Repetitive Redundancy and Repeating Things

We are told this early on in our writing experience: Word repetition should be avoided whenever possible. Be it nouns, verbs, descriptors, pronouns, whatever, nothing is more boring than finding the same word more than once in a sentence. It feels clumsy, basic, and uninspired, and out loud it creates an unmistakable grating sound. We learn to mix up our word choices, vary our verbs, and sometimes rewrite entire paragraphs to avoid ugly duplication. Eventually, our writing has all the variety of a Midwestern dinner buffet. At that point, we start learning when repetition might be a good thing.

Consider this sentence: "He ran out of his house, through the backyard, into the fields, away from every bad thing that ever happened to him, until he could no longer breathe." Pretty good as far as keeping the word blend in there. But what happens if we actually put some word repetition into this? "He ran out of his house, running through the backyard, running into the fields, running away from every bad thing that ever happened to him, running until he could no longer breathe." Repeating the word "running" is exhausting, but that actually serves a purpose by emphasizing just how important it is for this character to run away from whatever bothers him so much. In this case, repetition works to the writer's advantage because it takes its toll on the reader, which is exactly what this sentence should do.

Here's another example, this time through poetry. In one of the writer groups I attend, a fellow writer, poet, and all around good egg introduced us to a poem called a triolet. I had never known about such a thing, but once I heard about it, I became a little bit obsessed. A triolet can come in many forms, but one of the standard forms is an eight-line poem where the 1st, 4th, and 7th lines are the same line, the 2nd and 8th lines are the same line (different from the 1st, 4th, and 7th), and the rhyme scheme is ABAAABAB (the 3rd and 5th lines can be whatever you want as long as they fit the rhyme scheme. If this sounds complicated, well, it is at first, or at least until you see one. I would use my fellow writer's example but I do not know it offhand and didn't get permission anyway. Therefore, here is a simple triolet:

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Love lingers in the morning light,
A gentle touch, a whispered name.
It holds us close through darkest night—
Love lingers in the morning light.
Though time may blur our keenest sight,
The heart remains a steady flame.
Love lingers in the morning light, 
A gentle touch, a whispered name.

This kind of poem lives for repetition, using if specifically to reinforce a point. Now, this being poetry, there are allowances for repeating one's self and such, and many grammatical rules are optional. However, this emphasizes that using the same words or phrases can be a positive, even moving experience. You just need to know when to do it, and have a good sense of why it matters. In short, learn the rules so you know the best ways to break them.

As Monday will be Memorial Day (and my brother's birthday, my next post will not be until May 30th.       

  

Celebrating Writing

I'll admit it - my past few writing entries have not been the most upbeat pieces I've ever composed. Fear, frustration, loss - these kind of themes have been prevalent lately, and not just because that's what writers experience in their existence as creatives. Don't get me wrong - writing can be a very emotional process, and a lot of those emotions have some heavy weights attached. However, that's kind of the point of this piece. When we write about feelings, our emotional selves, or basically about any topic we choose, don't be afraid to explore the joy of things as well. It's out there, and it deserves its day in the sun.

Yesterday, I had the honor of attending my oldest niece's wedding (names/images omitted because I forgot to get permission). A very lovely service held at a church the family has attended for some time, then a reception at quite an enjoyable hall, this was a day replete with experiences to write about. Of course, like any event, this comes with some emotional gravity as well. You can't have a big family gathering without thinking about those who did not live to see that day. The mind can wander around a lot in that space, but for certain occasions, it's important to focus on the parts you want to remember. Mostly, my niece and my new nephew tying the proverbial knot.

Events such as this fill us with plenty of emotions, so sometimes our writing can be scattered or unfocused if we try to write about everything going through us at that time. Writing just one piece would not do anyone justice, so I am writing several pieces about this day, each one pulling out a different emotion, each one playing its own note instead of trying to find a chord that covered the entire event. (Yes, I am treating this beautiful day as a writing workshop, but it is the kind of perfect example that really brings home the point.)

The first thing that came to mind was the concept of perfection within the moment. I experienced this as a feeling of harmony, a sense that sometimes the world flows as we predicted and nothing goes wrong because it was meant to be. The weather was ideal, the church absolutely immaculate. If there were any last-minute emergencies, errors to be corrected or fires to be extinguished, I saw none of them. It was just two people who are really meant to be together, and everything went as it should - not even a crying baby or equipment malfunction. Maybe I am overlooking a lot of things, but this is what I write when I am dictating from a place of harmony. From another perspective, maybe I would feel differently about the music, my manners, or whatever. However, from the pleasant place in my mind, the day could not have gone any better.

Now, once I talk to the married couple again, I am sure there will be plenty of funny stories about behind-the-scene antics, some near-disasters with drunken guests, and other things that would be worthy of less-harmonious stories (I know there are definitely other angles to write about). However, for now, while writing from such a pleasant place, I literally do not care about those things. Those will be for later stories, if there's a need for them. For now, this is just about writing from a peaceful place, and letting that mood translate the events. 

