Thanks.
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Hello, and, are there any other aspiring writers amongst us?!
- Thread starter benaspiringwriter
- Start date
One time, I agreed to write a page about a local Amnesty program. I just couldn't get started all weekend, nor focus on anything else, and then, at the 11th hour I did one draft that they were very happy with. Another time, I waited two weeks for a rebuttal to an article to show up in the letters to a weekly editor, and then did a good one. The process is mysterious.
I have a habit of packing many ideas into a few paragraphs which are too dense for anyone trying to read rapidly, but my most popular stuff has a narrative just racing along with few words. I wish I could find that "voice" more often.
I re-read one of my favourite passages it a classic book after 30 years, and discovered that my memory had improved it greatly.
I'm in regular contact with a guy who has published a dozen novels and much other work with very few sales. His stuff is quite good, but competition for attention is extreme these days. We were told that computers would let us send our thoughts to thousands of people at the push of a button, but not warned that we would also get thousands of opinions sent to us. We even have bots competing for eyeballs now.
One of my favourite books, "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" was turned down by 119 publishers before it sold 5,000,000 copies. Given that it is an autobiographical account of the discovery of some ideas that first got the author committed, I'd have quit at 100 for sure. The sequel, "Lila" is far better in many ways, but has not sold nearly as well. The author, Robert Persig, used Whitewater Woman's index card system. I have been trying to get organized with electronic cards in a program called Scrivener, but find it hard to learn. The first book was finished by the author isolating himself in a pickup camper. I got a lot more focussed work done while off-line for a week.
I have a habit of packing many ideas into a few paragraphs which are too dense for anyone trying to read rapidly, but my most popular stuff has a narrative just racing along with few words. I wish I could find that "voice" more often.
I re-read one of my favourite passages it a classic book after 30 years, and discovered that my memory had improved it greatly.
I'm in regular contact with a guy who has published a dozen novels and much other work with very few sales. His stuff is quite good, but competition for attention is extreme these days. We were told that computers would let us send our thoughts to thousands of people at the push of a button, but not warned that we would also get thousands of opinions sent to us. We even have bots competing for eyeballs now.
One of my favourite books, "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" was turned down by 119 publishers before it sold 5,000,000 copies. Given that it is an autobiographical account of the discovery of some ideas that first got the author committed, I'd have quit at 100 for sure. The sequel, "Lila" is far better in many ways, but has not sold nearly as well. The author, Robert Persig, used Whitewater Woman's index card system. I have been trying to get organized with electronic cards in a program called Scrivener, but find it hard to learn. The first book was finished by the author isolating himself in a pickup camper. I got a lot more focussed work done while off-line for a week.
Hmm, part of revealing personal detail is what brings it closer to reality and genuinity.
You often see people say they dislike it but then they go ahead and go fanatic with the personal mental differences that a great historical figure might've had. Did he have autism, oh no, he had savant syndrome, no he was an introvert.
There is a place for autobiographies in the world but I like to think the world is open to much more than that. I know I am.
Rules don't breed creativity, and as autistic people we tend to be unbounded by them. I wouldn't say that's a bad thing.
Once in a while at least, it's good to be living free and also be spontaneous. For the free spirits this is essential.
You often see people say they dislike it but then they go ahead and go fanatic with the personal mental differences that a great historical figure might've had. Did he have autism, oh no, he had savant syndrome, no he was an introvert.
There is a place for autobiographies in the world but I like to think the world is open to much more than that. I know I am.
Rules don't breed creativity, and as autistic people we tend to be unbounded by them. I wouldn't say that's a bad thing.
Once in a while at least, it's good to be living free and also be spontaneous. For the free spirits this is essential.
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And with a collaboration you guys have to keep in mind each other's mental energy, as it tends to be for us. Harder to start up tasks, and might need motivation.
Hello, fellow writer.
Sample some of my writing in this thread.
https://www.autismforums.com/thread...some-of-my-film-reviews-in-this-thread.39546/
Sample some of my writing in this thread.
https://www.autismforums.com/thread...some-of-my-film-reviews-in-this-thread.39546/
benaspiringwriter
Member
Hi Luca, Rodafina, GypsyMoth and WhitewaterWoman, et all.
Luca, thanks also for your post. I genuinely am impressed that you are an artist and musician as well as a scientist. So is it accurate to speculate that you agree with the analysis of C. P. Snow, who, back in the 1950s, made famous academic contributions about how science based activities and literature based activities were being conducted in almost hermetically sealed separate spheres, and that this was a false dichotomy of the most flagrant, tragically limitations-imposing sort? I might start a thread on C. P. Snow in the new year, but my short term aim is to become a ‘stable’ (manic depression is a fickle hussy, after all!) consumer and contributor on this site. However when people like you say that they too incurably go off on tangents then I feel that sustaining a stable presence on this sometimes intimidating web forum might be slightly easier than if you hadn’t said this.
Rodafina, thanks for your post, also. Again I’m glad that flowery language is perhaps not only not frowned upon but favoured on this forum. In the history of that social science subculture, Marxism, during F. Engels’s *The part played by labour in the transition between ape and man* to be precise, he talks of a parrot garrulously repeating it’s entire vocabulary (like a zoological form of stimming, I guess!). Some writers on here seem to know most of the words in the English language and wield many of them with a deft touch. In my case it’s more like the human version of the garrulous parrot repeating mechanically it’s entire vocabulary, the latter which is less capacious than in the case of all of you guys. “Whatever floats your boat”, some may say. And yet perhaps sometimes people in history have been so simultaneously dexterous and demented as to have combined both approaches?! See, for example, David Foster Wallace’s great essay on John Updike, where he argues rather raffishly, I think, that stylistic-results and compositional methods employed-wise Updike can be “described as, essentially, a penis with a thesaurus”(!)
At any rate, GypsyMoth, likewise. (see above) In their 1982 song *22 Acacia Avenue*, Iron Maiden’s Bruce Dickinson sings operatically about a legendary harem; “it’s the place that we all go”. My mum still to this day often says to me, “Why, Ben, you are always going from the sublime to the ridiculous!”. At any rate, The Smiths emerging during the same dark decade, on their first album *The hand that rocks the cradle*, sang the words “And all too soon I did return./ Just like a moth to a flame.” The jury is still out as to whether GypsyMoth will live up to his/her/etc cyber moniker and make the perhaps from some standpoints dubious venture of returning to participate with some of these threads on this site that I’m involved with, however, as Oscar Wilde says in his 1891 essay *The decay of lying*, “sometimes things happen first in art and then in real life”. At any rate, what with the *22 Acacia Avenue*, ‘new wave of British heavy metal/harem’ reference (only in autism land, people!), perhaps this is the point where the erotic enters into the limited range of themes that enter my own contributions (“at least he’s honest!”, come, come now, people!)(wink). After all, soon after entering college, just as soon after me dropping out of college— perhaps a latest version of the previously mentioned (in other posts) theme of Karl Marx’s idea that “history repeats itself; the first time as tragedy; the second time as farce”--- David Foster Wallace shocked his fellows and fellowesses (so to speak), by displaying a distinct penchant for what were for them the ‘clunky, dinosaur disposition signposting’ special interests of ‘hip hop’ and ‘porn’. And yet as the aforesaid French Sociologist Pierre Bourideu often argued, hip hop is a prime example of where marginalised groups, feeling alienated from mainstream culture, respond in a very practically intense way, by expressly and purposefully formulating their own rules for a whole gamut of artistic activities, and, on the more heady points upon the old ‘socialist bohemia’ landscape, games. (See, for example, the great sociologist Bourdieu’s book *The rules of art*). Although, please don’t ask me to rap (!)—i.e as S. P. Morrissey said elsewhere “So I broke into the Palace with a sponge and a rusty spanner. She (the queen) said, “Eh, I know you, and you cannot sing! I said “That’s nothing, you should hear me play piano!” ---here in autism land we can, sometimes, to an extent, perhaps, make our own genres!
Indeed, WhitewaterWoman, likewise (ibid). Again your professional activities are very impressive. I wonder if your creative cum polishing technique has partial predecessors in (from the history of the beat generation) William S. Boroughs’s famous ‘the cut up technique’----obviously but importantly used by David Bowie at times during the 1970—- as well as having partial predecessors in (from the also ongoing history of autism) Cambridge residing autism expert Simon Baron Cohen’s recent book *The pattern seekers; a new theory of human invention*? A bit of a (not particularly well organised) tangent, I admit, and yet, as S. Baron Cohen—- leading member, to additionally state, of Cambridge university’s ‘autism research centre’ **1**---quotes the good old Alan Turing feature film *The Imitation game* during said book *The pattern seekers*..., “Sometimes it’s the very people who no one imagines anything of who do the things no one can imagine.”
Well, any thoughts on what I’ve said are again welcome, and may the thread limp on gingerly until it, well, runs out of steam (wink). Or, as that stubborn aspie Leon Trotsky once said; “Without a guiding organisation, the energy of the masses would dissipate like steam not enclosed in a piston-box. But nevertheless what moves things is not the piston or the box, but the steam.”
Warmest comradely greetings,
Ben
**1** For the record, has anyone been in contact with the ARC ever? Frankly, I’m happy devoting my energies to this website for several months/years; that’s my current plan.
Luca, thanks also for your post. I genuinely am impressed that you are an artist and musician as well as a scientist. So is it accurate to speculate that you agree with the analysis of C. P. Snow, who, back in the 1950s, made famous academic contributions about how science based activities and literature based activities were being conducted in almost hermetically sealed separate spheres, and that this was a false dichotomy of the most flagrant, tragically limitations-imposing sort? I might start a thread on C. P. Snow in the new year, but my short term aim is to become a ‘stable’ (manic depression is a fickle hussy, after all!) consumer and contributor on this site. However when people like you say that they too incurably go off on tangents then I feel that sustaining a stable presence on this sometimes intimidating web forum might be slightly easier than if you hadn’t said this.
Rodafina, thanks for your post, also. Again I’m glad that flowery language is perhaps not only not frowned upon but favoured on this forum. In the history of that social science subculture, Marxism, during F. Engels’s *The part played by labour in the transition between ape and man* to be precise, he talks of a parrot garrulously repeating it’s entire vocabulary (like a zoological form of stimming, I guess!). Some writers on here seem to know most of the words in the English language and wield many of them with a deft touch. In my case it’s more like the human version of the garrulous parrot repeating mechanically it’s entire vocabulary, the latter which is less capacious than in the case of all of you guys. “Whatever floats your boat”, some may say. And yet perhaps sometimes people in history have been so simultaneously dexterous and demented as to have combined both approaches?! See, for example, David Foster Wallace’s great essay on John Updike, where he argues rather raffishly, I think, that stylistic-results and compositional methods employed-wise Updike can be “described as, essentially, a penis with a thesaurus”(!)
At any rate, GypsyMoth, likewise. (see above) In their 1982 song *22 Acacia Avenue*, Iron Maiden’s Bruce Dickinson sings operatically about a legendary harem; “it’s the place that we all go”. My mum still to this day often says to me, “Why, Ben, you are always going from the sublime to the ridiculous!”. At any rate, The Smiths emerging during the same dark decade, on their first album *The hand that rocks the cradle*, sang the words “And all too soon I did return./ Just like a moth to a flame.” The jury is still out as to whether GypsyMoth will live up to his/her/etc cyber moniker and make the perhaps from some standpoints dubious venture of returning to participate with some of these threads on this site that I’m involved with, however, as Oscar Wilde says in his 1891 essay *The decay of lying*, “sometimes things happen first in art and then in real life”. At any rate, what with the *22 Acacia Avenue*, ‘new wave of British heavy metal/harem’ reference (only in autism land, people!), perhaps this is the point where the erotic enters into the limited range of themes that enter my own contributions (“at least he’s honest!”, come, come now, people!)(wink). After all, soon after entering college, just as soon after me dropping out of college— perhaps a latest version of the previously mentioned (in other posts) theme of Karl Marx’s idea that “history repeats itself; the first time as tragedy; the second time as farce”--- David Foster Wallace shocked his fellows and fellowesses (so to speak), by displaying a distinct penchant for what were for them the ‘clunky, dinosaur disposition signposting’ special interests of ‘hip hop’ and ‘porn’. And yet as the aforesaid French Sociologist Pierre Bourideu often argued, hip hop is a prime example of where marginalised groups, feeling alienated from mainstream culture, respond in a very practically intense way, by expressly and purposefully formulating their own rules for a whole gamut of artistic activities, and, on the more heady points upon the old ‘socialist bohemia’ landscape, games. (See, for example, the great sociologist Bourdieu’s book *The rules of art*). Although, please don’t ask me to rap (!)—i.e as S. P. Morrissey said elsewhere “So I broke into the Palace with a sponge and a rusty spanner. She (the queen) said, “Eh, I know you, and you cannot sing! I said “That’s nothing, you should hear me play piano!” ---here in autism land we can, sometimes, to an extent, perhaps, make our own genres!
