To the Ballpoint

Zestful Blog Post #158

Once, years ago, when I was fumbling around for a pen at work, an office mate informed me, “The core of the earth is made of molten ballpoint pens. The ones everybody constantly loses. They migrate through the dirt and eventually arrive at the core of the earth, where they become molten.” Even though I’d minored in geology in college, I thought this theory had a lot of merit.

For most of my life, ballpoint pens have justly occupied the lower rungs of scriverdom (I just made up that word—no applause, just throw money) because they were so unpleasant to write with. Even though they were invented before the turn of the 20^th century and mass-produced by midcentury, 1960s  ballpoints tended to be sticky and skippy, and you only used them because they were cheap. They even leaked in pressurized airplane cabins. That fact I learned from watching the Mad Men episode where Don and Salvatore fly to someplace and Sal’s pen leaks. (Given the context of that episode, the leaking pen is very funny.)

BIC pens found a temporary place in my heart after the 1968 winter Olympics in Grenoble, France, where Peggy Fleming won gold in women’s figure skating. Sitting next to my mom on the couch, watching our flickering Zenith black and white, I was entranced by Peggy’s grace and athleticism, riveted by the breathless announcers calling her moves: “And now… the double-axel… Yes, she does it…” It was only later that I saw the fabulous chartreuse color of her dress in a magazine. After the Olympics she did a TV commercial for BIC pens where she skates around a darkened arena just like at the Olympics, with a BIC strapped to her ankle, point down on the ice. Point down. On the ice. At the end she does a long hard spin, and man, the ice chips fly! Then she skates over to a pan of fire—a pan of fire!—just like the Olympic flame, unstraps the pen, and holds the point in the flame for seconds on end. Then, stunningly, she writes BIC on a pad of paper. Incroyable. So I was like, BIC for president. (Sadly, there seems to be no available video of that spot. If you find it, please send me the link.)

The costlier Papermate brand always wrote smoother, and anybody remember Lindy pens? Bullet-shaped cap, metal pocket clip with a cutout of a tiny seal balancing a ball on its nose. Those were cool pens, smooth-writing, plus they came in different colors. Gone, though.

[My current purse pen, a Parker Jotter with Schmidt Easy Flow cartridge.]

So once I got old enough to discover the joys of fountain pens, I became a fountain pen devotee, even a fine pencil connoisseur. But lately I’ve realized that ballpoint technology has moved forward. Of course we have the ball-tip gel pens, which were a significant leap.

Over the course of the past year I’ve been experimenting with various ballpoint pens and cartridges, and gosh, there are some good ones out there. Anybody familiar with the Schmidt Easy Flow cartridge from Germany? Really smooth and nice. Fits the Parker Jotter and others. The Parker Quink Flow cartridges are good too, way better than the standard Parker cartridges of even 15 years ago.

The best part of Parker Jotters, by the way, is the click mechanism. Hear the biting authority of it, feel the taut certainty of it. Yeah, baby. Did you know that every time you click it, the cartridge rotates 120 degrees, to ensure even wear? Brilliant.

I’ve heard good things about the Monteverde Superbroad refills and have a few in my Amazon cart. Various ink manufacturers have gotten into making Parker-compatible refills, to satisfy different customer tastes. And, given funding sites like Kickstarer and so on, metalsmiths are designing and selling small-batch nice pens of aluminum and other metals that will take those refills. I have a few, and I suppose I'll wax poetic about those someday.

Write on. I’d be very interested to hear any ballpoint-related thoughts you might wish to share. To post, click below where it says, 'No Comments,' or '2 Comments,' or whatever.

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NPR's Appalling Language

Zestful Blog Post #157

On Monday (April 18, 2016) I was listening to Diane Rehm’s show on NPR while driving around to some appointments. I’m not a die-hard NPR devotee, but I do tune in sometimes. The reason I’m not a die-hard devotee to NPR is the bewildering language used by some of the guests—not so much the hosts. Diane Rehm is blameless. Diane Rehm for president.

