www.andrewmackay.net:

Because when I think of a noun becoming a verb, I want to parkour off of a building

Last night, my wife read me a sentence. And I said, “Can <noun> be used as a verb?” She said, “Apparently it can be now.”

And I died a little inside.

Not really, but I do think it makes language a little less elegant when we verb things.

See, right there, I used verb as a verb. The sentence would’ve been clearer, better, if I’d said:

I do think it make language a little less elegant when we constantly force nouns into a verb’s role.

But instead, I went for the quick option. I used verb as a verb, and the sentence only lost a little bit of its meaning.

So, in the words of Kevin James,

“I love your verbs! I’m going to couch for a while, the go sandwich in the kitchen.”

Mellow-dramatic.

Yep, totally typed that. Didn’t catch it for the first minute it was in front of me.

Some writer I am!

I think that’s why I go back to him so often. As a writer, I find that Churchill often succinctly explains a personality tendency in a way that helps me to write characters that suffer from that ailment more accurately. Take this one:

An appeaser is one who feeds a crocodile—hoping it will eat him last.

That’s true! And it really boils it down. And it makes it easy to take the motivation of an appeaser and understand what he’s doing and how it’s going to bite him in the rear.

Good ol’ Winnie. Always a good way to start your Monday.

The thing about my creative center (or whatever you want to call it) is that it’s not exactly like a horse. In fact, it’s nothing at all like a horse. I’ve never heard a farmer tell a story about the day his trained horse got depressed and stopped pulling its load. My creativity, on the other hand, does that all the time. At the slightest provocation, the work that I’ve been engaged with becomes useless, no good, terrible. A terrifically motivated week can morph into a terribly unmotivated weekend with almost no effort.

Of course, the key to the difference between my creativity and the horse may be the training. The horse is trained to go where the farmer tells him to, that the bit is king. The writer in me is (in spite of much preaching at myself) trained to believe that I have to “feel good” in order to be creative. I have to be having a good day. Nothing can have gone wrong in the course of the day. The minute anything does, I immediately cave on all creative efforts. Maybe tomorrow will be a better day.

You couldn’t help but assume that as I write this, I’m having one of those days. That’s totally unfair. How dare you! You assume correctly. I need to reform my creative habits. Like the horse, I need to be disciplined to keep on producing, even when I don’t feel, I don’t know, upbeat.

John Grisham is my favorite quiet day reading. I enjoy his style, it doesn’t require too much effort to read, and it pays off really well.

So, I was quite interested to read about how he got his start. He weaves a good tale (not surprisingly), and really has been through some funny jobs.

I think the most interesting thing about it is his assertion that the hardest work he’s ever done is writing. I don’t think he’s lying. It is hard work. It’s frustrating, but as Grisham points out, something keeps you coming back.

Sometimes it’s awfully tough to know exactly what your creative output is supposed to look like. That’s where I am right now. Having just had a brilliant weekend at the Hutchmoot, I’m more encouraged and challenged than ever by my love for story (and The Story). I want to put that to good use. I’m just not certain what that’s supposed to look like. So of course, being the very private person I am, here I am processing that in front of an audience. How fun!

Life, of course, has its stages. I’m still learning how to be a good dad; I’m still learning how to be a good businessman / employee. I’m still learning how to juggle all the requirements on my time. I’m still learning how to be disciplined. Those are hard processes.They are time consuming. They are sometimes frustrating.

But, one thing I’m learning is that it doesn’t get easier. It probably gets harder. It definitely takes on different looks as life progresses, but if I don’t learn how to master my time and my output now, I won’t have any easier time later.

I’m thinking of combining a few pieces of advice I’ve heard and read lately. Chip MacGregor offered great advice on taking writing seriously the other day. I think I’m going to combine those thoughts with “Start small” and maybe go back to trying my hand at short stories.

I’ll let you know how it works out!

I’m just back from the Hutchmoot, the first annual conference put together by the Rabbitroom . It was an incredible time of hanging out, listening to and participating in discussions about art and life. It was all so good that it’s hard to really put my finger on my favorite part. But, I’ll leave you with a quote from Walt Wangerin, the keynote speaker:

Art is not an intellectual construct, it is an experience.

