The House of Grammar Part 14: One Flew Over the House of Grammar

D spent some time on my birthday taking some photos for my blog posts. This is one of several, and I like it.

On to bloggy goodness.

I've recently been playing a board game with a few folks called Twilight Imperium 3. It's akin to Risk in its tactical and strategic depth, and takes as long if not longer to play through a full game.

One of the game's stronger aspects is the universe the creators have built, and the background for each of the races that players can control. The game I'm currently playing is actually being done via BBS (Oh my God, ANCIENT technology!) and I'm finding myself quite involved not only in the game itself but in the roleplaying side of things.

Currently I'm playing as a race of mercenaries and pirates called the Mentak (How in the heck does this have anything to do with grammar?) Shut up. I'm about to tell you.

I haven't written poetry in quite a while, but something in the background of the Mentak really started to speak to me, so I chose to spend some time writing a couple of poems through the eyes of the Mentak. I have no idea if they are actually good in any respect, but I enjoyed writing them. Fair warning, these are almost pure fan-fiction, with very little substance outside the context of the game, but I'd appreciate feedback anyway. More fair warning: When it comes to poetry I write for feel rather than structure, so at least the first poem is going to come across as a bit sloppy. Imagine it read in an Irish accent, maybe by Sean Bean, and you'll hear it the way it sounded in my head when writing it.

Poem 1: An Ode to Moll Primus

Betwixt the stars, on rails of light we fly
From fields and valleys where unmarked the bones, our fathers', lie
Where shackled once they slaved and strove, with plows they tilled and hoes they hove
And fought with brothers, kin of other mothers
And slew them, and in turn were slain, for lords possessed of greed, and vain.

And now amidst the silent sough of space, the cough of cannon spurs our race
The rusty tang of blood in air, the rending sound of a railgun's tear
The scream of foe hacked down by blade, or his noiseless death by enfilade
His wealth made ours, his last words devoured
By ears long deaf to the words of cowards

But we still dream, in the abyss between the stars, so far from home
Of you, Moll Primus, and the rolling fields of red we left
For we found our brothers, and strove together, and found,
That those who shackled could in turn be shackled,
And bound,
And made humble, through fire and pain

Each breath of air compressed, each sight we take by artificial light
Each time we hear the engines roar, the shields engage and our fighters soar,
Each ship our weapons set ablaze, or tear asunder, each battle waged
Our thoughts are of you, of warmth, of home.
We hear you call us back
Amidst the sounds of plunder.


Poem 2: The Ballad of the Widow's Pain

Of ships oft sung there's many names
Yet there's one rare heard that still remains
A tale worth hearing, so hark the strains
Of the ballad of the Widow's Pain

Her crew was surly, her Captain drunk
Her bosun rare to rise from up his bunk
Her hull was ragged, her engines junk
Worth more a'scuttled, still she slunk

One day she dropped from speed of light
Her thrusters burning with all their might
Her Captain cursed with all his spite,
As she dropped from warp a'to an unexpected fight

Three ships there were, all shining new
Gleaming hulls and disciplined crew
Weapons trained and torpedos flew
A swift death approached and all hands knew

But the captain cried, "No, not today!
"For every drop our blood we make them pay!
"Hands to stations, prep to evade!
"To arms, to glory, to Hell we wade!"

And the Widow's Pain engaged full thrust
And the crew felt the call of battle lust
Into the captain's hands they placed unexpected trust
To fight, to survive, they knew they must

The ship was old but something changed
In her heart burned hot a sudden rage
The bosun shrieked, "All guns, engage!"
And the sky lit fire with the ship's barrage

Swift and true she jigged and yawed
Close missed by cannon, and torpedos' claws
Her weapons fired, trails of fire sawed
And delivered one foe into death's hungry maw

Another lucky shot made the end another,
Her perfect flanks were torn asunder
A ball of fire blossomed with no answering thunder
But one remained, and the crew looked on in wonder

But then the strains of age did tell
This hoary boat that had fought so well,
Klaxons blared, and her speed it fell,
The alarum's cry a funeral bell

"More power, bosun, make her soar!"
"I cannae, Captain, she can give no more!
"The tiller's struck, the dirty whore!
"We cannae turn, only thrust afore!"

With this grim news the Captain set his face
Found now the courage that defined his race
"If death must come, we will find our place,
"Or die forgotten in the depths of space."

The Captain pushed the bosun aside
Took the tiller, his spine stiff with sudden pride
"Into fire I go, into death I ride,
"All hands to lifeboats, save your hides!"

