Lickspittle (j)

Day 109.

lickspittle

This is a name for a fawning subordinate, or a suck-up.  Another similar term I've had on the brain is "boot-licker." It makes one giggle, doesn't it?

Fleer (j)

Day 108. 

fleer

A fleer is a look or a word of derision or mockery.  This comes from a Scandinavian verb which means "to laugh or grimace derisively." I always thought fleer would be an excellent name for a villain.  Enter Mr. (or Mrs.) Fleer and his permanent scowl.

Verso (j)

Day 107.

verso

A verso is the left-hand page of an open book, or the back of a loose document. 

Silver Thaw (j)

Day 106

silver thaw

A silver thaw is a glassy coating of ice formed on the ground or an exposed surface by freezing rain or the freezing of thawed ice.

Mull (j)

Day 105.  Merry Christmas!  Today's word is...

mull

To mull is to cogitate over something deeply and at length.  To mull wine one warms it and adds 2 tablespoons mulling spices (cinnamon, cloves, allspice, etc.) and sugar.  Judging from Oxford Dictionaries, the second usage of mull seems to be a century older.  So... somehow the term for spicing Christmas wine became the term we use when deep in thought.  Mulling involves a twenty-minute simmer, letting the spices mix with the fruity elements of the wine, producing a warm, delicious aroma.  This simmer - not a hard, obvious boil - is a great metaphor for serious under-the-surface thought: it can't be (nor mustn't be) rushed; is quiet, not shouted; and the results are worth waiting for.  As writers, we're mulling over a thousand things at once, envisioning worlds at a continuous simmer.  The longer these worlds soak in the spices of inspiration, the sweeter they'll be. 

Iceblink (j)

Day 104

iceblink

Iceblink is the bright appearance of the sky caused by reflection from a distant ice sheet.  This puts me in mind of a Tori Amos phrase, snowblind, from her song of the same name, "SnowBlind":

Some get snowblind
with the daylight
but then with the night
for once see clearly...

We're experiencing a particular iceblink, snowblind day.  Despite the darkness that surrounds the solstice, and the unavoidable fact that our hemisphere is turned farther away from the sun, sun light is actually much brighter now on clear days like this when it reflects off the sun.  Winter can be brighter (though colder) than summer.  There is poetry here.

Dreams, Visions & Reality (Jillian)

Dreams and visions are part of the ineffable human experience - the voice of our subconscious working through problems, presenting us with improbable but not impossible challenges, worst-case scenarios.  They reveal our anxieties, force us to confront them in our waking lives.  A life line.  The red cord we follow through the Minotaur's labyrinth. Naturally, they find their way into our stories as that nebulous, unexplained but felt stuff.  Scientists still cannot fully explain the function of these workings of the subconscious, but deep down we already know what dreams are saying to us, how they're guiding us, and that we'll follow. 

It can be argued that dreams and visions are an overused device in writing and films - a short cut out of a plot tangle or tacked onto the end of a story as a sort of apology for the improbably of a scenario.  Dorothy wakes up in her own bed surrounded by her family, as if they'd been there the entire time, as if Oz didn't exist.

Twilight: Breaking Dawn Part 2

 

Twilight Breaking Dawn: worse case scenario.

You've heard my opinion that films and stories as a general rule are different animals.  They have to show things in different ways: images versus words.  The narrative of the book is no longer first person but completely, intimately and cosmically omniscient.

The last film of the Twilight series deviated from the book one particular note. Bella is newly a vampire, and Bella and Edward's daughter has caught the attention of the malignant Volturi coven who have come to destroy their family.  In the book, the confrontation between the Cullens and their friends and the Volturi is little more than a trial and testimonials in the snow, wrought with tensions that are eased only by frank discussions, and Bella's preparedness to protect everyone she can.  The book preps us for a battle that never comes.  The film, on the other hand, shows us the battle that would have been: a battle begins with the beheading of Carlisle Cullen. 

Gasps in the theatre.  The battle sequence was intense, the body count high with Carlisle, Jasper and others among them.  Only at the end, when Edward and Bella successfully tear Volturi leader Aro's head from his shoulders do we realize that this entire battle has taken place in Alice Cullen's head and Aro has seen it all.  Of course! Perfect sense! I thought; Alice has the ability to see the future, and Aro is a mind reader.  We breathe out our relief as we realize that Carlisle and Jasper are still alive, that Edward and Bella's daughter is safe and that the Volturi have no reason to stay.  For now.

I can see why there would be skepticism about this vision.  It does seem to lean toward a cheap gag, a way to fill in the action-vacuum left by the novel, and play Gotcha! with the filmgoers.  The temptation is to say "that entire sequence was a LIE!" But... it worked for me... because this dream-battle was already a possibility, and most certainly experienced.  Sometimes you need to see the train wreck in order to prevent it from happening.  Did it happen?  No.  Does it matter?  Yes: it's all the better for having not happened.  Is it a lie?  Nope.

