Worthless damn spell-checker

A friend of mine recently returned to school for her graduate degree. The other evening, she told a story about a member of her creative-writing class who is hell-bent on submitting his stories with a sort of neo-spelling: laff for laugh, enuff for enough, thru for through--or threw, presumably--and so on.

My initial incredulity wore off just enough for blatant hostility to set in.

Apparently the guy belongs to an organization that promotes the simplification of spelling, and he firmly believes that if people start submitting stories and articles with simplified spelling, the whole thing will catch on and spread like wildfire.

I immediately started planning to lose a lot of sleep fretting over this thing. I love English. I love our words, and their idiosyncracies. I love the funky spellings that make little or no logical sense to the modern mind; words that send me off to the dictionary, where I can lose hours--literally hours, I kid you not--looking up etymologies.

I started looking for someone I could send my donation to, someone who was standing on the wall, in the gap, dictionary in hand--someone to halt the barbarians clamoring at the gates of civilization, demanding that we all start ignoring silent letters as if they'd never existed.

Information is power. Besides, I'm ever curious, and with too much time on my hands that I would only otherwise only spend constructively, I did some googling.

One web site tells me:

"The Simplified Spelling Society was founded in 1908 in Great Britain. The Society first proposed a fully phonetisized system. Its outcome was a basis for
the Initial Teaching Alphabet. This is a regularized spelling system which was used in several schools throughout the 1960s to the 1980s. The Simplified Spelling Society does not offer only one proposal to reform spelling. The
Lojikon (1995) proposed a reformation of consonants only, whereas Cut Spelling (1996) removed the 10% redundant letters."

The site lists George Bernard Shaw as one of the movement's early proponents. That bit of knowledge put an end to my original thought that these people obviously just hate the language, and/or are congenital bad-spellers, and bitter about it.

I've actually always sort of liked Shaw. I've read a couple of his plays, and perhaps an essay or two. I'd never found his spelling to be particularly eccentric. I'd have a hard time believing he hated the language. I felt oddly betrayed.

So I felt I must dig a bit deeper to make sense of the motivation behind the whole thing; because, frankly, spelling just doesn't seem that damned hard to me.

Turns out this is far from a new thing. Organizations promoting the simplification of spelling have been around for quite some time. Better than a century, in fact. It also turns out that hardly anyone but me is particularly worried about the simplified spelling movement. Far fewer sites exist, promoting the preservation of archaic English spellings.

Turns out the movement has actually gained some ground over the last century or so--just a bit.

This site informed me that "Webster's plan for reforming English spelling centered on 10 main classes of words":

1. "-our" to "-or"
2. "-re" to "-er"
3. dropping final "k" in "publick," etc.
4. changing "-ence" to "-ense" in "defence," etc.
5. use single "l" in inflected forms, e.g. "traveled"
6. use double "l" in words like "fulfill"
7. use "-or" for "-er" where done so in
Latin, e.g. "instructor," "visitor"
8. drop final "e" to give: ax, determin, definit, infinit,
envelop, medicin, opposit, famin, (others)
9. use single "f" at end of words like "pontif," "plaintif"
10. change "-ise" to "-ize" wherever this can be traced
back to Latin and Greek (where a "z"/zeta *was* used
in the spellings) or a more recent coining which
uses the suffix "-ize" (from Greek "-izein")

I don't have a primary source for this assertion about Mr. Webster--only what the website tells me. They drop a bunch of other names, too--Mark Twain and Teddy Roosevelt, for example. Mark Twain, I don't worry about, so much. He might well have had his tongue in his cheek--and I've seen some of the fun he poked at the language. And Teddy Roosevelt...well, I'm just not all that surprised.

But having gotten this many concessions, the philistines are only emboldened: This site has a list of proposed new systems.

Strangely, many of the links don't work. Heh. Imagine my pleasure that so many of these pages have already vanished into obscurity.

