Random Performance Shines The Way

Time has a way of escaping. Deadlines scream out, sleep overwhelms, and before you realise, several months pass. Winter ends, spring arrives. Things change for what seem the worst, but are in fact blessings in disguise.

At the end of February, I got sick (i.e. fever, chills) for the first time in over a decade! Spent a solid week sleeping. By Friday, the local print shop’s bookkeeper rang. Due to some twisted financial dilemma, my service was “no longer required.”

Translation? Lay-off.

My reaction? HYSTERICS! O.o

House-mates and friends found me mad for my fit of laughter. I’d just lost my only source of income, and I’m a college graduate aching to repay loans. Why so giddy?

Freedom! Adventure! The battle cries of a crazy writer.

Fate brought me to the doorstep of wild fantasy: pack up and leave. With nothing left to tie me down, I might as well swallow my fears and do what all my supportive friends constantly remind me writers are required to do–explore the world, collect backlogs of stories. I’ve toyed with the idea before; even set it up as the ultimate goal for one of my main characters. But my own cling to responsibility always held me back. I had no way to survive when I got wherever I would go.

So what?

Hell, I’ve spent the past few years making several great friends across the globe. Grab a tank-full of fuel and hit the road! First stop: Rochester, NY.

Unfamiliar sights, limited support, potential gold mine for jobs. So far, the latter’s been slow and somewhat discouraging. I set up my laptop in the local Borders (of course!–where else?) and work. Cover letters, applications, novels, scripts. Same old story, same old song.

But wait! That horn comes not from my iTunes library…I turn, discover a brass quintet warming up for an evening performance!

My mood switches from drowsy to giddy.

The group not only performed Bach’s “Little Fugue” (one of my favourites), but reminded me why I love to travel. To be in the centre of action, always on guard for the latest exposure to things that tickle my muse. The reason I embrace the path I’m on.

As their sole attentive audience member (does no one appreciate good music?), I listened intently, applauded from my corner of the cafe. My only regret is that I didn’t have my camera on hand (note to self: always carry camera!) to film anything for show, but I did snap a phone-shot of the group. Afterwards, I approached to thank them for the night and caught the ensemble’s name: The Chameleon Brass Quintet, out of UR’s Eastman School of Music. Bravo! Encore!

…I am now nostalgic for the trumpet I left behind XD

One Book Says It All! Shall We Censor That, Too?

“Books don’t start trouble, Dorothy. Books help stop it!”
~ Dr. Michaela Quinn ~

Given recent discussions on a new edition’s removal of the word nigger from Mark Twain’s ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN, I’d like to share my own thoughts on the matter. As a writer, I have strong opinions on censorship and banned books, to a point where I wholeheartedly strive to join the Greats (L’Engle, Bradbury, Twain, etc.) and achieve status on the Banned Book List.

Why the desire to be considered controversial? These are the stories that make a difference in society! The successful tales that express truth and open people’s minds to possibilities beyond the ‘comfort’ realm. The exact reasons they’re considered for censorship are the foundation of why they MUST be read and studied.

Book censorship has long been part of the American society. What’s caused the uproar this time? A “simple” switch of the words nigger and injun to slave and Indian. The hope? Removal of Twain’s classic from the Banned shelf. I’m game for more access to a treasured story, but at what cost?

The New York Times article opens: What’s the harm? Does one word alter the whole story?  YES! Many people deny this, believing the switch is good because, politically, it cancels any negative connotations.

Really???

Think about it: how does “slave” or “Indian” hurt less when used in the derogatory sense? I could make spaghetti snotface sound derogatory if I worked the right context. There’s the trick, isn’t it? Context, perspectives, and interpretations shape everything.

In every writing class I’ve ever taken–literary analysis, poetry, fiction, whatever–one lesson remains constant: word choice is crucial and therefore must be considered wisely.

A writer’s diction drives the impact her piece has on readers, especially in light of varying perspectives.

Katie ran down the street, away from her pursuer, Chuck.

What does that image convey? The language leaves the sentence open to interpretation. Readers will conjure their own ideas on how they view running. But if I want to express a specific tone with the image, I’d choose words that fit:

Katie rushed down the street, away from her pursuer, Chuck.

In the example above, what comes to mind (at least for me) is somewhat negative. Panic. Fear. Katie doesn’t want Chuck chasing her. She’s racing away. Readers can surmise she has a frown on her face. Wide eyes, maybe some tears. Let’s try again with a different word:

Katie skipped down the street, away from her pursuer, Chuck.

Now, readers can envision a smile on Katie’s face. Perhaps she’s laughing because the guy she likes is chasing her as part of a game. Positive tone.

Language means everything.

Mark Twain himself said: “the difference between the right and wrong word is the difference between lightning and a lightning bug.” <–BEAUTIFUL image, that is. Lightning is bright, obnoxious, and scary to many people. But a lightning bug? Small insect = less threatening.

Twain knew what he was doing. He chose words to express certain ideas. Nigger and Injun were vernacular in Huck Finn’s time. Huck didn’t realise the offence in them; he spoke how he was taught. Changing that alters the story because it removes the tone Twain meant for his story to have: the historical accuracy of the period!

@JimmyMakDaddy tweeted: “By taking the racism out of “Huckleberry Finn,” that means it never happened! Soon, we’ll fix history so that whites never F’d up.” Censoring literature invalidates the truest records we have of our history. Through fiction, truth prevails. Denying that to literature is just another way to control what people know about human history.

Racism happened. It sucks, it’s wretched, and it forever dominates how people interact with one another. Unless we educate ourselves. Use literature as a device from which to teach and learn about society and cultures.

Some folks feel we must protect ourselves and our children from certain values or beliefs, as if sheltering them means the world’s negativity doesn’t exist. For that reason, censorship is seen as righteous.

But consider the wise words of one of my favourite fictional characters from the 1990′s–

Colorado Springs discovered “evil horrors” that lie within their new library’s pages. Books about selling one’s soul to the devil (Faust) or an unwed mother (The Scarlet Letter)–OUTRAGEOUS, especially given the time period.

But I adore Michaela’s response to the town’s close-minded desires to censor their literary exposure. She approaches the church with “A book that tells of a father who sacrificed his own daughter. A book that tells of a man who was married to more than one woman at the same time. This book even has a passage in it describing how God accepted a bet from the devil.” The townspeople cringe and gasp while the Reverend praises Dr. Mike for her new insight and agreement that such a book without a doubt, MUST be banned.

Then she hands the book to the Reverend and his face turns sour. The townsfolk ask what book could host such ‘evil.’ Dr. Mike turns to them and says: “The Holy Bible.”

Zombie-Land (aka ‘NaNoWriMo Ate My Soul’)

There’s something easy about ignoring homework for the sake of NaNoWriMo. Priority is a no-brainer–I’m a writer!–and studying for finals is unimportant (note: it actually is, so disregard this if you can’t see the sarcasm)

But I didn’t ditch homework this year, because I’m a ‘College Graduate.’ Instead of homework and finals, I have work, which is a lot harder to flake on, especially when you depend on that weekly cheque for food and gasoline.

A fine line exists among priorities for a writer. On the one hand, work is crucial–any work, as long as it pays the bills. On the other hand, for careerist writers like myself, lack of sufficient time to focus on the craft is one of the biggest stressors imaginable. Writing consumes my mind to a point where I break down if I don’t get in a daily or weekly quota.

The result? November has come and gone, but I don’t feel recovered. The balance between work and craft still fights to be found. It’s tough to have writing as a priority when it’s not a reliable source of income.