Wordsmith Holler

Original Pulp Fiction

Tag: words

  • March 15, 2017 Scribble

    I spent twenty minutes holding my head to the right as a doctor went in again for my fourth thyroid biopsy. “Boy this is really deep,” he said. “Yep, maybe you’ll be the guy,” I said. It is clear with have a nodule or two. We don’t clearly know if it is cancer. “At least if it is cancer, this is the best one to get,” said my endocrinologist. “It takes so long to grow.” Comforting. While other writers are busy taking people to other places, I’m in an endless loop of out-patient surgery. No, you would not be interested in the waiting, prodding, and sore neck. It doesn’t jump off as one of those stories you want to hear.

    ***

    Hemingway said, “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” True. Sometimes you just have to write it out and hope something sticks. Then let it fall to the floor. In Hemingway & Gellhorn  he says,” Never crumple pages. Always let them float gently into the basket. Any writer who rips out his stuff and crumples it will go insane in a year, guaranteed.” I like the idea of floating paper to the trash. I would float this to the trash, but it’s a huge monitor.

    ***

    It turns out nobody reads this blog. (more…)

    Read more: March 15, 2017 Scribble
  • March 9, 2017 Scribble

    This post consists of thoughts and fragments as I attempt to free write 750 words every day. Some of this may end up in a Story or a Conversation. Anyway, this is how one learn and shapes up The Craft.

    I’m writing another short story about a little girl found next to jewelry tools and a safe missing its jewelry. That’s how I spent my 750-words today. With these words, explaining why my Scribble lacks from an explosion of words, I have written nearly the maximum goal for the day.

    The story is a fun read, full of mischief, mystery, and conflict. Hopefully, the muse will let me post if tomorrow.

     

    Read more: March 9, 2017 Scribble
  • March 7, 2017 Scribble

    March 7, 2017 Scribble

    You can read this if you wish although it consists of thoughts and fragments as I attempt to free write 750 words every day. Some of this may end up in a Story or a Conversation. Anyway, this is how one learn and shapes up The Craft.

    The Big Squeeze is coming to Las Vegas. The Spaghetti Bowl, a large mess of on ramps and off ramps between the US 95 and I-15 will soon be reduced to two lanes. It already becomes two lanes on US-95 under the Bowl, so I’m not sure how this is a squeeze, but through media hyperbole and advertising, I’m to understand this will be terrible.

    This morning, I decided to find an alternative route. On the advice of some friends, I decided to try North Fifth, a new road into North Las Vegas.

    After fifteen minutes waiting for a light to change and let three cars through at a time, I’ve decided I can suffer through the impending peril of the Big Squeeze. Even if I sit for 5 extra minutes, it will surely beat a 55 minute commute to go 20 miles via surface streets. This is ranting I know, but you have to start 750-words somehow.

    We spring back this weekend. Frankly, this just means getting up earlier. Remember to set your clocks ahead. (Don’t think about it too much: Your head will explode).

    Sequoia Strawberries in the flower bed mulch
    Lined up like bare root roses
    Patted safe in the warm soil
    Watered and blessed; a hopeful refrain.

    Spring lasts a few days before summer rays
    Bear down on the garden beds
    Warming the soil to dry dust
    A delicate balance to keep them moist.

    The morning frost reminds spring follows winter
    Breezes as March enters like a lion
    Or sneaks in like a lamb.
    Either way, the garden struggles to bloom.

    A small leaf springs up from the bare root tip
    As roots firmly establish themselves
    And the plant becomes accustomed to its new home.
    It spreads out to take space.

    Small droplets in the morning light
    On large leaves of green vermillion
    Summer sun gobbles up the water
    As ladybugs jump through the delicate flowers.

    “Are you drinking enough water?”

    “I think so.”

    “It’s getting hotter and you need to be refreshed.”

    “I went to the bathroom three times tonight.”

    “You’re diabetic. That’s a sure sign of the disease.”

    “I don’t suppose four tall glasses of water had anything to do with it.”

    In these writing exercises you are supposed to write whatever comes to your head, in any order, without stopping. This came to my head just now.

    S. I. Hayakawa was a U.S Senator from California, and before that he was a semanticist at San Francisco State University. I first read his book Language and Action in high school. The idea Bessie the Cow was an abstraction allowed me to add only those details that made her a cow, rather than endlessly describe all of her features. Abstraction allows writers to write a picture that others fill in. Hayakawa warned to stay at the top of the abstraction tree, otherwise you could lead others into an existential hell.

    Trees have a colored leaf. And the leaf is made of smaller parts from veins to individual cells. Staying at the top allows the reader to fill in the abstractions, without the writer having to describe the color of the veins or explain the arrangement of the cells. However, sometimes a writer wants to describe these things. Knowing when to stop is the art of writing. A writer must be careful not to chase themselves around in circles!

