Yes, And...?

Disclaimer: This blog post will not be edited, reread or proofed in any way, shape or form (I'll explain why in a moment), and does not represent the usual high-quality standards of Your Friendly Neighborhood WordNerdGirl.

Whew, that was hard... I reread those sentences as I was writing them, at least six times before I moved onto this one. Okay, baby steps -- I'll go one paragraph at a time.

Anyway -- hey there and hi. I haven't been around much lately. Very, very busy, which is a good thing, mostly. I've been WordNerdGirling for SJ Magazine as their copyeditor, and was very excited to have the privilege of editing a book proposal, and I am wishing ZsaZsa Gapooch, Auntie Ness and Merka the best of luck now that their agent has the final document in hand. I also have my four kids, who are a fulltime job themselves. But since I've had to delay my grad school plans indefinitely, I've also been seeking out my Plan B, pursuing some other non-writing interests in hopes of kick-starting my very depleted creative juices: I'm planning some quilting projects -- but not the Amishy, grandma-quilting-bee kind. I'm talking about a bad-ass mixed media, kind of quilting. I am also in the midst of an improv comedy class, which is why I've decided to write this post without editing it (and torturing myself in the process -- I didn't realize how compulsively I reread and play with things I write until now. Agh - just caught myself rewriting that last sentence.)

 So, how does improv, which is all about making it up as you go (remember the TV show Whose Line Is It Anyway?) supposed to help with writing? Explaining needed...

In the first class, the instructor, who is (parent-alert) also the host of the Sprout channel's The Sunny Side Up Show, talked about the philosophy behind improv. (And I've learned something already: improv is a philosophy?) That philosophy is "Yes, And..." Basically, all that means is that you take whatever is thrown at you by your scene partners and build on it -- even if you have no clue what to do with it. If you screw it up, move on. If it doesn't come out quite the way you wanted, move on. But don't fight it, don't try to force it to be something it's not. Just add your own contribution and hope for the best and,  more often than not, you'll actually wind up getting the desired result -- in this case, a laugh.

One of my weaknesses as a writer (WordNerdGirl - you have a weakness? Say it ain't so!) is when I'm writing fiction, or poetry, or anything that requires imagination, I find it next-to-impossible to turn off my internal editor. The same thing that makes me a great, kick-ass editor (yeah, I said it -- great. And kick-ass.) makes it almost impossible for me to sit down and write all the stories I have rattling around up in my head. Because I know what result I want, I know exactly how it should work, but because it's creative, it is messy and -- especially in the first writing draft -- it is imperfect, much like this blog post is now, because these paragraphs are too long and I'm not explaining this as precisely as I want. It needs editing, and I all I can see are the flaws that need fixing. I get so caught up in fixing the flaws, the stories get lost.

I am finding that "Yes, And..." is a very useful way of looking at writing, as well as living. (Gee, I guess it really is a philosophy.) The last few months, I've been dealing with more plot twists than a daytime soap opera. It's been exhausting, trying to fix and repair everything. Part of the fallout has been delaying grad school, which I had hoped would put me in an environment where I could learn to turn off my editor and write more stories. That's not happening now, but maybe I can learn to write creatively just by saying, "Yes, And..." And maybe I can better deal with the unexpected, and get results that may not be the one I wanted, but is -- I hope -- better than I could have ever expected.

And this is usually the point where I go back and hammer at every word I've written and rearrange paragraphsandrereaditandbythatpointI'myellingatthekidsand -oh, wait! If I change the wording here it will shortentheparagraphandshortergraphsareeasiertoreadandI'mdoingitagain. Yes, I am. And?

Just click "Publish Post," please.

Referenced Links: ComedySportz Philadelphia, The Sunny Side Up Show, Quilting Arts Magazine, SJ Magazine

Why All the Emmy Love for Temple Grandin Was Awesome

I need to interrupt my four cranky kids (8 days until school starts - YES!), two deadline copyediting assignments and my general WordNerdGirl-ing to take a sec and talk about all the love shown to -- and by -- Temple Grandin at last night's Emmy's.

Temple Grandin has long been a rock star in the autism community, and last night, she proved why. She's been a symbol of hope for people with autism and their caregivers (in some ways, even more so for the latter.) So seeing all the recognition for the HBO biopic chronicling her life, and all the affection heaped on her by the award honorees, didn't just honor her and the movie, but also gave a nod to everyone who has been affected by this disorder. (My 8-year-old is PDD-NOS. As the film's director described Grandin last night, he used many of the same adjectives I use to describe my son.)

