Where do we think we're going, anyway?

"Present Tense, " December #watercolor 31 of 31

"Are we there yet?"
"Life is a journey, not a destination," has become a cliche, it seems to me of Western culture, that we have to keep moving, going doing.
It is perhaps better than "We've arrived," meaning there's no place else, life is over.
Life is indeed a journey, almost unnoticed, as we travel through the universe on a planet zooming around a star.
We're more aware of it now, as one of our old calendar  end and a new one begins tomorrow.
But can we not just stand still in present tense and savor "being," a quality of life inherent in many non-Western cultures, as well as Native Americans?

Where do we think we're going anyway?

New Year resolutions? Sure. Plans? Sure. Hopes? Sure. Changes? Sure.
I look back at most of the watercolors I painted a year ago, shudder, and am thankful for the journeys I've had since then.
But  the best of those journeys was simply enjoying present tense, soaking up just "being."
"I am that I am," declared the Old Testament God, to people who were always on the move, worried about the past, unsure of the future. 
This may be the only instance where a "to be" verb is an active verb. Think about that, for a minute. Can our "being" be action, not passive?
We still haven't learned, that eternity is always present tense. That's an ironic statement when we are "looking forward," to tomorrow's "new year," isn't it? Our obsession with moving ahead is so ingrained. As a first born Capricorn approaching another marker on a journey around the sun, I'm very aware.
We're still asking, like we did as kids on a car on a long trip, "Are we there yet?"
Translation to "I am that I am?" "We're here."

Two more books as the year is half gone

Does rereading books count toward a year's total? In this case, yes, and I finished two more this month, bringing to 15 read as the year is half gone.
When cleaning out books to give to my daughter, Booked to go, I parted with my Tony Hillerman books, except for one I had forgotten about.
It is a tattered and signed 1970 first edition of his first book, The Blessing Way, before he became famous. I bought this book at a Society of Professional Journalists silent auction here years ago. 

If you didn't know, the late Hillerman was an Okie and first a journalist and covered Oklahoma politics and more for UPI. In fact, his novel A Fly on the Wall, set in a fictional state capital, which is obviously Oklahoma City and the state capitol building. 
 He'd given this book to a friend and another Oklahoma journalism icon, Carter  and Loretta Bradley, and they donated it to the auction. 
 Reading it again was like reading it for the first time, because it had been so long ago. In it, Joe Leaphorn is a young Navajo cop and Jim Chee hasn't been created yet. Leaphorn aged with Hillerman.

The back cover, young Hillerman

Reading this and seeing his inscription and photo on the back cover brings back memories, especially of my beloved New Mexico, and of the passing of time.

***

The second book I reread was Art and Fear, Observations on the Perils (and Rewards) of Artmaking, by David Bayles and Ted Orland, a musician and a writer
I needed to go back through this heavily marked-up book, mark even more, to get me off my duff and back into watercolor painting.  Books like this are food.
I won't give you many excerpts without almost reprinting the entire book. 
But one stands out to me as a journalist:

"To the artist, art is a verb."

Here are pages I've obviously read well. It's not so much advice as philosophy and common ground on the emotions and mind set of what happens when you decide to make art.

Going for the drama, in writing-- II

"Get to the point," I often irritate friends who get a little long-winded in telling a story.
What I'm really saying is, "Go for the drama."
Here is a version of the first  page of handouts for my workshop session for the Oklahoma City Writers group at Full Circle Bookstore.

Consider these first lines of novels:

• It was the best of times; it was the worst of times.
• Call me Ishmael.
• It was a bright cold day, and the clocks were striking thirteen.
• All children, except one, grow up.
• Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins.
• It was inevitable; the scent of bitter almonds always reminded him of the fate of unrequited love.
• Elmer Gantry was drunk.
• A green hunting camp squeezed on top of a fleshy balloon of a head.
• The last camel collapsed at noon. 

