There are seven days in the week and "someday" ain't one of 'em
- anon
We female authors have a sacred duty to wipe out every vestige of sexism in writing. We need to go through not only our own work but we need to go further. We must set up a Sexist Writing Police Squad to monitor every writer, journalist, Hallmark card, et al, to make sure that sexist writing is eliminated forever.
Oh, yes, there has been some backward movement in that regard. I notice that actresses no longer exist. Nor do poetesses. They are all actors and poets now. As for a seamstress, there may be seamsters around. I just haven't come across any yet. But getting back to the point, we owe it to every woman, er, sorry, wo-person, on the planet to change, massage, even person-ipulate words to strike at the very heart of male dominance. I'm all for changing chairman to chairperson (although I've always understood that the 'man' bit came from Latin, meaning hand. Thus, hand on the chair. But I may be wrong.) What about changing fisherman to fisher-person or seaman to sea-person And what about man-eating tigers? Don't we wo-persons have the right to be eaten by tigers? Of course, we do. In fact, I de-person-d it. All this word changing just doesn't go far enough,m in my humble opinion. What about cities, Person-chester, for example. Or countries, Ru-peson-ia and even book titles like The Third Person or Of Mice and Persons. And there are surnames - which can be tricky but we should give it a go. For example, the surname Williamson is anathema to wo-persons. It should be Wiliamson-ordaughter-whichever-the-case-may-be. From now on please address me as Harrison-or-daughter. Thank you. Life has become tricky. We have a flock of men going around dressed in wo-person's clothes and demanding to be addresses as wo-persons. Whereas real wo-persons who dress in men's clothes and get testosterone injections and think they're men. Language is in turmoil and with my feminine demands I'm afraid it is about to become trickier. As a hu-person-being I'm completely convinced we can root out sexism from our language and I intend to start a hikoi and a protest and a demo right now. Well, tomorrow. The ways we can change the world are endless We just have to get to it! I'm making the banners as we speak. It's a noble cause and I urge you to join me in this crusade. With a bit of effort I'm sure se can person-age it. Yeah, right.
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If you use the word napkin for serviette, or hood for bonnet or trunk for boot of a car, or if you spell programme without the extra ‘me’ at the end or liter for litre, then you probably love Americanisms. Or at least you ignore the difference between American “dialect and “proper” English. You can see where my preferences lie. I much favour the British variety, as do most New Zealanders, and find such words as aluminum for aluminium and neighbor for neighbour really stomach-clenching. But hey, whatever works for you…! Americans have developed their own expressions that are characteristic of their more casual sort of lifestyle. It’s evolved over time and started when the first settlers arrived on its shore from their homeland, Britain. Some of their language still retains elements of old English, for example the word ‘gotten’ instead of ‘got’’. But most changes are directed more at ease and comfort than correctness. Languages are a social construct and we English speakers can be irritated by Americanisms largely, I think, because we instinctively believe that English belongs to us and how dare Americans change things to suit themselves. But it does show how far apart the two nations have drifted. Vocabulary is the most obvious – faucet, restroom (whatever happened to the good old toilet or lavatory?), normalcy, cookie. And does the hair in the nape of your neck rise when you hear ‘he dove for the door’ or ‘I drug him out of the burning building’? Yeah, me too. YOU CAN’T BE PERFECT ALL THE TIME
Are you a perfectionist? Do you continually fiddle with the finished book, article, blog, paragraph, or sentence? Is that book still sitting on your computer because it isn’t perfect? Are you forever asking friends, family or strangers to read your work and then, worst of all, take notice of what they say? Yeah, me too. Our problem is that we often lack confidence in our ability to write a thoroughly good book, article, letter or whatever. We want to see the destination long before we’ve even begun the journey. We plan ahead, we may even mindmap the darn thing. But, you know what? No good creation came from a tightly-held reins. Now, get over the perfection, already! We all write crap and most of us write it every day and then the next day we delete it. That’s life, there’s even a little button called ‘delete’. But hold on! Not so fast. If we dig into what we’ve written we may just pick up a nugget that's pure gold. Life is always in flux, the inspiration to write comes and goes like the ebbing tide. Ideas come and go. It’s day, it’s night. The tide’s in, the tide’s out. Perfection isn’t permanent and what seems crap today may be tomorrow’s best-ever. Always remember your present circumstance isn’t your final destination. The best is yet to come. And the best will not necessarily be perfect. So, sit down and write, my friend, open the floodgates. Write as if no one is going to read it and put perfection into the bin where it belongs. CHECKLIST FOR SUCCESS
You want to be a successful writer. You would like to have dollar signs coming out of your ears. Here are a few tips on how to achieve that:
Thank heavens for those who mangle the English language. The likes of the Reverend William Archibald Spooner and Richard Sheridan’s Mrs Malaprop bring to the language a sparkle and a sense of humour that, if it doesn’t drive you to distraction, invigorates and amuses.
Over the years, I have created a couple of characters whose personalities are molded by their, shall we say, unique approach to the English language. In my book The Indigo Kid, Stella Goodstar runs the Sixty-Nine Club, a porn-slash-spiritual store (she didn’t know which end to cater for, so she combines the two). Stella has decided to dispense with posters in her store as someone has promised to ‘paint a nice Muriel on the wall’ for her. And discussing a charismatic evangelist: “That Peter Shepherd...A real fox in the penthouse, that one.” In Rusty and Slasher and the Circus from Hell the priest, Father Shamus Appelbaum, follows in the splendid footsteps of Rev Spooner by urging his congregation to ‘hollow their fart’. Slasher is not averse to mangling the language either. “Maybe that’s because wriggle mortis had set in.” Slasher gave a theatrical shudder. “Now I know why they call them stiffs. He was like a cardboard box with legs.” Creating such characters is fun. And that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? This writing lark. Having fun. Creating characters you like, that are maybe a little spark of your own inner, hidden, self. Characters you wouldn’t mind having a cuppa with. (And, yes, I do like Nana Naills – she is naughty and not-so-nice and she needs adult diapers before going on a heist.) Comparisons are odorous, I know. I will never write a spy novel, like John le Carré, about a Soviet agent who defecated to the West. I will never write a classic like Lame is Rob by Victor Hugo or Don Coyote by Servants. I may never win the Pullet Surprise with my novels but, boy, I’ve had fun. (With apologies and humble acknowledgements to Des McHale who wrote A Decapitated Coffee, Please) I don't do cockroaches very well. They scuttle. They glare. I may be a gazillion times bigger than them but they're not frightened. They just wave their antennae at me, lift their claws into a Mohammad Ali position and stand their ground. Is it because they know something?
Yes they do. They know that when we humans are no longer on this planet they'll be in charge. Except I have news for them. Don't they read science fiction? Don't they know that after we've nuked the planet and they are marching around military style, there will be a score of us coming out of the caves and ready to take them on. We won't have totalled ourselves and we'll still be squashing those little bastards underfoot. Except, I'm not like that. I have a soft spot for anything uglier and smaller than me. When I see a cockroach, I find a tissue, clean of course, and wrap it up. You have to be quick about this or else they crab away faster than you can catch them., Wrapped up neatly in a tissue package I throw them out the window. They float away on my tissue parachute. I hope they remember who saved them. |
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