But even more importantly, last night, Grandin also managed to dispel for millions of TV viewers one of the most hurtful and longstanding myths about autism: People with autism can feel love. They can show affection. And they are not just "autistics." They're people -- full and complete. Decked out in her quirky, country-western regalia, she enthusiastically (and in a "socially inappropriate" manner) stood and waved from her seat in the audience, interrupted one of the honorees to give a shout-out to her mom and -- most movingly -- effusively hugged the film's executive producer. She not only dispelled the myth that autistic people are withdrawn, but -- even for the most severely-afflicted -- she also showed that it is possible for autistic people to engage and contribute to the world, in ways big and small. And she did all that just by being herself.

Referenced links: Temple Grandin Wins Big at Emmy, but Who Is She?; Temple Grandin's Official Autism Website

My next house will be...

This House Made of Books on BoingBoing. I really have no other commentary other than AWE-SOME!

George Carlin: Rethinking a free speech icon

While catching up on everything I've missed over the last month, I found this tribute to one of my all-time favorite comics, writers, and truth-tellers, George Carlin. More than a recap of his career, the article focuses on Carlin's evolution as a comedian and his influence on free-speech in America.
Referenced link: George Carlin: Rethinking a free speech icon

Attack of 'The Thing'

Good-bye July 2010. May you never pass my way again.

I rebooted my blog a few weeks ago, only to have it derailed once again by a Thing. I cannot get into details about the Thing right now because it involves other people. But it is a big Thing. It has been -- especially the last three weeks -- an all-consuming, life-altering, soul-crushing (non-health-related) Thing, and it is going to take a long time to get through it, recover and move along. As time goes on, I will likely get into details about the Thing, but for now, let's just call it a Thing.

Since I've been faced with this Thing, I've been looking for ways to cope that don't involve hard liquor, binge-eating, the Dark Arts, major property damage, randomly screaming at unsuspecting strangers or calling a distant cousin to find out if he can help me hire someone "to take care of it" for me.

I don't know if it is because I am a writer or because I'm weird (and really, is there much of a difference?) but  so far, the best therapy has been over-sharing my drama in long, detailed emails to my closest friends and family. I started out writing to explain what happened, just looking to vent and for a shoulder to cry on via email. But without consciously realizing it, I was also writing my story, from my point of view and shaping the narrative so that it makes sense, both to me and my friends (who, at this point, are probably cringing every time they see another message from me in their inboxes.)

I've also, in a way, become a character in my story. (Hopefully, by the time story is over, I'll be "the hero," but that remains to be seen. I certainly don't feel like one right now.) I've been thinking a lot about some of my favorite fictional characters and, when depressed, overwhelmed or if I suddenly find tears welling up at inappropriate moments, I try to get through it by channeling the sexy confidence of Joan Holloway, the free spirit of Mona Ramsey, the hilarious spunk of Mary Richards, the kick-ass sense of duty of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and the fuck-it-all-I'll-do-it-myself action hero attitude of Lt. Ripley in "Aliens."

By doing something I love to do anyway, I'm coming up with ways of finding my long-lost mojo. If nothing else -- as I've already said to my friends -- this situation has been a goldmine of comedy. I've lost 10 lbs. in three weeks on the High Anxiety Diet. If Richard Pryor can set his head on fire and turn it into one of stand-up comedy's greatest performances, I should be able to -- at the very least -- get a book deal out of this.

I came across a quote a couple of weeks ago (that I have since been unable to find). The gist of it was: people read and tell stories because it helps them practice how to live their lives. Not to get all self-help-gooey and group-huggy, but it is my favorite stories that have helped me through so far, and retelling my own in a way that is helping me see all the possible endings. So I will write, and read, and watch, and deal. And the Thing is not going to stop me.

"Bad" Words or, How to Curse Like My 4-Year-Old

I try very hard to be a good parent. I spend one-on-one time with each kid every day. I set firm limits and I'm not afraid to enforce the rules. I don't serve them liver and brussel sprouts. Blah blah blah. But like most moms, I also have faults. My biggest is my filthy, filthy mouth. Despite my ongoing, well-intentioned attempts to police my own language, if I'm frustrated, annoyed, angry, or breathing oxygen, in a moment of weakness or forgetfulness, I'll let loose with the Seven Words You Can't Say on TV, followed by 15 more that further clarify my opinion. And most of the time, my kids are within earshot. So there, I've said it, when it comes to cursing, I'm a Bad Mom.

And worse, when it comes to this subject, I'm a do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do mom. My older two kids know that they are not allowed to say "bad" words, and 99.9% of the time, they don't. At least, not while I'm around. And my four-year-old son knows it too. But unlike his older brother and sister, who usually just stomp off and sulk -- no doubt thinking plenty of bad words to themselves -- he has come up with a very creative solution:

"Mannit!" "Damage!" "SoMany Itch!" "Sit!" and, my new personal favorite, "Fox!"

 It makes a mother so very proud.