I suppose I don't really think the language is in any real danger. I suppose there is no burning need to actually pick up arms and defend the "s" that sounds like a "z"--but that guy in my friend's creative-writing class is awfully lucky I'm not teaching the class.

Also, this whole strange excursion resulted in the unwelcome discovery that my MS Word spellchecker recognized "thru" as a legitimate spelling.

*sigh*

I already knew the damn spell-check was next to worthless.

"...a very interesting thing to know..."

I was cleaning out desk drawers the other day--in lieu of actually writing--when I came across a scrap of paper apparently from years ago.

I sat and looked at the little piece of paper, on which I'd written: “One of the things that is a very interesting thing to know is how you are feeling inside you to the words that are coming out to be outside of you.” --Gertrude Stein

I know it had to be from years ago, because the last time I actually read any Gertrude Stein, I was in graduate school. That would have been sometime just after the Louisiana Purchase. (Not really, unless we're speaking in terms of geologic time, but the phrase pleased me.)

I don't really know exactly what Gertrude Stein meant by that sentence, you understand. In fact, I really don't know what she meant by a lot of the things she said--except, of course, for those things she said so directly that it seems there is no way to misunderstand her. Even those things, I don't quite trust to be as straightforward as they seem. It makes me question my own perceptions.

She's tricky, that way.

I understand what the words themselves string together to mean, in a conventional sense. It just seems very much as if something altogether deeper and more complex sits at the heart of that sentence.

Take the whole "rose is a rose is a rose" thing, for example: Of course it is. Except when it isn't. Which is part of her point. I think.

Now, admittedly, I'm getting myself all tangled up in semantics, reading a woman who--legend has it--once received a rejection from an American publisher with the kindly advice that she should write in her native tongue and employ the services of a good translator.

The more I think about the deceptive simplicity of the sentence on that scrap of paper, the more intriguing it becomes. "...a very interesting thing to know is how you are feeling inside you to the words that are coming out to be outside you."

Then I put it aside and went to work actually writing, instead of pretending I was writing when in fact I was really cleaning out desk drawers. Then an odd thing happened. I was writing a scene taking place on a porch. Suddenly, the word "porch" looked very wrong.

Now, I'm not a particularly obsessive soul. At least, not about most things. But the more I looked at the word "porch", the worse I felt about it. I had to stop and look it up. make sure it really was a "porch" I was talking about, not a patio or a veranda.

The dictionary definition sounded all right, for the context. The etymology was unenlightening: "Middle English porche, from Old French, from Latin porticus, portico, from porta, gate."

But it still looked...wrong.

The experience was akin to the discomfort of having bit the side of your tongue, and for a day or so afterwards, your tongue seems to fit awkwardly in your mouth--uncomfortable, and the wrong shape for the available space.

So I moved the scene to the yard.

"Yard" is a good word. Nice, solid-feeling. Old English roots. I can depend on a word like that, I think, not to go all strange and uncomfortable.

Oh geez...

If you haven't seen this, you should. It's a blog purportedly coming out of Baghdad.

Nuremberg and the environment

I grew up with my mother's stories about JFK. In her fond reminiscence, he attains the mythic powers and stature of an epic hero. She was in Dallas the day he was killed. I've heard the stories over and over again. She calls him "Jack Kennedy" and goes misty-eyed and shining-faced when she talks about that era. (Never mind that she was a single mother working two jobs and living with her parents--hardly having a good time of it.)

So when I went to listen to Robert Kennedy Jr. speak, Saturday evening, I think I was hoping for something akin to the Kennedys of my mother's fond remembrance.

I also want to make note of the rather disappointing turn-out for his speech. Seattle is a pretty liberal city, but the appearance was poorly publicized--no doubt at least partly to blame for the small crowd.

I noticed that the folks who did show up and sit through the speech--rightfully denouncing illegal coal-burning power-plants--all expressed a longing for a 60's-style Kennedy to follow. They said this either directly or obliquely--but the longing was apparent. During the question and answer period, over and over, people asked: What can we do? Who can we follow? We remember your father, we remember your uncle.