My beef is with the guests / interviewees who torture language trying to make themselves sound more intellectual. Often, I’m sad to say, they are writers. Writers who have written books published by intellectual presses about intellectual things like social theories.

Having cut my teeth as a newspaper reporter and editor, my anti-bullshit axe is sharp and fierce. Maybe I’m just getting older and crabbier, or maybe the NPR problem is really getting worse. I think it’s getting worse. Things were so bad Monday morning that I had to pull over not once but twice, and make notes.

A group of guests were talking about Brexit. You know, the possible exit of Britain from the European Union. The word Brexit is fine. It’s a witty shorthand that one could text to friends when messaging about world affairs.

But when one guest said, “The atmospherics of the summit will be tense,” I was like, what did she just say? Atmospherics? Why would you say that when you mean atmosphere? Oh, of course: to sound brainier! People who use words with more syllables are perceived as being more intelligent than ordinary folk. You have to listen with some alertness to notice when the extra syllables are phony.

Here’s another one from the same conversation, different guest, who was asked about reciprocity between Britain and the EU if Britain Brexits. “Well, the automaticity of that will no longer be there.” What the f*ck? Automaticity? Have you ever heard that word before? But you know exactly what the guy meant: The reciprocity would go away. But when you’re in front of a microphone, whether on the radio or a dais, air time is important. Fill it with syllables, preferably ones that can more or less be grasped by people dumber than you. Automaticity originated as a science word to describe certain functions in cells, then became, according to the Free Dictionary: “Acting or operating in a manner essentially independent of external influence or control: an automatic light switch; a budget deficit that triggered automatic ...” Automaticity is actually a perfect NPR word: It's unnecessarily complicated and not really accurate, yet it’s easy to tell what the speaker means. 

Side one of my angrily scribbled note card.

Another guest, discussing his book about the dangers global aid workers face, used the term ‘sea change,’ which bugged me, because the clearer, simpler ‘change’ would have sufficed. Sea change is a somewhat archaic term referring to the shift in one’s perceptions, mostly having to do with sense of balance, when one embarks on a long sea voyage. The movement of the sea makes for lots of vestibular input, and one feels different, and possibly out of sorts, until one adapts. MFK Fisher, by the way, wrote beautifully (and economically) about the subject in The Gastronomical Me. People now use sea change to mean a vast change. When you say sea change, you simply sound more worldly, don’t you?

The same guest said, “The safety of aid workers evolves onto the local population.” He of course should have said devolved, but he was either unsure of that, or he sensed many listeners would think devolve is incorrect in that usage. But it’s correct. This example isn’t exactly parallel to the others, but valuable nevertheless, to illustrate the deep insecurities of many NPR guests.

Same guest: “Secondly, and probably most foundationally…” Foundationally? Beautiful. So much more dolled up than basically. More syllables, more letters. Same guest: “The latter question is of sentinel importance.” Lovely! The term is completely meaningless, yet you instantly know that he meant special importance, or more probably, signal importance. But sentinel! An extra syllable! Not only that, but just the sound of it is so serious! Sentinel. Yeah, man.

Do things like this bug the same crap out of you, or am I just a bitch? Click below where it says, 'No Comments,' or '2 Comments,' or whatever. If you'd like to receive this blog automatically as an email, look to the right, above my bio, and subscribe there. Thanks for looking in.

Coffee as LSD

Zestful Blog Post #156

I know not every writer enjoys coffee. Some unfortunate souls must abstain for religious reasons (which, like, easy solution, just switch religions, right?); some have health issues and others are actually allergic (which, total pity).

But for the rest of us the bean might as well BE a sacrament. I love to read about the history of coffee, and I love to come across random coffee facts, such as Union soldiers chewed the beans for energy in the Civil War. I think the Atlantic blockades kept it from the Confederacy. And some still wonder why they lost?