Now, I know that with very young children, you need to keep the rules simple and absolute. The shades-of-gray in life can be taught as kids get old enough to understand. So when he does this, we enforce the rules, and remind him that they are also "bad" words ("Little boys shouldn't say those words, and Mommy shouldn't say them either.") even though, technically, they're not.

But it got me to thinking about other "bad" words. Most kids --  mine included -- consider stupid to be a "bad" word. A couple months ago, White House Chief of Staff Rahm Emanuel, was widely criticized for referring to liberal activists as "f***ing retarded." And the criticism had nothing to do with the "f***ing" part of the quote. The Special Olympics is even waging a public awareness campaign to end the use of the "r-word." This doesn't even begin to touch on the stigma of uttering or writing the "c-word" or the "n-word."

Really, when you are a grown, thinking adult, are any of the many vulgar words in the English language really "bad?" My son saying mannit! or damage! instead of dammit! doesn't change the thoughts or emotions behind the outburst. He's pissed, and he's letting the world know it. The words people use, and the way they choose to use those words, communicates volumes, both about the subject being discussed, and the people involved in the discussion. I don't think I have ever uttered the "c-word" or the "n-word" and, as the mother of a child on the autism spectrum, I'm more sensitive to the derogatory use of retard. But, in writing a fictional character, I would use those words if I thought they would best convey to the reader what I want them to know -- and feel -- about the character.

We can conduct our public awareness campaigns and attach a stigma to certain words, or even go the Orwellian route of changing definitions to suit our agendas, or banning dictionaries from our schools, but the thoughts, meanings and emotions we have will always find an outlet. You can call a word "bad," but Mannit! there will always be another to take its place.

Referenced links: The 7 Words You Can't Say on TV, Rahm Emanuel comments and fallout, the Campaign to End the 'R-Word', Dictionary banned from California School District

Write Like a Rolling Stone (and Don't Get Scooped Again)

Over the weekend I picked up a copy of Rolling Stone’s ‘500 Greatest Songs of All Time.’ I’d include a link to it, but for some inexplicable reason, Rolling Stone’s website doesn’t have anything on its site to promote the issue or the list in any way. They’ve learned nothing from last week’s ‘Runaway General’ fiasco, when Rolling Stone managed to get scooped over the Gen. McChrystal story that THEY broke, Memo to print media: The internet is your friend. Use it.

Okay, with that bit of media criticism out of the way, after reading through the printed issue (and if you love music, I think it is worth buying the printed issue) I was most fascinated by the stories of how many of the songs were written. Some of them have become rock-and-roll legends I’d heard before: Mick Jagger wrote the lyrics for The Rolling Stones’ “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction” (#2) in 10 minutes, the morning after Keith Richards dreamed the guitar riff and title line. John Lennon wrote most of “Imagine” (#3) in just one morning. Pete Townsend wrote The Who’s “My Generation” (#11) on his 20th birthday. The lyrics for “Purple Haze” (#17) came to Jimi Hendrix in a dream.

Then there were the stories I’d never heard before. Prince wrote “Little Red Corvette” (#109) in the backset of a bright-pink Ford Edsel. Pink Floyd’s Roger Waters wrote “Comfortably Numb” (#321) after “a sleazy Philadelphia doctor injected him with tranquilizers before a gig when he was suffering from hepatitis.” I laughed when I read this blurb quoting John Fogerty about writing “Proud Mary” for Credence Clearwater Revival (#156): “I was fooling with the chord changes and started singing about a river. I realized, ‘Well, maybe if I make it about a boat.’” And Neil Young’s only number one hit, the acoustic “Heart of Gold” (#303) came about only because he couldn’t play electric guitar for two years after a back injury.

I’m not a songwriter, and a lousy poet, but the stories of how these songs were written – in bursts of inspiration, after messing around with lyrics or a guitar , or as a result of pure chance – are universal to anyone sitting down in front of a blank screen or paper. And while a lot of the stories make it sound easy to crank out a hit, consider the work that went into Bob Dylan’s “Like A Rolling Stone” (#1)which started as a long written verse, between 6 and 20 pages. The article quotes Dylan as he goes on to describe the process like this:

“’[It was] just a rhythm thing on paper all about my steady hatred, directed at some point that was honest.’ Back home in Woodstock, New York, over three days in early June, Dylan sharpened the sprawl down to that confrontational chorus and four taut verses bursting with piercing metaphor and concise truth. ‘The first two lines, which rhymed ‘kiddin’ you’ and ‘didn’t you,’ just about knocked me out,’ he confessed to Rolling Stone in 1988, ‘and when I got to the jugglers and the chrome horse and the princess on the steeple, it all just about got to be too much.’”

I love that he sounds so surprised about what he had written. And it's reassuring to know that someone like Bob Dylan can sweat over and feel overwhelmed by what it is he's creating.