Indeed, WhitewaterWoman, likewise (ibid). Again your professional activities are very impressive. I wonder if your creative cum polishing technique has partial predecessors in (from the history of the beat generation) William S. Boroughs’s famous ‘the cut up technique’----obviously but importantly used by David Bowie at times during the 1970—- as well as having partial predecessors in (from the also ongoing history of autism) Cambridge residing autism expert Simon Baron Cohen’s recent book *The pattern seekers; a new theory of human invention*? A bit of a (not particularly well organised) tangent, I admit, and yet, as S. Baron Cohen—- leading member, to additionally state, of Cambridge university’s ‘autism research centre’ **1**---quotes the good old Alan Turing feature film *The Imitation game* during said book *The pattern seekers*..., “Sometimes it’s the very people who no one imagines anything of who do the things no one can imagine.”
Well, any thoughts on what I’ve said are again welcome, and may the thread limp on gingerly until it, well, runs out of steam (wink). Or, as that stubborn aspie Leon Trotsky once said; “Without a guiding organisation, the energy of the masses would dissipate like steam not enclosed in a piston-box. But nevertheless what moves things is not the piston or the box, but the steam.”
Warmest comradely greetings,
Ben
**1** For the record, has anyone been in contact with the ARC ever? Frankly, I’m happy devoting my energies to this website for several months/years; that’s my current plan.
I'm going to have to bail out of whatever's going on here. Too prolix for me to keep up with: Tried diagramming a few of the sentences here and there is little way for me to make heads or tails of it all. Sure, I would love helping out in some small way but we have two very different approaches to writing. (Maybe differences and such can strengthen the work.)
I do like to write long projects but my style revolves around trying to convey substance,as much as possible. Learned this on 3 years of Latin: Caesar's greatest legacy was not just the Gallic wars, but De Bello Gallico, and that stripped-down style that gave us Veni, vidi, vici, would not have worked if he wrote in a deliberately learned style.
Granted, bombast was fashionable for awhile there, and Dickens was trying to keep a few good "inkhorn terms" just for creativity's sake.
Ordinarily though, I really might not be the right sort of person to work on projects like this much, because I don't even think in that type of writing. But I do hope you are seeing that this is a very supportive place to find writers in. Most people here are making something or other.
I do like to write long projects but my style revolves around trying to convey substance,as much as possible. Learned this on 3 years of Latin: Caesar's greatest legacy was not just the Gallic wars, but De Bello Gallico, and that stripped-down style that gave us Veni, vidi, vici, would not have worked if he wrote in a deliberately learned style.
Granted, bombast was fashionable for awhile there, and Dickens was trying to keep a few good "inkhorn terms" just for creativity's sake.
Ordinarily though, I really might not be the right sort of person to work on projects like this much, because I don't even think in that type of writing. But I do hope you are seeing that this is a very supportive place to find writers in. Most people here are making something or other.
I do love writing as well.
benaspiringwriter
Member
Hi Gerontius.(et all)
Thanks for your honesty (I’m not being sardonic). I’ll also, again, be honest and say the following. Given my experience over the years, part of me always knew that even by entering a nurturing, encouraging community like this one, my very confused style of thinking (and therefore writing) would never realistically allow me to write a novel, even with help. This has actually crystallised in my mind these last few days. However I have *enjoyed*(!) writing several rambling ‘cyber-letters/informally zany essays/comments’ these past few days.
I agree that some of my writing is hard to understand. It is not because I am a misunderstood genius, but because of the various physical disabilities that I have. However one of the morally attractive features of the neurodiverse community is that people of various intellectual abilities are all welcome. The welcome I have received here makes me desire to continue to enjoy posting over the coming weeks. This meets the moderate level of satisfaction that it’s possible to enjoy via participating in a forum like this. As for the slightly more ambitious aim of finding, eventually, some sort of very necessarily specific (!) writing project, and very specific writing partner(s) (!), well, again, the jury is still out on that score.
However, I genuinely am gratefully you attempted to analyse my post in that technical manner. I honestly admit that, in it’s current stage of development, it and others posts of min don’t make sense to any mass readership. However it, just about, makes sense to me. (!) Or, as the Manic street preachers once sang “I know I believe in nothing/ but it is my nothing”. (!) Perhaps my main problem is that I try to pack in too many ideas into my paragraphs? And yet when I’ve not done this in the past I’ve felt like I’m not being sufficiently ambitious. (i.e perhaps my own reason for striving after long words in writing, as well as attempting the intellectually ambitious but *problematic*(!) blending of the high brow with the low brow, can be summed up— perhaps pretentiously, I admit(!)--- via Einstein's statement “in difficulty lies opportunity”) Overall I think *my writing makes sense in my own obscure intellectual context*, and, after all, getting purely personal satisfaction out of writing is obviously an important aspect to writing as a hobby and/or profession.
Also, to perhaps add to the weird *aspects of frustration* that I know my current prose style induces in readers, I’m fairly certain that I am more dyspraxic than any of you, and although there have been many canonical dyspraxic writers (see the first post in this thread, apologies) , nevertheless, most of us dyspraxics suffer from what Dr Amanda Kirby has called *The hidden handicap*. In other words, I have more barriers than most of you guys when it comes to having a *developmental* disorder. I find developing numerous skills, particularly writing, near impossible. Thus the *aspects-of frustration* causing mistakes that provoke the exasperation-filled responses common to many people currently reading my stuff, the type of mistakes, in other words, that a non dyspraxic novice writer after a certain period of development overcomes, are for me perhaps ones I’ll never overcome. If that is the way it will eventually prove to be then, although disappointing for me, it will be, in a sense, no other outcome than nature taking it’s course.
Indeed, nice one for possessing latin amongst the strings to your writerly bow, so to speak. (Again, I’m not being sardonic) English is all I have. And even then I admit it is a clumsy and in-exhaustive grasp on that singularly structured resource!
Indeed, I am currently reading H. G Wells’s 1910 novel *The History of Mr Polly*. In one of his (formal) essays the 20th century American sociologist Everett C. Hughes argues that it is not acceptable to attempt to read the likes of canonical sociologists like Emile Durkheim in English translation. One must read such writer in French. My auntie once told me that (non social)(wink) scientist Isaac Newton published his 1687 three-volume *Principia Mathematica* in *latin*! She was substantially impressed by this and so am I. You are the sort of person, Gerontius, who either has already done it or may do it soon. Why, for someone to read Isaac Newton in latin and achieve significant comprehension, well, to phrase it in one particular vernacular idiom, that is a sick feat, man! At any rate, back in the less multifaceted opportunity rich terrain of the English language, that long term favourite author of autistics, H. G Wells, kicks off chapter three of the aforesaid novel *The History of Mr Polly* with the following words…
‘....It was after Canterbury that the universe became really disagreeable to Mr Polly. It was brought home to him not so much vividly as with a harsh ungainly insistence that he was a failure in his trade. It was not the trade he ought to have chosen, though what trade he ought to have chosen was by no means clear. He made great but irregular efforts, and produced a forced smartness that, like a cheap dye, refused to stand sunshine. He acquired a sort of parsimony also, in which acquisition he was helped by one or two phases of absolute impecuniosity. But he was hopeless in competition against the naturally gifted, the born hustlers…’
Thus, penultimately, you say that most people on this forum are grafting away making something of a writerly kind or other. We are all *hustling*, in our way, man! However surely that doesn't necessarily make us ‘corrupt’? For surely the kind of hustling that’s part and parcel of the various writing projects that dozens of us are undertaking on and off this forum, is often merely the kind of hustling that occurs in introspective zones within us all and that can be summed up as, ‘the battle with ourselves so as to realise out own potential’, be that of publishable quality beyond the parameters of this benignly sprawling forum or not?! Indeed, not much has been written hitherto in the general discourse about the philosophical nature of long, sprawling threads on forums such as this(?!). i.e For me I’ve quickly realised that having a smaller audience of a dozen or so people on threads like this *is* a form of publishing! i.e when you press that post button and see the fruits of your desperado, deviantly persistent labours instantaneously embossed upon on the web-page like that, it *is* a form of publishing! And there is something proudly autistic about following something as—to some temperaments (not yours, I mean certain neurotypicals! (wink) )--- hopelessly obscure as a sprawling, obscure thread on an autism online forum. The French sociologist M. Foucault, in his book *The Archaeology of Knowledge* talks about ‘The statement and the archive’.
Of course, for a writer as gifted as Foucault all kinds of categorically *coherent*(!) games could be played with such a notion/strategy. For me it’s probably more a latest historical walking manifestation frequently commented on in another work of his, *Madness and civilisation* (!) However, this thread, and many others currently unfurling through cyber space—-‘In autistic space ’ is , after all, a chapter from Steve Silberman great 2015 book *Neurotribes: the legacy of autism and how to think smarter about people who think differently*— is arguably still worth pursuing in a contemplative and/or contributive vein, for those aforesaid (previous post, apologies) Aristotelian reasons ;“do something not for the applause to be gained by it, but for the good of the project itself.” Whilst not as a milieux allergic to applause, nevertheless, we are quite good at cleaving to that dictum, us autistics, I think. And –very last thing— I genuinely wish you well with your writing, Gerontius, and, well, I’ll keep on plugging away.
Lastly, please know that, all comments from all people are very welcome vis-a-vis this latest contribution of mine to this thread, including if anyone else is a Steve Silberman and/or H. G. Wells fan, as I am…
Speak to many of you soon, hopefully. Comradely,
Ben
Thanks for your honesty (I’m not being sardonic). I’ll also, again, be honest and say the following. Given my experience over the years, part of me always knew that even by entering a nurturing, encouraging community like this one, my very confused style of thinking (and therefore writing) would never realistically allow me to write a novel, even with help. This has actually crystallised in my mind these last few days. However I have *enjoyed*(!) writing several rambling ‘cyber-letters/informally zany essays/comments’ these past few days.
I agree that some of my writing is hard to understand. It is not because I am a misunderstood genius, but because of the various physical disabilities that I have. However one of the morally attractive features of the neurodiverse community is that people of various intellectual abilities are all welcome. The welcome I have received here makes me desire to continue to enjoy posting over the coming weeks. This meets the moderate level of satisfaction that it’s possible to enjoy via participating in a forum like this. As for the slightly more ambitious aim of finding, eventually, some sort of very necessarily specific (!) writing project, and very specific writing partner(s) (!), well, again, the jury is still out on that score.
However, I genuinely am gratefully you attempted to analyse my post in that technical manner. I honestly admit that, in it’s current stage of development, it and others posts of min don’t make sense to any mass readership. However it, just about, makes sense to me. (!) Or, as the Manic street preachers once sang “I know I believe in nothing/ but it is my nothing”. (!) Perhaps my main problem is that I try to pack in too many ideas into my paragraphs? And yet when I’ve not done this in the past I’ve felt like I’m not being sufficiently ambitious. (i.e perhaps my own reason for striving after long words in writing, as well as attempting the intellectually ambitious but *problematic*(!) blending of the high brow with the low brow, can be summed up— perhaps pretentiously, I admit(!)--- via Einstein's statement “in difficulty lies opportunity”) Overall I think *my writing makes sense in my own obscure intellectual context*, and, after all, getting purely personal satisfaction out of writing is obviously an important aspect to writing as a hobby and/or profession.
Also, to perhaps add to the weird *aspects of frustration* that I know my current prose style induces in readers, I’m fairly certain that I am more dyspraxic than any of you, and although there have been many canonical dyspraxic writers (see the first post in this thread, apologies) , nevertheless, most of us dyspraxics suffer from what Dr Amanda Kirby has called *The hidden handicap*. In other words, I have more barriers than most of you guys when it comes to having a *developmental* disorder. I find developing numerous skills, particularly writing, near impossible. Thus the *aspects-of frustration* causing mistakes that provoke the exasperation-filled responses common to many people currently reading my stuff, the type of mistakes, in other words, that a non dyspraxic novice writer after a certain period of development overcomes, are for me perhaps ones I’ll never overcome. If that is the way it will eventually prove to be then, although disappointing for me, it will be, in a sense, no other outcome than nature taking it’s course.
Indeed, nice one for possessing latin amongst the strings to your writerly bow, so to speak. (Again, I’m not being sardonic) English is all I have. And even then I admit it is a clumsy and in-exhaustive grasp on that singularly structured resource!
