A family member was playing brain quest with our six year old while waiting for her great grandmother.
Question: How many inches are in a foot?
Six year old: “I don’t know?”
Six year old: “No, it depends on what size the foot is.”
and there are five others just like this one…
I love my family.
Image: Mother Nature Network
Toon: Henneke, the rest as noted.
BC Comics: Johnny Hart & Mason Mastroianni
Inky: I’m sore as heck, scratches, bruises. Yesterday was the battle of the roses, literally. But today my rose bushes are gorgeous! If only I could move.
Find the muse? Yeah, he’s sleeping it off in the back bedroom.
Doing: Connecting the caffeine IV.
Not at home, gone looking for that sneaky, rum swizzling, lazy, good for nothing muse of mine who was suppose to be back two days ago!
Need me, call me. But be warned, I may need bail money.
Toon: as noted: Wiley Ink, inc.
If you ask me, the real reason people choose to show rather than tell is that it’s so much easier to write “the big brown torn vinyl couch” than it is to describe internal emotional states without resorting to canned and sentimental language. You will never be told you’re cheesy if you describe a couch, but you might very well be told you’re cheesy if you try to describe loneliness. The phrase “Show, don’t tell,” then, provides cover for writers who don’t want to do what’s hardest (but most crucial) in fiction.
Besides, the distinction between showing and telling breaks down in the end. “She was nervous” is, I suppose, telling, whereas “She bit her fingernail” is, I suppose, showing. But is there any meaningful distinction between the two? Neither of them is a particularly good sentence, though if I had to choose I’d probably go with “She was nervous,” since “She bit her fingernail” is such a generic gesture of anxiety it seems lazy on the writer’s part—insufficiently imagined.
Making sense: Joshua Henkin, Why “Show, Don’t Tell” is the Great Lie of Writing Workshops, (Essay on Writer’s Workshop June 19, 2012)
Image: University of Waterloo
Inky: I’m struggling with a passage in my manuscript that reminded me of the essay I read a couple of years ago in a section of writer’s workshop called ‘There Are No Rules.’ Revisiting it hasn’t eased the struggle, yet. But it will.
– Crickets chirping –
Man, that last bit sounded so twee.
Be an unstoppable force. Write with an imaginary machete strapped to your thigh. This is not wishy-washy, polite, drinking-tea-with-your-pinkie-sticking-out stuff. It’s who you want to be, your most powerful self. Write your books. Finish them, then make them better. Find the way. No one will make this dream come true for you, but you.
Great Advice: Lanini Taylor
Photo: GiardQatar DeviantArt
Inky: I was late to bed last night so the eyes are refusing to follow commands this morning. A little mutiny in the house. Doubleshot Vanilla Energy Starbucks in a can, one in each fist, is keeping me upright.
Was I writing? No, should have been. No, this not so young mature woman was Just Dancing 2016. Ahhhh I ache this morning. Ibuprofen is what I need, after I finish one of these ginseng ladened coffees…