Doctor Who

 

Worse case scenario: the Doctor in the Master's birdcage.

Doctor Who uses this quite frequently.  Series Three saw the world taken over by the Master who opens a paradox to the end of the universe, tortures the Doctor and imprisons him in a bird cage.  Martha turns the Master's psychic network against himself and time reverses back a year - back before the world completely fell apart.  Only those standing at the "eye of the storm", on the ship where the Master launched his evil plans, remember what they'd gone through.  The world is none the wiser.  Did it happen then if time reversed itself?  Just ask the Doctor, Martha and Captain Jack. 

Life on Mars (UK)

 

Sam Tyler: Am I mad, in a coma, or have I traveled in time?

Another example - and possible SPOILER ALERT for those of you haven't seen it and want to see experience it spoiler free - involves the UK television show Life on Mars (which ended in 2005).  The question driving the series was whether Sam Tyler, a detective inspector who wakes up inexplicably in 1973 Manchester, is dead, in a coma or has actually traveled in time.  The writers do an excellent job of keeping us guessing and speculating.  Don't read the next paragraph if you're in the midst of a first-time viewing.

We come to learn that Sam's experiences in 1973 are (supposedly) the result of a brain tumor, and that his final challenges gear him toward a successful surgery and finally waking up.  When he does, he finds the "real" world colorless and lonely.  Sam, longing for the friendships and the hirsute situations of 1973, jumps off of a building, essentially committing suicide in order to return.  He does return to 1973 as if nothing had happened, to tie up loose ends, (finally) kiss the girl and drive off into the sunset.  Is the glimpse of happiness a lie?  Well... I thought of it as Sam returning to the world that was most real to him.  Crossing the threshold does signify a death, but not of Sam.  Instead, it is the death of what he has always believed is reality.  Sam's tumor-coma-dream pointed him back to the dream itself, asking us the question: what is our reality? 

The X-Files: "Dreamland"; Harry Potter

 

Mulder as Morris Fletcher.

There's another example - neither vision nor dream, but reality gone completely upside down.  In Season 6 of The X-Files, Mulder switches bodies with the despicable lie-mongerer Morris Fletcher due to a time-displacement accident at Area 51.  Mulder, looking like Fletcher, has to convince Scully of his true identity, while Fletcher, looking like Mulder, takes over Mulder's life, desperate to escape his own.  In other words, the worst has happened (not so bad as the Master controlling the universe, but...).  Mulder is without Scully and the X-Files, and no matter what he does, he cannot set it right.  Fletcher, content in Mulder's shoes, ensures it stays that way. The situation - hilarious as it at times - is completely unsolvable until the time displacement errors (long story) reverse on their own.  Life resumes and no one remembers, but there are hints that things did change: a penny and dime stuck together and the new furniture in Mulder's apartment.  Did it happen?  Yes.  Do the characters need to know?  No, but we need to know. 

A function of dreams - particularly nightmares - is theorized to be how the brain works out worst-case scenarios, trains us and prepares us to face the anxieties that taunt and haunt us in our waking lives.  Sometimes it's hammy and glitchy. Other times it is profound... while being forever baffling.  Is it real?  Is it not?  Is it The Matrix or a different level of consciousness?  If you've seen Christopher Nolan's Inception, you know how entire films can make us think about this long after our minds have been blown away in the theatre.  We will never stop asking those questions.  And that's a good thing!

In Harry Potter and Deathly Hallows, you may remember that Harry, after facing Voldemort for the last time, finds himself in an empty train station with Dumbledore.  Dumbledore is dead but conveying his wisdom to Harry from beyond the grave, answering what until now has been an uncertain question: will Harry live or die?  Is this heaven or some sort of waiting room?  Harry asks Dumbledore if seeing him in this empty place is a dream or if it is real.  Dumbledore says that it is both.  This has become one of my greatest fantasy-writing mantras.

Dumbledore: of course it's real.

The magic of story telling is not to ask whether or not something TRULY happened, but what said event says about the characters, their possible limits, and how they fulfill and surpass our expectations.  Dreams are real, a crucial element of the human psyche.  A dream sequence will fall flat if it fails to speak beyond "what if" and make us ask that question of our ourselves.  Did it happen?  What is reality, anyway?  What does this say about that particular character, what he's capable of, where he's going, what he could never do?  Those questions continue on, and make me want to write until my hands fall off.

Camber (j)

Day 103

camber

A camber is the curve of a road's surface that allows water to drain off to the sides. 

True story: I once used camber as a name - a sort of modification of the name Amber with Cameron.  I had no idea Camber was an actual term until I happened across it in my lexicographical searches.  Has this ever happened to you?

