Spelling Doesn’t Count, But Denotation Does

When I think of how much time is spent by bloggers and professors alike obsessing over the accuracy of spelling and grammar, it gets my goat that a similar discussion on the meanings of words is all but non-existent.

While u probly hv no trubl undrstndin dis sentance despit me havin tttly f!$*ed up the use of the gerund…. our true problem with communication seems to have far more to do with the fact that not only do we not agree on what words MEAN, the idea that we might NOT agree is not even in the line of fire.

Consider, for example, the obvious confusion resulting when any two people don’t, for example, agree to the same rules for a game. Not only does it make for unsatisfying play, but you could never build something as complex as the National Football League if teams refused to discuss, and accept, a common set of parameters.

Define your terms and use those to build more complicated ideas. This is basic to success, and basic to understanding.

It’s like our obsession with the concept of “freedom” has extended to the belief that you can use a word however you want, and through sheer force of will or personality make it mean what you want.

For a solipsist, maybe this is a fine idea. But communication is about mutual understanding, and that understanding requires that at least the building blocks of discourse are agreed upon.

My fascination with language results primarily from the observation that everyone communicates slightly differently, even given the same basic tools. Add to that a world culture constantly in flux, with new words drifting between languages, new words being coined to address new situations, and you have a dynamic system with the complexity and subtlety with the potential to facilitate any number of brilliant new descriptions and synergies.

But if you decide that the tools don’t matter, you halt exploration and growth at its most primative level.

Is it ignorance or deliberate deception that causes people to redefine language to mean what suits their purpose instead of what would make their intentions plain?

The blatant misuse of simple terms has made the current American Presidential race into less of a discourse and more of a marketing campaign. After all, what the hell does “Family Values” even mean? It’s a slogan, not a concept. It may carry a certain emotional connotation, but the words themselves are empty.

You have to wonder every time a politician is caught in an adulterous relationship after espousing those phantom “values.” Without definition, a word or phrase can mean whatever someone wants it to, and can change its definition on a whim. What’s to say that adultery wasn’t considered part and parcel with Family Values if no one said it wasn’t? Who’s to say that asking for forgiveness after an affair doesn’t make it all go away?

If you refuse to agree on your terms, nothing is a lie. Your words were merely misinterpreted by someone who didn’t know how you were using them.

If “freedom” can include giving up the rights that the American founding fathers considered unalienable, we’re in big trouble. If words cannot be redefined by common consent so that “All men are created equal” can be understood to include blacks and women, we are similarly, in a word that has managed to never really be misunderstood, fucked.

You don’t have to go as far back as Orwell to watch people redefining language at will, calling Freedom Slavery or War Peace. You don’t even have to look at the greater, more sinister uses of misdefined language.

Communication problems exist everywhere in everyday life. If you and your spouse don’t have a definition of “sharing the housework,” you’re going to have problems. If you and your spouse don’t have a solid understanding of “infidelity,” you’ll probably have more.

Bad spelling and grammar are a combination of laziness, lack of standard education, fluid communication techniques like texting and blogging, and of course a sense that they really don’t matter that much.

But please, let’s try to decide that the meanings of the words we use are important, no matter how we choose to spell them or what language we say them in. After all, my freedom includes the dictionary definition.

Getting It Out There

Art, in my opinion, is not really finished until it goes out into the world. It’s always a great and admirable thing to express yourself creatively, but the last step, the one that solidifies a piece of your personal output, is to release it into the cold light of day.

For many people, that’s also the hardest thing. Truth is though, it’s both the best and worst part of doing art:

. . .art is fifty percent what the artist puts in it, and fifty percent what the observer brings when viewing it. . .this is wonderful, when you decide you want to be an artist or a writer or something, and then find that showing anybody anything is like cutting off an arm, giving it to someone, then every time you go over to that person’s house, you find they’re using it for something completely wrong, like they’ve got it stuck in an umbrella stand or holding up a bunch of peas in the garden or something. I mean, when I do something, I want it to say what I want it to say. I don’t want to be mistaken, misused, mishandled. I want you to understand, from my point of view, what I meant when I meant it. Even if I don’t mean it now.

— from Talking Drum (stage play, Jen Frankel)

Self-promotion is also a bitch. Seriously a bitch. We spent all that time writing our book; why should we be responsible for telling people about it too?

Unfortunately, two hard truths apply here. First, is that no one is as capable as you of believing in your own creation. Second, no one understands it like you.

If you’re like me, you’ll probably need that input from your audience for more than just proof of end-use. You’ll need to share your work just to get how to sell it to the world. You need that outside perspective to solidify your own impressions of what you’ve created.

The greatest blocks to success for an artist are, strangely and apparently contradictorily, lack of self-confidence and overblown ego. The first stops us from showing our work to others, and the second discounts their impressions when we do. You have to find the middle place with ego, to listen effectively to feedback, no matter how critical, then evaluate it based on what you truly know about your own work.

