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"Wait until you are hungry to say something, until there is an aching in you to speak."
Natalie Goldberg

Wednesday, 31 October 2007

NaNo-a-go-go!!!


"Tomorrow we'll be far away
Tomorrow is the judgement day
Tomorrow we discover what our God in heaven has in store.
One more dawn. One more day. One day more."

One Day More from the musical Les Miserables


Tomorrow. NaNoWriMo begins.

30 days. 50,000 words. One novel. No excuses. No turning back.

I am ready.

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Tuesday, 30 October 2007

Do you mind my language?


Janie over at The Write Stuff has written a very strong piece on The Power of Words and Need for Restraint.

It concerns the use of certain words that some people deem objectionable. Janie did not mention these words directly, and in the comments on the piece all commenters were scrupulous about not mentioning the words directly.

However. This is my blog. It is intended for a mature audience. I am not in favour of tip-toeing around the topic, and therefore if you are offended by strong language I advise you to stop reading now.

I am in disagreement with much of what Janie had to say. Each writer has a style. Each writer writes in a specific way. As such, I find it difficult to accept any argument that attempts to say how a writer "ought" to write.

The "ought" in this case, is the proposition that a writer "ought not" to use vulgar language. The specific word in this case was "cunt". Janie subscribed to a blog that used "cunt" in the title of a post. Now, at this point I do actually agree. It was probably quite tactless to use that word in the title of the post. I've tried to avoid using cunt until I was certain I'd got past my Feedburner preview limit (since my feed appears on Facebook and other places).

To my mind, the call for an author to "know their audience" does not mean pandering to the objections of the masses. If you are trying to target a specific audience then yes, you have to write what that audience will like. But for a writer who writes to express their own personality, the only person they have to know is themselves. They may find that they have a following, but in this case the audience found the author. Therefore the audience doesn't have a right to dictate the author's output. More to the point, a writer who only ever writes to the limited range of what has previously proven popular for them is a writer not stretching themselves.

Nor am I convinced that just because blogs are accessible to a mass audience that they should err on the side of caution and use the most conservative language. Blogs are available to a mass audience. But so are novels. A library is as accessible as the internet, if not more accessible. I do not see why a blog should have to abide by a rule that a book would not. Certainly if the blog advertises itself as for general consumption, as family friendly, then that sort of language ought not to be acceptable. But you would not find Ian McEwan's Atonement (whose plot device hinges upon use of the word "cunt") in the children's section of a library.

A skilled writer may be able to convey ideas without swearing. But swear words are a part of our language, available as part of the writer's toolkit. A skilled painter can make do without green paint, but I do not know a single artist who would artificially constrain themselves by refusing to use that particular pigment.

Perhaps the part of Janie's piece I had the most disagreement with was something that d.challener mentioned in his comment - the concept that the writer, although not from the United States, ought to have been more aware of the cultural sensitivities of the US audience, through checking their site stats. Firstly, the writer was not American, and made no concessions to US sensitivities. If the majority of the readership was from the US, then surely they were attracted to the blog by how refreshingly different it was, how unlike other US blogs it was?

The example was given that feigning ignorance of foreign laws is not an excuse when in that country.

True, but that analogy is inapposite. Had the writer strayed on to someone else's blog and used the word cunt in violation of the personal standards of that blog, then yes, claiming ignorance of those standards would be no defence. But a US visitor to a non-US blog who complains about the content of that blog (content acceptable under the standards of the blogger's own culture), is like a US holiday-maker visiting a foreign country, then complaining that things aren't like they are in the US.

d.challener said it better than I could: "It is a conceit almost unique to we Americans that people must go out of their way to avoid offending us."

Now, I want to move on to a more general thought I have had about words we find offensive. I am thinking of words that are pure "swear words", so I am ignoring racial epithets for these purposes. I would classify "swear words" as words whose very utterance is sufficient to cause shock and offence. Within "swear words" I believe there are three categories:

Profanities - words such as damn, hell, Jesus Christ (when used as an exclamation) etc. These words are profane, in that they profane something sacred. Once they were the worst kind of swearing (as they imperilled the soul). In a more secular society, these words are relatively tame, and some are widely accepted as normal.