Caffeine’s a drug—a stimulant—and an overdose will kill a person. I mentioned LSD in the title of this post. LSD is a hallucinogen, of course, which lots of seekers have used to open their creativity chakras or whatever. When I was in college I badly wanted to try LSD but rumor had it that a lot of the current supply was contaminated with PCP (horse anesthetic, basically), so I never did it. (Everything else, yes.) The thing is, if you’re open to it, coffee, like LSD, can make you a better writer.

[The Snow Peak double-walled titanium mug keeps your beverage hot for a long time, which is good if your office is upstairs and the instant-hot and microwave are downstairs. The other one is my politically incorrect because of animal abuse mug, but I really like it anyway and the elephant is no longer in pain. I know I should somehow make it so there’s a link to these cups which if you click them I’ll get money, but screw it.]

Research suggests the experience is diluted if you put in sugar and milk. So make it black, and don’t waste it by drinking it first thing in the morning, simply to help wake up. Use weak tea or something for your first hit of caffeine. Hydrate by drinking water before and after breakfast. Save a good strong cup of black for when you’re ready to write. (Tim Ferris’s The Four-Hour Body turned me on to adding a shake of Vietnamese cinnamon for flavor and better blood sugar levels throughout the day.) The key is to write continuously as the coffee takes hold. Let images of misty mountainsides, glossy green leaves, and giant friendly pollinating bees course through your mind, and know you’re partaking of something mysterious and glorious. Feel the high, feel the mental incisiveness. Keep your writing going. Expect magic. Enjoy your trip.

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Just Sit Right Back

Zestful Blog Post #155

Quick announcement: Sign up here to win one of three Kindle copies of Damn Straight at the Lesbian Review.

Today’s post is about writing with economy. Most of us who watched television in the 1960s are still afflicted with old brainworms in the form of theme songs from sitcoms. I can still, after enough gin, sing the complete themes from Gilligan’s Island, the Patty Duke Show, Green Acres, and the Beverly Hillbillies, as well as shards from Petticoat Junction and the Brady Bunch.

Not long ago I read about why the Gilligan’s Island song was written. Sherwood Schwartz, who conceived of the show about a motley group of castaways on a desert island, had trouble convincing TV executives to put it into production. Their main objection was that it would be tedious to recap, during every episode, why and how the people got stuck on the island.

So Schwartz went home and, with composer George Wyle, wrote a theme song that told the story perfectly: “Just sit right back and you’ll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful trip…” The song rolled through the opening credits, so a first-time viewer would be as savvy as a devotee. The execs’ problem was solved, and they green-lighted the project. The show became such an off-kilter hit, it affected pop culture in multiple ways, from phrases from the song (“a three-hour tour,” for instance, as shorthand for an unexpectedly interminable situation), to Gilligan’s white bucket hat and more.

My favorite phrase from the song: “The ship set ground on the shore of this uncharted desert isle…” It’s brilliant. You learn why nobody’s found them: the island’s not on any maps! Uncharted! One simple word, thrown in fast.

The other sitcom songs achieve the identical objective. My point: All writers can learn from these seemingly stupid songs! Look a few up online, read and listen to them carefully, and perceive all sorts of lessons on how to write with purpose and economy.

Have you ever found a writing lesson in an unexpected place? To post, click below where it says, 'No Comments,' or '2 Comments,' or whatever.

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Bits of Divinity

Zestful Blog Post #154

This post is about one of those chance encounters that can count for nothing or everything.

On Tuesday afternoon my new friend Nan took me to the Des Moines (Iowa) Art Center, where we enjoyed a little lunch in the café and a walk through the collection and special exhibits. The center is really pretty impressive, having been designed in various stages by I.M. Pei, Eliel Saarinen, and Richard Meier. The collection is equally impressive for a smaller city. One of the security guards answered a question about the architecture of the place, then struck up a deeper conversation with us.