      

Fear of Writing

There is a condition that some people are afflicted by - a fear of writing, which for some odd reason is called "graphophobia." (Yes, my gut instinct is to think of an irrational fear of graphs, algebra, or Excel sheets, but no on all counts.) Indeed, graphophobia is an actual thing that hangs people up and makes them resist putting words to the page. What causes this? It's not easy to say, but in most cases it has nothing to do with actually writing/typing words and everything to do with fear of something else. 

As we know, fear is a terrible monster that can make us act irrationally when it takes over. We all understand general fear, which simply paralyzes us from doing that thing we want, but in the case of graphophobia, it's a very specific action that triggers this response. And sometimes, we need to take a very rational approach to try and figure out what is setting off this irrational fear before we can do a thing about it.

Think about this. Have you ever gone to sleep while being genuinely afraid? Probably not, and if you did fall asleep just out of total fatigue, it was probably not the most pleasant sleep you've ever had. Chances are your mind ran about, wildly careening between different thoughts and outcomes that the fear-based action could bring about. Fear of tornadoes? In your mind, you are absolutely positive that your house will be leveled by a tornado (welcome to my childhood). Fear of abandonment? Yep, you will wake up alone. Fear of writing? That's a whole bunch of horrible outcomes, right? Right?

Actually, what is the worst thing that can come from writing something down? Perhaps some magical thinking might have people believe that what they write becomes the truth, but that's venturing into a very irrational thought process. No, writing things down doesn't really have repercussions. Writing things down puts words on a page - that's it. Now, it might be personally challenging to see certain words written before you. People who deal with trauma by writing down their experiences often fear reading what they wrote, but that's an issue of confrontation rather than the writing process itself.

When someone says they have a fear of writing their stories, I often make a simple suggestion. I ask them to think about the worst possible scenario that can come from them writing something down - just from the writing process - and ask if that, in itself, is scary. Usually they admit that the writing part isn't the hang-up, and the real issue is what might happen if people read their works, judge them, etcetera. Those are valid issues in their own right, but for now, this gives them the freedom to write things down with a personal liberty. They get over their "fear of writing" and actually explore their creative world, while addressing those issues that might be the real hang-ups in their lives.

In general, I try to follow this premise regarding any fear: If you can get comfortable with the worst realistically possible outcome of an action, you free yourself of the fear and can focus on committing to that action. To paraphrase Marcus Aurelius, "Don't fear death, fear not living." And once you no longer fear something, please start writing about it.

    

The Culture of Language

I hope everyone here knows the word, "Schadenfreude." It's one of those great words that gets thrown around a lot, and people out here kind of know what it implies but might not know the exact definition. Then there are those sophomore German students who know that it is a combination of two words - damage and joy - but don't quite know how that links together. Then there's everyone who knows the definition goes along the lines of, "pleasure derived by someone from another person's misfortune."

Easy, right?

In a way, we learn a lot about cultures from what they deem worthy of requiring its own word, and the same goes for understanding our own language, and in doing so, our own culture. Following the stereotype of the very sober, intellectual Germans, we are not surprised that they turned such an odd, unique feeling into one word. For the more adventurous languages, we have words like, "tsundoku," which is, "the collecting of books you intend to read but never get around to." Does our culture need a word for that act? Probably not (though I know several writers who will read this and jot that word down for further usage). However, English has a wealth of words that represent all the kinds of joy in the world, an entire spectrum going from pleasant to ebullient and beyond. Some things just matter more than others.

Have you ever talked to someone who is thinking about repainting a room, and when you ask what color they are considering, they go into an entire spiel about that one color? If they say, "I want to go with a cocoa-like feel, with more of a warmth and coziness but maybe just a little lighter than a typical chocolate bar," they have told you more than just a color. They showed they are very invested in this idea of the perfect living room color and the emotions they want to evoke. If they answered, "Brown," chances are they are not interested in the color as much as they are about just slapping some new paint on the walls. Each description is basically the same color, but exploring it through word choice imparts a significance upon the act itself. 

When we write, let's keep this in mind. If I describe a room (not my friend's brown living room) as having red walls, well, that's a description but it doesn't invite the reader to investigate. It communicates a color, but not a significance. If I want the reader to start adventuring in a particular direction, picking up a certain mood, I need to go beyond the confines of just, "red." What comes to mind if the walls are lipstick red, or like deep, rich rose petals? What about blood red - what mind does that put the reader into? There are tons of versions of the color red, each one indicating a slightly different hue but more importantly, they all can set off a different importance in their meaning.

Often, ten words aren't necessary to describe what one word can tell a reader. However, depending on the importance of the message, you should use whatever words you have to guide the reader along and impose a feeling that comes with the color. I'm sure some language has one nice, conveniently-packaged word for describing that effect, but for now, let's just call it "good writing."  

   

Not the Easiest Thing to Write

For me, this year has been a bunch of firsts that have been quite difficult to process, and there's a big one coming up. Sunday is Mother's Day, and it will be the first time recognizing this day since my mother passed away. Anyone who follows this site will know that she spent her last several years with severe dementia, virtually unable to interact with the world around her. Every time I visited her, I would leave thinking, "Is there anything of her left in there?" but there was no conclusive answer. The best I could come up with is, "Maybe, but probably not." Incredibly uncertain but enough to leave open possibility that maybe she knew I was there. This year, however, I will ask that question and the answer will be, "No." For here and evermore, that's it.