    Hayakawa also addresses the power of words to hypnotize and manipulate. If a person can be convinced a brown cow is really white through powerful descriptions, then a writer can powerfully draw a crowd in with the force of prose. He cautions readers to avoid taking whatever a person says at face value; question them and their motivations. Abstractive communication allows writers to rely on simile, metaphor, irony and pathos to communicate an idea. Abstraction has power as long as everyone agrees on the definition of the abstraction.

    Too deep? Enough philosophy on the mechanisms of writing.

    “I just don’t feel motivated or respected.”

    “You hate your job?”

    “Just the people. Nobody sees my contribution.”

    “So you’re looking for a reward?”

    “I would like to be respected and given a little credit.”

    “For showing up?”

    “For making this place work despite the lack of respect.”

    “You received a paycheck this week?”

    “Yes.”

    “I think you they must like you.”

    I’m running out of words for this session’s writing activity and likely this will end long before I ever get to the bottom of a deep well. There. We now have 750-words!

    Read more: March 7, 2017 Scribble
  • March 6, 2017 Scribble

    March 6, 2017 Scribble

    You can read this if you wish although it consists of thoughts and fragments as I attempt to free write 750 words every day. Some of this may end up in a Story or a Conversation. Anyway, this is how one learn and shapes up The Craft.

    For years I have created puns without knowing it. Someone would say something, I would reply, and then everyone would start laughing. I struggled to figure out why they laughed. Later, sometimes the next day, I would realize the joke and laugh too.

    (more…)

    Read more: March 6, 2017 Scribble
  • March 3, 2017 Scribble

    March 3, 2017 Scribble

    You can read this if you wish although it consists of thoughts and fragments as I attempt to free write 750 words every day. Some of this may end up in a Story or a Conversation. Anyway, this is how one learn and shapes up The Craft.

    America is divided. The Hatfield vs. the McCoys. #BLM vs #BLM. Of course, it is nowhere near the biggest mix up as The Orange and the Green.  At least not yet. (more…)

    Read more: March 3, 2017 Scribble
  • March 2, 2017 Scribble

    You can read this if you wish although it consists of thoughts and fragments as I attempt to free write 750 words every day. Some of this may end up in a Story or a Conversation. Anyway, this is how one learn and shapes up The Craft.

    According to my new writing goal, I am supposed to just write down whatever comes to my head and finish up in 750 words. The whole thing sounds a bit of a waste of time, frankly. I don’t have the luxury of writing nothing; there is so much more to write and get done.

    Yet, here I am just writing. And counting time.

    (more…)

    Read more: March 2, 2017 Scribble
  • Second Writing: Proofreading and Editing Skills

    By all means write as fast as you can and put the words on paper. In the movie Finding Forrester, the fictional reclusive author William Forrester tells Jamal Wallace, “No thinking — that comes later. You must write your first draft with your heart. You rewrite with your head. The first key to writing is … to write, not to think!”

    No thinking — that comes later. You must write your first draft with your heart. You rewrite with your head. The first key to writing is … to write, not to think!

    The second writing comes through the proofreading, editing, and re-writing.

    Too many writers get bogged down in re-writing each sentence as they write it. A missed opportunity to allow expression and creativity to flow on the page. Capture the spark of genius first and allow it to build. Stopping to edit just breaks the chain and makes it difficult to put down pages.

    The story develops and becomes refined in the second writing. I like to let the story sit and ferment like a bowl of bread dough; it sits and bubbles until I have the time to return to make the loaves. The second writing allows you time to smooth out the wrinkles and improve on the structure. At this stage you notice the awkward phrasing, the empty dialogue, and the story weaknesses.

    In the coming weeks, I plan to began writing a short story about a girl who comes to Las Vegas seeking revenge. Over time, you may notice the story will contain strikeouts and edits. I plan to keep those in there to show you how I am editing and re-writing the story. Of course, I would appreciate your feedback too.

    [plain]Do you write like a whirlwind, or do you carefully consider each word? What are your thoughts on getting words on the page? Post your comments below.[/plain]

     

    Read more: Second Writing: Proofreading and Editing Skills
  • The Bedwell Curse

    I am sure she really meant no harm when she said, “You will never be a writer.”

    The shock of the statement caused me to burn inside and I ached to prove her wrong. My sophomore English teacher failed to understand my punctuation and short sentences that often lacked complexity or my fascination with Tyburn poems.

    “Rat-a-tat-tat,” she would write on my papers.

    “Less poetry, more exposition,” she scrawled in big red letters.