Milton L. Bunce, Jr. has been working there for years, and he’s come to know the place intimately—at a level beyond knowing the works that live there. He asked us to note the shadows in the atria and other rooms with windows, and invited us to notice how the light changes, throughout the day, throughout the year. The architects knew what they were doing, he felt. We were receptive. Mr. Bunce opened an upper fire escape door and showed us the view of the lawn and sculptures from there. He asked us to imagine what it all looks like in the different seasons, the fiery trees in the fall, the dry white wash of winter. Then he asked if we’d like to see something special. We would.

He unlocked a storage cabinet and took out a couple of tattered sketchbooks, which were filled with his own pencil drawings. He only took up drawing a few years ago, he said, but he’d gotten pretty good.

He showed us his drawings, including one of him in his Navy uniform with his wife when they were first married. He copied it from a photo. During quiet times, Mr. Bunce is allowed to work on his drawings right in the museum. His sole tools are a number-4 pencil and an eraser.

He said he tries to interest the schoolchildren who come to the museum in drawing, too. Not an easy thing. But I bet a few have looked and listened.

When we parted from Mr. Bunce, I remarked to Nan that it was like bumping into Christ. Which is exactly what it is when you meet up with someone who is open, who gives it everything he’s got, and who just naturally expects you to be open, too. Call it Christ or any other name you might give to that pure human beauty that everyone carries inside. Not all of us let it shine through all the time, though. But that’s what it’s all about, I think.

(Had a blast doing dinner with students and faculty, then reading and talking about the writing life that evening at Simpson College. It’s wonderful to meet new people enthusiastic about writing, reading, and teaching. Thanks, Nan.)

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Writing Clueless vs. Oblivious

Zestful Blog Post #153

Looking forward to doing a reading, then chatting and doing Q&A with students at Simpson College near Des Moines, Iowa next Tuesday evening. If you’re local, drop in! Thanks to Professor Nan St. Clair for setting it up.

One of my early jobs was in the HR department of a large bank in Detroit. It was so long ago that I wrote and starred in a video to educate our customers on how to use them there brand-fangled ATM machines. Customers were issued ATM cards and everybody created their PIN. It was quite a thing, having this important four-digit passcode to remember! Don't ask me about my curly perm.

The bank’s president brought his nephew over from England one summer to work in various departments of the bank; he hung around HR for a week or so. The young man thought ATMs were the coolest. He showed us his ATM card, upon which he’d written his PIN.

“You’re not supposed to do that!” we told him, aghast. “That defeats the whole purpose!”

“My uncle told me to,” he said. “That’s what he does.”

When Lady Diana was getting to know Prince Charles, she was stunned to learn that he had no idea how to make a cup of tea.

U.S. troops working with the South Vietnamese Army (ARVN) taught them how to shoot down Vietcong helicopters. You have to lead them, they explained, meaning train your rifle sights just ahead of the copters’ noses, then shoot. ARVN troops shot down numerous Cong choppers. But when they had a chance to ambush and shoot Cong choppers on the ground, they also carefully aimed ahead of the copter’s noses, then pulled their triggers.

[Note of correction here, dateline 3.25.16: My military expert advises that this scenario is unlikely to have happened, due to the very few North Vietnamese aircraft used in the war. More likely, he suggests, I remembered reading about the reverse situation, where NVA soldiers were trained to take down American aircraft by the same method, and making the same mistake on stationary aircraft. Thank you, SD!]

The common thread here is cluelessness. And the reason for cluelessness is lack of information, and sometimes a lack of skill in objective analysis. You can have a lot of fun with clueless characters. I mean, who for God’s sake would believe the president of the bank would write his PIN on his ATM card? Yet it was so. Therefore in your writing, you need to sprinkle cluelessness sparingly. One way to do it is bracket something a character is clueless about with things they’re savvy about. The bank president, for instance, sure as heck knew what to make of balance sheets, and how to delegate. Vietnamese troops knew a lot about jungle survival, and could fight like tigers hand to hand.