Indeed, I am currently reading H. G Wells’s 1910 novel *The History of Mr Polly*. In one of his (formal) essays the 20th century American sociologist Everett C. Hughes argues that it is not acceptable to attempt to read the likes of canonical sociologists like Emile Durkheim in English translation. One must read such writer in French. My auntie once told me that (non social)(wink) scientist Isaac Newton published his 1687 three-volume *Principia Mathematica* in *latin*! She was substantially impressed by this and so am I. You are the sort of person, Gerontius, who either has already done it or may do it soon. Why, for someone to read Isaac Newton in latin and achieve significant comprehension, well, to phrase it in one particular vernacular idiom, that is a sick feat, man! At any rate, back in the less multifaceted opportunity rich terrain of the English language, that long term favourite author of autistics, H. G Wells, kicks off chapter three of the aforesaid novel *The History of Mr Polly* with the following words…
‘....It was after Canterbury that the universe became really disagreeable to Mr Polly. It was brought home to him not so much vividly as with a harsh ungainly insistence that he was a failure in his trade. It was not the trade he ought to have chosen, though what trade he ought to have chosen was by no means clear. He made great but irregular efforts, and produced a forced smartness that, like a cheap dye, refused to stand sunshine. He acquired a sort of parsimony also, in which acquisition he was helped by one or two phases of absolute impecuniosity. But he was hopeless in competition against the naturally gifted, the born hustlers…’
Thus, penultimately, you say that most people on this forum are grafting away making something of a writerly kind or other. We are all *hustling*, in our way, man! However surely that doesn't necessarily make us ‘corrupt’? For surely the kind of hustling that’s part and parcel of the various writing projects that dozens of us are undertaking on and off this forum, is often merely the kind of hustling that occurs in introspective zones within us all and that can be summed up as, ‘the battle with ourselves so as to realise out own potential’, be that of publishable quality beyond the parameters of this benignly sprawling forum or not?! Indeed, not much has been written hitherto in the general discourse about the philosophical nature of long, sprawling threads on forums such as this(?!). i.e For me I’ve quickly realised that having a smaller audience of a dozen or so people on threads like this *is* a form of publishing! i.e when you press that post button and see the fruits of your desperado, deviantly persistent labours instantaneously embossed upon on the web-page like that, it *is* a form of publishing! And there is something proudly autistic about following something as—to some temperaments (not yours, I mean certain neurotypicals! (wink) )--- hopelessly obscure as a sprawling, obscure thread on an autism online forum. The French sociologist M. Foucault, in his book *The Archaeology of Knowledge* talks about ‘The statement and the archive’.
Of course, for a writer as gifted as Foucault all kinds of categorically *coherent*(!) games could be played with such a notion/strategy. For me it’s probably more a latest historical walking manifestation frequently commented on in another work of his, *Madness and civilisation* (!) However, this thread, and many others currently unfurling through cyber space—-‘In autistic space ’ is , after all, a chapter from Steve Silberman great 2015 book *Neurotribes: the legacy of autism and how to think smarter about people who think differently*— is arguably still worth pursuing in a contemplative and/or contributive vein, for those aforesaid (previous post, apologies) Aristotelian reasons ;“do something not for the applause to be gained by it, but for the good of the project itself.” Whilst not as a milieux allergic to applause, nevertheless, we are quite good at cleaving to that dictum, us autistics, I think. And –very last thing— I genuinely wish you well with your writing, Gerontius, and, well, I’ll keep on plugging away.
Lastly, please know that, all comments from all people are very welcome vis-a-vis this latest contribution of mine to this thread, including if anyone else is a Steve Silberman and/or H. G. Wells fan, as I am…
Speak to many of you soon, hopefully. Comradely,
Ben
benaspiringwriter
Member
Hey you guys,
Well, to continue my commentary(!) on H. G. Wells’s 1910 novel *The History of Mr Polly*---still, for the record, concerning chapter 3—during the very last moments of that chapter, Wells says the following.
‘...As a matter of fact all the elements of his trouble had been adequately diagnosed by a certain high-browed, spectacled gentleman living at Highbury, wearing a gold prince-nez, and writing for the most part in the beautiful library of the Climax Club. This gentleman did not know Mr Polly personally, but he had dealt with him generally as ‘one of those ill-adjusted unities that abound in a society that has failed to develop a collective intelligence and a collective will for order commensurate with its complexities.” But phrases of that sort had no appeal to Mr Polly….’
Now, although I again find myself in agreement with Mr Wells in general, nevertheless, here is where I part company with one particular protagonist of his, Mr Polly.
For, firstly, in a previous post on this thread I quoted the blatantly undiagnosed in his time aspie, Leon Trotsky; ‘Without a guiding organisation, the energy of the masses would dissipate like steam not enclosed in a piston-box. But nevertheless what moves things is not the piston or the box, but the steam’.
And, secondly, in anti-Stalinist Marxist circles, the revolutionary party is sometimes referred to as ‘the memory of the class’. (i.e of the working class; see, for example the Trotskyist cyber document— courtesy of the snappily named (!) political outfit, ‘The league for the fifth international’---*The universal class*) Now, the 20th century, Russian-emigre literary figure V. Nabokov's *Speak, memory* is *his* autobiography. And in late 20th and early 21st century English emigre literary figure Martin Amis’s auto-biography *Experience*, he criticises Trotsky for his ‘icy description of Nakbakov’.
However even Trotsky was an emigre of sorts, himself, like Nabakov and Amis. In Trotsky's own autobiography, 1929’s *My life*, specifically the chapter called *New York*, he says “I always wondered what it would be like to go back to America”. In the one time Trotksyist— and, paradoxically, close friend of Martin Amis—Christopher Hitchens’s 2010 memoir *Hitch 22*, he says that early on whilst hanging around at the *New Statesman* offices in London; “there was a coat-stand upon which, if you hung your coat on, it was rumoured, then you would make a conquest of the first woman you saw”.
In the same memoir— still worth reading, in my view, despite Richard Seymour’s own fairly formidable demolition job on it and him which historically emerged in the form of his 2013 book length polemic *Unhitched*--- Hitchens quotes structuralist anthropologist Claude Levi Strauss’s remark that “All the artistic treasures of mankind can, essentially, be found in New York’. And yet, whether in New York, London, Yorkshire (wink), Bombay or Beijing, wherever you go in the world there will perhaps always be some hapless autistic types whose attempts to imitate Hitchens’s within-work-quoting rumours regarding H. G. Wells only ensure the emergence of a dispalatably palpable sense that their experience screams out to them that, well, generally speaking, the lived autistic *reality* is so different to the lived autistic *dream*!
For in another thread on this website entitled ‘do you use your imagination?’, I make reference to Oscar Wilde’s pathos-laden and reality piercing comment that “One’s real life is so often the life that one does not lead’. Well the also (like Hitchens) Wilde-obsessed S. P. Morrissey, once, during the song *How soon is now?*, said “How can you say, I go about things the wrong way? I am human and I need to be loved. Just like everybody else does.””. Indeed, S. P. Morrissey took this further, if you simultaneously contemplate the aforesaid with another of his lyrics, namely, via also contemplating that surely ‘epitome of a tragi-comic lyrical moment’ during another of his songs, *Accept yourself*; “Others conquered love, but I ran/I sat in my room and I drew up a plan”(!).
Paradoxically, H. G. Wells was both the man that *could* sit in his bedroom for hours, days at a time, and draw up plans for conquering love, as well as being the same worldly man that the Hitchensian *New Statesman* London offices anecdote— the one concerning conquests via the magical aid of a certain coat-stand— was initially and explicitly written about! However, as I’ve said in a previous post, as Hitchens himself quotes G. Flaubert elsewhere during that same 2010 memoir —*precisely* one hundred years after the publication of H. G. Wells’s *The history of Mr Polly*, for all the fellow autistic (oft literary) trainspotters out there(wink) --- “contradiction is what holds sanity in place”. I certainly hope this is the case!
At any rate, the aforesaid G. K. Chesterton, near contemporary of Wells, once wrote books respectively called *The secret of a train* and *In defence of Sanity*. I am–alas!--sure that if any one of you guys was ever in a bonafide courtroom situation—be it of the Albert Camus *The Outsider* type, or the Charles Dickens *A tale of Two cities* type, for example—then any decisions to call on my services as a potential lawyerly aid, would be tantamount to protagonists during the also high brow and low brow culture blending cultural pneumonia, *The Simpsons*, choosing to call on the ‘professional’(!) juridical services of the perhaps fairly much maligned Lionel Hutz (“At least he’s honest!” Come, come, now, my fellow *hustling*, autistic friends!)
All this said, it’s probably unlikely that any of you guys will be getting nicked by the police any time soon, however hopefully this latest episode of quasi informal essayistic musing has not been *too* ‘criminal’ (!) in terms of your subjective-cum-collective readerly tastes.
And again, any comments on what I’ve written here are very much welcome.
Speak soon, hopefully.
Comradely,
Ben
Well, to continue my commentary(!) on H. G. Wells’s 1910 novel *The History of Mr Polly*---still, for the record, concerning chapter 3—during the very last moments of that chapter, Wells says the following.
‘...As a matter of fact all the elements of his trouble had been adequately diagnosed by a certain high-browed, spectacled gentleman living at Highbury, wearing a gold prince-nez, and writing for the most part in the beautiful library of the Climax Club. This gentleman did not know Mr Polly personally, but he had dealt with him generally as ‘one of those ill-adjusted unities that abound in a society that has failed to develop a collective intelligence and a collective will for order commensurate with its complexities.” But phrases of that sort had no appeal to Mr Polly….’
Now, although I again find myself in agreement with Mr Wells in general, nevertheless, here is where I part company with one particular protagonist of his, Mr Polly.
For, firstly, in a previous post on this thread I quoted the blatantly undiagnosed in his time aspie, Leon Trotsky; ‘Without a guiding organisation, the energy of the masses would dissipate like steam not enclosed in a piston-box. But nevertheless what moves things is not the piston or the box, but the steam’.
And, secondly, in anti-Stalinist Marxist circles, the revolutionary party is sometimes referred to as ‘the memory of the class’. (i.e of the working class; see, for example the Trotskyist cyber document— courtesy of the snappily named (!) political outfit, ‘The league for the fifth international’---*The universal class*) Now, the 20th century, Russian-emigre literary figure V. Nabokov's *Speak, memory* is *his* autobiography. And in late 20th and early 21st century English emigre literary figure Martin Amis’s auto-biography *Experience*, he criticises Trotsky for his ‘icy description of Nakbakov’.
However even Trotsky was an emigre of sorts, himself, like Nabakov and Amis. In Trotsky's own autobiography, 1929’s *My life*, specifically the chapter called *New York*, he says “I always wondered what it would be like to go back to America”. In the one time Trotksyist— and, paradoxically, close friend of Martin Amis—Christopher Hitchens’s 2010 memoir *Hitch 22*, he says that early on whilst hanging around at the *New Statesman* offices in London; “there was a coat-stand upon which, if you hung your coat on, it was rumoured, then you would make a conquest of the first woman you saw”.
In the same memoir— still worth reading, in my view, despite Richard Seymour’s own fairly formidable demolition job on it and him which historically emerged in the form of his 2013 book length polemic *Unhitched*--- Hitchens quotes structuralist anthropologist Claude Levi Strauss’s remark that “All the artistic treasures of mankind can, essentially, be found in New York’. And yet, whether in New York, London, Yorkshire (wink), Bombay or Beijing, wherever you go in the world there will perhaps always be some hapless autistic types whose attempts to imitate Hitchens’s within-work-quoting rumours regarding H. G. Wells only ensure the emergence of a dispalatably palpable sense that their experience screams out to them that, well, generally speaking, the lived autistic *reality* is so different to the lived autistic *dream*!
For in another thread on this website entitled ‘do you use your imagination?’, I make reference to Oscar Wilde’s pathos-laden and reality piercing comment that “One’s real life is so often the life that one does not lead’. Well the also (like Hitchens) Wilde-obsessed S. P. Morrissey, once, during the song *How soon is now?*, said “How can you say, I go about things the wrong way? I am human and I need to be loved. Just like everybody else does.””. Indeed, S. P. Morrissey took this further, if you simultaneously contemplate the aforesaid with another of his lyrics, namely, via also contemplating that surely ‘epitome of a tragi-comic lyrical moment’ during another of his songs, *Accept yourself*; “Others conquered love, but I ran/I sat in my room and I drew up a plan”(!).
Paradoxically, H. G. Wells was both the man that *could* sit in his bedroom for hours, days at a time, and draw up plans for conquering love, as well as being the same worldly man that the Hitchensian *New Statesman* London offices anecdote— the one concerning conquests via the magical aid of a certain coat-stand— was initially and explicitly written about! However, as I’ve said in a previous post, as Hitchens himself quotes G. Flaubert elsewhere during that same 2010 memoir —*precisely* one hundred years after the publication of H. G. Wells’s *The history of Mr Polly*, for all the fellow autistic (oft literary) trainspotters out there(wink) --- “contradiction is what holds sanity in place”. I certainly hope this is the case!
At any rate, the aforesaid G. K. Chesterton, near contemporary of Wells, once wrote books respectively called *The secret of a train* and *In defence of Sanity*. I am–alas!--sure that if any one of you guys was ever in a bonafide courtroom situation—be it of the Albert Camus *The Outsider* type, or the Charles Dickens *A tale of Two cities* type, for example—then any decisions to call on my services as a potential lawyerly aid, would be tantamount to protagonists during the also high brow and low brow culture blending cultural pneumonia, *The Simpsons*, choosing to call on the ‘professional’(!) juridical services of the perhaps fairly much maligned Lionel Hutz (“At least he’s honest!” Come, come, now, my fellow *hustling*, autistic friends!)