And so while the crew did flee the captain held
The Widow's Pain creaked at every weld
The foe, his doom in the air he smelled
An unfamiliar resolve he felt

Straight as an arrow, hard as rain
So flew the Captain and the Widow's Pain
The foe beckoned them with fury unrestrained
But no wound her trajectory could constrain

Now eye to eye with the foe's gleaming ship
The Captain grit his teeth and bit his lip
Felt the tiller beneath his sweating grip
And with a crash of steel into the foe's hide they ripped

When later came the salvage crews
To find the wrecks of ships old and new
They found still the Captain, standing true,
At the tiller, fused with the ship he slew

She fought with fury, and glory gained,
Her Captain honoured where he once was shamed
No ship come after could such a story claim
Here ends the tale of The Widow's Pain



Anyway, I had fun with these. Please let me know what you think.

The House of Grammar Part 13: To Kill The House of Grammar

Ooooh. Photo in the centre. Will the awesome and unexpected changes never stop? No, they won't. Get used to it, and quickly (I could have said "and fast" but this is a grammar blog... ostensibly)

Okay, so I'm typing this on my new laptop. I have a confession to make: I hate laptop keyboards. The worst problem is the stupid mouse pad which puts my typing back at the mouse cursor every time the heel of my hand hits the stupid thing. The other problem is that the enter key is in an uncomfortable place and I often end up hitting \ instead. That having been said, I'm actually fairly pleased with the laptop, though ultimately I'll end up using a regular keyboard plugged in via USB instead. I'm just not going to bust into the attic while D is asleep to find one. So I will make do.

It was recently suggested to me by D based on a reply I made to a friend's facebook post that I do a blog about something. Well, I'm vain, and if someone tells me something I've done is neat enough to expand upon, I'm liable to go ahead and wax philosophical on the topic. Even if that person is D and automatically someone I should suspect of covert and even overt manipulation. But she's cute, so I typically fall for it anyway.

Anyway, a friend of mine mentioned that awkward was an awkward sounding word, to the point where it was almost onomatopoeic. I liked the idea, and decided to run with it, but I thought that in addition to awkward being it's own awkward word, we should also have a defining term to other words that are just, well, awkward. Although the word I'm about to use has been used before it does not appear to have been used in quite this context.

We're talking about "awkwords".

The link above speaks about a few definitions for this term that don't quite fit my intended meaning. Most of them speak to the social aspects of certain words, and how they can cause discomfort in certain conversational situations.

I'm talking about words that are just weird, make you question your spelling of them every damned time you try and put them down on paper. Conscience. Segue. Onomatopoeia. Definitely. Tomato (how many times have you wanted to put an "e" on that?) Incense. Broccoli. Nuclear.

Any word, essentially, where you have to think two or three times before you remember how it is actually spelled, and still wonder whether you are correct is an awkword. It's a word that never seems right to you, never seems quite like it fits, like a pair of jeans that's just a little bit too tight, or an office chair that won't recline quite enough to be that perfect combination of comfort and lumbar support that you're looking for. If you find yourself looking up the spelling in an internet search engine for a word you've said a thousand times when you're finally trying to put it on paper, that's an awkword.

So while this is a short post, I'd love if people posted a list of their own awkwords. We all have them, and not everyone experience the same difficulties with some words that others will. I'm absolutely fascinated to know what yours are, because I'm sure they'll be something unexpected.

Please post. There will be no ridicule. Well, not by me anyway. Unless it's really darned funny. Then there will be lots of ridicule.

I'm being disingenuous. Of course I won't mock you. But I welcome the discourse.

The House of Grammar Part 12: 10000 Leagues Beneath The House of Grammar

I have mentioned a few times that I have recently been editing some of D's essays for school. This is something I am happy to to do for her, because I'm that sort of spouse, and also because I find the process itself to be rewarding.

D, for her part, when I've actually written something, is usually also willing to edit what I've written, when I actually sit down to write something other than this blog. As much as I may hate some of the comments she makes about my work, because I'm very rigid about certain things (Really? Is everyone surprised?) I can at least accept that the points she makes are in many ways valid. I don't let her muck with the sentence structure or grammar because this only causes conflict (Have I mentioned I'm very particular?) which is best avoided, but I'm very careful to listen when she tells me something just doesn't make sense.

The reason for this is that when I write fiction, I write sci-fi or fantasy, and she reads neither, at least in the sense that she has no particular dedication to either genre.

