Grammar Rules - A Follow-up

I am sure you've experienced something similar to this. You and some friends get together, say to go bowling. You get a few strikes, pick up a couple of spares, and close the game with a solid 148 - far better than usual. You are happy, and say, "It's always a nice night when I bowl good."

At this point, a friend butts in with, "You didn't bowl good, you bowled well."

"Huh?"

"The proper way to say it is that you bowled well." This uptight friend continues, "A bowler is good. Someone bowls well."

"Whatever," you say, reminding yourself to no longer invite that friend for nights out.

We all know that guy. We all hate that guy in one way or another. It gets so annoying that they know exactly what I meant, yet still pointed out that the way I said it wasn't the grammatically proper way to say it. They just had to have their win, apparently. We dislike these people not because they are right, but because they are insisting we use the right words instead of familiar communication. (Or maybe because they picked up a spare in the tenth frame to beat us by two pins.)

As writers, we have to hold to the rules of grammar - kind of. When I write this piece, then I definitely keep to the rules because I want to effectively communicate a point to you, whether it's about writing, grammar, or my bowling scores. However, when our writing drifts into the arena of storytelling, the lines blur a little. We can start playing games with sentence length, points of view, and the reliability of the stories we tell. Then when it comes to dialogue - look out! We suddenly have license to write things in the way people say them if we so choose. We can use the passive voice, we can mix up certain words, we can get sentences wrong, just as long as they ultimately serve the purpose of fleshing out the story in the shape we want it to.

Now, that being said, there are still a few rules. What about narration? If someone is telling a story from their own perspective, then it very much needs to be in their voice - warts and all. If, however, the narration comes from a third-person source, or the omnipotent eye in the sky, well, the narration better be crisp and to the point. This can sound weird when you mix the dialogue of someone who uses a lot of slang with a proper third-person narrator, but the effect is clear. Example:

Steve thought about the situation for a long moment. "I ain't knows much about no book-learnin'," he said, rubbing his chin in contemplation, "but I sure 'nuff knows what's right and what ain't that right."

Narratively, the voice is clean, so it helps showcase every little quirk of speech in the actual voice of the character. I have had to edit dialogue like this and it's a nightmare, but when it is put next to proper narration, the experience is very effective.

Plus, it drives the grammar Nazis out of their head.

(With the approach of Labor Day on September 2nd, my next post will be on September 6th.)      

 

Writing Earworms

January 25th, 1966. Does this date sound familiar to you? Seriously - I need to know. Is there anything about that date in particular that shouts out to you or compels you to relay a special message? I looked it up, and it seems that this particular date is inconsequential (unless you are Chet Culver, former Governor of Iowa, who was born on that date - Happy birthday, Chet). There is no reason why this date should be stuck in my head, and yet, there it is. 1/25/1966. And apparently, I am stuck with it.

If this happened to be a lyric to a song, it is far more socially acceptable. Someone would complain that they had a song stuck in their head, other people would suggest songs to counter it, the song would keep playing like the little earworm that it is, and that person would go about their day, quietly humming, Cherish by The Association until it ran its course. However, for writers and other creatives, some weird things can get stuck in the brain - writing earworms - and they become a lot more difficult to process because we don't know where they came from or why they are relevant; we just can't get rid of them.

Now, under normal circumstances, my cure for any writer-related ailment is to write about it. Having a very emotional day? Write about it. Thinking a lot about someone in your life? Write about them. Having trouble dealing with the White Sox' latest loss? Get writing! (and you'll have a lot to write about on that last one.) However, I think I am going to come at this writing earworm from a different angle.

Sometimes, when an idea or other creative seed sprouts in my mind, I make the active choice to try and understand it. I turn my tools I use as a writer into weapons, instruments of interrogation to find out about this thing. I don't need to investigate it for some greater truth - although that might happen. I try to find out just why it seeped into my brain at this particular time.

As far as January 25th, 1966 goes, I first ask myself, "Why that date in particular?" It can't have anything to do with me because I hadn't even been conceived. It doesn't sit on any anniversaries or anything, so I kick out the obvious distractions and wonder, "Why not 1965 or 1967? Why do those years not feel right?" "Why January?" Frankly, January is a pretty sucky month in Chicago - but maybe that's exactly why this comes to mind. And as for the 25th, well, that's kind of like Christmas but actually pretty far apart from Christmas - a full month to be exact. 

I have found out nothing about the actual date itself but as a writer, I start feeling how it works into some general narrative. It's a remote, lonely, empty date, with little connection to anything. In my family it actually represents this chronological crater around which none of my siblings or cousins were born for about two years. It's a pretty big bunch of empty there. So, in this regard, I now feel some kind of creative connection to it. Now if I want to write about it, I might not know exactly where it came from, but I know what moods it triggers, which is a start.

And yes, my next short story now has a working title of, "January 25th, 1966."       

