Because everyone loves a good story
Adorning the Dark: Introduction
I still remember buying my first Andrew Peterson CD.
I was a mere junior high student browsing a wall of music at the local Christian bookstore. I squatted down to look at the bottom shelf (my sweat pants hiking up awkwardly to mid-shin, no doubt), and there it was: an unobtrusive little album called Carried Along. The cover art featured a greyscale picture of a hammock, but what really caught my eye was the yellow discount sticker: $7.99.
Sold.
Becoming a Fan
It’s odd that I remember the purchase in such detail but fail to remember my initial impression of the album itself. I’m sure I liked it. I must have, because I went on to buy all the rest of his albums as they came out. Besides, his folksy, poetic writing style was (and is) just up my alley. Every time I’d open a new CD, I’d eagerly check to see which of my favorite authors he’d quoted on the “flyleaf” this time. I was never disappointed. Gerard Manley Hopkins, J.R.R. Tolkien, all kinds of stuff that proved we were cut from—if not the same cloth, at least complimentary cloths.
The years went on, and my enjoyment of Peterson deepened even as his craft and style matured. I remember a three-month stretch where I played Resurrection Letters, Volume II every morning as I got ready. My copies of Behold the Lamb of God and The Burning Edge of Dawn should be worn thin, and yet I still tear up listening to several of those songs. Skeptical? Go ahead and listen to “The Sower’s Song” or “Behold the Lamb of God.”
From Tunes to Tomes
Then he started writing books. Be still, my heart. His youth fiction series, The Wingfeather Saga, is one I’m proud to own. I’ve read it through twice and enjoyed it even more the second time. They carry overtones of other books I love (Harry Potter and Narnia most notably), but they’re liberally basted with silliness, humor, and redemption. Good stuff.
But the book I got most excited about is the one I’d like to spend several posts discussing with you. It’s called Adorning the Dark: Thoughts on Community, Calling, and the Mystery of Making. Once I got this book for Christmas last year, I couldn’t stop reading it. His style is so engaging and personal that it feels more like a conversation than a lecture. But the content is exactly what I needed to hear. It’s a gentle encouragement and a kick in the britches all at once. Let me show you.
Sneak Preview
His book isn’t strictly about writing; it’s about creating, and that could be anything from paintings and songs to meals and gardens. But anything creative takes discipline to some degree, and that’s the part that often feels like a kick in the britches. Peterson doesn’t let you off the hook for doing the hard stuff. Instead, he says, “The best thing you can do is to keep your nose to the grindstone, to remember that it takes a lot of work to hone your gift into something useful, and that you have to learn to enjoy the work—especially the parts you don’t enjoy” (2). And he adds a real zinger a few pages later: “Being a writer doesn’t just mean writing. It means finishing” (15). Ouch.
But he also kindles the smoldering flame of creativity and offers encouragement to those who are struggling. “Those of us who write, who sing, who paint, must remember that to a child a song may glow like a nightlight in a scary bedroom. It may be the only thing holding back the monsters. That story may be the only beautiful, true thing that makes it through all the ugliness of a little girl’s world to rest in her secret heart. May we take that seriously. It is our job. It is our ministry. It is the sword we swing in the Kingdom, to remind children that the good guys win, that the stories are true, and that a fool’s hope may be the best kind” (123).
Exciting Stuff on the Horizon
Those are just a few of the nuggets that can be mined from Adorning the Dark, but believe you me—there’s more where that came from. I’m stoked to study the book together with you! Until next time, keep your nose to the grindstone, but keep your eyes on the goal. Take heart: all your acts of creativity can be kingdom work, even (especially) making Christmas cookies. Which is what I’m off to do right now. But I think I’ll listen to Behold the Lamb of God while I bake, making it a doubly-holy pursuit.
Amen and amen.
Peterson, Andrew. Adorning the Dark. Nashville, B&H Publishing, 2019.
When the Frost is on the Punkin
Fall is hard to describe. Well, fall is hard to describe without using hackneyed descriptions of familiar images. But the primary job of the poet is to describe things—from the indescribable to the mundane—in fresh, concrete terms that bypass the head and go straight to the heart. In his poem “When the Frost is on the Punkin,” James Whitcomb Riley does just that.