Dirty words - for example piss, dick, cock, pussy. These I believe are dirty because they deal with the unclean (piss) or with morally unclean parts of the body (dick, pussy). These are "swear words" because they deal with the unclean in an immature manner. They are the language of the playground.

Vulgarities - for example fuck, shit, bastard and cunt. These are the worst category of swear words, as can be seen by the reaction to them.

The question we have to ask is why? It is their "vulgarity" that makes them offensive, but we forget what is vulgar about them.

"Bastard" is offensive because it was a legal term. It meant you were illegitimate, and therefore unable to inherit property, titles and land. To call someone a bastard was therefore something quite bad; it implied a level of unworthiness. Since those likely to inherit anything several hundred years ago would have been upper class, a claim that they were a bastard made them quite "vulgar".

The other words are an interesting type of vulgarity. Shit, fuck and cunt all come from Anglo-Saxon roots. They were normal, acceptable, every day words. Until the Norman invasion.

The Normans took over England. They became the landed gentry. The "polite" society. Anglo-Saxons, the native population, became the Serf class. Those Saxon earls allowed to keep their lands and titles adapted to the Norman regime. They spoke the Norman language. To slip back into Anglo-Saxon would be a reminder of how "vulgar" they were. As shit, fuck and cunt are words that deal with "dirty" subjects, to mention them in the language of the Serfs was doubly shocking, and very, very vulgar.

"Cunt" and variants are found in English still. There used to be a street in London called Gropecunt Lane, famed for its prostitutes. A variant of "cunt" appears in Chaucer's Canterbury Tales

For some of these words, their "shocking" nature is due to accidents of history, and reasons commonly forgotten.

"Politeness" represents an invader, an enslaver. That which is "vulgar" belongs to the oppressed, the enslaved. Perhaps it is time to reclaim fuck and cunt. To object to these is akin to Ancient Egyptians objecting to Hebrew, or Antebellum Southerners objecting to Negro Spirituals.

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Friday, 26 October 2007

Fiction Friday - 26 October 2007



This Week's Theme: Write about an Auction.

Quite a crowd in today, a good mix of people. If you scan their faces you can figure out quickly what type of punter they are.

Him at the back? He's a pro. Taking his time, looking at everything, but not betraying any interest. I'm sure a number of trinkets have caught his eye, but he won't let on. He'll bide his time and make his move when ready.

Lady at the side - she's not serious. Notice the way everything is of interest to her? She's here for the thrill of it, that's all. She's like a butterfly, flitting between all the pretty flowers, but she won't settle on anything. She'll perhaps make a few bids very early on, but she knows she's not in the competition, and will withdraw early. Guess it must just be the atmosphere that she enjoys.

Ah, front and centre. Me, I wouldn't even let him bid. Look at him closely, did you spot it? Yeah, you can tell that he's a fraud. Sure, he talks the talk, he'll make some serious bids. Hell, he may even win - but he's not playing with his own money, so to speak. And if he gets called on it, well, there'll be hell to pay.

It's been a while since I've done this. Normally I'd be out on the floor, making bids, hoping to get something unique, special. This time I'm on the other side of the block, seeing who is prepared to make an offer. A nod, a wink, a smile, a shake of the head. All the little signals that tell you who's in and who's out.

I'm not going to expect much. It would be nice to find someone genuine, a serious bidder, but I shouldn't get my hopes up too high. It's an old item, and even I'll admit it's seen better days. One careful owner, but a little broken now. It would be a pretty special person who would be prepared to put in the restoration work.

I ask the barman for another beer, and look back out across the crowd, searching for a friendly face, an opening offer. What am I bid for this old heart?

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Thursday, 25 October 2007

NaNoWriMo - one week to go...


It is now one week to go until the start of NaNoWriMo. Am I ready? I hope so...

I'm going to be pretty busy over November, so might not be as in touch with people as I might normally be. Honestly, this is going to be the best place to find me if you need me. I'm not intending to write to my personal blog unless something momentous happens, so for updates you're best sticking to this site.

I'll be posting frequent updates on my progress, word count and even little snippets on this blog. I may even post some video entries on the days when I can't face writing anything more. I post videos through Viddler - you can see my Viddler profile here.