Now that I have killed the mood sufficiently, let me explain why I went here. I always attribute the creative side of me to my father and that side of the family's weirdly elaborate brains. When it comes to words, however, both in creating things with them and discovering the world created by them, that's all the property of my mother and her side of the family. And the merger of those two concepts - the creative mind and the power of the word - are a perfect description of me. So, let me point out a few amazing things about how my mother showed my the world of words.

It would be fair to say that books were always a part of my life - our house had plenty of them. However, most of them were antiques, or a showpiece encyclopedia set from 1920 (I am not exaggerating), or something that was meant to be seen and not touched. As far as the "real" books went, that was my mother's real estate. I know my father read on occasion, but I do not actually remember the act of him reading a book. Mom, however, had a book around her somewhere, be it one of the more recent important pieces - The Women's Room by Marilyn French, and I'm Dancing as Fast as I Can by Barbara Gordon are etched in my brain even at a young age - or some book about politics, politicians, or life in general. The way I delineated it, my father had books; my mother knew books. 

And, of course, my mother was the writer in the family. My father was creative, but writing was not his specialty. Mom wrote for a living, and likely wrote more than I will ever truly know. I can't say if she ever tried her hand at narrative, essay, or poetry - journalism was her jam for the most part - but I know that it imprinted upon me how words had their own leverage. When they say, "A lever moves objects, leverage moves people," this demonstrates just how words can bring causes to life and move people to act. When my mother wrote her news stories, like about the teacher's strike in the early 1970s, people responded to that. More to the point, when I went to high school in the early 1980s, a few teachers recognized my last name and brought me aside to tell me they remembered being interviewed by my mother all those years ago. This was all the purpose, the creation, of the journey that is words.

Sadly, I have very few actual written pieces of my mother's work. She was not a packrat like my father was, so her first drafts and clip stories are mostly relegated to history. However, I do have the legacy of words to remember her by, and the knowledge that living in that world of words can be a very special feeling. Whenever I read my older writings (and after I go through a wave of self-criticism), I remind myself that this all goes back to the debt I owe my mother.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom!            

The Finished Product

I have talked quite a bit about knowing what  you want to write, how you want to present it, and what constitutes a completed project. There is no definitive way to know when a work is completed - especially a written piece - because there are plenty of stages that go beyond the actual writing. Editing, redrafting, incorporating different ideas - these are all considerations that come with the process of  making a creative work come to life, and it doesn't matter if it's an epic saga or a haiku. They all require hard work, a lot of thought, often some second-guessing, and knowing when it's finally done.

And as I said, nobody will be able to tell you when it's done except for you. A book doesn't have a fixed length, an essay is however long it takes to make a solid point, a short story can be as short as you want (though if it's too long, it wanders into novella territory). The proper length of a story is exactly one story in length, no more and no less. The responsibility you hold is knowing when you've reached that point.

Surprisingly, however, that's not what I want to discuss in this piece. There's a gap between when you finally say, "Done! That's it! Finished!" and when you are able to appreciate your final product. It's a mental debriefing, a post-mortem of sorts where you shift from the position of creator and you get into the space of consumer. At some point, you should be able to look at something you made and simply appreciate the work in front of you for exactly what it is. At that point, you will feel the appreciation of "The Finished Product."

I say this because I recently closed the files on two big projects, and incidentally, I didn't write a word for either of them. I had the privilege of offering advice to Ciara Ward with her new book, Cliché Your Way Through Life: Remix, and just received an inscribed copy of the hardcover. I got to hold in my hands something that I had viewed through the eyes of a copy editor, as a beta reader, and as an objective critic. However, now I see the finished work and all the work she placed into it, and I can appreciate what she created from the position of being a consumer of the written word. In theory, I could look through the book, pick out a chapter, and recall us sitting down to discuss some structural detail. However, those moments are in the past. I can look at this book strictly with a sense of quiet awe about what she created. It's humbling indeed.

The other book is, Our House At The Lake by Sylvester "Lenny" Kapocius. I have mentioned Lenny before - he didn't start writing until the age of ninety, yet still published the story of his life in the Pacific Theater during World War Two. This is his second book, more of a personal memoir, and I just put the wraps on the final edits. Now I can look at this book, and I no longer think about the red ink I smeared over countless pages of copy (along with his son, who also read through it and gave it the red-pen treatment). I think about Lenny's accomplishment of writing a book, completing such a large task to pass on through the generations. I don't see my editing contribution, I see the work of this writer now in my hands. (Incidentally, Lenny turned 100 in January. Age isn't a reason to say you can't start writing.)

I bring all this up because that moment, that time of holding the final copy in your hands, is unlike anything you will be able to perceive while you are creating something. As you build something, you may have a vision of what it will look like after all is said and done, but the real goal should be seeing that moment when you can hold that product in your hands, no longer worry about the editing, rewriting, and so on. It should be a special moment to you, and one you always want to reach.

That's when you know it's done.