All this said, it’s probably unlikely that any of you guys will be getting nicked by the police any time soon, however hopefully this latest episode of quasi informal essayistic musing has not been *too* ‘criminal’ (!) in terms of your subjective-cum-collective readerly tastes.
And again, any comments on what I’ve written here are very much welcome.
Speak soon, hopefully.
Comradely,
Ben
Hi @benaspiringwriter , I appreciate your candor and enthusiasm! Those are charming attributes in a world where the underdog is said to deserve sympathy and where the woman on the tv can't understand why the government isn't entitled to give her whatever she desires.
If you have the desire to write a book, then write the book. If you have a problem following through on a project, then sit down, identify where you have problems following through, and work through each problem, one by one. (Anyone who has faced any sort of voluminous project has been faced by the same hurdles as you. Don't let it intimidate you--let it teach you.)
How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time.
In my quick review of the above posts, I didn't see your apraxia addressed. Granted, I don't know a lot about it. But I have been told by a lot of people in life that I "can't" do something. I'm kind-of finding out that I probably would have had a lot of justification for following their sometimes well-meant--sometimes hostile--advice for not doing a lot of the things I've done. So here's another question for you (and you don't have to answer this online). Who makes your choices in life--does your condition, or do you?
.
Here's a little story to show why this is important. There was a little old lady I heard about who used to live down the street from where I lived in the desert. She was long gone by the time I lived there. But someone who knew her would say every time we drove by her house how this poor woman had no money but wanted to build a low wall in front of her property. So she took matters into her own hands and, every day, went out into the desert and collected four or five good-sized rocks. She'd pick them up, set them in her wheelbarrow --because each rock was too heavy for her elderly frame to carry-- and wheeled them over to where she wanted the wall. Weeks turned into months, and she built that decorative rock wall she dreamed of. I saw the wall. It was functional and aesthetically pleasing for the yeard which had been hers. She was gone, but her wall still stood.
We all have limitations. Whether we decide to let those limitations define us is up to us. I grew up in poverty, from a violent home with a disabled parent and a disabled sibling. Colleges recruit from nice neighborhoods, searching for students with good grades, community involvement, and from families that can pay. The high school official who refused to help me with my college application was right--I was not college material. I came this close --> || to failing high school. And I failed my first semester of college. But he was wrong about my will and determination. Let me ask you this, Where is your will and determination?
Remember. It only takes one rock at a time to build a wall, and it only takes one word at a time to write a book.
Some quick advice here. (There's lots of advice on the internet. Pick what you will & discard the rest.)
1.) Why do you want to write a book? Money? Fame & glory? Pressing passion? Obsessive desire? Someone, somewhere, has at one time or another justified each of these as legitimate reasons for writing a book. But, why do you want to write a book? That can only be answered by yourself, for yourself, and should you commit yourself to your own cause, you may soon find that the reasons you have for having written the book (after it's finished) look quite different than the reasons you had in the beginning when you thought of writing a book. Allow yourself to be taught by your book and it will teach you about how to live.
2.) On comrades. Personally, I'm not interested in buddying up with somebody unless they: a.) share the same vision as I do for the project, b.) share a similar intensity for seeing the project to completion, c.) have an educational or experiential background that I can respect as being informative for the purposes of our teaming up together. For exmple, I belong to a small, academically professional reading group. If someone in my group were to ask me this question, then yes, I would definitely jump on board. Likewise, the reverse is also true. We have a mutual bond of trust and respect, and I know I challenge them & they likewise challenge me, so that what we would produce together would be greater than what any single one of us could produce on our own. These are what good collaborators do--they don't carry the boat for you, they redesign the boat with you, so it can go the distance you thought impossible to sail.
3.) On reading. You seem well-read. If you join an online writing group, expect to hear, "read more!" So I won't tell you that. What I will tell you is, seek to understand what you read. Seek not only to understand what is written, but seek to understand how it is written. What makes this particular piece of writing stand out? Why does it resonate with you? What was the cost suffered by the hero, and what became of the hero's agony toward the denouement, or resolution, of the story? What is the pacing? How does the voice it is written in guide and direct your experience as the reader? (Here I am thinking of Willa Cather.) In other words, what is your existential experience of the piece? In other words, what I am trying to say is, interact with the text on such a deep level that you walk away having mastered the piece. In doing so, your reading will begin to master you.
4.) Discouragement. Experience it. (Sorry, tough love here.) I used to think writers needed 'crocodile skin', meaning, that they needed to defend their ideas about their text at all costs. I no longer think that. (It was poor advice.) Rather, they need to hear the bad as well as the good. It's the only way you can grow. If you want to be published, let other people into what you write. While your actual writing may be labored out in the vacuum of your closet, what you write must stand before an audience much wider, and much broader, than you can envision. Accept that not everyone who reads what you write will be either enamored by or possessed with the passion with which you have invested in your work--and listen to what these people have to say. Compare it to what you think your message is saying, weigh those comments, and after having slept on it for several weeks--all the while letting their comments abrade you and torment you in the night watches--then decide on whether to accommodate or reply or dismiss those comments. But do think on them heavily. No one gives negative advice easily; it's much easier to give no advice at all.
5.) On completing a project. Read everything you can on the nuts & bolts of writing, read about structure and plot and how to write characters and set scenes and, most of all, practice, practice, practice. Personally, I love reading about successful authors and how they wrote their masterpieces. Mostly, it is persistence and luck. Anyone can manage that. What you can't manage is the book-buying public, its fickleness, and the influence of technology on literature--or on any book for that matter. But look for structure especially, because out of a well-structured book you get meaning. For the beginning writer, I'll admit this is largely happenstance. But for the skilled journalist writing about his experience in war-torn Chechnya, nothing is happenstance except the events that unfolded. The meaning comes out of the shared experience he has with those around him and the cycle of events that unfold around him which all involved are subject to. Nothing he puts in his diary is by mistake. Strive to let nothing you put into what you write be by mistake, either.
Don't excuse the cynicism. It's genuine. When I am writing, I live with it daily.
Sometimes I am happier not writing.
Sometimes, when I am writing, there is no greater pleasure I have ever received on earth than the very experience of writing itself.
That I may publish what I have written for the public to read, that is extraneous to why I began as a writer. Yet, regarding publication, I take a very different approach to what I write when the intention is publication. Everyone's different. You should have different motivations--find them. There are some first-time writers out there who do publish their first book. But I'll share with you some sage advice of one of my professors: just because you can, doesn't mean you should.
I'll let you make of that what you will.
If I haven't entirely discouraged you from your labors, PM me and we can chat. I'd be happy to share with you some titles for books on writing (and editing) that I have enjoyed.
And I hope you do stay. There are some wonderful people here and they are very giving and compassionate with their time and advice and have built up a very inclusive community.
If you have the desire to write a book, then write the book. If you have a problem following through on a project, then sit down, identify where you have problems following through, and work through each problem, one by one. (Anyone who has faced any sort of voluminous project has been faced by the same hurdles as you. Don't let it intimidate you--let it teach you.)
How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time.
In my quick review of the above posts, I didn't see your apraxia addressed. Granted, I don't know a lot about it. But I have been told by a lot of people in life that I "can't" do something. I'm kind-of finding out that I probably would have had a lot of justification for following their sometimes well-meant--sometimes hostile--advice for not doing a lot of the things I've done. So here's another question for you (and you don't have to answer this online). Who makes your choices in life--does your condition, or do you?
.
Here's a little story to show why this is important. There was a little old lady I heard about who used to live down the street from where I lived in the desert. She was long gone by the time I lived there. But someone who knew her would say every time we drove by her house how this poor woman had no money but wanted to build a low wall in front of her property. So she took matters into her own hands and, every day, went out into the desert and collected four or five good-sized rocks. She'd pick them up, set them in her wheelbarrow --because each rock was too heavy for her elderly frame to carry-- and wheeled them over to where she wanted the wall. Weeks turned into months, and she built that decorative rock wall she dreamed of. I saw the wall. It was functional and aesthetically pleasing for the yeard which had been hers. She was gone, but her wall still stood.
We all have limitations. Whether we decide to let those limitations define us is up to us. I grew up in poverty, from a violent home with a disabled parent and a disabled sibling. Colleges recruit from nice neighborhoods, searching for students with good grades, community involvement, and from families that can pay. The high school official who refused to help me with my college application was right--I was not college material. I came this close --> || to failing high school. And I failed my first semester of college. But he was wrong about my will and determination. Let me ask you this, Where is your will and determination?
Remember. It only takes one rock at a time to build a wall, and it only takes one word at a time to write a book.
Some quick advice here. (There's lots of advice on the internet. Pick what you will & discard the rest.)
1.) Why do you want to write a book? Money? Fame & glory? Pressing passion? Obsessive desire? Someone, somewhere, has at one time or another justified each of these as legitimate reasons for writing a book. But, why do you want to write a book? That can only be answered by yourself, for yourself, and should you commit yourself to your own cause, you may soon find that the reasons you have for having written the book (after it's finished) look quite different than the reasons you had in the beginning when you thought of writing a book. Allow yourself to be taught by your book and it will teach you about how to live.
2.) On comrades. Personally, I'm not interested in buddying up with somebody unless they: a.) share the same vision as I do for the project, b.) share a similar intensity for seeing the project to completion, c.) have an educational or experiential background that I can respect as being informative for the purposes of our teaming up together. For exmple, I belong to a small, academically professional reading group. If someone in my group were to ask me this question, then yes, I would definitely jump on board. Likewise, the reverse is also true. We have a mutual bond of trust and respect, and I know I challenge them & they likewise challenge me, so that what we would produce together would be greater than what any single one of us could produce on our own. These are what good collaborators do--they don't carry the boat for you, they redesign the boat with you, so it can go the distance you thought impossible to sail.
3.) On reading. You seem well-read. If you join an online writing group, expect to hear, "read more!" So I won't tell you that. What I will tell you is, seek to understand what you read. Seek not only to understand what is written, but seek to understand how it is written. What makes this particular piece of writing stand out? Why does it resonate with you? What was the cost suffered by the hero, and what became of the hero's agony toward the denouement, or resolution, of the story? What is the pacing? How does the voice it is written in guide and direct your experience as the reader? (Here I am thinking of Willa Cather.) In other words, what is your existential experience of the piece? In other words, what I am trying to say is, interact with the text on such a deep level that you walk away having mastered the piece. In doing so, your reading will begin to master you.
4.) Discouragement. Experience it. (Sorry, tough love here.) I used to think writers needed 'crocodile skin', meaning, that they needed to defend their ideas about their text at all costs. I no longer think that. (It was poor advice.) Rather, they need to hear the bad as well as the good. It's the only way you can grow. If you want to be published, let other people into what you write. While your actual writing may be labored out in the vacuum of your closet, what you write must stand before an audience much wider, and much broader, than you can envision. Accept that not everyone who reads what you write will be either enamored by or possessed with the passion with which you have invested in your work--and listen to what these people have to say. Compare it to what you think your message is saying, weigh those comments, and after having slept on it for several weeks--all the while letting their comments abrade you and torment you in the night watches--then decide on whether to accommodate or reply or dismiss those comments. But do think on them heavily. No one gives negative advice easily; it's much easier to give no advice at all.
5.) On completing a project. Read everything you can on the nuts & bolts of writing, read about structure and plot and how to write characters and set scenes and, most of all, practice, practice, practice. Personally, I love reading about successful authors and how they wrote their masterpieces. Mostly, it is persistence and luck. Anyone can manage that. What you can't manage is the book-buying public, its fickleness, and the influence of technology on literature--or on any book for that matter. But look for structure especially, because out of a well-structured book you get meaning. For the beginning writer, I'll admit this is largely happenstance. But for the skilled journalist writing about his experience in war-torn Chechnya, nothing is happenstance except the events that unfolded. The meaning comes out of the shared experience he has with those around him and the cycle of events that unfold around him which all involved are subject to. Nothing he puts in his diary is by mistake. Strive to let nothing you put into what you write be by mistake, either.
Don't excuse the cynicism. It's genuine. When I am writing, I live with it daily.
Sometimes I am happier not writing.
Sometimes, when I am writing, there is no greater pleasure I have ever received on earth than the very experience of writing itself.
That I may publish what I have written for the public to read, that is extraneous to why I began as a writer. Yet, regarding publication, I take a very different approach to what I write when the intention is publication. Everyone's different. You should have different motivations--find them. There are some first-time writers out there who do publish their first book. But I'll share with you some sage advice of one of my professors: just because you can, doesn't mean you should.
I'll let you make of that what you will.
If I haven't entirely discouraged you from your labors, PM me and we can chat. I'd be happy to share with you some titles for books on writing (and editing) that I have enjoyed.
And I hope you do stay. There are some wonderful people here and they are very giving and compassionate with their time and advice and have built up a very inclusive community.