       They all grab your attention, and make you want to keep reading. Quiz--Do you know the authors? Answers at bottom.

In the beginning

“En el Principio, era el Verbo, y el Verbo era con Dios, y el Verbo era Dios.” San Juan 1:1

      “In the beginning was The Verb, and the Verb was with God and The Verb was God”

 “…le mot, c’est le Verb, et le Verb c’est Dios.” Victor Hugo

     “The word is the verb, and the verb is God.”

“No verb, no story, no drama.” Terry Clark

• My students know I am a verb nut. Much of modern writing is guilty of "verbicide." If you want drama, you have to be a verbaholic.  
• The most important words in a sentence are the verbs. Without verbs, nouns and adverbs and adjectives sit like empty boxcars on a siding, going nowhere, without a locomotive. Without them, nothing happens. They are action keys to getting to the point quickly, to grabbing and keeping readers’ attention.
• Theology on John 1:1. The Word (English translation), is really Verb. The Verb is the incarnate Christ, but in the beginning was the force and the power of creation. In sentences and storytelling, the verb is the power and force of creation.

First sentences

The most important sentences you will write in a story?

The first ones.

Why?

What is the purpose of writing? To be read.

If you don’t catch your readers’ attention, you’re wasting your time.

Best test for effective first sentences: “Will I keep reading?”

It’s called, “Going for the drama.”

Examples

from my former students' stories and one I did for Oklahoma Today magazine on weekly newspapers:

• “The sergeant fumbles with one hand to unbutton his fly.”
• “Every Tuesday at one p.m., a silver-haired woman in her eighties centers the Sayre Record and plunks down seventy-five pennies for the latest news.”
• “’I want to study people with the flesh on,’ she says.”
• “The long, thin fingers of a frustrated pianist work the control board switches as her melodic voice interrupts the airwaves.
• “The sergeant fumbles with one hand to unbutton his fly.”

In keeping with brevity, this is the end of this post. The second workshop handout follows.

• Answers to authors--Charles Dickens-A Tale of Two Cities, Herman Melville-Moby Dick, George Orwell-1984, J.M. Barrie-Peter Pan,  VladmirNobokov-Lolita, Gabriel Garcia Marquez--Love in the Time of Cholera, Sinclair Lewis-Elmer Gantry, John Kennedy Toole--A Confederacy of Dunces, Ken Follett--The Key to Rebecca.

Booth is a verb--chapter 15, redux "-30-"

From Sept, 2009

A gospel of friendship and resilience

Chapter 15 

"'Let's Booth!"

"That was the cry one afternoon soon afterward, and the journalists did congregate once more that spring, where hung the plaque.

"'To Bob,' rang out to clinking glasses, and stories and tears did flow. But The Clark left The Cribbage board in the office, and one seat was vacant.

"Summer came and was a blur, but the following fall, The Clark thought about retrieving the plaque and displaying it in the department. It was not to be. Forsooth, he went to the restaurant, and found the business closed, and the plaque and The Booth locked up. He was sore vexed.

"The Booth is no more," he despaired to his colleagues, to their dismay and gnashing of teeth. This was the same time The Department merged with another on campus, doubling its size in faculty and students for the good of the students. Verily that stress also was a shock to the former journalists. They seemed to wander in a daze, trying to find who they were. They'd lost a friend, a Booth and a community in one fall.

There was no Booth to booth to.

"Eventually, they tried other gathering places in Edmond (There be Republicans there), but it was not the same. The was no Booth to booth to. Even some of their new colleagues from the other department joined them, and began hearing tales of The Illidge, who they knew by sight, but not by stories. "To Bob," was still the introductory toast, but it was not the same.

"One day The Clark noticed the old Booth location was being remodeled, and he hastened there, seeking The Plaque, only to be forbade to enter. He considered breaking and entering to rescue the artifact. The next day he tried again, describing the item he sought, and was successful in bringing it out, to be displayed in the office of the Queen Bee.