The mostly unspoken question--are you like them?--went unanswered. One woman gamely hung on to the microphone and said, "We had leaders in the '60s, your uncle, your father. We need a leader like that today--maybe you...?" And she trailed off. There was a heartbeat or two of embarrassed silence. Then the microphone was passed on to the next questioner.

You know what? I was disappointed.

It took me a day or two to realized how very unfair that reaction really was. For one thing, I wasn't alive when JFK was assassinated. I don't have any first-hand knowledge of that era, and the mood and the people and the culture. It seems terribly unfair to hold a living human being up to a fallen hero that I never followed, I've only heard stories about.

I'm don't really know that much about RFK Jr., but I will plug his book, Crimes Against Nature : How George W. Bush and His Corporate Pals Are Plundering the Country and Hijacking Our Democracy. (The title pretty much reveals everything you can expect from the book itself.)

Among other things, Kennedy says point blank (in this interview) that GW is "the most corrupt and immoral President that we have had in American history."

RFK Jr. also refers to something Herman Goerring said:

Naturally, the common people don't want war... (but)
it is always a simple matter to drag people along ... All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked and denounce the pacifists for lack of patriotism and exposing the country to danger. It works the same in every country.

--Herman Goerring, the Nuremberg trials,1946.

I just thought it bore repeating. I'll give you a second to digest it, in case you hadn't seen it before.

Artificially linking the Nuremberg Trials with current environmental issues might seem a bit forced; however, RFK Jr. made it seem perfectly logical. This article is worth reading. So is this one.


By way of parting, since we're speaking of that era, I'll also direct you to Eisenhower's farewell speech:

In the councils of government, we must guard against the acquisition of unwarranted influence, whether sought or unsought, by the military-industrial complex. The potential for the disastrous rise of misplaced power exists and will persist.

We must never let the weight of this combination endanger our liberties or democratic processes. We should take nothing for granted only an alert and knowledgeable citizenry can compel the proper meshing of huge industrial and military machinery of defense with our peaceful methods and goals, so that security and liberty may prosper together.

Disappointingly, my mother voted for Bush. I have no fucking idea why. I keep thinking that if I can only understand that, I'll have a beginning of an idea what we're up against, and how to combat it.

Atlanta Nights

I mentioned a sting on Publish America, a few posts back. The book, Atlanta Nights, will shortly be getting an ISBN of its very own. It has a blogosphere radar profile rapidly becoming incandescent.

If you need to catch up, the official press release explains the chain of events beautifully. The story of the pseudonym "Travis Tea" is nearly as entertaining as the book. The acceptance letter from PublishAmerica is here, and the contract is here.

Meanwhile, you can watch the ongoing discussion at Absolute Write, Making Light, Critters,or Metafilter. You can also see what one of the involved authors had to say about the whole idea on Robin Hobb's newsgroup. Look fast, because I don't think those archives hang around very long.

It all serves as a cautionary tale for those searching for a book publisher: scams abound, and there is no shortage of unscrupulous companies and individuals willing to exploit new writers.

Proceeds from the sales of Atlanta Nights will benefit the Science Fiction Writers of America's Emergency Medical fund.

Today, January 27th

Today is the anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz. I wish I could think of something new and profound to write, on this day. But these events happened a couple of decades before I was even born--and anything I might try to add would sound hollow. And redundant. At least to me.

But I can offer a prayer--

And a picture is worth a thousand words.

Especially when there just aren't words, enough.

Oh, LOOK!

I've done something hopelessly stupid to my template.

Bear with me, while I try to figure out why the sidebar has dropped to the bottom of the posts....

*sigh* Now, if only I weren't such a complete techno-moron, I could fix it, and add some snazzy new features while I was at it.


Edited to say: All better now.

Strange new world...

I've recently bumped into the strange and skewed world of fanfic.

I'm not going to post any links, since a quick google search will certainly land anyone who cares to look in the middle of more fanfic than they can shovel themselves back out of.