I am struck by a caveat of conscience here. I was just talking with a friend tonight and she was passing along her observations about making life decisions and managing the practical effects of living with autism. (as an autistic? I'm not quite there yet.) Considering my own experience, not long ago I withdrew my application for an executive manager's position. It was right before I discovered how neatly I check a lot of the boxes for autism. Could I have done the work? Absolutely. Would I have struggled to do the work? Most likely. Would I have done a good job doing the work? Potentially--given time. Would I have...enjoyed the work? Honestly, no. Recognizing the limitation after the fact has actually helped take some of the sting out of having withdrawn my candidacy and, since then, I have been giving serious consideration to career possibilities that in the long run might be more in line with some of my more natural proclivities and interests. I appreciate her wisdom. Hopefully this can be of some benefit to you, too.
@GypsyMoth
Solid advice overall. The only bit I will temper is the function of the crocodile skin. It isn't about defending one's work from an impinging pack of hyenas. It is having the strength, skill, and objectivity to survive the bite of a hyena queen.
The function of a 'thick' skin is essentially the 4th wall between the work and the writer. Once a piece is published it stands or falls on its own merit, completely independent of the writer. Writers who do not have a firmly established 4th wall (objectivity) have a huge weakness in their defenses that can quickly turn into a kingfisher wound if and when critical assessment of a work is view as a personal attack. (It's the internet, it does happen, but on moderated forums it is a very rare occurence. What is far more common is novice writers taking critique as an attack and 'striking back' personally at the reader.)
Not many people can write an objective critique and even fewer know how to indentify and use one when one considers how many armchair enthusiast there are. It is a dual bladed skill set one rarely sees outside of the field or the higher levels of academia. And like a basic screwdriver, it is one of those skill sets any writer, be they professional or a hobbiest actually need.
@benaspiringwriter
Having read through these posts, from a reader's standpoint, it is a bit overwhelming. The best comparison I can find is the archaic form of poetry known as a Cento. It is a poem comprised entirely of lines and quotes of other writers' works, (citations of work, verse, line, and author must be included). Essentially it is a mosaic of other people's thoughts and ideas. That is how this reads.
OR
The real world story of the autistic boy and his family featured in Life Animated.
There is so much going on and coming from so many sources that there is very little linear progression or clear voice. (This is a huge thing in writing. If a reader gets overwhelmed within the first two paragraphs, most won't bother finishing the first page.) Basically, it comes across as someone so busy with quoting other writers that they haven't had time to develop their own voice and ideas as a writer. It is a collage, not an original work. Collages are very cool in their own right, but they also limit originality and growth potential. There is a lot they can teach one, but it shouldn't be the sole technique and/or tool of the creator. And the collage format seems to be a fixed style.
Solid advice overall. The only bit I will temper is the function of the crocodile skin. It isn't about defending one's work from an impinging pack of hyenas. It is having the strength, skill, and objectivity to survive the bite of a hyena queen.
The function of a 'thick' skin is essentially the 4th wall between the work and the writer. Once a piece is published it stands or falls on its own merit, completely independent of the writer. Writers who do not have a firmly established 4th wall (objectivity) have a huge weakness in their defenses that can quickly turn into a kingfisher wound if and when critical assessment of a work is view as a personal attack. (It's the internet, it does happen, but on moderated forums it is a very rare occurence. What is far more common is novice writers taking critique as an attack and 'striking back' personally at the reader.)
Not many people can write an objective critique and even fewer know how to indentify and use one when one considers how many armchair enthusiast there are. It is a dual bladed skill set one rarely sees outside of the field or the higher levels of academia. And like a basic screwdriver, it is one of those skill sets any writer, be they professional or a hobbiest actually need.
@benaspiringwriter
Having read through these posts, from a reader's standpoint, it is a bit overwhelming. The best comparison I can find is the archaic form of poetry known as a Cento. It is a poem comprised entirely of lines and quotes of other writers' works, (citations of work, verse, line, and author must be included). Essentially it is a mosaic of other people's thoughts and ideas. That is how this reads.
OR
The real world story of the autistic boy and his family featured in Life Animated.
There is so much going on and coming from so many sources that there is very little linear progression or clear voice. (This is a huge thing in writing. If a reader gets overwhelmed within the first two paragraphs, most won't bother finishing the first page.) Basically, it comes across as someone so busy with quoting other writers that they haven't had time to develop their own voice and ideas as a writer. It is a collage, not an original work. Collages are very cool in their own right, but they also limit originality and growth potential. There is a lot they can teach one, but it shouldn't be the sole technique and/or tool of the creator. And the collage format seems to be a fixed style.
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benaspiringwriter
Member
(part 1 of 3) Hi GypsyMoth (Darkkin I have just seen your post and will reply over the coming days) ’
Thanks so much for your extraordinarily patient and passionate post.
You say ‘Who makes your choices in life--does your condition, or do you?’ . Well in the book *The Complete guide to Asperger’s Syndrome*, Tony Atwood talks about some autistic spectrum types 'delivering long monologues on lawnmower catalogues’.(!) Thus surely seeing as there are millions of things to become obsessed about but one chooses something like that—I admit that some of my bizarre ‘special interests’, often return tic-like, lawnmower-like, in my writing (For the record, Kerouac is always tic-like returning to ‘W. C. Fields’ in his work, I recall)--- must be an act of autism speaking rather than a full act of free will?! The sociology course I’ve just dropped out of often included talk of ‘structure versus agency’. Many sociologists argue that primacy should be given to neither, such as Anthony Giddens in his 1984 book *The Constitution of Society* (Although, frankly, he was far too close to Tony Blair for my liking.)
Indeed, where you go on to say, with, frankly, much profound narrative eloquence ‘It was functional and aesthetically pleasing for the years which had been hers.’, firstly, the also G. K. Chesterton influenced Kafka wrote in his short story *The Great Wall of China*, “it didn’t matter if the wall wasn’t built in a purely linear order”, and yet even with Kafka’s effective poetic licence provisioning remarks, surely Wilde’s statement at the beginning of *The Picture of Dorian Gray*, “All art is utterly useless”, perhaps finds a farcical, depressing manifestation in some of my writing (?!), without, however, Wilde’s canonical touch. Moreover, when you says ,’ She was gone, but her wall still stood’ it is unlikely that I’ll ever create writing which will trouble anybody in an ‘enduring to very posterity’ kind of way, however—-- as I’ve said, I’ve very ambitious, and often live in a fantasy world, and enjoy both of these things however much it’s unlikely I’ll ever become published—-- Dickens, who could unlike me write first class novels rather than just mediocre, however, aspirational, informal essays, says, I recall, in *The Pickwick Papers*, “banked in the last chapter”. I take this to mean that there was a tempestuous gestation period for each chapter (each chapter-instalment of *The Pickwick Papers* was 8, 000 words, I recall), i.e tempestuous but opportunity rich aspects to occurring-within-life phenomena, as well as the self-within-eternity sense (now that’s manic thinking!). However, please believe me, achieving an audience in my life time will be hard enough, let alone becoming some kind of canonical writer, i.e Harold Bloom’s thematic preoccupations with books such as *The anxiety of influence; a theory of poetry*.
At any rate, you go on to say ‘We all have limitations. Whether we decide to let those limitations define us is up to us.’,and ‘Where is your will and determination?’ . I agree with both these sentiments, as well as with the brave honesty of the description that came between them. I also admire how you have overcome many barriers, some of which I’ve never had. Specifically in terms of limitations, in my experience, sometimes the sense of limitations have made me often wish to avoid situations where I feel I am, or will be, humiliated in. I’d rather be defined as the guy who lives in his bedroom rather than the guy who always makes a fool of himself in public. That is the depression part of manic depression. In terms of the manic side, well, paradoxically, there can sometimes even be advantages to limitations, although not always. Or, as *The Guardian* newspaper once said about J. Brahms “through narrow parameters he achieved wide vistas“. And his first symphony was quickly nicknamed ‘Beethoven’s 10th’, the latter, obviously but importantly, a reference to the man responsible for the 5th symphony, and *it’s* theme; “fate knocking at the door”. Such manic free associations are laden with will and determination. And furthermore, for me creative writing projects such as those discussed on threads on here, are more limited in terms of what they require from me ‘contractually speaking’, almost (no awkward seminars or lectures!), but potentially can enable me to be more creative than when within the aforesaid bureaucratic institutionalised *machinery* of a university. And yet, having said all this, despite paradoxical counter examples, I generally agree with you that limitations shouldn't define people.
Indeed, you go on to say ‘Remember. It only takes one rock at a time to build a wall, and it only takes one word at a time to write a book’ I agree. As I’ve already initially broached, French sociology writer Foucault’s book *The archaeology of knowledge* argued in favour of ‘the statement and the archive’. Every bizarre, clumsy but ambitious posts, and the less bizarre and clumsy posts from you guys, on all the threads on this website are statements contributing to and extending archives. Whether they will ever become the source material of many finished books, is far less certain. But as autism pioneer Leo Kanner is quoted in *Neurotribes; the legacy of autism and how think smarter about people who think differently*, “what we had at this point was extended free time, to work out our ideas in autonomy”. The fact you are even hinting that there might be a 1% chance that you and I, or some other permutation flowing form this forum could eventually complete a book is a minor miracle. So as kalinychta has said over on the *addiction* thread; ‘keep on writing’. Perhaps an ever deepening general serendipity might be on the cards?
Indeed, where you say ‘ Why do you want to write a book? Money? Fame & glory? Pressing passion? Obsessive desire?’, fIrstly, money is really not a motivating factor for me. Or, as Kerouac once said; “everything belongs to me because I am poor.” (I live on, and am proud to live, on various disability welfare benefits,). However pressing passion and obsessive desire are the main motivating factors for me, fame and glory being secondary ones for me. However, as I’ve said in a previous posts, nearly always autistic people are, debatably, not 100% immune from the proverbial Aristotelian ‘applause’. Indeed, this applies even in the case of the dyspraxic, and wayward opium addict, S. T. Coleridge. For in Richard Homes’s 1988 biography *Coleridge: Early Visions*, Coleridge is described as being both ‘nature's child’ (thus perhaps morally pure to the point of being absolutely immune to the secondary, but unmistakable pull factor of fame and glory), as well as someone who with some of his work aimed for ‘literary glory’. And yet, please believe me ‘Pressing passion’ and ‘obsessive desire’ are the main aspects of my writerly ambition. How about your good self, GypsyMoth? Perhaps you share a similar temperament and disposition to literary critic Harold Bloom’s ideas—via your genuinely sagacious comment ‘Allow yourself to be taught by your book and it will teach you about how to live.’----about the proudly *hermetic* approach to literature and life, or, as was once said about Herman Mevllie near the end of his life ‘he lived in the language’? (of course, the latter lifestyle choice is not necessarily enough to follow your sagacious advice, however sometimes doing this amounts to Bloomian hermetic tradition following and rediscovering.
Thanks so much for your extraordinarily patient and passionate post.
You say ‘Who makes your choices in life--does your condition, or do you?’ . Well in the book *The Complete guide to Asperger’s Syndrome*, Tony Atwood talks about some autistic spectrum types 'delivering long monologues on lawnmower catalogues’.(!) Thus surely seeing as there are millions of things to become obsessed about but one chooses something like that—I admit that some of my bizarre ‘special interests’, often return tic-like, lawnmower-like, in my writing (For the record, Kerouac is always tic-like returning to ‘W. C. Fields’ in his work, I recall)--- must be an act of autism speaking rather than a full act of free will?! The sociology course I’ve just dropped out of often included talk of ‘structure versus agency’. Many sociologists argue that primacy should be given to neither, such as Anthony Giddens in his 1984 book *The Constitution of Society* (Although, frankly, he was far too close to Tony Blair for my liking.)
Indeed, where you go on to say, with, frankly, much profound narrative eloquence ‘It was functional and aesthetically pleasing for the years which had been hers.’, firstly, the also G. K. Chesterton influenced Kafka wrote in his short story *The Great Wall of China*, “it didn’t matter if the wall wasn’t built in a purely linear order”, and yet even with Kafka’s effective poetic licence provisioning remarks, surely Wilde’s statement at the beginning of *The Picture of Dorian Gray*, “All art is utterly useless”, perhaps finds a farcical, depressing manifestation in some of my writing (?!), without, however, Wilde’s canonical touch. Moreover, when you says ,’ She was gone, but her wall still stood’ it is unlikely that I’ll ever create writing which will trouble anybody in an ‘enduring to very posterity’ kind of way, however—-- as I’ve said, I’ve very ambitious, and often live in a fantasy world, and enjoy both of these things however much it’s unlikely I’ll ever become published—-- Dickens, who could unlike me write first class novels rather than just mediocre, however, aspirational, informal essays, says, I recall, in *The Pickwick Papers*, “banked in the last chapter”. I take this to mean that there was a tempestuous gestation period for each chapter (each chapter-instalment of *The Pickwick Papers* was 8, 000 words, I recall), i.e tempestuous but opportunity rich aspects to occurring-within-life phenomena, as well as the self-within-eternity sense (now that’s manic thinking!). However, please believe me, achieving an audience in my life time will be hard enough, let alone becoming some kind of canonical writer, i.e Harold Bloom’s thematic preoccupations with books such as *The anxiety of influence; a theory of poetry*.