All right, enough of the philosophy. What I’m really here for today is to bring you into my favorite world, or at least to get you to bring it temporarily into yours.

I started writing “The Last Rite” after a particularly vivid dream when I was 13, the same age as the novel’s heroine, Maggie Stuart. Maggie is Everygirl, only maybe a little more so. She’s having a hell of a time at elementary school: crushing on an unapproachable classmate, dealing badly with her single mom and homelife, and trying hard to deny she’d ever want to fit in.

Enter Mr. Hunt, Maggie’s science teacher, who uses the cover of a lesson on blood typing to run some tests of his own. What he discovers about Maggie launches her into a world she could never have dreamed of, an underground of magic, blood, death, deceit, and self-discovery where it may be her own deep insecurity that provide her only way home.

“I have been waiting for this book to come out for like 4 or 5 years.. i need more!!!”

“The characters kept me up all night until I was done!”

“When will there be MORE??!?!?!
Still one of the best books i have EVER read!”

“Awesome story, so complex and intricate. I love it!”

–Some of the feedback from Maggie Fans

Read “The Last Rite,” available through www.wildsound.ca and Amazon.com.

More of Jen’s essays on writing on The Writer’s Way.

Hail to the Procrastinator

This will be the. . . I’m embarrassed to even begin to guess at the number of years I’ve been promising the sequel to my novel.

Truly embarrassing, because the first one was very well-received. I know I hit a chord, especially with young female readers, and that’s a demographic I was a part of so long I really like the idea that someone’s catering to them. Purely selfish, but there it is.

Why do I procrastinate? Yeah, it’s hard work, but when I do it, it’s energizing. Getting my ass to a chair is the hardest part of the day by far. As soon as I’m faced with a blank page or screen, I get edgy, not anxious, and I want to fill up that tabula rasa as fast as possible.

Maggie Stuart

Maggie Stuart, heroine of "The Last Rite"

I am a total binge writer; I go until the coffee’s gone and I’m a puddle of intellectual slobber. But getting to that lovely state of discombobulated bliss requires getting the fingers solidly connected to the keyboard.

There’s a part of me that I fight every single day, just for the privilege of doing what I was born to do. It’s a deeply ingrained sense of my own potential for failure.

It’s the little voice that says, “Why bother?” that somehow, quiet and tiny as it is, manages to make itself heard over all the bluster of my best intentions.

It also manages to criticize when I’ve done a great day’s work, whispering, “But is it enough?”

It’s like being in lust, and having your thoughts circling, circling constantly to the adored, derailing all your attempts to think of something else.

I know the technique to get the train of thought rolling again. It’s all about self-distraction. Get myself intrigued by some aspect of a character, or rediscover a plot point hidden in a scrawled note, and before you know it, the sound of the clacking keys is drowning that little voice out completely.

But until I get myself distracted, and turn the circling focus of my attention to good use instead of running in neutral, it’s with me always.

I love to believe there’s a permanent cure for the little voice. It’s part of an artist’s life for certain. It’s necessary, in a way, because it keeps a good rein on the ego and stops you from believing whatever your own press may become.

Why is it so easy to remember your insecurities, and so hard to remember the things you love? I figure it’s only a matter of training, of forming the habit of making the trip through the circling thoughts to the blank page.

Check out “The Last Rite” on www.wildsound.ca – a new e-book download is available for just $7, full of new illustrations.

More of the different. . .

It was almost exactly two years ago, a short time after I first moved to Toronto, that I began to blog. Since that time, so much has happened that it’s hard to know where to begin. I met the love of my life — on the exact schedule I’d set for the fictional heroine I most closely identify with — I beat depression, I started writing like the lit demon I was born to be, and I learned to love baseball. Saw it all coming but the last, actually. Baseball. Huh.

And now, I’m worried about how late it is, because I’m going to the Jays game tomorrow afternoon, and I’ve been up trying and trying to resuscitate my old blog, which appears to have shed almost all of its archive, perhaps in response to my writing about Elisabeth Hasselbeck last week.

And here I am, two years minus a very little bit later, brand new blog site, brand new blog. I do want to give you the opportunity to rediscover some of my old gems, though — a large amount of what I write is not precisely time sensitive — so I’ll be reposting one archive piece for every new blog I write.

I hope to open a bit of a dialogue as well, and may be asking from time to time for your comments and contributions on creative matters. Writing, as far as I believe, is never really finished until someone reads it and has some unique part of them respond to the part of you left in the work. Writing is an amalgamation between the blueprint and the person who creates it, and the architect who constructs an imaginary landscape from it as he or she reads.

Let’s build something together!

Jen Frankel
jenstuff @ WILDsound