"But still there was no Booth to Booth to. The faculty tried the new restaurant at the old location for several weeks, but still it was not the same, and heavy with ghosts. Eventually, The Clark, because he got paid the big bucks to do such things as an administrator (forgive the profanity and pray for his soul), found a restaurant a mile away that had a booth.

"Boothing was back, and over the years the numbers of people attending swelled. Teetotalers, assistant deans, broadcasters and communication profs and others from the merged department frequented the location, usually on Thursdays, to joviality and the best of collegiality. All were invited and welcome.

"All newcomers heard the story of The Illidge. All toasted, 'To Bob.' All waitresses at the new Booth knew each of the Boothers and their drinks and food preferences, and always greeted them with great joy, because yea, verily, there weren't like other stuffy professors, and they did tip grandly. Talk was about everything, and rarely about work, but about people, and ideas, and yea, even griping seasoned by laughing about The Illidge, and how he was probably keeping Yahweh in stitches with his humor.

Where there is sunshine, someday there will be clouds.

"But where there is sunshine, there will someday be clouds, as the Psalmist should have written. One recent year, one insecure and bloated Recalcitrant who never attended The Booth did disapprove and complain to Mission Control, though the Booth was ecumenical and all were invited. Recalcitrant spoke with ignorance and arrogance about The Clark and his "cronies." Hence did also insecure and micro-managing Mission Control complain to The Clark that he was making departmental decisions in a 'bar.'

"The Clark was floored by the blasphemy, not about decisions--which were never made there because adult beverages wash away the inanity of academic decisions--but by disparaging The Illidge and The Booth. While it was a temporary setback, it only strengthened the bond of The Boothers, and, pun intended, 'got their Irish up,' assuring their belief in The Booth, a faculty retreat from thus proven inanity of higher education, from the 'vagaries and vicissitudes' of life.

"Yea verily and forsooth, today, Booth is an active verb. The plaque will soon be hanging on the wall when they Booth again."

-30-

P.S. Only journalists know the significance of the -30- and it carries a double meaning here.  But Yea Verily, the booth is no more dead than The Illidge. The Clark has found since initially writing those numbers, that the story continues. In the years since, Booth has moved to various locations, but it always starts with a toast, "To Bob." And the stories grow.

The story continues: An epilogue, a postscript, and two appendices (of sorts), and an afterword will follow.

Booth becomes a verb, chapter 7 redux

From August, 2009

A gospel of friendship continues

Chapter 7

The Clark and The Illidge, the Cribbage Board, The Booth, and The Plaque

--photo by The Brett

But the tears came not from The Illidge, who, unlike Job, never complained about his physical discomfort. He did complain, and oft, about students who couldn’t pass tests, or construct simple sentences, or show up, or work hard. He was unsettled, but not complaining, when he and The Clark went to the university president, The Politician With Only a Bachelor’s Degree, to ask for a promotion based on The Illidge’s masters degree, only to be summarily dismissed.
"But in The Booth, there was no weeping nor wailing nor gnashing of teeth. The Booth buddies only learned about his leukemia when he’d mention his trips to the doctor to check his blood levels, which were slowly changing. Still, his humor and fortitude inspired students and faculty—and those stories continue to this day, and shall shortly be revealed..

"Thus it was that his colleagues, in admiration and thanksgiving, pitched in and had a small plaque made, with walnut wood and green metal to match the colors of The Booth.

"And then The Clark and the others petitioned their bartenders, who talked to the managers, and convinced them, in view of their conviviality, large bar tabs and tips, to hang the plaque in The Booth. The Clark brought hammer and a nail, and one afternoon, did drive, with much audacity and firmness and joy, the nail into the paneled wall where they usually set, and did hang the aforesaid plaque, all without knowledge of The Illidge.
"Then it was that the faculty planned a dedication for an afternoon to surprise The Illidge, and invited the entire department, visitors from other departments, and even The Good Dean—He Who Dances With Penquins. Yea, they all attended, including the Queen Bee, and the plaque was unveiled to The Illidge’s honor and humility, among much raucous ramblings, laughter and “spirited” conversation.
"Forsooth, it was at about that time that The Booth became a verb, adding to its legend and influence with faculty and students in the department. Instead of, 'How about a Booth this afternoon?' the conversation evolved to 'Booth?' and then to 'Let’s Booth!' Eventually, it became 'Booth!' as in 'Charge.' And so it was that Booth became a verb, and always in active voice."

