.

 X is for X-ray, which you’ll need many of before your joint replacement (see J).

 Y is for Youth, a time of vigor, vitality, stupidity—and potency. (see E and V).

 Z is for Zany, which is what you can be now because people your age are supposed to be eccentric. Enjoy!

 

A word that has to go

And that word is "rock," unless you're referring to a stone, pebble, boulder, or crag.  Or perhaps to rock and roll in its pure form. And by that I mean Elvis or Roy or Bill Haley. Rock also is a good synonym for stun or shock, and rocking is appropriate for soothing a baby.

 But please, please no more, "Yes, Ryan, she really rocked the runway in that cut-out velvet." Or those shoes. Or that "old Hollywood glamour" hair. Or even a lipstick, for Pete's sake.  Men don't seem to rock as much, but they too can rock fabulous sunglasses or a stylish tux. While reading a fashion magazine on a recent cross-country flight, I counted the number of things people rocked--handbags, pantyhose, nail polish, toe rings. You name it, they rocked it. But when a word is so blatantly overused, it loses all meaning. The time has come to retire this one. It really would be rockin' if we got rid of it.

Nobunny Does It Better

Yes, I am going back to that time management series, but as the holiday shopping season enters warp speed, here's something for parents looking for those all-important first books for infants. 

Nobunny Does it Better

 

When it comes to children’s literature, rabbits seem to be the protagonists of choice. Although others species are represented in various tales, usually in groups of three—The Three Bears, The Three Billy Goats Gruff, The Three Little Pigs—rabbits constitute an entire genre, a subculture, if you will, of animal prose. There’s the durable Peter Rabbit and the hapless hare who accompanies the tortoise on the great race. Even Christopher Robin’s Hundred-Acre Wood would be incomplete without the venerable and slightly bumbling Rabbit. For the infant set, bunnies clearly rock.   

Since I believe that children learn to read by being read to, I started choosing books for my grandchildren while they were still in the cradle. As I browsed the bunny shelf at my local bookstore, I found three possible first books: Goodnight Moon, The Runaway Bunny, and Pat the Bunny, in which starring roles are admirably filled by cottontails.

As I compared stories, a clear winner emerged. Goodnight Moon was a strong contender. A charming tale millions of parents have used as a bedtime ritual, the book nonetheless raises several unsettling questions. Who, exactly, is the old woman who sits in the corner of the nursery and whispers, “Hush”? Did she just walk in off the street? Didn’t the bunny parents know they should lock the door? And why is there a bowl of mush in the bedroom? To the best of my knowledge, traditional bunnies, such as those in Mr. McGregor’s garden, favor lettuce and carrots. Their mouths are not well-adapted to slurping up mush. Is the baby bunny being reared by a gang of revisionist grain-eaters? Seemed mighty subversive to me. I moved on.

The next entrant in the first-book sweepstakes, The Runaway Bunny, is another delightful classic. However, I gave it a pass because it reduced my daughter-in-law to floods of hormonally induced postpartum tears. Another choice was called for.

So it came down to Pat the Bunny. For riveting plot and dramatic tension, you can’t beat this tiny book. Peopled with fascinating characters—the bunny, the ever-intriguing Paul and Judy No-Last-Name, the man with the scratchy beard and the woman with the gold ring (OK, so they turn out to be Mummy and Daddy)—and interesting effects, such as the fragrant flowers and the book-within-a-book, this little volume has it all and ends with a simple, yet satisfying “goodbye.” How many other authors could pull off so abrupt a finale with such grace and panache?

Although Pat the Cat, the enchanting sequel to Pat the Bunny, has its fans as well, it somehow lacks the luster of the original. The bunny makes all the difference.

Time Management for the Rest of Us: Part 1

Some writers handle their time very well. They write consistently, never miss their deadlines, and get their laundry done before they have to raid the hamper for something to wear to the client meeting. But other writers have real problems with time management. They’re disorganized and scattered. Their notes are everywhere—or lost. They try the time management techniques in books and magazines, but they can’t apply the tools and wonder why they can’t get it together. 

I have some good news. Those writers might be failing because most time management systems are designed for left-brain, analytical thinkers. Color-coded files, priority-ranked task lists, and calendar bombs work fine for linear types whose thought processes move from Point A to Point B without a detour to Points Q, F and H.

