Although I have not dipped into my ideas box for a while I’m giving up all pretense of not writing anything at all till next year. If for no other reason than keeping my typing fingers and brain cells limber, I’ll keep on going with ‘On’ series for a bit. (Ooh, the ‘On’ series! How grand to have a blog of your very own and not worry about how dopy that sounds)
I’m told that there’s a filter between brain and tongue that allows you to revise everything you say before you say it. I can think of a variety of situations I’ve found myself in where it would have been handy to own one. My tendency is to speak and then pay for the consequences. It gets me into more trouble more often than my granddaughters who can at least be excused as they are still growing and developing that brake on their tongue.
Revising the written word, is another matter altogether; that’s where I excel. I have restructured and revised the above paragraph at least five times (six times as of this morning) and before I’m done with this piece, I am sure I will revisit and restructure once more.
Someone once wrote that if you find yourself modifying a short note excusing your child from gym practice, you know you’re a writer. I think it was Danny Katz. Although I most definitely don’t put myself in his league, I’m a great admirer. He is an Australian writer who writes witty pieces for newspapers and magazines, but he’s right about the note. For those of you who haven’t grown up learning the art of letter writing, it is a handwritten form of e-mail done on hard copy and sent by, gasp, snail mail where it takes at least one day to arrive at its destination. I write up my e-mails in a Word document before cutting and pasting into the e-mail window. Then I give it a once-over, just in case, before sending.
The above could prove that I am a real writer, but my need to revisit every line that I write could also have to do with the fact that I have a compulsive personality. I need to eat each packet of chips down to the last few crumbs, then use a finger to coax the salt out where it’s lurking in the corner of the packet. When I smoked I couldn’t have a few puffs and stop; I’d have smoked the butts if it was possible. Thank goodness it wasn’t possible. Given my tendency to compulsion, I knew that the only way I was going to stop was to go what we call ‘cold turkey’. It was a painful process but it worked for me. No crutches like nicotine tablets or patches; I just knew someone like me would only transfer the addiction from the cigarettes to the cure.
Does it make you a writer if you revise sms text messages? I don’t do that too often as I have an old fashioned type of mobile that requires much thumb pressing. But I do refuse to make things easier on myself by abbreviating the words. I can’t get myself to limit communication to a bunch of letters and numbers: no C U 4 lunch, 4 me.
My son and I have arguments about lyrics versus music. Guess which side of that debate I’m on. Today’s lyrics are indecipherable. Strain as I do, I can’t make them out. My son assures me that this is desirable. Young people don’t want to be burdened with words. It’s all about sound and video clips. I’m not sure whether or not preferring to hear a story even if it’s in rhyme makes me a real writer. Possibly that’s why I’m stuck in the sixties with Simon and Garfunkle and Dylan. Possibly not in my lifetime, but I’m sure the pendulum will swing back some day soon.
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