Obliviousness is a little different. My brother remembers being dropped off for his weekend job in a grocery store by our dad after a rainstorm. As he brought the car to a stop, Daddy splashed through a huge mud puddle, drenching a guy who was walking by. “And I had to get out,” said my brother grimly. “Daddy was oblivious.”

People in the throes of infatuation are often oblivious to any flaws in their beloved. This has fueled countless dramas and rom-coms, both in print and on the screen. But obliviousness has to be believable, and never used to hotfoot it over a plot hole. The crime-scene techs simply missed the bloody fingerprints on the refrigerator door? They just, like, forgot to look at them? No. But each guy could have thought the other guy was going to process those marks. By the time they realized their mistake weeks later, the crime scene had been released and cleaned. A self-centered person could be oblivious to the pain of a loved one. Show us the self-centeredness, then show us the obliviousness.

Even if you don’t know what you need until you need it, you can go back and create traits and circumstances that will bring everything to convincing life. Readers want to stick with you.

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The Snapshot Trick

Zestful Blog Post #152

Today’s post follows these two announcements:

1)

After a two-year hiatus, I’ll be back at the Florida Writer’s Association annual conference (October 20-23, 2016 in Altamonte Springs). Gonna teach “Fearless Writing” and “How to Write Dialogue Like a Pro,” and will be available for individual consults as well. They’re still putting together the lineup, but here’s the link. Will talk writing for martinis come bar time. Tank regular, dry, up, olives. Think of it as an investment.

2)

My Marcia has designed, built, and launched an extraordinary math game for kids and adults. Number Round-Up uses the world’s smartest tiny horses to help players master sorting, set theory, commonalities, and more. Get links to the free demo and paid versions at Logical Game Studio. This really is a cool game, currently in the Chrome store. No ads, no upselling, just a well built, charming, thoroughly kid-and-adult-tested game that helps foster a love of math and logic. If you take a look, I’d love to hear what you think of it!

On to today’s post.

Dearest writer, do you sometimes struggle to describe your characters in a way that works smoothly with your action and plot? Do you have too much self respect to make them stand in front of a mirror and remark upon their baggy eyes / shining auburn hair / six-pack physique, etc? Is it especially challenging to describe a character’s changes over time, whether months or decades?

Help is here. In the last few months I’ve suggested this to a few clients, and today thought I’d share it with everybody. Very simple: Let somebody come upon an old snapshot, whether on coated paper from a Pleistocene-era camera, a Kodachrome slide that has to be held up to the light, or something digital.

[Musical and bossy even back then: Leading the neighborhood band.

Photo thanks to old pal BB.]

You are with me on this instantly, right? The picture can be of the character himself or herself (just can’t do ‘themself,’ never will), or of a beloved, or the enemy, or whoEVER.

Example:

While clearing out Jesse’s room, she came upon a snapshot of him with his 1978 prom date. She didn’t remember the girl at all. But there was Jesse standing tall, his gaze level and composed, in spite of the crazy maroon velvet tuxedo he was wearing. 

Nother Example:

No return address. I tore open the envelope. A black-and-white snapshot with crinkle-cut edges fell out, and I immediately recognized my stepfather standing beneath the wing of his plane with his flight crew. Full head of wind-tossed hair, wolfen grin, and that cold look in his eyes I remembered so well, too well.

Nother Example:

He surfed over to CNN and couldn’t believe it: There she was, smiling on the courthouse steps, looking pale but triumphant. Acquitted! Wearing her hair still in those stupid pigtails. Pink lipstick. Pink dress. Hell!

Last Example:

I went back to my first post on Facebook. Talk about depressing. The only picture I could think to post was of me in my judo outfit getting slammed onto the mat by a bigger kid. I was spindly and bucktoothed then, spindly and bucktoothed now.

You get the idea. Rock on.

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