However, most writers are intuitive right-brainers who may have trouble applying time management techniques that were designed for accountants. Of course, it takes discipline to be a writer; we have to apply the seat of the body to the seat of the chair and write every day, but we need time management help that takes our biases into account.

My next six blog entries, based on the phrase I WRITE, will deal with writers’ particular time management issues.  

I=Identify Yourself as a Writer

In my writing classes, I often invite students to a “cocktail party.” Glasses in hand, we have a conversation about their daily lives. Remember, they’re all members of a writing group, but when I ask, “What do you do?” it’s rare that anyone in the class says, “I’m a writer.” They may say they’re moms or dads or paralegals or marketing consultants, but the writing part of their lives generally gets short shrift. That’s okay if they’re hobbyist writers or family historians, but many of these students aspire to careers as professional writers. That’s why they’re in class in the first place.

I maintain that if you identify yourself as something other than a writer, you’ll never find the time to write. You’ll try to work your writing into your life, rather than working the rest of your life around your writing. It’s all about mindset. You have to believe in your own head that you’re a writer, and then you have to say it with confidence.

However, there’s one little word that can blow your resolve to bits. Once you identify yourself as a writer, someone at that cocktail party will say, “Published?” If you haven’t been, you may feel like a fraud. Don’t. If you’re serious about a writing career, willing to study, learn, take some classes, go to writers’ conferences, read other people’s work, and constantly strive to get better, the answer to that question is, “Not yet,” and don’t hang your head while you say it. When the party’s over, get back to work. Once upon a time, everyone was unpublished.

Five Big Mistakes Writers Make: Part 5

We’ve come almost full circle and back to carelessness, which I mentioned in the first post of this series. This kind of carelessness, however, is different from the global type I discussed then. This carelessness is about language. A hefty percentage of the books that come to me for editorial comment or direction are plagued by errors that indicate the writer hasn’t studied the English language. I’m not talking about ESL writers; in fact, many of those for whom English is a second language write far better than native speakers. My target today is authors who speak English, but write it poorly. Two of the most common problem writers are:

·         Those who believe that clear, simple writing isn’t fancy enough.

Yesterday, on a syndicated television show, I heard the host talk about a kitchen “fit for a gourmand.” I assume she used this word because she thought it was a high-brow substitute for the word gourmet. In fact, they are different words with very different meanings. A gourmet is a person with a knowledge of and appreciation for fine foods and wines. A gourmand, on the other hand, is a pig: a glutton who shoves food into his mouth and probably lets it dribble down his chin. I’m sure that’s not the image this “sophisticated” speaker meant to convey when talking about the $1 million kitchen in the multimillion-dollar house.

Another typical example is using the word “penultimate” because ultimate just isn’t quite enough. Unfortunately, penultimate doesn’t mean more ultimate (because, of course, ultimate, like unique and pregnant, has no comparative or superlative. It’s ultimate or it isn’t). Penultimate means second to last. That’s all. Using penultimate to mean better than ultimate makes the writer seem … dare I say? ... dumb.

And how about infinitesimal to substitute for infinite? I see this one quite a bit in overblown manuscripts. Infinite means limitless, while infinitesimal means tiny, the very opposite of what infinite conveys and probably not what the writer means. “My love for you is infinitesimal.” Well, thanks a lot. I guess we don't have much of a chance then, do we? I'd say the relationship is doomed.

·         Those who left grammar and usage behind in the eighth grade.

The conventions matter. They really do. Although a character in a novel might say she was going to “lay out in the sun,” the writer shouldn’t mess up lay and lie while laying out the rest of the narrative. Careful writers know the difference between its and it’s and never use its’. They know the meanings and differences between ordinance and ordnance, fulsome and full, lectern and podium, noisome and noisy, famous and infamous, fever and temperature, anecdote and antidote, oral and verbal, sensuous and sensual, me and myself, complement and compliment, affect and effect, and a host of other commonly confused words.

They know how and when to use apostrophes, thus avoiding such hideous-looking words and phrases as “ladie’s room,” "steak's and potato's," and "childrens' literature." 

If they don’t know a particular rule, they look it up. Careful writers collect reference books and trusted websites, and they use them frequently.

To be a good writer, show respect for your craft, your audience, and the tools you use. If you’re diligent, work hard, and take advantage of the gigantic number of helps now available, you’ll become a more adept, more polished writer. Isn’t that what we all want to be?