Good Lord, Martin. Do you pick up a banana with one finger and a thumb? I'm guessing you use all your digits. Why waste them. Get with the program and learn to type putting all 8 of the long ones to use. I can assure you, it's a lot quicker. -- Really now, I could care less how you manage to produce words. It seems to work for you, so keep it up my friend.
Martin, -- Some years ago I learned that being a writer has three different meanings. One, a writer is capable of constructing sentences, and even paragraphs, sometimes copiously. Two, a writer is that person who, to put it bluntly, can think, AND construct proper sentences. And third, a writer is someone who can construct language elegantly, AND think. It seems most betray a belief that they fit in the third category. I would hope to at least fulfill the second requirement, and occasionally produce a gem of "elegant eloquence", if I can be so immodest to think so. (So I wonder where that places me on the Dunning-Kruger scale). If I think my writing is good, I must be much worse than I think. If I think I don't write so well, I might actually be quite good. I came to this turn of opinion when I was asked by an aspiring author to read a book he had recently written and self-published. Briefly, it was laughably, and pathetically, terrible. But I could see with my own eyes that he could put sentences and paragraphs together like a pro. He was a Dunning-Kruger poster boy. And he fancied himself a writer. Let me interject, lest you misinterpret. You, my friend, are a fine writer, in my estimation. I don't know how good -- just plenty good enough to qualify as a category 3 writer.
Now on to my next point. You spent a bucket of words on describing the feelings of winter and spring in your neck of the woods, as if it was both your penance and reward for living in the northeastern US. I was born and nurtured in the midwest, but have spent nearly all my years in the Northwest, where seasons are sharply defined by the extremes of the dismal and the magnificent -- like for most northerners. But at this moment, I am ensconced in a little city in inland western Mexico, and -- you may not believe this -- have not seen a drop of rain in 6 months. The day dawns sunny and ends sunny, like in some mythical eden, every bloody day. So now, even after only this six-month experience, I am just a bit terrified of returning to the chill and rain of my native Northwest, as I must in two weeks. How can I survive it? Can my psyche handle it? We'll see. Be brave, old man, I tell myself.
Well, that's about it for now. Keep writing my friend, and all my best to you. Paul Shelton
Thanks for the thoughtful words Paul. I basically agree with you regarding the three categories of writers and appreciate the compliment though I think I fit in number two! Who knows? Your experience with a bad novel is why I don’t offer to read people’s work. It’s snowing right now and cold here but spring breaks tomorrow. But I’d take six months of perfect weather right now. M
Good gosh! I actually got a comment from the man himself. I feel like a better writer already. Well, unless you write at the speed of a teletype machine, I can only wonder how you manage such output while living a parallel life like the rest of us. I'm generally pushed over the edge by reading some nonsense I can't stop myself from commenting on. Often however, my wife appears from nowhere and shames me into returning to the work I have to get done. She finds my rambles a waste of time; I find them a reason to live.
So that's another reason I appreciate your presence. You keep the fires of creative thought burning -- while I'm off mucking around in the swamp of survival routines.
Paul, I’m one finger typist and do most of my writing on iPad with Google Docs. I’ve just been writing for my Wednesday issues about sometimes having to follow odd paths when they appear, so don’t feel bad about daydreaming in words.
Good Lord, Martin. Do you pick up a banana with one finger and a thumb? I'm guessing you use all your digits. Why waste them. Get with the program and learn to type putting all 8 of the long ones to use. I can assure you, it's a lot quicker. -- Really now, I could care less how you manage to produce words. It seems to work for you, so keep it up my friend.
Martin, -- Some years ago I learned that being a writer has three different meanings. One, a writer is capable of constructing sentences, and even paragraphs, sometimes copiously. Two, a writer is that person who, to put it bluntly, can think, AND construct proper sentences. And third, a writer is someone who can construct language elegantly, AND think. It seems most betray a belief that they fit in the third category. I would hope to at least fulfill the second requirement, and occasionally produce a gem of "elegant eloquence", if I can be so immodest to think so. (So I wonder where that places me on the Dunning-Kruger scale). If I think my writing is good, I must be much worse than I think. If I think I don't write so well, I might actually be quite good. I came to this turn of opinion when I was asked by an aspiring author to read a book he had recently written and self-published. Briefly, it was laughably, and pathetically, terrible. But I could see with my own eyes that he could put sentences and paragraphs together like a pro. He was a Dunning-Kruger poster boy. And he fancied himself a writer. Let me interject, lest you misinterpret. You, my friend, are a fine writer, in my estimation. I don't know how good -- just plenty good enough to qualify as a category 3 writer.
Now on to my next point. You spent a bucket of words on describing the feelings of winter and spring in your neck of the woods, as if it was both your penance and reward for living in the northeastern US. I was born and nurtured in the midwest, but have spent nearly all my years in the Northwest, where seasons are sharply defined by the extremes of the dismal and the magnificent -- like for most northerners. But at this moment, I am ensconced in a little city in inland western Mexico, and -- you may not believe this -- have not seen a drop of rain in 6 months. The day dawns sunny and ends sunny, like in some mythical eden, every bloody day. So now, even after only this six-month experience, I am just a bit terrified of returning to the chill and rain of my native Northwest, as I must in two weeks. How can I survive it? Can my psyche handle it? We'll see. Be brave, old man, I tell myself.
Well, that's about it for now. Keep writing my friend, and all my best to you. Paul Shelton
Thanks for the thoughtful words Paul. I basically agree with you regarding the three categories of writers and appreciate the compliment though I think I fit in number two! Who knows? Your experience with a bad novel is why I don’t offer to read people’s work. It’s snowing right now and cold here but spring breaks tomorrow. But I’d take six months of perfect weather right now. M
Good gosh! I actually got a comment from the man himself. I feel like a better writer already. Well, unless you write at the speed of a teletype machine, I can only wonder how you manage such output while living a parallel life like the rest of us. I'm generally pushed over the edge by reading some nonsense I can't stop myself from commenting on. Often however, my wife appears from nowhere and shames me into returning to the work I have to get done. She finds my rambles a waste of time; I find them a reason to live.
So that's another reason I appreciate your presence. You keep the fires of creative thought burning -- while I'm off mucking around in the swamp of survival routines.
Paul, I’m one finger typist and do most of my writing on iPad with Google Docs. I’ve just been writing for my Wednesday issues about sometimes having to follow odd paths when they appear, so don’t feel bad about daydreaming in words.