Now, please understand that the adjectives "strange" and "skewed" aren't meant in a derogatory way; rather, I find myself at a loss for any other way to describe this stuff. Some of it is frankly awful.

But some of it is disconcertingly...well-written. I almost said good, but then I had an attack of goody-two-shoes ethical heebie-jeebies at the idea of appropriating someone else's characters and universe, and then moving stuff around without permission.

A couple of the interesting things, writerly ethics aside:

1.) My gawd...to write a story that takes such strong hold of readers that they can't let go of it once it's over...

2.) Interesting compulsion to "finish" someone else's story: the writer let me down by not pushing this as far as I think s/he could/should have...

3.) Slash: What the hell is this about? In some cases, about the fan's own unresolved sex-stuff, of course. In other cases, perhaps about tension the author/creator set up, that went nowhere, leaving fans feeling like the tension was unresolved, and the promised pay-off didn't happen.

I'm just sayin'.

It bears thinking about.

Publish and Perish

Heh. Seems that a group of writers from SFWA recently executed a rather telling sting against Publish America. You can read all about it here on the Absolute Write website.

The involved parties are understandably gleeful about showing PA up VERY publicly for exactly the scummy, scammy, exploitative operation they really are. And they deserve to feel glee. If you look at the manuscript, it is funny. Hold-your-sides, blood-pressure-popping funny.

Many of the writers involved with the project have taken no end of crappy and abusive repercussions for the work they do to expose this company. PA preys on the dreams of would-be writers with all the avarice and slick patter of a telephone con-artist working a scheme to part senior citizens from their savings.

At the same time, I feel so profoundly sad for the people who labored long hours--giving up time with family, staying up too late, and rising before any one else was awake--to finish a book they dreamed of selling. A book they loved and believed in. And in the face of all this, I think the PA authors that continue to defend their company aren't really defending Publish America at all, deep down.

They are trying very hard to continue to defend that book they love and believe in.

Ouch.

Okay

...I just don't think the colon/semicolon thing is going to work out, after all.

I just...I really miss my em-dash. I can't move forward, until I get some closure, there.

Oh, I know what you'll tell me. It's irresponsible and improper. I know. Trust me I know. You'll probably mention that nothing so flighty as an em-dash is going to make me happy in the long run, especially considering how badly I abuse it.

I've had all those same arguments with myself.

*Sigh* Everything has to be so damn difficult.

Resolutions

As a hedonist by nature, I try not to make New Year's resolutions. They typically get in the way of my continuing pursuit of dissipation.

However, I've recently been examining an alarming trend: the issue of the rapidly disappearing and dreadfully misunderstood colon and semicolon. The shocking neglect I've recently observed has led me to a change of heart regarding resolutions. I resolve to make at least a token attempt to do my part and use these oft-overlooked bits of punctuation. I think this terribly necessary; otherwise, these useful markers could become so endangered that no one with a public-school education can readily identify them.

Fiction-writing note to myself for the week:

No matter HOW bloody smart you think you are, it really DOES help to plot the damn thing first.

...and so it goes.

I seem to be spending more time staring into the middle-distance just beyond the monitor screen than I spend actually writing any words, this week. (Imagine a heavy, self-pitying and wretched sigh.) Sheer laziness in action, I imagine.

Red-herrings of thought lead me down blind alleys of speculation: Where do the words with which we tell our stories come from, to begin with? Not the language itself--I understand that, well enough. (Hey! I heard that snicker...Knock it off!)

I am transfixed by the idea that we can apply words to things we only imagine. We use words to describe a wil-o'-wisp of dreamed idea to transfigure that idea into a tale. Then we tell that tale, either in written or spoken form. Human beings have been doing so for untold generations. It's a mighty alchemy. It seems, as near as I can tell, to be an actual human need...and even those with little or no aptitude for tale-crafting show evidence of feeling that need.