Taking A Writing Time-Out

I live around the Chicagoland area, which in terms of local news means that every single facet of my life has somehow been affected by the recent convention hosted in the city. No matter where I went or what media I chose to pay attention to, somehow, it all turned back to convention news. Sports, weather, traffic - somehow all became political. And while I am a political creature, I quickly reached my quota and shut down on even trying to engage with the world because it would inevitably turn into a political thing. And yes, that included my writing.

By separating myself from writing for a bit, I learned a few things about myself and my process (and I also learned how many people were distraught by the lack of fresh content over the past couple of posts. ). Probably, the most important thing that I learned was that even though my favorite activities can get infected by the world around me, sometimes that can be an opportunity to work out all the frustrations over whatever infection has overwhelmed my system. Earlier this year when I had an exhausting case of pneumonia (a literal infection rather than a metaphorical one), I found comfort in using my small, surviving doses of energy to write about it. Nothing good, mind you - the story of a bacterium in my lungs as it realizes it won't survive the next assault by my immune system is not exactly a work of art. However, doing things like this prevented me from enduring the exhausting process of avoidance. I knew I was sick, I faced it with the tools I had available, and I made it through. And maybe someday that bacterium story gets a much-deserved rewrite.

Another thing I learned is that my writing process is very much a part of me. I have spent years working on it, but in many ways my sense of self had adapted in its own way to where changing my process changes me as well. The two are by now very intertwined, and to avoid my process because of a bunch of political shenanigans up in Chicago is to deflect from my inherent nature to create, to translate, to convert the world around me into something more easily digestible. In this regard, all my recent avoidance has really left me feeling like a man without a kingdom, and that's just not a fun feeling. 

As of today, the street crews are now cleaning up the city, taking down the traffic blockades, and beginning the arduous task of bringing the city back to normal. Pretty soon, Chicago will be back to Chicagoing again, and I can concern myself with sports, traffic, and weather without them all somehow being tied to something greater or worse. However, I can now prepare myself for the next epic event to take over the city (TBD), and recognize that avoiding it is not the best idea. Instead, I will write about it. I will write the hell out of it. I am a writer. That's what I do. And for anyone who wants to call themselves a writer, the first thought to emerge from any adverse situation is to think, "What can I write about this?"      

More Than Just an Engine

Aside from writing and economics, I know a few other things as well (some would say very few). I do the bicycling thing fairly well and know the details underlying good habits of cyclists, I participate in Civil War reenactments (though not for a while), and I know a lot about biology (it was almost a second major for me in college). And as many people have found out, I know a thing or two about cars. Mostly the mechanical stuff - I can't tell the difference between a '65 and a '66 Mustang, but I can manage either of them under the hood (for a little bit).

In a way, this knowledge of car engines gives me a little advantage when my writing involves cars, but surprisingly not much. Sure, I can incorporate details that might create some atmosphere, but more often than not, if I start writing about spark plugs and carburetors (the things that pushed gas before fuel injectors), chances are that particular piece would sound like I was showing off as a writer rather than writing something of value.

For the bulk of writing, the reader requires one of two things: The fundamental points that drive the story, or why a particular detail is so important. More often than not, the reader requires the first thing but the writer too often tries to give them the latter. This leads to a lot of wasted words and the reader growing impatient with the process of story and plot movement.

I am sure most every reader knows the basics of a combustion engine: Gas goes in, gets compressed by a piston, gets ignited and pushes the piston back; this causes the engine to run and allows you to go to the McDonalds drive-thru in style. This is the stripped-down version of the engine and for most people that's all they need to know. If I get into fuel sensors, oil pressure, etc., none of that knowledge will affect how you roll through the drive-thru. Maybe a quick mention of how brakes work will help you understand how to stop, but the rest isn't important.

How does this translate to writing? Glad you asked. When our character does something, we need to know a few things: Motivation and resistance. In short, what pushes them to do it and what tries to hold them back. If a 16-year-old kid in high school wants to ask his crush out to prom, the most informative pieces here come from those two bits. Motivation: The kid wants to finally express this unrequited love. Resistance: Paralyzing fear of rejection because of low self-esteem. These are the elements that fill in what we need to know. Do we need to know that the low self-esteem comes from the kid's parents going through an ugly divorce that was very traumatizing? Do we need to know the roots of this kid's crush comes from their first day in second-grade together when they shared their lunches? If we have time for more details, we can add those in. For a longer piece, more background creates a deeper tension because that knowledge raises the stakes. However, don't spend so much time incorporating details if you don't mean it to be a pivotal event. The immediate conflict requires tension to give it value and that's it. More exposition can actually defuse the tension, and the reader loses interest in the kid's fate.

Deep inside, every writer should know all those details about the kid's life, the traumas, desires, and so forth. They're all important in creating the character in a full and rich manner. However, let the event dictate what needs to be written and what stays in the background. And if you, as a writer, feel a need to talk about every single detail about everything as it flies across the frontier of your awareness, well... might I suggest starting a writing blog?           