At any rate, you go on to say ‘We all have limitations. Whether we decide to let those limitations define us is up to us.’,and ‘Where is your will and determination?’ . I agree with both these sentiments, as well as with the brave honesty of the description that came between them. I also admire how you have overcome many barriers, some of which I’ve never had. Specifically in terms of limitations, in my experience, sometimes the sense of limitations have made me often wish to avoid situations where I feel I am, or will be, humiliated in. I’d rather be defined as the guy who lives in his bedroom rather than the guy who always makes a fool of himself in public. That is the depression part of manic depression. In terms of the manic side, well, paradoxically, there can sometimes even be advantages to limitations, although not always. Or, as *The Guardian* newspaper once said about J. Brahms “through narrow parameters he achieved wide vistas“. And his first symphony was quickly nicknamed ‘Beethoven’s 10th’, the latter, obviously but importantly, a reference to the man responsible for the 5th symphony, and *it’s* theme; “fate knocking at the door”. Such manic free associations are laden with will and determination. And furthermore, for me creative writing projects such as those discussed on threads on here, are more limited in terms of what they require from me ‘contractually speaking’, almost (no awkward seminars or lectures!), but potentially can enable me to be more creative than when within the aforesaid bureaucratic institutionalised *machinery* of a university. And yet, having said all this, despite paradoxical counter examples, I generally agree with you that limitations shouldn't define people.
Indeed, you go on to say ‘Remember. It only takes one rock at a time to build a wall, and it only takes one word at a time to write a book’ I agree. As I’ve already initially broached, French sociology writer Foucault’s book *The archaeology of knowledge* argued in favour of ‘the statement and the archive’. Every bizarre, clumsy but ambitious posts, and the less bizarre and clumsy posts from you guys, on all the threads on this website are statements contributing to and extending archives. Whether they will ever become the source material of many finished books, is far less certain. But as autism pioneer Leo Kanner is quoted in *Neurotribes; the legacy of autism and how think smarter about people who think differently*, “what we had at this point was extended free time, to work out our ideas in autonomy”. The fact you are even hinting that there might be a 1% chance that you and I, or some other permutation flowing form this forum could eventually complete a book is a minor miracle. So as kalinychta has said over on the *addiction* thread; ‘keep on writing’. Perhaps an ever deepening general serendipity might be on the cards?
Indeed, where you say ‘ Why do you want to write a book? Money? Fame & glory? Pressing passion? Obsessive desire?’, fIrstly, money is really not a motivating factor for me. Or, as Kerouac once said; “everything belongs to me because I am poor.” (I live on, and am proud to live, on various disability welfare benefits,). However pressing passion and obsessive desire are the main motivating factors for me, fame and glory being secondary ones for me. However, as I’ve said in a previous posts, nearly always autistic people are, debatably, not 100% immune from the proverbial Aristotelian ‘applause’. Indeed, this applies even in the case of the dyspraxic, and wayward opium addict, S. T. Coleridge. For in Richard Homes’s 1988 biography *Coleridge: Early Visions*, Coleridge is described as being both ‘nature's child’ (thus perhaps morally pure to the point of being absolutely immune to the secondary, but unmistakable pull factor of fame and glory), as well as someone who with some of his work aimed for ‘literary glory’. And yet, please believe me ‘Pressing passion’ and ‘obsessive desire’ are the main aspects of my writerly ambition. How about your good self, GypsyMoth? Perhaps you share a similar temperament and disposition to literary critic Harold Bloom’s ideas—via your genuinely sagacious comment ‘Allow yourself to be taught by your book and it will teach you about how to live.’----about the proudly *hermetic* approach to literature and life, or, as was once said about Herman Mevllie near the end of his life ‘he lived in the language’? (of course, the latter lifestyle choice is not necessarily enough to follow your sagacious advice, however sometimes doing this amounts to Bloomian hermetic tradition following and rediscovering.
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benaspiringwriter
Member
(2 of 3) At any rate, you go on to say
‘..On comrades. Personally, I'm not interested in buddying up with somebody unless they: a.) share the same vision as I do for the project, b.) share a similar intensity for seeing the project to completion, c.) have an educational or experiential background that I can respect as being informative for the purposes of our teaming up together. For exmple, I belong to a small, academically professional reading group. If someone in my group were to ask me this question, then yes, I would definitely jump on board. Likewise, the reverse is also true. We have a mutual bond of trust and respect, and I know I challenge them & they likewise challenge me, so that what we would produce together would be greater than what any single one of us could produce on our own. These are what good collaborators do--they don't carry the boat for you, they redesign the boat with you, so it can go the distance you thought impossible to sail..’.
Well, firstly, please know that my frequent, perhaps annoying use of the word comrade, is a byproduct of my one time involvement with the Trotskyist movement, but it also has roots in, say, early romantic poetry. Also please know that my reference to the book *Coleridge: Early Visions* in the previous paragraph was one I made *before* having read, this, following paragraph of yours for the first time. And yet, as the also autism spectrum residing, and certainly well versed in romantic poetry, Bob Dylan once said “Take what you have gathered from coincidence”. Indeed, perhaps with such collaborations, then another lyric of Dylan’s might seem to be the proverbial apt adjective. I mean here, his lyric form *It’s alright ma I’m only bleeding* “You find yourself, you reappear/ you suddenly find you have nothing to fear”. The fact that you’ve taken the time to respond comprehensively to some very clumsy, verbose posts of mine is *perhaps* a sign that me and your good self, as well as potentially various permutations of people on this forum (including the forum as a whole, which could perhaps be called a proud—non bureaucratic— autistic *institution* of sorts!), could prove that we, as writers, also have discovered we have nothing to fear.
Indeed, in terms of sharing the same vision for the project, obviously but importantly, I propose we keep up such exchanges as this, GypsyMoth, and the conversations eventually maybe, just maybe evolve into some sort of, you know, *project*. As I’m sure you’ll agree, it’s too early to tell right at this very moment, but, in a few months?! Who Knows! After all, you are probably familiar with that literary subgenre, ‘the epistolary novel’? Well although I’m still not convinced I could write a novel, even collaboratively (although again, in a few months, who knows; you may demonstrate an ability to be able to redesign the boat, vis-a-vis my compositional contributions, so to speak ), nevertheless, the epistolary novel has a rich and imagination capturing history, such as, say, Richardson’s 1740 effort, *Pamela ; or, virtue rewarded*, and Sayers and Eustace’s 1930 pro-active production *The Documents in the Case* ) Indeed, where you say ’the distance you thought impossible to sail’ is surely another example of Dickens's ‘banked in the last chapter’ from *The Pickwick Papers*?! After all, G. K. Chesterton, in his 1905 biography, says; ‘the practical intensity of Dickens’s is worth dwelling on..’ And, in Wilde’s *The Picture of Dorian Gray* he has a protagonist sagaciously utter “Days in summer are apt to linger”. Let’s hope all of the activity on this great, giving website over the foreseeable proves to be latest historical version of what Hemingway called *The Torrents of Spring*! Life, is, after all, as a 20th century Hungarian novelist once called it, a dream. And in Martin Amis’s autobiography *Experience* he talks at one point of ‘Kafka’s dream-shaped novels’. I can only hope that, as the Kerouac-influencing Walt Whitman once said “what I shall assume/you shall assume” . (And, of course, vice versa) As I’ve said before, the jury is still out, but hopefully the game is only just beginning! Indeed, as chance has it, when I was at my mum and dad’s house this weekend, I decided to join a writers group for people with mental health problems, in Sheffield, England. I should be starting on Wednesday. It might not be as rigorous and exacting as the readers group you are part of, however this is not necessarily a problem.
Furthermore, you go on to say.
‘..‘..3.) .On reading. You seem well-read. If you join an online writing group, expect to hear, "read more!" So I won't tell you that. What I will tell you is, seek to understand what you read. Seek not only to understand what is written, but seek to understand how it is written. What makes this particular piece of writing stand out? Why does it resonate with you? What was the cost suffered by the hero, and what became of the hero's agony toward the denouement, or resolution, of the story? What is the pacing? How does the voice it is written in guide and direct your experience as the reader? (Here I am thinking of Willa Cather.) In other words, what is your existential experience of the piece? In other words, what I am trying to say is, interact with the text on such a deep level that you walk away having mastered the piece. In doing so, your reading will begin to master you…’
Firstly, please believe me that your robust, yet not necessarily unraptured provoking list of questions demonstrates that when it comes to where both our prose styles are currently at, you are the moore *organised* of the two of us. I’ve quoted Victoria Brigg’s dyspraxia focused book *Caged in chaos…* before. That’s often how I feel, caged in chaos. Period. However what better reason to desire to write?! Ah! To convert chaos into order, from noon till midnight! This said, I admit that I have experienced problems with some of the depth-of-understanding capturing quality of some of my reading over the years, partially wide though it has perhaps been. Indeed, I haven’t hitherto heard of Willa Cather, but will try to arrange a ‘casually dressed but deep in conversation’ style ren-de-vous with her at some point over the foreseeable. (wink) As for ‘your reading will begin to master you’, well, this is another insight you offer which is to my mind a genuine recipe for ensuring nothing short of a ‘casket of wonders’ perennially reappears in one’s life. Indeed, you are in good company, for the writer about whom Colm Toibin once wrote a book called *The master*, Henry James, during the introduction to *The Wings of the Dove* advises the budding novelist “be the person upon whom nothing is lost!” Alas, it’s easier said than done. Indeed, the aforesaid (previous post) literary critic James Wood once said of the aforesaid (ibid) Saul Bellow “he writes like Keith Moon plays drums” Inspiring stuff, surely? Clearly the kind of exciting, adventure studded trajectory that's practically inviting one to attempt an imitation of! And yet— and again please know that my self deprecation is both not phoney, but also strategic in so far as admitting weaknesses can be a good first step to transcending them—- I admit that the only sense in which I write like Keith Moon plays drums is probably in how I write like the hairbrained drummer during *Sesame Street*(!) However perhaps some buffoonery can be but a necessary early stage of writerly development? Perhaps, indeed, as chance would have it, the stage of latter day Sayers and Eucstace’s *The Documents of the Case*, the initial irreverently comic, although stunted because hairbrained, stage before the Richardisonian *Pamla, or virtue rewarded* stage? In other words, perhaps *The fun stuff*, can still eventually become the joyfully predictable fabric of daily subjective-cum objective existence? (In short, writing like Keith Moon plays drums, yes that’s a project I’d enjoy signing up for! I don’t mind the long slog! Or, as Allen GInsberg says during *Howl* “lift up your skirts ladies/because we are going through hell!)
‘..On comrades. Personally, I'm not interested in buddying up with somebody unless they: a.) share the same vision as I do for the project, b.) share a similar intensity for seeing the project to completion, c.) have an educational or experiential background that I can respect as being informative for the purposes of our teaming up together. For exmple, I belong to a small, academically professional reading group. If someone in my group were to ask me this question, then yes, I would definitely jump on board. Likewise, the reverse is also true. We have a mutual bond of trust and respect, and I know I challenge them & they likewise challenge me, so that what we would produce together would be greater than what any single one of us could produce on our own. These are what good collaborators do--they don't carry the boat for you, they redesign the boat with you, so it can go the distance you thought impossible to sail..’.
Well, firstly, please know that my frequent, perhaps annoying use of the word comrade, is a byproduct of my one time involvement with the Trotskyist movement, but it also has roots in, say, early romantic poetry. Also please know that my reference to the book *Coleridge: Early Visions* in the previous paragraph was one I made *before* having read, this, following paragraph of yours for the first time. And yet, as the also autism spectrum residing, and certainly well versed in romantic poetry, Bob Dylan once said “Take what you have gathered from coincidence”. Indeed, perhaps with such collaborations, then another lyric of Dylan’s might seem to be the proverbial apt adjective. I mean here, his lyric form *It’s alright ma I’m only bleeding* “You find yourself, you reappear/ you suddenly find you have nothing to fear”. The fact that you’ve taken the time to respond comprehensively to some very clumsy, verbose posts of mine is *perhaps* a sign that me and your good self, as well as potentially various permutations of people on this forum (including the forum as a whole, which could perhaps be called a proud—non bureaucratic— autistic *institution* of sorts!), could prove that we, as writers, also have discovered we have nothing to fear.
