AIL Day 78: dither

Today's adventure in logophilia is

dither

A dither is a highly nervous, excited or agitated state.

AIL Day 77: verglas

Today's adventure in logophilia is

verglas

Verglas is a thin coating of ice or frozen rain on an exposed surface, from the French verre (glass) and glas/glace (ice).  Did you find any of this mysterious stuff on your car this frigid morning?  I know I did! 

Wending to Winter

We had flurries for the first time this season!  Granted, the snow managed to stick to only a few surfaces before melting away, but winter definitely gave us a taste of its power today.  I enjoyed the blustery winds (even though my ears were seriously too cold) and the crisp smell in the air.  I don't enjoy it because of the inevitable Christmas tones that are blaring from every radio in every store right now - Advent does not begin until Sunday, after all.  In fact, I find myself looking forward to winter with a wild enthusiasm: the mercy of a warm, cozy place to return to after a walk in the cold; projects to keep me busy; queries to send.  For some reason, I'm finding creative energy in the cold and musing on unexpected things.  And that, my friends, is a good sign.  I'm not saying that winter will be perfect this year (when is it ever?) but it is more than bearable.  Here are just a few reasons:

Snowflakes on autumn-purple leaves.

Snowflakes on autumn-crimson leaves.

Berries and limestone.

Cherries in macro.

Another snow-kissed plant.

AIL Day 76: boffin

Today's adventure in logophilia is

boffin

Boffin (noun) is a British term for a scientific expert, especially one involved in (but not limited to) technological research.  In other words, an enthusiastic nerd.  We're all boffins about something, believe me. Life is better that way.

AIL Day 75: factotum

Today's adventure in logophilia

factotum

A factotum (noun) is a person employed to do all kinds of work or business - a jack of all trades in an office setting.

AIL Day 74: surfeit

Saturday's adventure in logophilia is

surfeit

A surfeit (noun) is an excessive amount, a glut, more than enough.  This term definitely applies to the 22 pound turkey my mother cooked for Thanksgiving... for five people.  Of course, when your goal is not simply Thanksgiving dinner but leftovers turned into casseroles and soups, the surfeit doesn't go to waste, does it?  I have enough for a third meal tomorrow.

AIL Day 73: lashings

Today's adventure in logophilia is

lashings

Lashings (n) are copious amounts of something, especially food and drink.  No doubt it will take us days to eat through through our lashings of Thanksgiving leftovers. 

AIL Day 72: nubbin

The 72nd adventure in logophilia is

nubbin

Nubbin is a noun: a small lump or residual part of something.

AIL Day 71: echolalia

My apologies to those of you who read Daedalus on Google Reader.  The font sizes don't always cooperate with me.

Today's adventure in logophilia is

echolalia

That's a thing?  Yes, indeed!  Echolalia is the repetition (often pathological) of what is said by other people.  Twitter is a form of societal echolalia, methinks, especially when it comes to the practice of "re-tweeting."  For some reason I have a mental picture of Alpine yodelers when I hear this word.

AIL Day 70: carapace

Today's adventure in logophilia is...

carapace

A carapace is a protective case or shell on the back of some animals (as turtles or crabs.) 

I've entered the stage where I realize the trial of trying to get one's novel published - making that transition from it being a private story to a public read - is a matter of building up one's carapace, putting on a suit of armor, becoming more pachyderm (choose whichever metaphors best suits you) in how we present ourselves to the world.  And I don't use carapace or pachyderm to mean "calloused" or "insensitive" as definitions of the latter would put it... I mean it in the "thick skin" sense.  We'll always be sensitive to criticism and rejection, especially when it comes to our brain-children, but we learn  how to withstand it, use it and move on from it. 

The rejections have begun for me.  Granted we're only on the second agency on my list, and there is a long winter ahead of me.  I was sad about it last night, and then came to the multi-faceted realization that 1.) I have a greater respect for the literary agents who sift through piles upon piles of query letters every week - how is it their fault if my novel doesn't stand out to them in the brief flash of a query?  And how is it mine?  It is a simple matter of the interests of two human beings not aligning exactly, not matching.  It's a very human, subjective business.  Of course, it is going to take a while to find a person (because agencies are organization made of people who are called agents) who wants to run with it.  One rejection isn't the End of All Things, just the beginning of the road. 

2.) All this worrying about whether or not my novel needs another rewrite is a bit silly.  Suppose I do need to put it through another wash?  Will it take so very long?  Is it beyond my power?  No.  In fact, it is quite doable.  It's just another step.  The state of my novel can't be the reason for a rejection if an agent hasn't read beyond the query. 

3.) A professor-friend of mine shared her mantra with me, "Living well is the best revenge."  I've heard this everywhere this week: "make the agent that rejected you regret having turned you down."  I wouldn't personally go so far, but the point is there: don't let this stop you; let this fuel your creative fire; take criticism, listen to it, apply it where it makes sense, ignore it where it does not.  There.  If this novel doesn't make it to publication, something will eventually.  In the meantime, my job is to write.