To be continued

Booth is a verb, with buddies, chapter 3

From August 2009

The booth reputation grows

Booth is a verb, chapter 3

"Retreating from the glaring sun, hot wind, and lukewarm students, the duo welcomed the air conditioned and dim-lighted pub and made their thirsty way to the booth at the back of the bar, where the bosomy bartender befriended both again, serving the first drinks before they had even settled into their places.

"They unfolded the cribbage board, dealt the cards, and by the time the ice-cubes clinked emptily in the glasses the first time, the Clark, in spite of being math-challenged, had pegged his way to his first victory. He thought his success was because of his superior skill and intelligence, though the Illidge ascribed it to luck and perhaps cheating. Years later, the Clark realized his success was probably a tribute to his seasoned experience in filling out multiple administrative forms that made no sense at all, but which justified a multitude of university administrator's jobs having little to do with students and teaching.

"And lo, the Clark reasoned that such a victory should be celebrated in style, so, in honor of his opponent the Illidge, and to irritate him even more, he switched from rum and coke to Irish whiskey. Whereupon, yeah, he won a second game, to the Illidge’s considerable consternation.

"At that opportune moment in the history of the universe, the trio of fellow travelers--the German Complainer, the Public Relations Princess, and Friar John the Monk--arrived, and made their way to the back, eyes adjusting to the dim light, and noses to the fine odor of spirits. 

"Whilst they settled in, the Clark, being a humble, quiet sort, did modestly manage to mention in minute detail his successes, making sure that the trio was properly impressed, including the bosomy bartender who arrived promptly to help assuage the newcomers’ thirsts. Whereupon the Illidge, chagrined and protesting ineffectually, tried to save face by being considerate of the others and declaring the game session up, while assuring his colleagues there would be another day.

"Then it was, for the next hour or so, the colleagues became booth buddies, and the bar tabs increased more incrementally than the Clark’s game scores. And the quintet of travelers, all former scribes of various periodicals, and their tongues watered with the spirits of the season, began telling war stories of their travails in the trenches of journalism. Here indeed it was that the Illidge shown mightily as the eldest and most experienced of the group. But the Friar also regaled the group with numerous yarns of yesteryear, while The German talked about the cheapest beers, and the Princess was rarely quiet. The longer the evening wore on, the louder loomed the laughter, the larger the potential tips accumulated for the busy bosomy bartender, and the more magnificent the meanderings of tales.

"Such conviviality was bound to attract attention, and behold, several stressed souls from other university departments, seeking refuge from a hot day, and putrid paperwork, began stopping by, exchanging pleasantries and laughs. They were amazed at the rare sight of faculty members from a single department engaged in collegiality and fun, rather than attending boring meetings or fussing endlessly about academic matters that mattered little, or publications nobody read. Thus it was, before the booth buddies departed that day, the seeds of the reputation of “the booth” had been firmly planted, and certainly well-watered. 

"So it was, that when the group would soon once again seek succor in its confines, their gospel of good will had begun to spread, with unforeseen results, including the soon famous “vagaries and vicissitudes.”

"To be continued...."

Perhaps a Verb--a theology

"The fact is I think I am a verb instead of a personal pronoun. A verb is anything that signifies to be; to do; or to suffer. I signify all three."  --U.S. Grant, shortly before his death.