Auteur (j)

Day 102

Auteur

An auteur is the term for a film director who practice accords with the auteur theory, influencing a film so much to count as its (sole) author.  More broadly, this refers to an artist (especially a musician or a writer) whose style and practice make his/her work distinctive.

Mirth (jillian)

I've been elbow-deep in Christmas puddings this month, hence the quiet at Daedalus.  2013 is on the horizon.  I plan to begin the year by writing the blog by hand through January.  Wish me luck!  I have longer pieces in the works, as well, including a post on visions and dreams.  Thanks for reading and writing along with me!

Adventure 101 in Logophilia is...

mirth

A Christmasy word, but perhaps one we don't hear very often outside of Dickensian stories.  Mirth (n) is, simply, gladness or gaeity accompanied with laughter; its near synonyms being glee, jollity, hilarity and merriment. 

My ideal Christmas is just that: gladness and laughter.  In 2009, I was snowbound with my family over the 25th and 26th.  The roads were a mess.  We couldn't leave the house.  But we were warm.  We spent the day reading and cooking the Christmas feast.  My parents, who received Nerf guns that year from my sister, would occasionally shoot foam missiles at each other like two little kids.  I read Wives and Daughters in the window, watching the birds.  That was the year a Cooper's hawk came and gobbled up a little unsuspecting junco in the snow.  Not exactly mirth for the junco, but for us it was a testament to being safe indoors, able to watch the goings-on in the wintry world and knowing we were together and well-fed (overfed) and laughing.  It doesn't get much better than this!

AIL Day 100: beatific

Day 100!  Today's word is

beatific

To be beatific is to have a blissful appearance; appearing to be saintly ("beatified") or angelic. This is not an approximate synonym for beautiful, although I have seen it used as if it was. 

AIL Day 99: jabberwocky

Today's adventure in logophilia is

jabberwocky

This excellent word was invented by Lewis Carroll, author of Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass.  Outside of Alice's adventures jabberwocky refers to meaningless speech or writing, jibberish.  I rather think of jabberwocky as one's secret creative language and individual word-choice habits.  We speak in this language when we have a brilliant epiphany about something, try to explain it to the first person who will listen and realize that said thought hasn't translated properly into English. It comes out garbled and giddy, and our listener is confused, and looks about ready to say "Are you speaking in tongues?"  Such is the essence of art: ineffable.

AIL Day 98: retrousse

Today's adventure in logophilia is...

retrousse'

A retrousse' is the term for the way a person's nose is turned up at the tip, particularly in an attractive way. 

AIL Day 97: undertow

Today's adventure in logophilia is

undertow

Undertow is another term for a rip current, which is used in the incorrect belief that rip currents drag swimmers below the surface of the water.  This is also used abstractly to mean an implicit quality, emotions or influence lying underneath the surface aspects of something (i.e. a person's character) and leaving a certain impression.

AIL Day 95 & 96: Yule and Noel

The words I chose for this weekend are part of the rich vocabulary of the Advent season.  They've been with us for so long I know I haven't much concept of their meanings.  So I took this opportunity to do a little digging via Oxford Dictionaries (old habits die hard, I suppose).

Yule

Yule is the (archaic) Old English/Old Norse term for Christmas.  More specifically, it refers to a pagan festival that took place around the Winter Solstice and lasted twelve days after what is now Christmas.  When Christianity spread into Europe and the solstice celebrations became celebrations of the birth of Christ, the old name lingered.  So when you hear the phrase "yuletide treasure" in the old song "Deck the Halls", it isn't necessarily a pagan or a secular reference, but a general reference to Christmastime.

Noel

A noel is a Christmas carol, particularly the refrain.  So "gloria in excelsis deo" and "come let us adore him" might count as noels.   This is a French version of the Latin word natalis, meaning birth - a birth song.  This makes sense when you think about one of the lesser known Christmas songs "Noel, A New Noel."  I always thought "You mean there were noels before Christ was born?"  Apparently so!

Why Joan Didion Writes

Here's a link for you.  Joan Didion on brainpickings.org about why she writes, on the power of grammar and visceral detail. 

Coventry Carol, a mystery play (jillian)

We've entered into the time of carols.  I'm the sort of person who most definitely gravitates towards "God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen" and cringes from the likes of "Silver Bells."  (Although my aversion to the song might have more to do with an awful, cloying 1960s rendition of the tune of which I grew up hearing.)  I love Christmas carols for their beauty and their rich history, and in some cases their bizarreness.  Which brings me to "Coventry Carol."

Lully, lullay, Thou little tiny Child,
By, by, lully, lullay.
Lully, lullay, Thou little tiny Child,
By, by, lully, lullay.

O sisters too, how may we do
For to preserve this day,
This poor youngling for whom we sing
By, by, lully, lullay.

Herod, the king, in his raging,
Charged he hath this day
His men of might, in his own sight,
All children young to slay.