Admittedly, many of the stories we tell serve a moralistic purpose. Didactic in nature, the tale-spinner has an agenda hidden (or not-so-hidden) inside the words. However, we also tell stories that quite obviously serve absolutely no purpose whatsoever. How else do you explain Joey?

The ability to create fiction seems to me an awe-inspiring thing. From the tiny white lies we use to soothe our friends and loved ones ("Oh don't worry--it's no trouble at all, really,") to the multi-volume would-be epics that everyone stopped reading after about book seven--and yes, I'm talking about precisely that author you think I might be talking about...but I only made it through book five.

Our words give our thoughts shape. Words provide escape for those concepts that otherwise would be trapped forever inside of us, transforming what would otherwise be terminal alienation into mere solitude.

There can be no compromise with war; it cannot be reformed or controlled;
cannot be disciplined into decency or codified into common sense; for war is the
slaughter of human beings, temporarily regarded as enemies, on as large a scale
as possible. [Jeanette Rankin, 1929]

Blessed are the Peacemakers.

A little reading:
http://stevegilliard.blogspot.com/2004/11/they-voted-for-this-mess.html

And something to ponder: http://www.worldpressphoto.nl/contest/winner.jsp

And also: http://www.robert-fisk.com/iraqwarvictims_mar2003.htm

I'm still following links out, so will probably post more about the above links later.

It seems to me that the Bushies are happy to declare war on other countries and kill hundreds of thousands of human beings--while claiming to be God's servants.
No wonder they seem far more interested in quoting the Old Testament (at least the pieces and parts that serve their agenda) than actually examining the reported words of the Jesus Christ they supposedly serve.

Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the Kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted.

Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth.

Blessed
are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness. for they shall be
filled.

Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy.

Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God.

Blessed
are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God.

Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness’ sake: for
theirs is the Kingdom of heaven.

Why aren't the fundies going to the wall to chisel those words on our courthouse walls?

Post Election Teeth-Gnashing

Okay. It was a sad, crappy morning, in spite of the uncharacteristic-for-Seattle-in-November sunshine. Along with everyone else I know and associate with, I've got the post-election blues. (Imagine guitar-plunking...sad, string-bending notes.) I wasn't crazy about Kerry--I really preferred Dean. But you know how it goes: Anybody but Bush.

So what's the deal? Who on earth VOTED for George W. Bush? My first instinct this morning was to gnash my teeth and dismiss the election results as blatantly fraudulent. My next instinct was to condemn the voting American public--or at least just over half of them--as hopelessly, criminally stupid. How can people not see and understand the dangerous, terrifying situation that the religious right and George Bush holding power, uncontested and unchecked, presents to all of us? The Republicans control the House, the Senate, the majority of Governorships, the White House, and likely--within the next year--the Supreme Court. The left has de facto lost its voice in our government. That is NOT the way this system was set up to work. If the Right doesn't like the way the elections go, they just re-zone the districts--four Texas Democrats just lost their seats that way.

I've calmed down just a tad. The fact is, I know lots of people who voted for Dubya. I've been driving by the Bush/Cheney yard and highway signs every day. Hell, my parents supported GW and his buddies. I watched Democrats all over the country lose seat after seat in the House and the Senate to Republicans, as well as the majority of Governorships. If the Republicans claim to be the party of decency and morality, I--for one--would like to see them do some damn good for people besides rich WASPs. Now, I think there are good and honorable people within the Republican Party. I just wish they would fucking stand up and get a lot louder. Because right now, men like Karl Rove, John Ashcroft, Dick Cheney, and Donald Rumsfeld are running this country. I know all those Americans who voted for GW thought they really were voting just for him...but they weren't.