That may sound counter-intuitive, but let me explain. When I read D's essays, I have absolutely no bias. I have no idea if the content is correct or not, or if her quotations are accurate, or if the terminology she is using is appropriate to the course work or not. Half the time I have no idea what she is actually trying to say. However, given that I have no preconceptions one way or the other regarding the subject matter, I am extremely capable of editing for structure, removing awkward statements, fixing spelling, and improving the clarity and concision (If that's not a word I'm coining it RIGHT NOW) of her work. I have no problem telling her if what she has written flat out says the opposite of what she intends.

The same is not true of when I try and edit her science fiction. I have too many biases, too many notions of what science fiction should be and how it should be structured. When I sit down to try and edit any science fiction she writes I am far too invested in what I want the story to focus on (or how I would write it if I were her) to really pay attention to what she wants the story to be about. All I read is science fiction, all I write is science fiction, and when her story does not fit easily into a thematic niche I can identify with all I want to do is rebuild it from the ground up so that it does.

When it comes to D reading my work, one would think the fact that she occasionally writes science fiction would hamper her with the same biases I find so restrictive. Such is not the case. When D approaches any piece of writing it is not with a bias towards genre, but with the intent of pursuing a particular core concept. If that core concept works best written as science fiction, then she will write it as science fiction, but for no reason other than to give the idea its best chance to succeed. If the same idea would work better as a romance novel, then that's what she will write. She is absolutely unbiased when it comes to any particular genre, possibly as a result of being so much more broadly read than I am. Because of this when she reads my work, it is with an objective eye, and her only concern is whether or not what I've produced comes across as logically consistent to someone who otherwise couldn't care about science fiction.

Orscon Scott Card, one of my favourite authors, wrote in either "Characters and Viewpoint" or "How to Write Science Fiction and Fantasy" (It's been so long I forget which, and it could be both) about the need for any author, published or not, to have an "educated reader". Essentially this is someone who can read your work and tell you when it's done. He goes into great depth about what he means by this, and I'll leave it to you to check out those books for the specifics, but this boils down to an understanding that we are all too attached to our own work to know whether or not what we have created is of interest to others, or only to ourselves, and whether or not what we have produced actually says what we intend.

But I think there's more to this. I think that any writer needs an unbiased reader, someone who can tell them from the perspective of someone who has for all intents and purposes never picked up a book in the genre they're writing whether or not what they have created is enjoyable, consistent, and understandable. However, this individual must also be someone who can read for effect, who has a good enough grasp of literary structure or even just good old fashioned storytelling to know when you've made a mistake, or when you've written something so full of jargon that most of your audience will be alienated. For an established author this person may be the editor assigned them by their publisher, but if you're trying to sell yourself as an author for the first time it's going to have to be a friend or family member, someone who is willing and able to plod through your creation with a dispassionate eye and tell you when it's time to kill your babies (If you think that term is literal, you're on the wrong blog).

For me, that's D. Most of the time I can be that for her as well, as she only occasionally writes science fiction, and the rest of the time I can be as unbiased a reader as she is for me. But not everyone is as lucky as I am. Most writers looking for such a person are going to have to look in unusual places, and probably ask a few friends for their opinions and find someone with just the right level of detachment and critical commentary. An unbiased reader who just says "I don't get it." or "That was really good." isn't helpful (but the latter is quite flattering). You need someone who can put into words what they did or did not like, and why, and then you need to chain that person to your writing desk and never let them escape.

For someone who writes historical fiction, this could be as easily a friend who reads only scientific journals as it could be someone who is heavily invested in the Twilight series of novels. For someone trying to write romance novels you could find your unbiased reader in your uncle, who only reads the obituaries, or your nephew who has just started reading Terry Brooks. There's no way to predict what person will be the best fit to act as your unbiased reader, so if you haven't already found someone, try everyone. Give the first couple of chapters of your story to all of your friends. The person who comes back to you with the most critically constructive comments who obviously couldn't give two shits about the genre you're working in is the person you want to stick with. That's the person who will make you work for it, who will make you try time and time to please them, and who will challenge you to produce something that not only interests your target demographic but everyone else as well.

I don't know that I have any other commentary other than I am glad I have such a person in D. She challenges me to be a better writer, to re-evaluate my own preconceptions, and to write for an audience other than myself. She makes me work for every compliment, and in so doing makes each compliment worth that much more. It's not easy to sell her on an idea, but if I can hook her with a concept, I know I can hook anyone. And that's what tells me I'm on the right track.

The House of Grammar Part 11: Showdown at the House of Grammar

Ooh. I put the photo on the right. Fancy. I need to find a better source of stock photos and/or spend more time thinking of better photos to use. Ah well.