That woe is me, poor Child for Thee!
And ever mourn and sigh,
For thy parting neither say nor sing,
By, by, lully, lullay.

I first sang an arrangement of this carol with my high school women's choir ten years ago.  I'm sure I'm not the only one who first heard this beautiful, haunting song and wondered what on Earth it had to do with Christmas.  This is, of course, about the massacre of the innocents, which took place after Jesus' birth; King Herod, learning that a king was born to the Jews (a king that would challenge his own kingship), ordered all the male babies in Bethlehem destroyed.  Mary and Joseph fled with Jesus into the wilderness.

The song itself is the last surviving remnant of a 16th century mystery play from Coventry, England called The Pageant of the Shearmen and Tailors.  (Ye Olde Wiky-paedia.) Mystery plays were a staple of the Middle Ages, tableau performances and songs depicting Bible stories or scenes from the lives of saints.  The shearman and the tailors were probably members of that particular trade guild, not monks or nuns... although there were such performances within monasteries.  "Mystery" in this context actually means "miracle." 

What intrigues me about this song is that it alone survived the test of time.  "Coventry Carol" is a mystery of a mystery.  What did the happier songs of the shearmen and tailors' pageant sound like?  Why did this song endure the test of time?  Was it simply the prettiest?  Or has it a mind of its own, haunting down through the ages to testify about the brutality of the age into which Christ was born?  And who had the powerful idea of making it a lullaby?  Did they have any idea, when they sat down by candlelight to plan out their guild's Christmas pageant in, say, 1530 that people would be singing it and wondering about it well into 2012 and beyond?  That my friends, is special!  Merry Christmas!

AIL Day 94: ephemera

Today's adventure in logophilia is

ephemera

Ephemera is a plural noun for things that exist or are used or enjoyed for only a short, fleeting time.  To which she says, philosophically, are not all things ephemeral or fleeting?  Does that not make life all the more beautiful?

AIL Day 93: congeries

Today's adventure in logophilia is

congeries

Congeries is a collective noun meaning "a disorderly collection or jumble."  This is taken from the Latin verb congerere "to heap up." 

This word best describes Christmas preparations - the intentions, the results, the mess in my room.  I cheer myself up by imagining that Santa's workshop is a terrible disaster (the mess!) and Christmas' best keep secret.  There's a reality television show for you: overworked elves who complain of constant foot pain due to long hours and the shoes they have to wear; piles of discarded toy parts; the floor a definite hazard with tinsel and glitter and glue everywhere; not to mention the reindeer leavings; interviews with the elves who maintain Santa's sleigh: "you wouldn't believe the mileage on this thing..."

AIL Day 92: gedankenexperiment

Today's strange, strange adventure in logophilia is

gedankexperiment.

That's a thing?  Yes, indeed it is!  A gedankexperiment (literally "thought experiment") is an experiment only able to carried out in thought.  This was a term invented by Albert Einstein as he conceptualized the theory of relativity... which is only a theory and essentially can't be proven or disproven.  

This has shown me another sciencey metaphor for writing.  Here goes.  Stop me if you've heard this one before.  Ahem.  When I'm beginning the first draft of a new project - no matter what it is - I tend to create the story in my head.  Because I am a visual person, I like seeing my characters in situations, solving new problems, jumping over hurdles, battling demons, falling in love, etc.  This is particularly true when I am at the YMCA on the elliptical or walking around downtown on my breaks from work.  The images flood me, and I'm swept away. 

But as a writer, the images are really only experiments, ideas thrown together in a sort of tantalizing display.  Each possible story thread follows me, tugging me and trying to convince me that it is the thread I should choose.  It is like the quote I posted recently from Umberto Eco: "All the stories I would like to write persecute me... it seems as if they are around me, like little devils, and while one tugs at my ear, another tweaks my nose, and each says to me 'Sir, write me, I am beautiful.'" Because I can't make up my mind, I'll choose several different ideas and fly with them... wondering which idea is THE idea that will grow into the novel.  Meanwhile, as the "book" becomes the winter's next great blockbuster-in-my-head, the novel itself is nothing but a blank sheet.  Or an unsaved MS Word document.

In other words, a novel or story isn't exactly the unprovable theory, only truly tangible in the mind, but it is tempting, for me at least, to let it remain unprovable by continuing these pre-writing experiments.  The only way I will truly know where the novel is going, what is happening the characters, what they want out of life, etc is to write the story, and pull them out of the clouds and onto the paper and form them in words.  Trial and error.  Letting the images achieve tangibility on the page. 

So, note to self: your story is not the theory of relativity, but the only way to prove it to yourself is to remove it from your head and put it on the page.  Remember that gedankexperiments do not need very much work at all, but they're hard to explain and read aloud to people.  Yes, it's scary to write that naked, awful draft of that tentative story, but it will be worth it!