Writing Discomfort

Those who read this post regularly know that I enjoy time riding my bicycle. I do a lot of distance riding (often while mentally clearing out my head), and I will let you in on a few secrets. First, it's not for everyone - I get that. Second, it is very much a seasonal sport, so I can't do it all the time. And most importantly, it is often very uncomfortable. Let's face it - it's exercise, which means it takes a physical toll, it is a very repetitive motion, and sometimes the back just needs to be in a different position than hunched over the bike as I go zooming along the country roads. It's a world of fun for me, but it's not the most comfortable way to exercise.

This discomfort is one of the reasons it is difficult for me to recruit a lot of my friends to join me on little rides around the neighborhood. I wouldn't take them on my usual long rides - they would die, and I don't like killing my friends. However, only a few will go riding with me. The rest of them just aren't in that kind of space, don't want to be in that space, or plain old aren't interested. I don't take it personally. Cycling is my thing and I don't demand conformity from those around me. However, on a recent ride (all by myself), something clicked about how this all connected with why I write and how I approach certain things.

One of the most common themes in any type of narrative writing is discomfort, and the same goes for writers. Now, work with me on this. Whenever someone takes the bold step of writing a story, they are entering an uncomfortable place. They are using skills that may not be very developed, trying things they've never done before, and venturing forward with utterly no clue about what exactly they have to do. They go into a very uncomfortable place, and in doing so, they grow. Just as any story character becomes that much more interesting when they take that awkward first step into the unknown, writers do the same thing. And for us people watching this happen, there's something fascinating about it. We are drawn to seeing people move out of their comfort zone and move forth with trembling hands into the unknown.

Of course, the first attempt isn't that impressive, and this applies for writers, their writing, the characters, or that first cycling trip. However, that new experience usually results in a positive step forward. None of those worst fears come true, no horrible fate awaits that person. If anything, they learn from it, they grow from it, and maybe - just maybe - they stand a little taller. They feel a little more confident. They want to write more, take another step into the unknown, or cycle a little farther than last time. When we see this, it's wonderful. When we experience it for ourselves, it's terrifyingly exciting. Possibly addictive. Definitely worth doing again.

I cycled 75 miles in one day and it wrecked me, so I learned my limits for the time being. I wrote a novel that turned out to be a flabby bunch of crap, but I became a better writer (Full disclosure: That novel is being rewritten). And I have helped people take that step into the writing unknown, and watched them blossom into real authors. I can't take credit for their talent, obviously, but I can definitely watch in wonder as they continue on that journey, that is, at its core, kind of uncomfortable.      

Writing and the Olympics

I cannot say that I have Olympics Fever right now, but I am running a bit of a temperature. I am not really into many Olympic sports, I don't understand why we are concerned about the triple-jump, and I think some of the events are put in as hoaxes just to see if we are paying attention. However, that being said, it is impressive to watch some race or another where, in a world of eight-billion people, the fastest eight of them are about to compete. Watching the best of the best is somehow important to experience, even if the sport itself isn't particularly interesting to me. There's always this part of me that says, "I wish I could be that good."

How does this relate to writing? Well, I'm getting there. I read a post on social media somewhere suggesting every Olympic competition should also include one person from the audience, just so we can see how truly skilled these athletes are. The audience person would be like the control subject, trying to run the 10,000-meter dash without dying while a track full of athletes run the same race in half an hour. If you've ever seen a professional runner race a regular person, it is embarrassing to see the difference in speed. 

And this finally gets me to my point: When we read a lot, it brings to mind two things. First, we get used to experiencing quality writing, be it short stories, essays, poetry, novels, whatever - it's good. Even the ones we don't like usually still impress us with the caliber of writing. Second, we realize that we are not of that caliber. Not yet, anyway, but it can be a daunting challenge to read something impressive then say, "I want to write something that powerful now." Sometimes, great writing just knocks the wind out of me because it's just that good and I am just me. There's a lot of space to fill between me and that other writer, and that's a challenge - one that can feel impossible to conquer.

Well, here's the funny thing about writing - we don't have to be perfect, artful, ingenious, naturally gifted wordsmiths to write something that is great. We only need some simple ingredients, and we need to hold to them as the most important part of our writing.

• Be true to yourself. Write from a place you can feel.
• Don't write to be the best, just write to be better than you were.
• By merely writing, you are improving your skill and yourself.

This is similar to what Olympic athletes do when it comes to training (plus a lot of exercise). They dedicate themselves to constant improvement, and understanding themselves well enough to know how far they can go and how far they need to go. And they do this constantly (or at least into their late 20s when most Olympic athletes retire).

Now will there ever be an Olympic competition for writing? Not in my lifetime. However, we can now train for it - just in case - and the worst we can get out of it is that we become a writer who will create stuff that other people will read and say, "I wish I could be that good."