D has recently been taking a number of courses at a variety of local universities for the purposes of getting a new degree. I applaud her for this. As a university drop-out, due to a variety of circumstances, I think anyone who sticks it out is worthy of all the laurels they can reap (can you reap laurels?) The number of friends I have currently who have obtained their doctorates is a figure that frequently causes my mind to seize up when trying to remember which particular friends have attained this status.

Anyway, a lot of her courses have been sociological in nature. She frequently asks me to edit her papers for her, because for all D's brilliance and capability in hammering out exactly what her teachers want, her skill with spelling and grammar are inversely proportionate. This is not a criticism, simply a statement of fact. D can write me under the table, and does so frequently. She is prolific and talented and full of good ideas. However, I have compiled a compendium of amusing misspellings she has made that one day I intend to publish, if in fact I ever get to the point of writing them down.

In editing these sociological papers, I have come to the conclusion that sociologists, as a group, need to stop FUCKING with my language.

My mom's going to cuss me out for that one.

Sociologists seem to be in the habit of routinely creating new words, or re-purposing existing ones in order to coin terms that individually only one sociologist can own. This in and of itself is not necessarily a bad thing, and ensures that certain research is effectively owned by the person who did the work, but the frequency with which sociologists do so, and the sorts of words they choose to defile, makes any word they touch or create an absolutely meaningless nonsense pile of gibberish. (ah, synathroesmus)

I'll give you an example. Parentalization. Ostensibly its meaning is "The moment when a child realizes that he/she is becoming his/her parent(s)"

Why does this need a term? And why does it have to be such a stupid term? This is a term that I guarantee was gestated in the sweaty fires of a drunken stupor, fermented in lack of sleep, and was ultimately adopted via the same process P. Diddy (Is he still called P. Diddy? I lost track the same way everyone lost track of "&" or whatever he is calling himself now) makes music, or a catbird avoids the trouble of raising its own offspring. "Screw it. I'm done. I'm going to jam 'parent' together with 'realization' and call it a goddamned day. Nobody will notice anyway. Now hand me a beer."

Here's another example: Individualization. I'm not kidding when I say that one of the definitions is: "The consequence of social changes in late modernity in which individuals are increasingly required to construct their own lives."

Read that to yourself again. Okay. Now digest that. What is it actually saying? Wait for it... there you go! That's right. It's saying that people need to figure out who the hell they are because of changes in society, more often than they might like.

Really? How long did it take sociologists to come up with that gem? I should call Captain Obvious, because even he would be floored by disingenuity of that definition. Should I start coining stuff too? Here's one: "Azuration: the process by which someone realizes the sky is blue." Or another: "Urination: coming to the understanding that everybody pees." Or: "Hungrification: from time to time, people need to eat."

Now, D is required to write essays on this stuff, and I'm required due to my position as her loving spouse and father of her child to read them and edit them. But I can tell you after any ten pages of sociological etymology, the mind literally becomes mush. Not only do they squirt out word abortions with the same glee most of us reserve for popping bubble wrap, but they do so in such volume that any rational mind is quickly reduced to paste. By the end of the last essay of hers that I read, I found myself unable to make words with my mouth. Being verbose by nature, this was for me the equivalent of suddenly finding myself unable to use a spoon, or open a door. Words literally ceased to have meaning. I had to go and stare at my phone for thirty minutes before I found myself able to comprehend what "slide to unlock" meant. D didn't notice, as she was printing out her essay.

The fact that I was mind-locked by a sociological paper when half my day job requires me to explain complex concepts like amortization and debt ratio to the sorts of people who cannot by themselves subtract fifty from one hundred and come up with a round number is by itself an accomplishment. Not a good one, but an accomplishment nonetheless.

The House of Grammar Part 10: A Fistful of The House of Grammar

It's been a couple of weeks since I last posted, a delay primarily caused by to being busy with work, as well as by sheer procrastination. Yeah, okay, I should apologize for that, but how many people are actually actively checking this daily? That's right, I'm deflecting blame back on you, the audience. Shame. (please come back!)

I want to take today to talk about a very real problem for any writer, or any person with a broad enough vocabulary that choosing the right word is an exercise in gauging the subtle differences between, for example, "camouflage" and "obfuscate". Anyone who understands that struggle knows I'm talking to them.  Yes, you. You have a problem. I have a problem. And it's a problem we need to talk about.

It can be summed up in one word: (Ooh, a paragraph break. How novel!) That word is Synathroesmus.

A few posts back I used this word and told you to look it up. Well, you probably didn't, thinking I was either lying, or not caring enough about whether I was lying to bother. I'm here to tell you it's a real word, and a real problem. Synathroesmus is, for explanation's sake, the piling on of adjectives, typically for the sake of invective.