Indeed, in terms of sharing the same vision for the project, obviously but importantly, I propose we keep up such exchanges as this, GypsyMoth, and the conversations eventually maybe, just maybe evolve into some sort of, you know, *project*. As I’m sure you’ll agree, it’s too early to tell right at this very moment, but, in a few months?! Who Knows! After all, you are probably familiar with that literary subgenre, ‘the epistolary novel’? Well although I’m still not convinced I could write a novel, even collaboratively (although again, in a few months, who knows; you may demonstrate an ability to be able to redesign the boat, vis-a-vis my compositional contributions, so to speak ), nevertheless, the epistolary novel has a rich and imagination capturing history, such as, say, Richardson’s 1740 effort, *Pamela ; or, virtue rewarded*, and Sayers and Eustace’s 1930 pro-active production *The Documents in the Case* ) Indeed, where you say ’the distance you thought impossible to sail’ is surely another example of Dickens's ‘banked in the last chapter’ from *The Pickwick Papers*?! After all, G. K. Chesterton, in his 1905 biography, says; ‘the practical intensity of Dickens’s is worth dwelling on..’ And, in Wilde’s *The Picture of Dorian Gray* he has a protagonist sagaciously utter “Days in summer are apt to linger”. Let’s hope all of the activity on this great, giving website over the foreseeable proves to be latest historical version of what Hemingway called *The Torrents of Spring*! Life, is, after all, as a 20th century Hungarian novelist once called it, a dream. And in Martin Amis’s autobiography *Experience* he talks at one point of ‘Kafka’s dream-shaped novels’. I can only hope that, as the Kerouac-influencing Walt Whitman once said “what I shall assume/you shall assume” . (And, of course, vice versa) As I’ve said before, the jury is still out, but hopefully the game is only just beginning! Indeed, as chance has it, when I was at my mum and dad’s house this weekend, I decided to join a writers group for people with mental health problems, in Sheffield, England. I should be starting on Wednesday. It might not be as rigorous and exacting as the readers group you are part of, however this is not necessarily a problem.
Furthermore, you go on to say.
‘..‘..3.) .On reading. You seem well-read. If you join an online writing group, expect to hear, "read more!" So I won't tell you that. What I will tell you is, seek to understand what you read. Seek not only to understand what is written, but seek to understand how it is written. What makes this particular piece of writing stand out? Why does it resonate with you? What was the cost suffered by the hero, and what became of the hero's agony toward the denouement, or resolution, of the story? What is the pacing? How does the voice it is written in guide and direct your experience as the reader? (Here I am thinking of Willa Cather.) In other words, what is your existential experience of the piece? In other words, what I am trying to say is, interact with the text on such a deep level that you walk away having mastered the piece. In doing so, your reading will begin to master you…’
Firstly, please believe me that your robust, yet not necessarily unraptured provoking list of questions demonstrates that when it comes to where both our prose styles are currently at, you are the moore *organised* of the two of us. I’ve quoted Victoria Brigg’s dyspraxia focused book *Caged in chaos…* before. That’s often how I feel, caged in chaos. Period. However what better reason to desire to write?! Ah! To convert chaos into order, from noon till midnight! This said, I admit that I have experienced problems with some of the depth-of-understanding capturing quality of some of my reading over the years, partially wide though it has perhaps been. Indeed, I haven’t hitherto heard of Willa Cather, but will try to arrange a ‘casually dressed but deep in conversation’ style ren-de-vous with her at some point over the foreseeable. (wink) As for ‘your reading will begin to master you’, well, this is another insight you offer which is to my mind a genuine recipe for ensuring nothing short of a ‘casket of wonders’ perennially reappears in one’s life. Indeed, you are in good company, for the writer about whom Colm Toibin once wrote a book called *The master*, Henry James, during the introduction to *The Wings of the Dove* advises the budding novelist “be the person upon whom nothing is lost!” Alas, it’s easier said than done. Indeed, the aforesaid (previous post) literary critic James Wood once said of the aforesaid (ibid) Saul Bellow “he writes like Keith Moon plays drums” Inspiring stuff, surely? Clearly the kind of exciting, adventure studded trajectory that's practically inviting one to attempt an imitation of! And yet— and again please know that my self deprecation is both not phoney, but also strategic in so far as admitting weaknesses can be a good first step to transcending them—- I admit that the only sense in which I write like Keith Moon plays drums is probably in how I write like the hairbrained drummer during *Sesame Street*(!) However perhaps some buffoonery can be but a necessary early stage of writerly development? Perhaps, indeed, as chance would have it, the stage of latter day Sayers and Eucstace’s *The Documents of the Case*, the initial irreverently comic, although stunted because hairbrained, stage before the Richardisonian *Pamla, or virtue rewarded* stage? In other words, perhaps *The fun stuff*, can still eventually become the joyfully predictable fabric of daily subjective-cum objective existence? (In short, writing like Keith Moon plays drums, yes that’s a project I’d enjoy signing up for! I don’t mind the long slog! Or, as Allen GInsberg says during *Howl* “lift up your skirts ladies/because we are going through hell!)
benaspiringwriter
Member
(part 3 of 3) Moreover, you say..
‘ 4.) Discouragement. Experience it. (Sorry, tough love here.) I used to think writers needed 'crocodile skin', meaning, that they needed to defend their ideas about their text at all costs. I no longer think that. (It was poor advice.) Rather, they need to hear the bad as well as the good. It's the only way you can grow. If you want to be published, let other people into what you write. While your actual writing may be labored out in the vacuum of your closet, what you write must stand before an audience much wider, and much broader, than you can envision. Accept that not everyone who reads what you write will be either enamoured by or possessed with the passion with which you have invested in your work--and listen to what these people have to say. Compare it to what you think your message is saying, weigh those comments, and after having slept on it for several weeks--all the while letting their comments abrade you and torment you in the night watches--then decide on whether to accommodate or reply or dismiss those comments. But do think on them heavily. No one gives negative advice easily; it's much easier to give no advice at all…’
Again, thankyou for your very serious and generously composed advice. I agree that criticism is just as important as unblemished praise. I would like to reiterate that my paranoia often comes on when people don’t reply to what I’ve written after more than 24 hours. However now you have contributed this wonderful, and long (I *love* long, post-comprised exchanges!) post, and, again, kalinychta on the *addiction* thread has said; “keep on writing”. That combined occurrence makes me feel that paranoia might be something I don’t experience for many months—-my own puny version of Mellvilles’ living in the language’---however any constructive criticism will be taken on board despite the overall rapturous bliss in already being—-at the initial stage of, that is—--*ensconced* in a serious long-term writing community and the surely eventually materialising serious long-term writing projects.
Indeed, you go on to say.
‘....5.) On completing a project. Read everything you can on the nuts & bolts of writing, read about structure and plot and how to write characters and set scenes and, most of all, practice, practice, practice. Personally, I love reading about successful authors and how they wrote their masterpieces. Mostly, it is persistence and luck. Anyone can manage that. What you can't manage is the book-buying public, its fickleness, and the influence of technology on literature--or on any book for that matter. But look for structure especially, because out of a well-structured book you get meaning. For the beginning writer, I'll admit this is largely happenstance. But for the skilled journalist writing about his experience in war-torn Chechnya, nothing is happenstance except the events that unfolded. The meaning comes out of the shared experience he has with those around him and the cycle of events that unfold around him which all involved are subject to. Nothing he puts in his diary is by mistake. Strive to let nothing you put into what you write be by mistake, either….’
As you can see, I already am fairly addicted to the practice, practice, practice part of the universal long writing apprenticeship, however the ‘structure and plot and how to write characters and set scenes’ aspects to becoming a successful writer are still ones that, at my current stage of development, *are simply beyond me*. Again, my current position is that I have more plausible capacity to write informal essays, however much I still truly, truly *passionately love reading* genres of books such as novels. Maybe in a few more weeks of posting, with, hopefully, the occasional constructive criticism post from your good self et all, I’ll grasp the nettle and begin attempting the structure and plot and how to write characters and set scenes aspects to writing. Furthermore, as is maybe evident from my hitherto acquired prose style, reading about successful authors biographies and creative lives is a kind of comfort zone for me. Also, looking back, sometimes I include unnecessary, and from the readers point of view, frustrating elements of style such as too many brackets, and too many exclamation marks. After all, sometimes the most humorous writing is delivered via the ‘deadpan’ full stop?
However, to genuinely move onto another topic, one that is often far from humorous because it is so solemnly important, when you say, GypsyMoth; ‘‘Sometimes, when I am writing, there is no greater pleasure I have ever received on earth than the very experience of writing itself.’, well that is perhaps the truest sentence in the whole of this long post. And indeed it partially conditions the also important issue you go on to raise regarding if one thinks one can potentially someday be published it doesn’t mean that one should. Many writers have got published, then become monsters, regretted both of these twists of fate and usually died young. Perhaps it will be best for me to never publish, even if I ever get to having a serious circa 90,000 word manuscript? (the latter which, obviously, hasn’t yet happened, though over the years I’ve produced numerous long letters.) Indeed, when I was a teenager, many moons ago, I used to read in the Guitar magazines that I also fanatically and zealously subscribed to and followed, about there being such a thing as a ‘bedroom guitarist’, i.e someone who never plays guitar to an actual, corporeal (!) public, but merely alone in their bedroom. Whatever paths the rest of our writing lives take us down, published or unpublished, GyspyMoth, I’m sure that one thing will be certain; that we’ll both continue to really enjoy the act of writing. I certainly look forward to future posts from you in this thread and others. (For the record, the final few full-stops here are not of a humorously-intended type. They are solemnly serious.)
Speak soon, hopefully.
Best wishes
Ben
‘ 4.) Discouragement. Experience it. (Sorry, tough love here.) I used to think writers needed 'crocodile skin', meaning, that they needed to defend their ideas about their text at all costs. I no longer think that. (It was poor advice.) Rather, they need to hear the bad as well as the good. It's the only way you can grow. If you want to be published, let other people into what you write. While your actual writing may be labored out in the vacuum of your closet, what you write must stand before an audience much wider, and much broader, than you can envision. Accept that not everyone who reads what you write will be either enamoured by or possessed with the passion with which you have invested in your work--and listen to what these people have to say. Compare it to what you think your message is saying, weigh those comments, and after having slept on it for several weeks--all the while letting their comments abrade you and torment you in the night watches--then decide on whether to accommodate or reply or dismiss those comments. But do think on them heavily. No one gives negative advice easily; it's much easier to give no advice at all…’
Again, thankyou for your very serious and generously composed advice. I agree that criticism is just as important as unblemished praise. I would like to reiterate that my paranoia often comes on when people don’t reply to what I’ve written after more than 24 hours. However now you have contributed this wonderful, and long (I *love* long, post-comprised exchanges!) post, and, again, kalinychta on the *addiction* thread has said; “keep on writing”. That combined occurrence makes me feel that paranoia might be something I don’t experience for many months—-my own puny version of Mellvilles’ living in the language’---however any constructive criticism will be taken on board despite the overall rapturous bliss in already being—-at the initial stage of, that is—--*ensconced* in a serious long-term writing community and the surely eventually materialising serious long-term writing projects.
Indeed, you go on to say.
‘....5.) On completing a project. Read everything you can on the nuts & bolts of writing, read about structure and plot and how to write characters and set scenes and, most of all, practice, practice, practice. Personally, I love reading about successful authors and how they wrote their masterpieces. Mostly, it is persistence and luck. Anyone can manage that. What you can't manage is the book-buying public, its fickleness, and the influence of technology on literature--or on any book for that matter. But look for structure especially, because out of a well-structured book you get meaning. For the beginning writer, I'll admit this is largely happenstance. But for the skilled journalist writing about his experience in war-torn Chechnya, nothing is happenstance except the events that unfolded. The meaning comes out of the shared experience he has with those around him and the cycle of events that unfold around him which all involved are subject to. Nothing he puts in his diary is by mistake. Strive to let nothing you put into what you write be by mistake, either….’
As you can see, I already am fairly addicted to the practice, practice, practice part of the universal long writing apprenticeship, however the ‘structure and plot and how to write characters and set scenes’ aspects to becoming a successful writer are still ones that, at my current stage of development, *are simply beyond me*. Again, my current position is that I have more plausible capacity to write informal essays, however much I still truly, truly *passionately love reading* genres of books such as novels. Maybe in a few more weeks of posting, with, hopefully, the occasional constructive criticism post from your good self et all, I’ll grasp the nettle and begin attempting the structure and plot and how to write characters and set scenes aspects to writing. Furthermore, as is maybe evident from my hitherto acquired prose style, reading about successful authors biographies and creative lives is a kind of comfort zone for me. Also, looking back, sometimes I include unnecessary, and from the readers point of view, frustrating elements of style such as too many brackets, and too many exclamation marks. After all, sometimes the most humorous writing is delivered via the ‘deadpan’ full stop?
However, to genuinely move onto another topic, one that is often far from humorous because it is so solemnly important, when you say, GypsyMoth; ‘‘Sometimes, when I am writing, there is no greater pleasure I have ever received on earth than the very experience of writing itself.’, well that is perhaps the truest sentence in the whole of this long post. And indeed it partially conditions the also important issue you go on to raise regarding if one thinks one can potentially someday be published it doesn’t mean that one should. Many writers have got published, then become monsters, regretted both of these twists of fate and usually died young. Perhaps it will be best for me to never publish, even if I ever get to having a serious circa 90,000 word manuscript? (the latter which, obviously, hasn’t yet happened, though over the years I’ve produced numerous long letters.) Indeed, when I was a teenager, many moons ago, I used to read in the Guitar magazines that I also fanatically and zealously subscribed to and followed, about there being such a thing as a ‘bedroom guitarist’, i.e someone who never plays guitar to an actual, corporeal (!) public, but merely alone in their bedroom. Whatever paths the rest of our writing lives take us down, published or unpublished, GyspyMoth, I’m sure that one thing will be certain; that we’ll both continue to really enjoy the act of writing. I certainly look forward to future posts from you in this thread and others. (For the record, the final few full-stops here are not of a humorously-intended type. They are solemnly serious.)