4.) This feels so much better than applying to an MFA program.  I feel sad for a while, but then I can move onto the next agent.  I don't have to stare ahead at a wasted year.  I don't have to regret the months I wasted on useless essays and personal statements, trying to sell myself to a university.  I can continue on as I've been doing: endeavoring to write well, and see where it takes me.  There is no greater relief.

AIL Day 69: puckish

Today's adventure in logophilia is

puckish

Puckish (adjective) means impish or whimsical; playful - especially in a mischevious way.  Taken, of course, from the mythological fairy Robin Goodfellow, an Old English/Celtic "puca."  You may remember him from Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream.  Depictions of him have him resembling a faun (Mr. Tumnus) or a satyr with a goat's hooves and long, pointed ears (eyebrows to match).  I love this word, because I envision puck sitting in a tree with a wink and a grin to rival Peter Pan's.

AIL Day 68: sundry

Today's adventure in logophilia is

sundry

Yes, sundry on Sunday.  We must take as many opportunities to pun as humanly possible!  Anyway, sundry is an attributive adjective meaning, simply: of various kinds or several.  Sundries are items not important enough to be listed out separately; Oxford Dictionaries uses the example of things to be found in the check out line at the drug store.  This is both archaic and trendy, methinks, but will never quite die out.  I hope it doesn't; it's rather cool... in a nerdy sort of way. 

AIL Day 67: tantamount

Today's adventure in logophilia is...

tantamount

Tantamount (an adjective) means "equivalent in value, significance or effect." In other words, "equal to."

AIL Day 66: renascent

Today's adventure in logophilia is...

renascent

Renascent is an adjective that means reborn, or coming into being again.

The Writer's Black Hole

This has been an odd couple of weeks on the writing-sphere of my life.  I wonder sometimes if I have multiple personalities, a short attention span, or just a cranky "artist-child", as Julia Cameron would say.  The fact is, despite my daily visits to the blog and to Twitter, I have been in a dry spell since I finished my novel in September.

I remember looking forward to this period, journalling about the "free-time" I'd have to work on the blog, to pursue smaller projects, to experiment with other crafty things.  This was supposed to be a break, a wonderful time to regroup and recover and rebuild my creative energy.  And yet... having been deep inside this novel, in the minds and hearts of my characters, for the last year and a half, I found the post-novel experience to be frighteningly empty.  Perhaps, even lonely.  It's that moment when you realize, suddenly whilst swimming in the ocean, that you can no longer touch the bottom, and you begin to panic and sink. 



Abandoned Psychiatric Hospital.

 I didn't understand why I felt so bereft, empty, melancholic, etc, etc.  I came up with a variety of self-diagnoses (like a psychological version of House): I need a big project to fill the void; I need to work on something new: those stories that have been sitting in limbo forever; I need to stop whining, stop beating myself up and read, read, read.  These diagnoses were met with many a vacillation and excuse from my unappeased and unsatisfied "artist-child."

1.) The next "big" project would be the sequel to the novel I'd just finished - the novel which is in back in limbo, waiting for an agent.  At first, I thought - of course!  The characters are still fresh in my mind.  I want to return to them so badly... And then I keep worrying about the state of the first novel - whether anyone would really want to represent it, or if it needs another wash-through altogether.  Conclusion was that working on novel #2 would only make me worry about novel #1. 

2.) Working on the limbo stories is absolutely fine.  I have two of them: a scene where a historical character jumps from the tower in which was being held captive, and a sort-of fantastical bent on Melville's "Bartleby the Scrivener."  Awesome ideas.  Really!  But I couldn't (and still can't) figure out why my attention span and enthusiasm about these projects wavered from day to day.  Fear?  Yes, maybe, but isn't that obvious?  But fear doesn't always keep me running in the opposite direction.  It was torture to sit and stare at the partial drafts, having ideas in my head but being unable to bring them any further.  Finish them, finish them, part of me said.  But I was/is too tense to do so... as if suddenly an enormous amount of pressure was on my shoulders, trying to convince me that the only way I'd be taken seriously as a writer would be to fill up my portfolio with a variety of things... and didn't these make the most sense? 

3.) Not writing on any story was the other option, a complete surrender.  It's comparable to the glee of a child let loose at the end of the school year.  Yayyy!  I wanted to give myself a break!  Here's a break!  I'm going to watch as many episodes of The X-Files, Farscape and Star Trek: The Next Generation (yes, I'm a nerd, but you knew that) as I possibly can while I wait for Downton Abbey and Sherlock to air!  I'm going to devour more books!  I'm going to make all of my Christmas gifts by hand this year!  I'm going to become proficient in Latin!