Now. Here we are, and this is what we have to work with. It's pretty ugly. For the tin-foil beanie conspiracy theorists like myself, there is currently House legislation pending--section 3032 and 3033 of HR 10--that would allow the government to deport terrorist suspects to other countries for interrogation, without a hearing or a trial. The ugly part is that the legislation is hidden inside a bill to implement the 9/11 Commission Report.
Does anyone else smell a Stalin-esque trend in American politics? Right now we are free to say critical things about our government. We are free to congregate in groups that plan to vote that government right out on its ass. Unfortunately, I'm deeply afraid that perhaps they only allow us to do that to keep us safely out of the way and prevent us from taking more active measures. I guess we'll know, if bloggers and liberals, environmentalists and activists begin to disappear. In the name of patriotism. Prosecuted as domestic terrorists. Crucified in the "free" press as traitors. Hopefully, it isn't already too late.

Reclaim the word liberal. It isn't a nasty word. Refuse to hear it as an epithet. Be proud of it. It's a word that means we believe in civil rights. We think workers should have some power and a voice and some control over their own destinies. We think the American infant mortality rate is obscene. We think people should all have somewhere safe and warm to sleep, and decent health-care. We believe in compassion, and giving, and some of us fear God and some of us don't even believe in him--but we defend one another's right to subscribe to whatever faith we choose.

Get involved. Volunteer. Educate yourself and others. Write letters to your congressmen and women. Find out if you have a Democrat to get behind in 2008. If your state doesn't have a viable candidate, help dig one up. Hell, run for office. Batten down the hatches. Keep the faith.

A link to a blog called Obsidian Wings, tells more of the story. And if you don't care to follow the link and read the whole thing, here is an excerpt (emphasis added):

Last month Edward Markey, a Massachusetts Congressman, introduced a bill that would clearly outlaw extraordinary rendition. But Markey only has 22 cosponsors, and now the House leadership is trying to legalize torture outsourcing--and hide it in the bill implementing the 9/11 Commission Report.
These are excerpts from a press release one of Markey's staffers just emailed me:

The provision Rep. Markey referred to is contained in Section 3032 and 3033 of H.R. 10, the "9/11 Recommendations Implementation Act of 2004," introduced by House Speaker Dennis Hastert (R-IL). The provision would require the Secretary of Homeland Security to issue new regulations to exclude from the protection of the U.N. Convention Against Torture and Other Forms of Cruel, Inhuman, or Degrading Treatment or Punishment, any suspected terrorist - thereby allowing them to be deported or transferred to a country that may engage in torture. The provision would put the burden of proof on the person being deported or rendered to establish "by clear and convincing evidence that he or she would be tortured," would bar the courts from having jurisdiction to review the Secretary's regulations, and would free the Secretary to deport or remove terrorist suspects to any country in the world at will - even countries other than the person's home country or the country in which they were born. The provision would also apply retroactively.

Go VOTE for chrissake...

Ugh--I'm woefully behind here. Moving, finishing up my job, gallivanting around the country, recovering from some sort of virus that felt like a dead-ringer for ebola only not as fatal. This might not be pretty prose.

I may never actually unpack all those boxes. I'm okay with that, I'm thinking.

I forgot to request an absentee ballot, so must drive across the state Tuesday to do my civic duty. And I will.

Picked up two kids hitchhiking last night on my way back to Seattle. They'd somehow managed to put their engine block most of the way through the radiator of their old pick-up. (I know, picking up hitchhikers is risky behavior. But only if you pick up homicidal maniac rapists. These were just a couple of kids who'd gone looking for early snow on Mt Ranier to play in, and had some crappy luck.)

I got treated to the 19-year-old not really very well informed version of "why we should vote for John Kerry"--which included extensive misquoting of Faranheit 9/11. And a relieved observation that this year's election should be much safer with the international impartial administrators coming in to monitor the results (I know. It had me scratching MY head in complete bafflement, too.)

But you know what? These were two kids who had never voted. Had never really cared about voting. And they were excited. They felt empowered. They were clearly enthused and inspired. Regardless of who wins, John Kerry or the antichrist, this election has done something important for our culture.

I hope it lasts.

Massively Destructive Weapons Destruction...

If you don't live in the Pacific Northwest, you might not be aware of the chemical weapons stored at Umatilla, Oregon at the U.S. Army's Chemical Weapons Storage Depot.