I, like many, find myself burdened with this problem. It may not seem like a problem to some, but that's because to those people the word "shame" is as good as "chagrin" or "rousing" as good as "inflammatory". It's a problem for anyone who is trying to apply their vocabulary in day to day conversation, usually with people no less intelligent than themselves but perhaps with a lesser or looser understanding of the English language. In most circumstances we are able to apply a filter between our brain and our mouth, but in the wrong circumstances, like a heated debate or a subject about which we are passionate, synathroesmus rises to the surface to capsize the hull of our otherwise solidly keeled statements.

I will give you an example. Let's say I want to explain that something is "gross" but I want to do so in a way that leaves no doubt, because to me it is so utterly abhorrent that I MUST get my point across. In thinking the word gross I immediately have several adjectives at my disposal: Foetid. Feculent. Disgusting. Abhorrent. Abominable. Bilious. Foul. Well when my mind gets to "foul" I immediately start thinking of birds. Duck. Eagle. Chickadee. Robin. Wren. Sparrow. Chicken. At chicken I leap to "Coward." Yellow-Belly. Wuss. Pussy. Wimp. Traitor. Craven... And this keeps happening. And at each branch of words I am still thinking about appropriate adjectives based on my first train of thought, and each subsequent branching train of thought, until I suddenly have a list of 60-70 words rattling through my head from which, reasonably, I should pick the most appropriate adjective to apply. Only I can't. Because in the microseconds I've had to come up with this list my mouth has already started snagging words and spitting them out because it's so caught up in the passion of the moment that it can't wait for the person I'm talking to to poke me in the forehead because I've suddenly frozen up like a rusty tin-man in mid-sentence and ask me if I'm okay. No. It's continuing the conversation without my consent, gleefully snagging words out of the aether and suddenly I'm spitting out a phrase like: "Canteloupe is the most vile, bilious, eagle, knave, shower, pants melon ever conceived by God!" (although usually my automatic filters will omit the purely ridiculous adjectives or only apply ones I'm sure my audience doesn't know the meaning of anyway, even if they're vastly inapplicable.)

Most of my friends will agree that's probably a statement I've actually made at one time or another.

Now you question why this is a problem. Well, when it comes to writing, as my mother would probably say, "less is more." Though I disagree with her on the specifics I know I am guilty of using synathroesmus when otherwise I cannot find the right and proper word to explain what I mean or evoke the right emotion and find myself using many adjectives instead in an attempt to bludgeon my point into the audience's skull. This is clumsy and unwieldy and ultimately a recipe for failure, but when you're in the midst of writing something you love it's often difficult to just stop the flow and wait until the right word comes. You have to get the words out. You have to get the page, or the chapter, or the novel finished, and you can't be bothered with finesse. Your audience will get your point if you just hammer it out.

I'm here to tell you that's not true.

Living with D is an exercise in analyzing my own day to day vocabulary. I find that half the time I use a word that I understand on a level so far past conscious thought that when she asks me "what does that mean?" I have to pause and actually think about it. When I do this I often come to the conclusion that I don't actually know.

Do it yourself. How many words do you know how to use, but actually know the meaning of? For me, a lot of my vocabulary boils down into how the words interrelate. Effectively, this means that much of my vocabulary I understand because of other words that are essentially similar.

That's like understanding the word "run" because of the adjectives people use to describe it, like "hard," "long," or "sweaty." And yes, the same adjectives can be used, in many circumstances, to describe "penis" as well.

You see the problem?

Synathroesmus is something that any writer should be careful of, not because it in and of itself an ineffective tool but because it can be symptomatic of a more critical failing: a lack of understanding of the adjectives themselves being used. If more time was spent trying to find the appropriate word to fit the intended meaning, and given the breadth of the English language this is almost always possible, how can one perfect word in almost every circumstance not be better than five adequate ones?

It a crutch at best, and a bad one, especially if not used sparingly, as it also speaks to a clumsiness in the writer's thought processes, and if used frequently, actually loses any impact it might have once had if used sparingly. Imagine if you will if V's "V" speech in "V for Vendetta" had not been a paragraph, but if every word of dialogue in the movie had started with V. It's the same thing with synathroesmus. When used at the right time it can be a powerful tool to emphasize a point. When used too often it feels lazy and heavy handed.

I'm the first (well, second, behind my mom) to admit that I am guilty of everything I've said above. Including calling a penis sweaty.

But they say admitting a problem is the first step, so here's my admission. I'm a filthy, dirty, grime-encrusted, sooty, scabrous, vermin-infested, rabid, disease-bearing synathroesmus user. I have a problem.

I'd like to hear from anyone else who has it too.