Speak soon, hopefully.
Best wishes
Ben
Last edited:
benaspiringwriter
Member
Note, I have spotted mistakes in and edited the above 3-part post; there was a serious typo vis-a-vis Beethoven, and a serious, unintended offensive meaning concerning the very last paragraph of the third part of the post. Both have now been edited. Thanks.
benaspiringwriter
Member
(part 1 of x)
During chapter four of *The History of Mr Polly*, H. G. Wells says..
‘...That moment when self-control was altogether torn aside, the shocked discovery of his fathers perfect humanity, had left a singular impression on Mr Polly’s *queer* mind. It was as if something extravagantly vital had come out of his father and laid a warmley passionate hand upon his heart. He remembered that now very *vividly*, and it became a clue to endless other memories that had else been dispersed and confusing...’ (my italics)
The late, great neurologist and autism champion Oliver Sacks, during his book *An anthropologist on mars*, gets things underway with a quote from the figure—- who, like H. G. Wells, was someone, firstly, with a background in the discipline of biology, and secondly, like Wells, someone also shall we say ‘on the wrong side of the ‘Stalinism; good or abhorrent?' debate **1** —J. B. S. Haldane; “the universe is not only queerer than we imagine, but queerer than we can imagine”.
Paradoxically, the also ex-Trotskyist, although gladly never pro Stalinist, Saul Bellow once said “you are your father; your father is you”. Mr Polly’s father looms large over his life and fate. The aforesaid David Foster Wallace was for a long period of his life haunted by what the now dead literary critic Harold Bloom once called *The anxiety of influence*. However there is another book doing the rounds called *The ecstasy of influence*. I’m both a glass-full kind of guy, as well as perhaps being a latest walking historical version of another old English phrase, “A glutton for punishment.” I have certainly put anyone still reading through the mill! (wink)
At any rate, the aforesaid quote from H. G. Wells mentions the word ‘vivid’. Well I realise that non Wildean literary figures are referenced in an important book from the previous decade, *Vivid Faces: The Revolutionary Generation in Ireland 1890–1923*.by R. F. Foster. Perhaps W. B. Yeats’s poem *Easter, 1916* (“I have met them at close of day/Coming with vivid faces/From counter or desk among grey/Eighteenth century houses…”) does not fully tally with other works— urging for a more completely and harmoniously pro-revolution sentiment, sometimes almost hallucinatory hagiography ones— such as A. Lunacharsky’s 1918 work *revolutionary silhouettes-Lenin*, and it’s close cousin, *revolutionary silhouettes-Trotsky*?
Indeed, again paradoxically, also ex-Trotskyist but not in latter years Stalinist, Chrsitopher Hitchens, references C. L. R. James’s 1930 book *World revolution*--- near to when Trotsky had written about that very thing in his aforesaid (see previous post, apologies ) *My Life*--- during 2010’s *Hitch 22*. In *revolutionary silhouettes–Lenin*, Lunacharsky talks about Lenin’s professional revolutionary penchant for “Perpetually seeking the next link in the chain of the world revolution”. In *A tale of Two Cities* Dickens, another revolutionary of a kind, says “There was yet an upper staircase, of a steeper inclination and of contracted dimensions, to be ascended, before the garret story was reached.” The fairly clearly fanatical Dickens fan, G. K. Chesterton—-when not dissing Lenin and Trotsky, such as in *In defence of Sanity*—- during another his works, *The Victorian age in literature*----which somehow fails to mention Lewis Carroll, perhaps not for him, then, an example of a producer of what Chesterton, along with with Orwell, at times, referred to as ‘The good/bad book’ ---talks of “His paragraphs span out like impossible nightmare pagodas.”
At any rate, I have talked in previous posts on this thread about an earlier moment in H. G. Wells *The History of Mr Polly*. “He couldn't keep up with the hustlers.” Well, shock, shock horror, a reference again to S. P. Morrissey is in order, I think; namely the lyric “Vivid and in your prime/ you will leave me behind”. Indeed, *The Prime of MIss Jean Brodie* by Murial Spark is famously a key work of 20th century British literature. Hopefully I have not, here, been a sort of unemployed version of another S. P. Morrissey lyric, this time ripped from *The Demon Headmaster*, “Sir leads the troops/ Jealous of youth/ Same old suit since 1962” (!)
However, perhaps one thing, is still— a mans a man for all that—certain. The aforesaid imaginative scientist J. B. S. Haldane’s quote rears up again into gravity signifying relevance. “.....The universe is queerer that we can imagine”. Last week, when I added constructive comments to one of *metalheads* film reviews on the relevant thread, I argued that he had displayed a version of autism pioneer Leo Kanner’s concept of *fascinating peculiarities* in his prose style. I perhaps haven’t matched his pleasing clarity and pleasing convincingness, here. However, I have—genuinely— done my absolute very best. And, after all, not only is your best all you can do as an aspiring writer, but, furthermore, as another landmark 20th century writer, Harper Lee, once said “It’s a sin to kill a mocking bird”.
And yet, elsewhere during chapter four of H. G. Wells’s *the History of Mr Polly* he says;
‘...It was queer, but they seemed to be easy people to get on with anyhow. They were still picking little ripples and giggles of mirth from the idea of Mr Polly dandling Aunt Larkins when Mr Johnson, who had answered the door, ushered in a stooping figure, who was at once hailed by Mr Johnson as “Why! Uncle Pentstemon!” Uncle Pentstemon was rather a shock. HIs was an aged rather than a venerable figure. Time had removed the hair from the top of his head and distributed a small dividend of the plunder in little bunches carelessly and impartially over the rest of his features; he was dressed in a very big, old frock-coat and a long, cylindrical top hat, which he had kept on; he was very much bent, and he carried a rush basket, from which protruded coy intimations of the lettuces and onions he had brought to grace the occasion. He hobbled into the room, resisting the efforts of Johnson to divest him of his various encumbrances, halted, and surveyed the company, breathing hard. Recognition quickened in his eyes…’
In the first line of the latest annexed paragraph, that most spirit rousing of things, *espirit de corps* is surely manifested, as in so much of literature, such as in Thomas Mann’s reference to ‘humanely healthy’ in *Doctor Faustus*, or in Liam McIlvanney and Ray Ryan’s *The good of the novel*. Indeed, again paradoxically, in Andrew O Hagan’s novel *Our fathers*, he has a chemistry teacher say to her student, Jamie “Science is all well and good, Jamie, but… life’s the thing” Indeed,the final line of the latest annexed paragraph, is connotative with, say, James Joyce line in 1922’s *Ulysses* “Read your own obituary. It gives you a new lease of life.”
During chapter four of *The History of Mr Polly*, H. G. Wells says..
‘...That moment when self-control was altogether torn aside, the shocked discovery of his fathers perfect humanity, had left a singular impression on Mr Polly’s *queer* mind. It was as if something extravagantly vital had come out of his father and laid a warmley passionate hand upon his heart. He remembered that now very *vividly*, and it became a clue to endless other memories that had else been dispersed and confusing...’ (my italics)
The late, great neurologist and autism champion Oliver Sacks, during his book *An anthropologist on mars*, gets things underway with a quote from the figure—- who, like H. G. Wells, was someone, firstly, with a background in the discipline of biology, and secondly, like Wells, someone also shall we say ‘on the wrong side of the ‘Stalinism; good or abhorrent?' debate **1** —J. B. S. Haldane; “the universe is not only queerer than we imagine, but queerer than we can imagine”.
Paradoxically, the also ex-Trotskyist, although gladly never pro Stalinist, Saul Bellow once said “you are your father; your father is you”. Mr Polly’s father looms large over his life and fate. The aforesaid David Foster Wallace was for a long period of his life haunted by what the now dead literary critic Harold Bloom once called *The anxiety of influence*. However there is another book doing the rounds called *The ecstasy of influence*. I’m both a glass-full kind of guy, as well as perhaps being a latest walking historical version of another old English phrase, “A glutton for punishment.” I have certainly put anyone still reading through the mill! (wink)
At any rate, the aforesaid quote from H. G. Wells mentions the word ‘vivid’. Well I realise that non Wildean literary figures are referenced in an important book from the previous decade, *Vivid Faces: The Revolutionary Generation in Ireland 1890–1923*.by R. F. Foster. Perhaps W. B. Yeats’s poem *Easter, 1916* (“I have met them at close of day/Coming with vivid faces/From counter or desk among grey/Eighteenth century houses…”) does not fully tally with other works— urging for a more completely and harmoniously pro-revolution sentiment, sometimes almost hallucinatory hagiography ones— such as A. Lunacharsky’s 1918 work *revolutionary silhouettes-Lenin*, and it’s close cousin, *revolutionary silhouettes-Trotsky*?
Indeed, again paradoxically, also ex-Trotskyist but not in latter years Stalinist, Chrsitopher Hitchens, references C. L. R. James’s 1930 book *World revolution*--- near to when Trotsky had written about that very thing in his aforesaid (see previous post, apologies ) *My Life*--- during 2010’s *Hitch 22*. In *revolutionary silhouettes–Lenin*, Lunacharsky talks about Lenin’s professional revolutionary penchant for “Perpetually seeking the next link in the chain of the world revolution”. In *A tale of Two Cities* Dickens, another revolutionary of a kind, says “There was yet an upper staircase, of a steeper inclination and of contracted dimensions, to be ascended, before the garret story was reached.” The fairly clearly fanatical Dickens fan, G. K. Chesterton—-when not dissing Lenin and Trotsky, such as in *In defence of Sanity*—- during another his works, *The Victorian age in literature*----which somehow fails to mention Lewis Carroll, perhaps not for him, then, an example of a producer of what Chesterton, along with with Orwell, at times, referred to as ‘The good/bad book’ ---talks of “His paragraphs span out like impossible nightmare pagodas.”
At any rate, I have talked in previous posts on this thread about an earlier moment in H. G. Wells *The History of Mr Polly*. “He couldn't keep up with the hustlers.” Well, shock, shock horror, a reference again to S. P. Morrissey is in order, I think; namely the lyric “Vivid and in your prime/ you will leave me behind”. Indeed, *The Prime of MIss Jean Brodie* by Murial Spark is famously a key work of 20th century British literature. Hopefully I have not, here, been a sort of unemployed version of another S. P. Morrissey lyric, this time ripped from *The Demon Headmaster*, “Sir leads the troops/ Jealous of youth/ Same old suit since 1962” (!)
However, perhaps one thing, is still— a mans a man for all that—certain. The aforesaid imaginative scientist J. B. S. Haldane’s quote rears up again into gravity signifying relevance. “.....The universe is queerer that we can imagine”. Last week, when I added constructive comments to one of *metalheads* film reviews on the relevant thread, I argued that he had displayed a version of autism pioneer Leo Kanner’s concept of *fascinating peculiarities* in his prose style. I perhaps haven’t matched his pleasing clarity and pleasing convincingness, here. However, I have—genuinely— done my absolute very best. And, after all, not only is your best all you can do as an aspiring writer, but, furthermore, as another landmark 20th century writer, Harper Lee, once said “It’s a sin to kill a mocking bird”.
And yet, elsewhere during chapter four of H. G. Wells’s *the History of Mr Polly* he says;
‘...It was queer, but they seemed to be easy people to get on with anyhow. They were still picking little ripples and giggles of mirth from the idea of Mr Polly dandling Aunt Larkins when Mr Johnson, who had answered the door, ushered in a stooping figure, who was at once hailed by Mr Johnson as “Why! Uncle Pentstemon!” Uncle Pentstemon was rather a shock. HIs was an aged rather than a venerable figure. Time had removed the hair from the top of his head and distributed a small dividend of the plunder in little bunches carelessly and impartially over the rest of his features; he was dressed in a very big, old frock-coat and a long, cylindrical top hat, which he had kept on; he was very much bent, and he carried a rush basket, from which protruded coy intimations of the lettuces and onions he had brought to grace the occasion. He hobbled into the room, resisting the efforts of Johnson to divest him of his various encumbrances, halted, and surveyed the company, breathing hard. Recognition quickened in his eyes…’
In the first line of the latest annexed paragraph, that most spirit rousing of things, *espirit de corps* is surely manifested, as in so much of literature, such as in Thomas Mann’s reference to ‘humanely healthy’ in *Doctor Faustus*, or in Liam McIlvanney and Ray Ryan’s *The good of the novel*. Indeed, again paradoxically, in Andrew O Hagan’s novel *Our fathers*, he has a chemistry teacher say to her student, Jamie “Science is all well and good, Jamie, but… life’s the thing” Indeed,the final line of the latest annexed paragraph, is connotative with, say, James Joyce line in 1922’s *Ulysses* “Read your own obituary. It gives you a new lease of life.”
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