From a July 2000 press release, from Rep. Peter DeFazio's (D) office:

"On September 15, 1999, 34 workers were sent to the hospital after suffering symptoms such as vomiting, chest pains, and difficulty breathing. The Army, and Raytheon, the military contractor for the Umatilla depot, investigated the area where the workers were afflicted and denied that there was any release of Sarin or Mustard nerve gasses. Under the Freedom of Information Act, a group of the affected workers obtained reports of the incident from the Federal and State Occupational Safety and Health Administration (OSHA) and the Oregon Department of Environmental Quality (DEQ). According to those documents, the Army and Raytheon's own data shows the release of Sarin and Mustard gas on multiple days from September 13-18, 2000."

They've tried to figure out how to safely get rid of the stuff...But it turns out that's pretty tricky to do--oh, and the incinerator designed for the purpose doesn't work quite right, either. There are more than a few safety concerns about the whole process.

Well, yesterday they incinerated the first chemical rocket. Seems they drill a little hole, drain the Sarin--or Mustard gas, or what-have-you--into another container, then cut the rocket up and cook it. After they've collected enough liquid, they incinerate that too.

Yeah...that's right. They burn it all. The army assures us that this is a very safe process.

Who the fuck thinks this is a safe thing to do (besides the army-powers-that-be)? I'm sure glad I'm not living just downwind from Umatilla, Oregon. Apparently, they project it will take at least six years to dispose of this particular stockpile of weapons.

Oh--one other question: If they really had found any chemical weapons in Iraq, what the bleeding hell did they propose to do with them? We don't even know how to get rid of our own chemical weapons without risking the health of our citizens.

Afraid of Words...

Why is it censorship if someone silences those with whom we agree, but not those with whom we disagree? I know this isn't a new discussion, but I think it bears revisiting.

Even more subtle is the way we sometimes seek to silence those who expose us to ideas that make us squirm.

If I wrote a graphic story about being brutally date-raped and the antagonist in the story gets away with it--and I posted that story on a writer's board on the internet--I would be taking a terrible chance that people would be disgusted and offended by the subject matter, language and tone. I would take a chance that some readers would misunderstand and think I was glorifying the topic, because the bad guy didn't get his comeuppance.

That would be a chance I was willing to take--because I believe it's an incredibly important issue. I am willing to piss people off--and willing to take the chance that some sicko perv out there is going to get his rocks off because he likes the whole idea--but I cannot control other people's reactions.

But I am a writer. Writers spend every word desperately trying to communicate with someone--a theoretical reader--who comes away from that story changed for the better, who comes away thinking and feeling something new. That's how I set about doing my part toward changing this sorry fucking world for the better. Sometimes I'm sure I miss completely. Sometimes I succeed and never know it--and the faith that I do so is why I can keep writing from this terrible alone place in my head, where no one else can ever quite go.

If someone doesn't want their child to read my story, so be it. If someone wants to be shocked and appalled, and pretend that such things don't really happen in their world--that's their prerogative. If someone wants to stop reading after the first three sentences, power to them. But that one theoretical reader, who sees it, who gets it, who really connects--for the sake of that one person, I refuse to shut up. I refuse to only write nice things that make everyone who reads them feel better. In fact, I HOPE I shake people up and upset them enough to get off their asses and do something real for a change.

I firmly believe that is what writing, at its best, is really about. And as long as what I am writing is not actually illegal--then I have every right to put the words down and get it into the world any which way I can. No one is forced to read it. Even if I put it on a freaking billboard out on the interstate--no one is forced to read it. I have not taken away anyone's free will.

But if what I post is simply summarily taken down because it may make someone uncomfortable--I've been silenced. That is completely unacceptable. And it's a especially heinous thing for writers to do to each other. Because the ONE single thing I can really do--the ONE real power I have to make a difference in my world--has just been taken from me.