For a Southerner to quote U.S. Grant, it must be special. It is. When I first read this a few years ago, I gained new respect for the man, the man whose armies kept the Union together. The Constitution does not prohibit secession. Grant's armies did.
But that's not what grabbed me. I write and I teach writing--or try to--and it's my privilege and passion to  study how others write and teach this craft that is so much of my life and others'.

In my studies and teaching, I've learned to appreciate more and more the creative force of The Verb in the quality of writing, of living.

This explains the quotation at the bottom of this blog that has become my theology of writing: "En El Principio, era El Verbo, y El Verbo era Dios." --San Juan 1:1 

I have rudimentary, survivable Spanish skills, growing up in Nuevo Mexico. What's taught in Spanish class is not what's spoken on the streets of Albuquerque, which is a mixture of Spanish, Indian and gringo. And fluent Spanish speakers leave me almost clueless, because they are so fast, and can switch from English to Spanish in the same breath. I still have to think. I envy and admire them.

But I know enough, and that led me to a theological revelation about writing.
I ask my classes, "Quien agui habla Espanol?" I get a few hands and then I ask, "Que es 'the word' in Espanol para 'word' in Engles"?

The answer of course, is the the Spanish word for word is "palabra." Female gender. "La palabra."

Accordingly, you would think, as I did, that if you were translating The Gospel of John, into Spanish, that Chapter 1, verse one, "In the Beginning was The Word, and the Word was God...," the translation would be something like "En El Principio, era La Palabra, y La Palabra era Dios...."

But as you already have seen, that is not the translation, besides the sticky problem that The Word is masculine, not feminine.

I discovered that almost 20 years ago in the Perkins, Oklahoma, Church of Christ, sitting next to a robust, muscular young farmer who spent his winters in Mexico. He always had in the pew beside him a Spanish New Testament, having taught himself the language.
The Gospel of John is my favorite New Testament book, the most literary, well-constructed and written--in my opinion. So one Sunday, bored with a sermon, I reached down and picked up his New Testament. I leafed through the pages till I game to San Juan.
I expected to find the word "Palabra" in the first verse.

Theology lesson. I make this point to my classes, noting they don't have to agree with it, but it's a background needed for teaching writing. The theology--not just Church of Christ but in Christendom--behind the first chapter of John is about the Pre-Existent Christ--"He" --Greek "Logos"--was in the beginning with God, was with God, was God, and he was the "agent" of creation--the "Power" behind  God's "Let there be light," etc. " Note that "The Word" is capitalized. Note later, it says "The Word became flesh (the incarnation)."

What does this have to do with writing?  Everything. Most of my students, even at a state university, know some of the Bible. Many are fundamentalists. They understand what I'm saying, though they're amazed that this old liberal geezer knows The Bible better than they.
Understand too that the Spanish version was not translated from English--but from the Greek and Italian. I understand that the Latin for "word" is "verb."

Here's my point--The Verb is the Power of the sentence, the most important word in the sentence, the power of writing. Master verbs and you'll be a powerful writer. In journalism, it's simple, to quote Clark: "No verbs, no news."  For instance, "Five men yesterday in Edmond." No verb, no news. Add a verb and you have news: "died," "choked,": "graduated," etc.  I think this comes from years as a copy editor, and loving headlines--but I can remember when my old newspaper partner  at the Waurika News-Democrat Donald J. Morrison and I would argue over verbs in a headline. They're that important.

All good writing is built around verbs. They're the locomotive for the entire train, the box cars of nouns and adjectives and more; the accelerator for the sentence.
The writer Victor Hugo said it this way, "Le mot est le Verbe, et le Verbe est Dieu."  I can't even pronounce it, but in  English, it is: "The word is the Verb, and the Verb is God."

Which brings me back to Grant, and my blog, where I identify myself as kinfolk to that bulldog Yankee, as "perhaps a verb." It is my theology of writing. Verbs matter. I hope I do.

Perhaps a Verb

Coming soon..for a hint, read the quote at the bottom of this page!