One of the troubles with writing is you feel awkward discussing what you did at work today with those humanly closest to you. It is simply too difficult to explain. It just feels more comfortable to take to a keyboard and share it online with social media friends and readers who follow because YOU want to.
Meaning that here on my own writing site I’m not risking making a total “bore” of myself (I hope).😉
But one of the challenges in sharing what you did at work is if you include any excerpt it also shouldn’t give away too much; inadvertently “spoiling” your own upcoming novel is, frankly, idiotic. However, yesterday’s work, and this morning’s, was full of plot detail and “surprises” that I just don’t want seen yet. That said, having scoured it, I think I can share this:
A bit more “history.” Please don’t run for cover. I think you’ll find this amusing – especially given this is 4th of July weekend in the U.S.:
That excerpt is from a recent biography. The first part is from a 1782 letter written by the subject while he was traveling; the second half is from an 1811 letter he also wrote. In 1782 the writer had made his way across Sweden (including Finland, which was part of Sweden then) while returning from Russia.
“Remember,” my (now late) mother lectured me some years ago, “Billy Joel said it best.”
“Huh,” I recall replying, “I’m afraid to ask about what. Something about Italian restaurants?”
He being another “real” New Yorker – and particularly a Long Islander – and not much younger than herself, my mother loved Joel’s music. [Full disclosure, I like him, too.] She paused after I’d questioned her. Suddenly, she looked puzzled.
We don’t see this sort of thing happen in our lives too often. These next few weeks? Remember them:
For American readers, “luvvies” is British derogatory slang for….
a person who is involved in the acting profession or the theatre, esp one with a tendency to affectation
As you may know, on June 23 British voters will be asked to answer this referendum question, Yes or No: Should the United Kingdom remain a part of the European Union?
The arguments for remaining vs. leaving are now all over the airwaves, filling newspapers and the net. British voters are being deluged with opinions. As with those entertainers Sky presenter Kay Burley tweets about, it seems most every figure is voicing a view.
Taking no public position either way myself (I’m not British, so I don’t feel it’s appropriate), I will say I’ve noticed two major tendencies that broadly underpin both sides’ arguments:
Hello. I’m typing this on March 11 mid-afternoon here at a lounge in Newark Airport (in New Jersey), a few hours before our flight back to the UK. I think it’ll make for blog post on arrival “home” in England.
Around us on the sofas and chairs in the busy room are assorted people, some “type type typing” or “tap tap tapping” their mobile devices feverishly. I’m using my iPad with its Bluetooth keyboard. My wife across from me is on her Microsoft Surface. Some travelers are conversing quietly. Some kids I see are also engrossed on I-somethings. Some people are eating. Others are watching TV. (Nancy Reagan’s funeral is on the big set.) A couple I see in a corner are snoozing.
Sitting a few feet away from me is an American couple in their 20s to young 30s. Understand, I’m not trying to single out my fellow countrymen here – this lounge is full of other Americans. These two, however, seem to think everyone else has to hear what they’re yammering about.
One thing that struck me is how his French is proper and relatively easy for an American reading French to follow. (It’s accessible even to one like myself whose French is not what it had been “20 years” ago.) In comparison, it being her native language, her French is more airy, romantic (although that could also have partly been due to her personality) and not nearly as “school textbook” as his. Yet you also get a vibe at times that she’s perhaps writing down to his fluency level: keeping it “simpler.”
Gut-wrenching is what happens to them during one year of the French Revolution in the 1790s. It’s a scary moment. Reading it even now is unsettling.
Recently, the BBC was out and about, questioning people in London, India, and Singapore:
A practical point: the BBC’s social media linkage there is useless. I can’t see how to link directly to that update (for your ease in accessing it). The “Share” facility for some dopey reason takes one only to the entire page, thus requiring a reader to scroll down through over two days of other posts to get to it.
[WARNING: This post contains an upsetting photograph.]
Our imaginations and personal interests will invariably take us down our own writing paths. It’s any author’s right to invent what he/she wishes to invent. Our creativity means everything.
So I’m not one usually to hit out at other authors’ chosen fictional subject matter. Yet there are times you feel you have to make clear where you stand as a matter of fundamental moral principle. Thankfully only very occasionally are there those tales that make you, frankly, gasp and shudder:
A story of an SS officer, his Jewish wife and their fight against the Reich
After gasping and shuddering at that cover blurb, I could only shake my head in disbelief. I’m sure if you want to, you can find that indie novel; but I won’t name it here. (I think it’s a 2015 publication.) I had never heard of it before, nor of its author, until I first saw its full cover pop up on my Google+ the other day.