What's in a name?

In one of those rare free moments of a student's life, I have time to prepare for next week's lecture on 'Minimalist Short Fiction.'
The idea appeals. I have already formed a notion in my head that the writing will be of great economy, something that I can whip off in a few minutes, seconds even.

I read and learn that the term was decided upon by Kim.A. Herzinger (love the name) after considering a number of suggestions, such as:
'dirty realism, pop realism, white trash-fiction, TV fiction, Diet Coke fiction, blue collar fiction, high-tech fiction' and my favourite, 'post-post modernism'.

I am not enlightened but as I continue reading, I learn that Herzinger has kindly put together a list of characteristics that include. 'oblique and elliptical'; 'affectless, recalcitrant, deadpan, laconic'. Furthermore, Minimalist mode is,'representational/hyperrealistic/superrealistic' but not, 'fabulist' and its subject matter includes 'blue-collar/working-class or white-collar/yuppie'. The list goes on. Clearly, this is only the tip of the iceberg. (That rings a bell...Ask not for whom the bell tolls...)
There is much more to this style than I realise but as I said, I only have a few spare moments so
I stop reading and decide to go ahead and just write.
My style?  I have no idea but when I come up with a label,  I'll let you know.

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Hearing without Listening

Recently, I undertook the task of transcribing an hour-long interview. I took the time to record every thought-filler, every incomplete sentence and any verbal stumble. I did so in the pursuit of accuracy.

When it came to writing a report I was confident that I had caught the true meaning of the interviewee’s comments.  I sent a copy of the report to the interviewee and was surprised to find that I had misunderstood a number of details.

How could this have happened?

I examined the transcript and found that I had made assumptions, filled in blanks, and connected points when I shouldn’t have.

If the spoken word can be misconstrued thus, then I shudder to think of how much we misunderstand during conversation. Henceforth I shall take pains to become more attentive to what I hear and to listen with open mind as well as open ear.

image sourced at http://elixirconsulting.com.au/sorry-i-misconstrued-your-miscommunication/

What did you learn at school today?

Good talkers do not good interviewees make. It’s all fine and dandy building a rapport and letting the conversation flow. It’s all fine and dandy extracting the laughter and tears. It’s all so captivating and interesting. That is, until you sit down and begin the transcription.

Water Colour Writing

It has taken me a couple of years to finally get it. Three years ago when I first started writing fiction I was informed that my work was overloaded with countless adjectives, weighed down heavily with adverbs and overwritten with poetic devices such as similes which were sprinkled throughout my descriptions like jewels upon the sand- and I was also told that my extremely long sentences which were structured on my love of extending the simple sentence into the complex were taxing on the reader, boring and difficult to follow. I have struggled with this information until recently when I tried my hand at water colours.

Painting by Beverly Brown Prints. Image sourced from "http://fineartamerica.com/featured/woman-walking-autumn-landscape-watercolor-painting-beverly-brown-prints.html"

One thing leads to an other, to an other, to an other…

I haven’t thought about church and religion for years. I stopped going to church when I was around 9 years of age. My parents stopped going. Don’t know why. Both my grandfathers were Greek Orthodox priests. Three great uncles were also priests. So there had to be a good reason.

I was glad we didn’t go anymore for lots of reasons: I didn’t understand Greek; the priest was scary and I didn’t like the taste of wine either. Also, there were a lot of pictures to be kissed, a lot of candles to be bought, and a lot of donations to be given. Yep, I was happy to stay home and I didn’t give church another thought. Religion? Yes, but church? No. That is, until the other day when the Reformation was mentioned in Publishing class.
I decided that I would research it further, as a possible topic for the upcoming essay.
It so happens that Dr Martin Luther started it all with his posting on the Castle Church door ( I guess it was the blog site of choice back in 1517). More out of curiosity and less out of the need for academic thoroughness, I decided to check out his 95 Theses. Turns out, he hand-wrote them (funny that) in Latin. I read about three different translations and an easy-to-read chart which pointed out the differences between Catholics and Protestants. So there I was, at the computer taking notes and formulating my essay in my head, when bingo, light bulb moment, epiphany or whatever- I got why my parents stopped going to church.
As I said, ‘One thing leads to an other, to an other, to an other….’

Image sourced from "http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:912u_Luther%27s_95_Theses,_Schlosskirche,_Wittenberg,_GER,_.jpg"

Impressions of the Printing Press

Who would have thought that learning about the printing press would have proven to be so interesting?  This is not the place for me to go into details about how Gutenberg’s invention changed the world (I’ll leave that for an upcoming essay) nor do I wish to explain its inception, construction and mechanics.  Instead I would like to remark that if it had not been for Gutenberg’s printing press, then this event of you reading my words through the technology that now sits before you might never have been plausible let alone possible.  Even more fascinating is the realisation that both of us may not have developed intellectually enough to even understand this subject matter.
Take a moment to reflect.

How can you not help but to admire and respect Gutenberg for his ingenuity, his foresight and his humanitarianism?

Image sourced from: http://revolutionarypeoplefromtherenaissance.weebly.com/johannes-gutenberg.html

Snail mail and tear smears

It’s a sign of the times when we have to remember what is was like to write letters. When I was growing up letter writing was part of the curriculum. There were rules to be followed, everything from the greeting to signing off was done in strict accordance to social conventions. Much of the rules have fallen by the wayside but I still can’t send an email without ending it with a ‘Yours sincerely…’ or a ‘Yours faithfully.’ ( as if the writer could be anything else but sincere and faithful) I don’t miss the restraints of letter writing but I do  miss the excitement of opening the letter box and finding a hand written envelope and wondering what news it carried. These days there are no surprise in letter boxes. Text messages, phone calls, twitter and  facebook  have robbed us of that joy.  In my adolescent years I blush to admit that I was a prolific writer of love letters. I can’t remember what sentiments were scrawled across the looseleaf pages, probably lots of ‘I love yous’,  but I do remember that I took pains to make an impression by sprinkling perfume in the envelope, or by including a pressed flower,  or ,  my all time favourite, forcing myself to cry so that the object of my desire would see my tear smudged words of endearment.  Recently I found such  a letter, clearly one that in a moment of rational judgement I had decided not to send. At the bottom of the last page the writing had smudged. It looked as if I had accidentally brushed my sleeve across the ink. It didn’t look romantic at all. In fact it looked as if I hadn’t taken enough care. That’s the problem with snail mail, it’s hard to get your real meaning across.