That’s important. Have a good Monday!

comments are broken, I’m working on it… sorry!

update: They’re fixed, I think!

Real quick, on the value of Fantasy as a genre: There are, I’m sure, vast tracts of the fantasy genre that are somewhat-to-very short on merit. It’s not my intention to get into specifics of “Well, I think that so-and-so’s work is useless.” Two reasons: One: I haven’t read them all. Or even most. Two: Of course you’re going to find things that aren’t worth reading. You’ll find them everywhere. In bookstores, on Amazon.com, on blogs and news outlet webpages and on and on and on.

There is some intrinsic value to the fantasy genre. It tends to feature archtypes with characteristics that are desirable and worthy of emulation, as well as archtypes that underscore evil and make us run from it. Insofar as the fantastic helps the reader to grasp ahold of deep truths, I cannot imagine a more useful genre.

There’s a more-than-healthy dose of cynicism in North America today. Think of how many times today something you’ve said honestly has been responded to by sarcasm? If you’re having a good day, you might only be able to count them on one hand. Fantasy is a wonderful antidote to this cynicism. In the place of sarcasm, we find wit. In the place of doubt, we find faith. In the place of anger over useless things, we find righteous anger over injustice. In the right context, fantasy can help its readers to see the things in life that are truly valuable.

To close, I’ll leave you with a thought from Samwise Gamgee, the faithful friend of Frodo, there with him to the end.

It’s like in the great stories Mr. Frodo, the ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were, and sometimes you didn’t want to know the end because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end it’s only a passing thing this shadow, even darkness must pass. A new day will come, and when the sun shines it’ll shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you, that meant something even if you were too small to understand why. But I think Mr. Frodo, I do understand, I know now folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn’t. They kept going because they were holding on to something.

Frodo: What are we holding onto, Sam?

Sam: That there’s some good in the world, Mr. Frodo, and it’s worth fighting for.

So there… and it was even super relevant. Wish I’d thought of that this morning.

There’s an article listing the 50 best author versus author put-downs of all time. There is some greatness there:

I haven’t any right to criticize books, and I don’t do it except when I hate them. I often want to criticize Jane Austen, but her books madden me so that I can’t conceal my frenzy from the reader; and therefore I have to stop every time I begin. Every time I read ‘Pride and Prejudice,’ I want to dig her up and hit her over the skull with her own shin-bone.

- Mark Twain

Have you ever heard of anyone who drank while he worked? You’re thinking of Faulkner. He does sometimes — and I can tell right in the middle of a page when he’s had his first one.

- Ernest Hemingway

Why do you like Miss Austen so very much? I am puzzled on that point. What induced you to say that you would rather have written ‘Pride and Prejudice’…than any of the Waverly novels? I should hardly like to live with her ladies and gentlemen, in their elegant but confined houses.

- Charlotte Bronte

A little literary hilarity to start your day.

My son is not that old… he’s coming up on the two year marker (rather quickly, in fact). Young though he is, he’s beginning to show flashes of imagination, and I love it.

His world is small. There are people he knows by name, but not many of them. His concept of work is severely crippled by the fact that his dad works from home (to him, work means sequestering yourself in a different room). His concept of the rest of the world consists of the places he routinely ends up (CVS, Walmart, Walgreens, Church, and the Library). And yet, within his little world, there is great opportunity for invention. He can be one of his great aunts going to work. He can be any one of his grandparents going to Walmart. He can be daddy. He can be mommy. He can be Farmer Dooley. Whatever occurs to him, he makes happen (the gender confusion thing, I’m sure, will sort itself out). The language barrier is still strongly in place — I can’t get too much of a window into what he’s thinking, yet. But I love watching it develop. It’s a great reminder of how fantastic and big and different the world is when you’re not accustomed to it.

Experiencing the familiar through the eyes of someone experiencing the new is inspiring; it’s a gift from my son to me, and often a gift from a writer to their readers.