The podcast will continue on schedule. The Sins should carry me through most of November, so I won't need to come up with anything original during November.

I hope to carry on with [Fiction] Friday during November, but if I'm pressed on my word goal, then I'm afraid I'll have to let that slide.

Finally, for all those taking part in NaNoWriMo, you can add me as a writing buddy if you want! Just click on my NaNoWriMo profile and add me.

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Friday, 19 October 2007

Fiction Friday - 19 October 2007



This Week's Theme: What happens when a character, while cleaning out a house before moving out, finds a roll of film?

"Is that what I think it is?"

Her voice brings me back to the present, and I put the small plastic canister back onto the table in front of me. The gray cap has writing on it, faded with time, but still perfectly legible. I turn my head to look at her and nod. She sucks the air in between her teeth sharply and shakes her head. "No doubts?"

"It's there on the lid - the date, the number. I haven't looked at the film, but what else is it going to be?" Roll #23, 9th August 1996. Given the history of this house, this room, what he did here... Number 23 was the one we could never find out of the thirty he used that day. Once they were developed the pictures told a story. One that should never be repeated. But one chapter was missing, in many ways the most important one. The "Magic Bullet" as Louise had called it at the time.

Karl was long gone now, but his reputation remained. What that roll contained would either condemn a hero or canonise a monster. Saint or sinner, he was simply "Karl" to me. He did what he was asked to do, I never asked for details and he never went into them. It was enough that we got results.

"Should we turn it in? Let the Directors take the decision?" That would be the smart thing, and in any other situation I would follow Louise's advice. But I need to satisfy myself. I pop the lid off and drop the roll into the palm of my hand. Karl kept this hidden for a reason. I ought to respect that. Then again, I ought to follow orders and turn this in.

"Louise, you should get out. You don't want to be part of the blowback on this one."

She made to protest, but Karl was slightly before her time. This was agency legend to her, it was personal history to me. "Five minutes, then we leave, OK?" She walks out the apartment door into the hallway, and I know that she's already started the clock.

I grab the end of the film, and unspool it quickly, twenty six frames that see the light of day for the first time in a decade. Holding it up to the light, I quickly run my eye over the images. The strange colours and hues of a negative world make everything inhuman; the last piece of the puzzle falls into place for me, and I'm glad that things look unreal in negative. I can distance myself from the scene played out before me.

I hold one end of the unspooled film in my left hand. With a flick of my thumb the lighter in my right hand sparks into life. It's hypnotic the way that film bubbles, warps and melts, until there only a small black mass of charred plastic remains. I'm satisfied now. Canister 23 will remain a legend. Damn you Karl. And from what I saw, you probably are.

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I'm on holiday!

And yet I'm still writing - this is me in the middle of the New Mexico heat, adding an idea into my notebook!

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Friday, 5 October 2007

Fiction Friday - 05 October 2007



This Week's Theme: Use the first line of a nursery rhyme (your choice) to start your own story.

Jack be nimble, Jack be quick...

Yes my dear, nimble I was, and quick, once upon a time. Old Jacky boy, he had a reputation y'see. All my ladies used to talk about me in 'ushed tones they did. Used to make 'em quiver. Watch out for that Jack, he's a bad boy is what they'd tell you. But my girls loved me, they never forgot Jack...

Now I'm an old man, I don't get about as much as I used to. But in my prime I was a real Jack the Lad. When there was fire in my belly I could go twice in a night. Now? Well my dear, once in a blue moon, so you're a lucky one and no mistake...

Shhhhh, 'ush now my girl, I'll have you gasping and trembling too, when wicked Jacky has his fun, soon enough, soon enough.

The ladies what was lucky enough to know me, you could tell 'em at a glance. They was never the same afterwards. Jack could make 'em gush. A few minutes with me, hard as steel, and my pretty girls was wet and dripping. Mmmm, I can still feel 'em, pressed close to me, just as close as you are now my girl. They'd tremble and gasp as I plunged into 'em deep, then finish off quick and they'd collapse - they'd never want another man after me. You could say I ruined 'em...

Deary me, what is the matter girl? Cat got your tongue?

No, cat ain't got it, but Jacky does. Another souvenir for 'is collection. A little trinket from another of 'is girls. What a saucy lad he is...

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