While many folks have already shifted into full-on Christmas mode, leaving behind all things fall, it’s still a fact that November is a time of harvest, early frosts, and leaf raking. Lots and lots of leaf raking. So in celebration of the changing season, I’d like to present you with this delightful little poem. I hope it reminds you of the cozy aspects of fall as you rake your endless piles of leaves.
Stuff About the Poet
James Whitcomb Riley was born in Indiana in 1849. He published over 50 volumes of poetry, and some of his best-known and most well-loved poems are written for children. One thing you’ll notice right off the bat is his use of dialect. His children’s poems are written to model children’s speech, and many of his adult poems use the dialect of rural Indiana.
This was sort of his trademark. He became popular for his mastery of the rural speech patterns when he went on tour reading his poems (!) with an author named Bill Nye (!!!). And while it’s clear that he loved nature and fall, it is unclear whether he had to spend much time raking. That almost certainly would have tainted his opinion.
Why I Like the Poem
The poem I wanted to share with you today is a prime example of the old Indiana dialect. In fact, it may take a minute for you to warm up to it, just like when you read Uncle Tom’s Cabin or Huckleberry Finn. Personally, I’m not a huge fan of written accents, but I’ll forgive Riley because the overall poem is great. What I really love is the imagery. To me, it evokes the feelings of fall in the country.
I wasn’t raised on a big farm, but I would consider it a quasi-farm at least. We lived on fifteen acres off a dirt road, and our yard was surrounded by corn fields and poplar trees on every side. My mom grew a gigantic garden every year and spent weeks harvesting and preserving the fruits (and vegetables) of her labors. We had goats and chickens, ducks and rabbits, cats and birds. We even tried to cut and store our own hay one year. That wasn’t much fun. But we didn’t have any deciduous trees, so at least we didn’t have to rake.
Reading Is Better Than Raking
So when I see Riley’s descriptions of “The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,/And the raspin’ of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn,” I can picture just what he means. His description is so concrete that it makes me smile. Even if you feel a bit standoffish about his first stanza, press on. Finish it. Enjoy the poem in all its rural splendor because afterward you’ll probably have to go back out and rake. In that case, read the poem twice.
Happy fall, friends!
When the Frost is on the Punkin
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock,
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin’ turkey-cock,
And the clackin’ of the guineys, and the cluckin’ of the hens,
And the rooster’s hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;
O, it’s then’s the times a feller is a-feelin’ at his best,
With the risin’ sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,
As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.
They’s something kindo’ harty-like about the atmusfere
When the heat of summer’s over and the coolin’ fall is here—
Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the trees,
And the mumble of the hummin’-birds and buzzin’ of the bees;
But the air’s so appetizin’; and the landscape through the haze
Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days
Is a pictur’ that no painter has the colorin’ to mock—
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.
The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,
And the raspin’ of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn;
The stubble in the furries—kindo’ lonesome-like, but still
A-preachin’ sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill;
The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;
The hosses in theyr stalls below—the clover over-head!—
O, it sets my hart a-clickin’ like the tickin’ of a clock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!
Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps
Is poured around the celler-floor in red and yeller heaps;
And your cider-makin’ ’s over, and your wimmern-folks is through
With their mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and saussage, too! …
I don’t know how to tell it—but ef sich a thing could be
As the Angels wantin’ boardin’, and they’d call around on me—
I’d want to ’commodate ’em—all the whole-indurin’ flock—
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!
Sources:
Biography: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/james-whitcomb-riley
Poem Text: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44956/when-the-frost-is-on-the-punkin
My Side of the Mountain
I don’t know where (or when) you might be reading this, but today is a blustery Michigan day smack in the middle of fall. Truth be told, I saw the first tiny snow flakes drifting through the frigid air this morning. This kind of weather makes me want to batten down the hatches of my cozy home, make some hot soup, and wait for spring to do its thing.
But that’s just the comfort-loving, lazy side of me. (All right, it’s the majority of me.) But I still have a spark of adventure that wants to face nature head-on, even if it shivers me timbers. This is the same kind of independent spirit that sent twelve-year-old Sam Gribley out of his comfortable New York City home and into the heart of the Catskill mountains.