    [plain]Rhyming
    Timing
    Quaffing
    Imbibing
    Rhyming, timing spontaneity
    Rebuffed as a quaffing, imbibing wastefulness.
    [/plain]

    Sentences consisting of subject-verb-object became my bread and butter; my go to sentence when I needed to clearly state a point. Ten years of television journalism proved a simple sentence often was all that was needed.

    I felt pride in knowing Mrs. Bedwell was wrong.

    Yet, I wasn’t really sure.

    Writing 75 words a day for a crime story really doesn’t make for a deep writing career. The first day on the job as a science writer, I was assigned to write a 3,500 word story on a complex chemical reaction. I nearly left the Selectric II behind.

    “How do I start?” I asked my new editor Kippie.

    “Start by writing,” she had replied.

    I still couldn’t begin. This was the first time I considered Mrs. Bedwell might have been right.

    “You will never be a writer.”

    The blank page turned brighter and I just stared at it until whiteness filed the room. I was pulled out of my brooding by a phone call.

    “Just start,” Kippie, said through the speaker.

    The typewriter clacked out the first word. Then the next. Soon there was a page of thoughts and sentences. Surprisingly, some of it seemed to flow and tell the story. It was rough.

    “That’s what editors are for,” said Kippie, when I confessed it wasn’t very polished.

    Who knows if I am the writer Mrs. Bedwell envisioned.

    It doesn’t matter.

    I am the writer I want to be.

    [plain]Where you ever told you couldn’t write? Was that a proper judgement? If not, what did you do about it? Add your thoughts to the comments below.[/plain]
    Read more: The Bedwell Curse
  • The Thrill of Writing

    I started Wordsmith Holler to experiment and put myself out there. I have no other reason. It seemed pointless to keep writing first drafts and store them in the cloud. Stored and forgotten. Go ahead and post them and let others decide their true worth.

    I also do not understand the current publishing business. Writers are discovered online on Twitter. Can 140-character riffs really indicate your ability to write? I suppose if you are writing one-liners. Before my birth, a writer would sit in a pub, think Starbucks, and write an essay, short story, diatribe, and submit it for publishing. Edgar Allen Poe comes to mind.

    (more…)

    Read more: The Thrill of Writing
  • On the Path from Small to Large

    Small.
    Brownie Cottage.
    300 square feet.
    Enough room to sit.
    And maybe spin all around.
    The size of a gingerbread doghouse.
    If the dog was a small mastiff.
    A big dog with a very large appetite.
    With no place to store the dog food bags.
    The minimalists say we all could stand to slim down.
    That our mega mansions, stuff, and stacks of books signify waste.
    But the very thought of living in a one-room cabin frightens me:
    Like Thoreau living in an urban forest with no solitude or private pond.
    The stacks of books, hand selected, some with gold leaf edges are precious friends.
    Even if they spill off the shelves and pile up in towers on the floor.
    “You’re a hoarder,” say visitors who look down in disdain at my collection of wordy excess.
    And although I attempt to purge, sort, and reduce the pages, it is hard to part company.
    They all contain dreams, fantastic journeys, ginormous thoughts, hidden truths, ineffable fruit, obsolete wisdom, scientific hypotheses, and farce.
    Put them on a Kindle, they say, yet most are out-of-print, esoteric, or hand-me-down treasures.
    Which makes it all the more difficult to release them to a better place; a Goodwill, or a book sale.
    So they stand stacked like beleaguered sentries circled in spindly towers keeping silent watch over words cluttering the floor.
    They wait and watch with dread wondering when they will be released into the world and set free.
    Each knows I haven’t the courage to sort, pick, or drop any of them into a box.
    A certain belief none of them will be downsized to shoehorn them into a tiny house.
    Or are they mistaken to express this joyful expectation that they are so highly regarded?
    Unfortunately some must be labeled, screened, and stacked for certain delivery to the curb.
    The house must shrink from 3,500 to 1,700 squares, albeit not a one-room schoolhouse.
    It is still smaller than the library where the sentries now stand guard.
    The childhood adventures remain and the college texts with inspired margin notes.
    Each is carefully stacked next to the poems and dime-store mysteries.
    The free classics will find a home electronic and portable.
    Words stacked neatly alphabetical in my library virtual.
    I will sneak in some Steinbeck or Holmes.
    The rest will be donated for free.
    To give others pleasure or pain.
    The words will worm inward.
    To plant a seed.
    An inspirational spark.
    To think.
    Large.

    Copyright 2015, Michael S. Sommermeyer. All Rights Reserved.

    [plain]This shape poem works from one to 20 words and then back to a single word. Pick a topic and write your own shape poem. Add it to the comments below.[/plain]
    Read more: On the Path from Small to Large