And then the euphoria faded once again.  I was still empty.  Still hungry, perhaps that's the better term.  The story that was still vivid in my mind was... the sequel to the in-agent-limbo novel, even though I'd authoritative told my "artist-child" no.  "No.  It will only make you nitpick and stress out about what you have to fix for novel #1.  You're too anxious as it is, trying to come up with the plotline for novel #2.  Go play with Fantastical Bartleby.  Or, do your Latin.  You like Latin, remember?"  And my artist-child instead took none of those options and chose to sit in the corner, pouting.

As much as I like Julia Cameron and the "artist's way", I don't want to attribute this to being "blocked" and try in vain to "unblock" myself.  Blocked feels like such a negative, unproductive term.  I don't respond well to diagnoses like that - as I do struggle with anxiety on a daily basis.  Blaming myself for not writing isn't a cure.  And making myself write what I don't want to write is hardly a solution, either.  And... journalling and blogging have been a part of my daily routine since before the novel was finished.  Is that blocked?  No. 

So... I've come to several conclusions from this massive wallow in the writing black hole. 

1.) Anxiety about my first novel and whether or not it's "good enough" for an agent to want to represent will always be there.  I'm not the only writer to struggle with this, I know.  And how could we not be anxious?  This is our brain-child!  We want the best for him/her! 

2.) I am not blocked.  Period.  I'm between projects and enjoying a rest.  I am blogging and tweeting and using my brain.  That's good, right?

3.) I don't have to work on Fantastical Bartleby if I don't want to.  He can wait until a better time.  There will be a better time for him.  It's just not now.

4.) Work on novel #2 if I want to.  The characters are still vivid and beautiful in my head.  They're close to my heart.  I love them.  The most foolish thing would be to push them away.  And even if novel #1 needs another wash-through, that doesn't necessarily nullify my work on #2.  (If anything such revisions would be on language, not on plot or story.) 

5.) After so long without the "need" for watching tons of television, I am gorging myself.  I need to go on a Netflix diet but not completely deprive myself.

Already my unruly "artist-child" is feeling better.  I might still vacillate a bit about what to do next, but I'm not going to flagellate myself whatever I decide.  At this point "artist-child" wants novel #2, and we'll see where it takes us... but anything is good if it gets me out of the black hole and back into a better mind set, to fill the void left by that novel. 

***

On another note, I'm glad I decided not to participate in NaNoWriMo this year.  It would have had me stressed out on day one!

AIL Day 65: dreamwork (j)

Today's word is

dreamwork

Yes, it is a word, not merely the name of a successful studio of animated films.  Dreamwork is the process by which the unconscious mind alters the manifest content of dreams in order to conceal their real meaning from the dreamer.  Ah, yes.  I do this all the time, and not just in my sleep.  This might be why I space out and forget where I am in the universe half the time.  Art and writing are partially written by the unconscious mind.  Fact.  In fact, the unconscious is in charge... I'm going to stop myself before this metaphor completely takes me hostage. 

AIL Day 64: apogee (j)

Today's word is

apogee

Apogee (noun) is the point of the moon's orbit which is farthest from the earth, or (a rarer occurrence) the point of the Earth's orbit that is farthest from the sun.  This is the direct opposite of perigee, which is the orbital point nearest to the Earth or the sun. 

Telegraph on Handwriting (j)

On my daily perusal of the Telegraph, I discovered a little gem on the returning art of letter writing and improving your penmanship.  Jake Wallis Simons conveys a few tips to those of us who'd like our letters to look better and be more legible.  Below, I've paraphrased them:

* Obtain a comfortable pen.  (You'd think this is a no-brainer, but I had an epiphany reading this article. This is why my fingers hurt whenever I try to write stories by hand!)

* Sit up straight and pinch the pen between your first finger and thumb.  (Er... I've always utilized the side of my middle finger.  Is that to blame as well?)

* Try books on improving your handwriting.

* Write larger than normal at first. 

* Doodle letters to practice.

Oxford Dictionary's Word of the Year (j)

According to the Huffington Post, the word omnishambles is Oxford Dictionary's word of the year.

AIL Day 63: milquetoast (j)

Today's word is...

milquetoast

A milquetoast is one who has a meek, timid nature.  Yes, it is pronounced "milk-toast." Oxford Dictionaries indicates that it is the name of a 1930s cartoon character.  Online Etymology indicates that it might be a form of milksop, a 14th century term for "an effeminite spiritless man," and also used as a reference to the infant Christ... literally a piece of bread soaking in milk, mild baby food. 

This was not as nice as I would have thought.  I'm pretty sure I saw this in either Wolf Hall or Bring Up the Bodies, Hilary Mantel's historical fiction novels about Thomas Cromwell... which means it is slightly anachronistic (unless Ms. Mantel used the word "milksop" instead).  Nonetheless the term was used by Anne Boleyn's ladies in waiting to describe/deride the quiet Jane Seymour.