Realistic
This week I read My Side of the Mountain by Jean Craighead George. I’d never read it before but did so at the suggestion of my 11-year-old niece. She was spot on. It’s just the kind of book I would have loved at her age and still do love today. It’s the tale of a boy who decides to leave civilization behind and forge a life for himself in the wilderness. But rather than being fanciful and Snow White-esque, the story is actually quite realistic.
It is fiction, but it’s so informative that you almost forget it’s not a journal or field guide. The author’s father was a scientist and naturalist who taught him all kinds of survival skills, so the pages are chock-full of what to eat, what to avoid, and how to survive. The author also had experience with falconry, which makes Sam Gribley’s capture and training of a peregrine falcon a little more believable. In fact, the only thing that pushes this book beyond credulity is the fact that Sam is only twelve. Call me skeptical, but I doubt a modern pre-teen could live the way Sam does for very long. Regardless, the story is still great.
Relatable
The author knows that it’s every kid’s dream to run away from home and rough it for a while. He tried it as a boy, his daughter tried it when she was small, and I’d guess that you tried it at some point too. This universal appeal is part of what makes the book wonderful. In fact, if I’d read this book as a kid, I may have lasted a little longer when my sister and I ran away to the back yard.
We’d packed our handkerchiefs, tied them around sticks in true hobo fashion, and set off for the wilderness. We settled on a nice, weedy spot just behind our garden, but as we put the finishing touches on our new floor (a gasoline-stained sheet we found in the garage), we saw my mother coming toward us. Apparently she wanted to do a bit of gardening.
Our cover was blown. We ran for it, but our adventure came to a screeching halt when my barefoot sister ran across a jagged piece of metal fence post. Sadly, our biggest adventure that day was to the walk-in clinic.
Surviving
The reality of my running away may have died there in the back yard, but the dream still remains. The story of Sam’s year-long adventure stirs up the old longings again. I know I wouldn’t have made it three days without starving, but Sam manages to find roots, nuts, berries, and other edibles in the forest. He fishes the streams and trains a falcon to catch wild game. He even traps a few deer for food and clothing. The lad is quite resourceful.
He also makes a home inside the trunk of an old tree—apparently the only free-range sequoia in New York, since Sam and two full-grown men are able to sleep in there at the same time. He passes the long months by gathering and preparing food, exploring, and making journal entries and drawings on birch bark. He spends much of the winter in his cozy tree house, snug by his mud fireplace. Personally, I’d have gone mad without some books, but Sam was just fine with the company of his falcon and the few visitors who discovered him.
Carpe Diem
My Side of the Mountain won several prestigious awards for children’s literature, but I think the book is well worth the read for humans of any age. For that matter, it may be an enjoyable read for falcons, too. Although the ending feels a bit anticlimactic, it’s still fun to picture Sam Gribley living off the land and to imagine myself doing the same.
This is why we camp. This is why we explore. This is why we go backpacking through beautiful, desolate wilderness. The dream of outsmarting the elements and surviving by our own wits is alive in all of us, whether we choose to live in a condo or a tree. And even though I won’t be running away to the weeds any time soon, I’ll still go adventuring as often as the opportunity presents itself. But I’ll probably pack more food and books than dear old Sam.
On Writing, 7: Fame and Fortune
In his book On Writing, author Stephen King shares the three questions he is asked most often. First is where he gets his ideas. Considering the nature of some of his work, I’d say this is a fair question, especially from neighbors.
Second is how on earth a beginning author can break into the publishing world. Now we’re onto something that interests me. And third is whether or not he writes for the money. His answer to this is, I believe, the most helpful. “I did it for the buzz. I did it for the pure joy of the thing. And if you can do it for joy, you can do it forever” (249).
What About You?
So assuming you write for the joy of the thing, you’re already off to a great start. But even those of us who write for joy still entertain hopes that we may eventually reap a paycheck from said joy, amiright? And the way to do that is to get published in some shape or fashion.
When King wrote On Writing in the year 2000, it was before the heyday of the internets and self-publishing. That’s why his advice focuses on paper submissions to paper magazines and paper book publishers. If you’re looking for advice about self-publishing your own e-book, you may not find much help here. But if you’re willing to follow the tried-and-true path that many a successful author has trod before you, then read on.