I believe if we are really interested in communication, then it is absolutely unconscionable for us NOT to support those writers out there trying to write something real, something that pushes the edges of our own comfort zones. In fact, I think we should seek and especially support those writers.

And just in case anyone really ever does read this blog: No, I am not talking about things like child-pornography. Kiddy porn is fundamentally dishonest intellectually, emotionally, and socially, and rightfully illegal besides. As such, it deserves absolutely no space whatsoever.

But a discussion as to why it happens? Sure. That absolutely must be discussed. Horrible things that happen every day, and we know they happen, and we are afraid to drag them kicking and screaming into the daylight and examine them so we can deal with them honestly--we damn well deserve those things in our society as long as we're going to act like such fucking cowards.

My best advice to anyone would be to really, really READ what others are saying--read between the lines, imagine their voices, THINK about how what they have said previously now informs their words. No matter what it seems like, hardly anyone really just talks to hear the sound of their own voice. And writing is too damn much work to engage in it purely for the sake of ego-gratification--which hardly ever freaking happens anyway.

A guy on a writer's board I frequent recently posted that a writer who is afraid of words isn't going to get very far. I think that is very true--not only about specific charged words like "nigger"--but also plain old ordinary words strung together to tell an honest but ugly story.

We must stop being so afraid of words.

I'm leaving one more message...

I have a young friend out on the streets tonight. And I don't know how to find her. I'm a bit crazy with worry. I'm three states away. I've left messages for her with everyone I can think to leave a message with.

So now I'm sitting here at midnight, listening to old Sinatra tunes. I love that jazzy, breezy, finger-snapping sound. I think because it conjures a world where grown-ups don't scramble to pay bills and raise decent kids and worry about taxes and politics and how bad they hate their jobs. Instead they go to nightclubs and drink martinis, wear good shoes and flirt with one another with light and sophisticated charm. The thing is, the images of the past that we summon for ourselves--the past of old movies and our parent's stories--hardly ever include bad things.

Now don't get me wrong, even the best gin tastes like paint-thinner to me. Probably too many years of bourbon. I've ruined my palate for an elegant drink like a martini, forever. I'm okay with that, though. In my case, I've never liked martinis. I wasn't even alive in 1953, when Frank was in a studio somewhere singing "They Can't Take That Away From Me" and I think cigarette-holders look sort of dumb.

But I was reading the cd cover (because I compulsively read everything I touch--I can't help it) and at Sinatra's 80th birthday party, Bruce Springsteen said, "...While his music became synonymous with black tie, the good life, the best booze, women, sophistication, his blues voice was always the sound of hard luck, and men late at night with the last $10 in their pockets, trying to figure a way out...."

I know, I know--I had a hard time picturing Bruce Springsteen saying "synonymous" too. But the cd is Classic Sinatra: His Great Performances 1953-1960, Capitol Records, Inc., Hollywood, CA (produced and copywrited 2000)--you can check it out for yourself.

The quote made me think about Sinatra, from Hoboken, New Jersey. And what a long trip it must have been to get to Hollywood, and then Vegas. And that takes me to thinking about everyone on their own road tonight.

And that one special kid I know, who I've just heard through the grapevine is out on her own? If you see this--I doubt you can or will--but if you do, kiddo--then please call me. You've got my number. I'll come get you, wherever you are.

Returning

I'm not sure what's happened to my brain. I call it and call it, but it never answers.

I've decided to rejoin civilization. I'm moving back to Seattle at the end of September. I've resigned my despised copy-writing job. Perhaps I shall be a bartender. Or a ditch-digger. Or a rodeo clown. Although I don't think the Seattle job market has a lot of openings for rodeo clowns.

I even recently re-acquired a cell phone, having thrown the last one into the White Salmon River some years ago, when it annoyed me by ringing. I figure if I just don't give the number to anyone, I can prevent this phone from suffering the same horrible fate.

I haven't broken the news to Pippin-the-mutt yet. He won't be pleased, I'm thinking. He rather likes his gigantic backyard in the country.