FAME: Catching a Publisher’s Attention
So how do you begin to make a name for yourself in hopes of eventually publishing a book? The key, it seems, is to start small and keep on trucking. For example, if you hope to publish a novel, perhaps you shouldn’t make that your first step. (I’m sure it can be done, but it may be harder.) Instead, start by writing short stories or articles for magazines. This requires “reading the market,” an idea that King can’t stress enough. “Submitting stories without first reading the market is like playing darts in a dark room,” says King. “You might hit the target every now and then, but you don’t deserve to” (240). Get a copy of Writer’s Market and see what each magazine is looking for. Read the magazines themselves to see what they publish. Then send them something suitable.
The bad news is that you can probably expect some rejection letters. To be honest, you can probably expect many, many rejection letters. King had a big ol’ stack of them pinned to his wall when he was starting out, and you and I probably won’t be exceptions to this rule either. But the good news is that you can send the same story to several places back to back. It’ll get noticed eventually as long as it looks professional and shows promise.
FORTUNE: …Eventually…Maybe
Now, if you hope that the first piece you sell will garner you a few grand and an honorable mention in the magazine’s year-in-review edition, you may be disheartened. If they do accept your piece, you may not be paid in anything more than cc’s—contributor copies. Or you may get a few bucks (think $20) as well as some cc’s. But the good news is that you’re not starting small to get rich; you’re starting small to accrue a list of decent sources who’ve published your stuff. Blow your earnings on a celebration meal at Taco Bell, distribute your copies as Christmas presents, and keep on writing.
King’s book tells the story of “Frank,” an aspiring author who pursues his goal of publishing a book. If this is your goal as well, you’d do well to read at least this section of King’s book. It follows Frank’s failures, triumphs, and lessons as he publishes short works in various magazines and begins writing a novel. It describes his selection of a literary agent and gives tips on what kind of letter to send in that regard. In the end, Frank is not yet a published novelist, but he is well on his way.
Frank gives hope to us all.
So Now What?
This is not actually where the book stops. King goes on to tell about how he was taking a walk one morning, minding his own business, when a van swerved off the road and accidentally hit him, nearly killing him. He has plenty to say on this subject, and if you’re interested in King’s opinion of the driver (quite negative) or of his own wife (quite positive), you can read that section for yourself. The accident was a watershed moment of sorts, but it doesn’t play into our topic here.
Instead, I hope that the takeaway from this nine-part series is a little more applicable. For example, we’ve looked at a writer’s tools, the importance of reading and writing, the parts of a good story, the various stages of your story’s drafts, tips for editing, and how to get published. If writing is your hobby, interest, or passion, there is plenty for you to chew on. And while I did present you with a good deal of his advice, there’s plenty more in King’s book.
So go read a copy of On Writing for yourself, and then keep on writing for the joy of the thing.
Source:
King, Stephen. On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft. Scribner, 2000.
Aslan and Anastasis
Once upon a time, a little boy named Lawrence felt guilty. He was worried that he loved Aslan more than he loved Jesus. His mother wrote to C.S. Lewis and asked whether she should be concerned about this. Lewis’s response has brought comfort to hearts like Lawrence’s and mine ever since.
“Tell Laurence from me, with my love, [that he] can’t really love Aslan more than Jesus, even if he feels that’s what he is doing. For the things he loves Aslan for doing or saying are simply the things Jesus really did and said. So that when Laurence thinks he is loving Aslan, he is really loving Jesus: and perhaps loving Him more than he ever did before.”
Past Watchful Dragons
That’s why God himself often uses the power of story to transmit truth through our heads and into our hearts. This biblical tactic is also used with heart-melting force by Lewis in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. The beauty, gentleness, ferocity, power, and humility of Aslan steal past the “watchful dragons” of our familiarity and callousness, bringing the truth of the gospel into poignant focus.
Another powerful truth-conveying medium is song. We’ve probably all been brought to tears by music at some point (even if we managed to suck it up in front of people). For me, the power of story and song collided this week as I practiced piano for church. I was singing and playing “O Praise the Name” from Hillsong, and images of Jesus and Aslan began coming to mind. The words about Jesus’ burial combined with scenes of Aslan’s death. My heart broke again over the brutal slaughter of my humble king. I began to cry.
Anastasis
The second name for the song “O Praise the Name” is “Anastasis.” I admit that I had to look up the word. In Christianity, the Greek word means resurrection, specifically the most glorious resurrection of all—that of Jesus Christ. The song ends not with the sorrow of the tomb but the splendor of the resurrection. Hallelujah!
So this week I wanted to give you the chance to praise the name of the Lord our God with me. My suggestion? Listen to the song. Then read the cutting from The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe below. Then listen to the song again. For bonus points, read all of chapter 15 from the book and John 19:28-20:18 from the Bible. I know it’s not Easter time, but any day is a good day to meditate on the glory of Jesus. I hope you’re as encouraged by this as I was.
Deeper Magic from Before the Dawn of Time: A Cutting
As soon as the wood was silent again Susan and Lucy crept out onto the open hill-top. The moon was getting low and thin clouds were passing across her, but still they could see the shape of the Lion lying dead in his bonds. And down they both knelt in the wet grass and kissed his cold face and stroked his beautiful fur—what was left of it—and cried till they could cry no more. And then they looked at each other and held each other’s hands for mere loneliness and cried again; and then again were silent.
At last Lucy said, “I can’t bear to look at that horrible muzzle. I wonder could we take if off?”
So they tried. And after a lot of working at it (for their fingers were cold and it was now the darkest part of the night) they succeeded. And when they saw his face without it they burst out crying again and kissed it and fondled it and wiped away the blood and the foam as well as they could. And it was all more lonely and hopeless and horrid than I know how to describe….
[To warm themselves, the girls] walked to the eastern edge of the hill and looked down…. As they stood for a moment looking out towards they sea…the red turned to gold along the line where the sea and the sky met and very slowly up came the edge of the sun. At that moment they heard from behind them a loud noise—a great cracking, deafening noise as if a giant had broken a giant’s plate.
“What’s that?” said Lucy, clutching Susan’s arm.
“I—I feel afraid to turn round,” said Susan; “something awful is happening.”
“They’re doing something worse to Him,” said Lucy. “Come on!” And she turned, pulling Susan round with her.
The rising of the sun had made everything look so different—all colours and shadows were changed that for a moment they didn’t see the important thing. Then they did. The Stone Table was broken into two pieces by a great crack that ran down it from end to end; and there was no Aslan.”Oh, oh, oh!” cried the two girls, rushing back to the Table.
“Oh, it’s too bad,” sobbed Lucy; “they might have left the body alone.”
“Who’s done it?” cried Susan. “What does it mean? Is it magic? “
“Yes!” said a great voice behind their backs. “It is more magic.” They looked round. There, shining in the sunrise, larger than they had seen him before, shaking his mane (for it had apparently grown again) stood Aslan himself.
“Oh, Aslan!” cried both the children, staring up at him, almost as much frightened as they were glad.
“Aren’t you dead then, dear Aslan?” said Lucy.
“Not now,” said Aslan.
“You’re not—not a—?” asked Susan in a shaky voice. She couldn’t bring herself to say the word ghost. Aslan stooped his golden head and licked her forehead. The warmth of his breath and a rich sort of smell that seemed to hang about his hair came all over her.
“Do I look it?” he said.
“Oh, you’re real, you’re real! Oh, Aslan!” cried Lucy, and both girls flung themselves upon him and covered him with kisses.
“But what does it all mean?” asked Susan when they were somewhat calmer.
“It means,” said Aslan, “that though the Witch knew the Deep Magic, there is a magic deeper still which she did not know: Her knowledge goes back only to the dawn of time. But if she could have looked a little further back, into the stillness and the darkness before Time dawned, she would have read there a different incantation. She would have known that when a willing victim who had committed no treachery was killed in a traitor’s stead, the Table would crack and Death itself would start working backwards. And now—”
“Oh yes. Now?” said Lucy, jumping up and clapping her hands.
“Oh, children,” said the Lion, “I feel my strength coming back to me. Oh, children, catch me if you can!”…
It was such a romp as no one has ever had except in Narnia; and whether it was more like playing with a thunderstorm or playing with a kitten Lucy could never make up her mind.
Lewis, C.S. The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. New York, Harper Collins, 1950.
On Writing, Part 6: Tips
Backstory, research, and pace.
If those words don’t trigger a high school English déjà vu, then I don’t know what will. (All right, I do: try conjunctive adverb, parse, and pop quiz. I shudder at the thought.) But even though the topic sounds a little academic, I think you’ll find it ultra-practical. Take a look!
WHERE LESS IS MORE
Back Story
Believable characters need to have some back story. I mean, even eight-year-old Ramona Quimby came from somewhere. Relating the pertinent details will help our readers understand who they’re reading about. As writers, part of our job is to know the back story of our characters, even if most of it never directly enters the story. The nitty-gritty about our hero’s history may not make a thrilling chapter, but it certainly helps us understand how he would react to his mother, his job, and his crises.
That being said, Stephen King crystalizes some pertinent advice for us: “The most important things to remember about back story are that (a) everyone has a history and (b) most of it isn’t very interesting” (227). There you have it, folks. Keep back story in the back, and your readers will thank you.
Flashback
Two other facets of back story are flashback and recap. The flashback may be necessary from time to time, especially if you’re doling out information slowly so you can keep up suspense and surprise. However, if it’s not done well it may attract undue attention to itself and make your story feel clunky. King personally dislikes flashback, saying that it reminds him of those hazy transitions in old movies (and 90’s sitcoms, I might add), but I think it can work all right as long as it’s used sparingly and well.
Recap
The recap is used in series where the author wants to fill you in on what you’ve missed or forgotten from the previous books. This is one of my pet peeves, actually. I always feel insulted when an author spends the first few chapters reminding you of the whole previous saga. It feels like being told you can use a cheat sheet on a test you spent a long time studying for. You don’t need it, and frankly it’s pandering to the nitwits who didn’t prepare.
King feels the Harry Potter series recaps previous books “effortlessly,” but even those tick me off. I mean, if you don’t know that the Weasleys are a big family of poor redheads by book six, why are you even reading it? All right, all right. I’m about to get worked up over here, so we’ll just move on. In summary, be sparing with your back story, and everything should work out just fine.
RESEARCH
As the age-old adage goes, “Write what you know.” Sure, that may be the simplest and most believable thing you can write about. But what if you want to set your story in ancient Rome, and your only knowledge of the era comes from a junior high perusal of the movie Ben-Hur? Well then, my friend, it’s research time.
Believable stories require believable characters and settings. Believable, mind you—not necessarily realistic. Like Tolkien, you can write about elves and hobbits in Middle Earth, but it had better be believable within your story. Or you can choose a real setting that is unfamiliar to you, as long as you put in some time at the library. Please don’t include all your research in the story itself, though; just make sure your details are accurate enough to please Professor Knowitall when he reads it. “Remember that you are writing a novel, not a research paper,” says King. “The story always comes first” (231).
PACE
If you’re using back story and research sparingly, then the pace of your story is sure to benefit. Pace, or “the speed at which a narrative unfolds,” is a tricky thing (220). It’s mostly personal preference, and each person has a different preference. Some like break-neck thrillers while others prefer leisurely, sprawling narratives. Whichever you prefer as a writer, just follow the advice of Elmore Leonard and “leave out the boring parts.”
Before King was rich and famous, he got lots of rejection slips from magazines who didn’t want his short stories. But one of the slips had a hand-written note that changed his life. It said: “Not bad but PUFFY. You need to revise for length. Formula: 2nd Draft = 1st Draft – 10%. Good luck.” When King began applying that formula, his stories began selling. Think there’s no fat to trim in your story? It may be time to ask an unbiased outside source for some feedback. “Every story and novel is collapsible to some degree,” King says (223). As a classic rambler, I know this to be true. Trim and trim again. The story will only get better.
EASIER SAID THAN DONE
Of course it’s simple for me to prescribe less back story, more research, and better pace. What’s tricky is applying it. I’m in the middle of writing a novel myself, and I can already think of six dozen ways to utilize this advice. A dismal thought, and yet not without hope. May you find the same to be true of your writing as well.
Source:
King, Stephen. On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft. Scribner, 2000.
C.S. Lewis: The Death of Words
Today I was talking about pumpkin spice lattes. Judge me if you will.
My mom seemed surprised that I liked them, but I told her I enjoyed maybe one or two each fall just to set the tone of the season. I then found myself explaining the recent usage of the word basic: someone who’s “only interested in things mainstream, popular, and trending.” Frankly, I felt basic for even knowing that. But my bigger problem is that the word basic already had a perfectly good meaning. Why distort it?
Now, for those of you who are actually cool, you’re thinking, “Um, no one even says ‘basic’ anymore.” I’m sure you’re right. Now that I don’t teach high school, I can’t keep up with what’s hip to jive. But my point is that the meaning of words changes so quickly that I’d need to get an Urban Dictionary app just to keep up. Heaven forbid. That would be so extra.
The Death of Words
I’m sure I won’t be the last to bemoan the degradation of the English language at the hands of hipsters and the like, but I also know I wasn’t the first; C.S. Lewis had plenty to say on the topic. (No, he wasn’t the first either, but he’s the one I’m going to talk about.) Lewis was a linguist. He could read, write, and speak at least eight languages. To him, definitions were important, and accuracy mattered. So you can imagine his chagrin over the decay of definitions.
In his short essay The Death of Words, Lewis begins by discussing the way that certain denotative words have become merely connotative instead. (Denotative, as I’m sure you know, refers to the purely-literal dictionary definition of a word, whereas connotative refers to the emotional aspect that a word carries. “Mother” is a female progenitor of an offspring. “Mommy” is a nurturing female figure. Stuff like that.) Anyway, Lewis mentions several examples of words that used to mean something very specific but are now used as vague descriptions instead. That really burned his biscuits, and he tells us why.
A Rose by Any Other Name Is Confusing
The decayed word he mentions first is gentleman. Back in the day, a gentleman was a male above the station of yeoman whose family possessed a coat of arms. It wasn’t subjective; either you were or you weren’t a gentleman just like you either are or aren’t a millionaire. It was a fact of social status. But now, Lewis laments, “words which once had a definable sense…are now nothing more than noises of vague approval.” The dictionary tells us that today gentlemanrefers to someone “civilized, sensitive, well-mannered.” In other words, a good person. And therein lies the problem.
“The vocabulary of flattery and insult is continually enlarged at the expense of the vocabulary of definition,” says Lewis. “Words in their last decay go to swell the enormous list of synonyms for good and bad. As long as most people are more anxious to express their likes and dislikes than to describe facts, this must remain a universal truth about language.” Ouch.
But you can see the problem, can’t you? If we allow our words of definition to morph into mere descriptions, we won’t have a way to indicate specific things anymore. What would you call an actual millionaire if the word eventually comes to mean “a person with plenty of money”? And, even closer to home, how on earth can you know if someone means it when they use the word “literally”? I literally see that word misused all the time, and it figuratively makes my blood boil.
The Disappearance of Ideas
All right, I may have gotten a little deeper into the swamp of vocabulary than some of you are interested in. My apologies. While I’m a far cry from the philological purist that Lewis was, I still believe that words have power and should be protected. Why? Because, as Lewis says, “Men do not long continue to think what they have forgotten how to say.”
Have you read George Orwell’s 1984? Why do you think the totalitarian regime watered down the permitted vocabulary until the main adjectives were “good” and “un-good”? If something was wrong or unjust, they couldn’t say so. They had to say “doubleplus un-good.” The same is true in T.H. White’s The Once and Future King. In the ant colony (a microcosm of totalitarian rule), the only adjectives were “done” and “not done.” Why? If you can’t name injustice, you will have a much harder time identifying it.
The same goes for beauty, truth, and a host of other intangible necessities. The words disappear, and the ideas follow. “When…you have killed a word,” says Lewis, “you have also, as far as in you lay, blotted from the human mind the thing that word originally stood for.” And that, my friends, is a serious thoughtcrime.
An Invective Against Vapid Vocabularies
So when we allow concrete words to disintegrate into mere descriptions, are we in danger of becoming dystopian? Surely not. Well, not yet, at least. But every time a strong word falls out of use only to be replaced by a weak or distorted substitute (or none at all), another mighty thesaurus dies, and the whole species creeps one step closer to extinction.
So, fellow English speakers, arm yourselves! Let’s do our part to stem the tide of silliness in vocabulary. We can use new words if we must, but let’s use the old words, too. Let’s keep our minds sharp. Otherwise we may find ourselves sipping pumpkin spice lattes with heads as empty as those calories, and the mastermind behind words like “basic” will have us on puppet strings. Again I say Heaven forbid. Rage! Rage against the dying of the mind.
(Was that ending a bit extra? My b.)
Source:
Lewis, C.S. (1966). On Stories and Other Essays on Literature. Harcourt, Inc.
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