Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts

Sunday, June 19, 2011

Sunday's Quote: The wisdom of Orwell

c/o George-Orwell.org
Becoming reacquainted with George Orwell over the past couple of weeks has been gratifying.  A studious philosopher despite his collectivist leanings, one might contend that the author of dystopian masterworks such as Animal Farm and Nineteen Eighty-Four was possibly at his best when writing about the English language itself – particularly when Orwell commingled his unease about the decline of semantics with the age-old conundrum of dodgy politicians who often exploit the ambiguities of dialogue for the mendacious purpose of simply getting elected (and re-elected).

Perhaps this sort of candidate would never stand a chance if the general electorate employed a greater sense of discernment.  Yet having known the type candidly, I have also found that such personalities – whether they are aspirant policymakers or not – possess the unique, if not unnerving and seemingly effortless ability to convey a sense of certainty among their enthusiasts.  And once that is achieved, being a wordsmith comes easily.

Here's Orwell to expand on that point:

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"The word Fascism has now no meaning except in so far as it signifies 'something not desirable'.  The words democracy, socialism, freedom, patriotic, realistic, justice have each of them several different meanings which cannot be reconciled with one another.  In the case of a word like democracy, not only is there no agreed definition, but the attempt to make one is resisted from all sides.  It is almost universally felt that when we call a country democratic we are praising it: consequently the defenders of every kind of regime claim that it is a democracy, and fear that they might have to stop using that word if it were tied down to any one meaning.  Words of this kind are often used in a dishonest way.  That is, the person who uses them has his own private definition, but allows his hearer to think he means something quite different.  . . .

"In our time, political speech and writing are largely the defense of the indefensible.  Things like the continuance of British rule in India, the Russian purges and deportations, the dropping of the atom bombs on Japan, can indeed be defended, but only by arguments which are too brutal for most people to face, and which do not square with the professed aims of the political parties.  Thus political language has to consist largely of euphemism, question-begging and sheer cloudy vagueness.  . . .

"The inflated style itself is a kind of euphemism.  A mass of Latin words falls upon the facts like soft snow, blurring the outline and covering up all the details. The great enemy of clear language is insincerity.  When there is a gap between one's real and one's declared aims, one turns as it were instinctively to long words and exhausted idioms, like a cuttlefish spurting out ink.  In our age there is no such thing as 'keeping out of politics'.  All issues are political issues, and politics itself is a mass of lies, evasions, folly, hatred, and schizophrenia.  When the general atmosphere is bad, language must suffer.  . . .

"Since you don’t know what Fascism is, how can you struggle against Fascism?  One need not swallow such absurdities as this, but one ought to recognize that the present political chaos is connected with the decay of language, and that one can probably bring about some improvement by starting at the verbal end.  If you simplify your English, you are freed from the worst follies of orthodoxy.  . . .   Political language – and with variations this is true of all political parties, from Conservatives to Anarchists – is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectful, and to give an appearance of solidity to pure wind."
– from the essay "Politics and the English Language" [1946] by George Orwell.  I cannot suggest this reasonably brief work of profound brilliance any more highly. 

Monday, February 21, 2011

On This Day in History

1543 – Outnumbered by nearly two-to-one, Ethiopian and Portuguese troops defeated the Adal Sultanate of the Ottoman Empire at the Battle of Wayna Daga in northern Ethiopia.  It was the final battle of the 14-year Ethiopian-Adal War, in which a potential Islamic conquest was quelled.  Some historians trace the present and longstanding hostility between Somalia and Ethiopia to this war.

1848 – Featuring a bunch of bad ideas regarding how capitalist societies would be replaced by socialism, and then eventually communism, Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels published the The Communist Manifesto.

1862 – The Battle of Valverde was fought near Fort Craig in the New Mexico Territory (present-day central New Mexico) between Confederate units from Texas and Arizona, and U.S. Army regulars and Union militia from northern New Mexico.  The South won.

1878 – The first telephone book was issued in New Haven, Connecticut.

1885 – The Washington Monument was dedicated in commemoration of our first President.  It remains both the world's tallest stone structure and the world's tallest obelisk, standing just over 555 feet.

1947 – Edwin Land demonstrates the Polaroid Land Camera, the first "instant camera," to a meeting of the Optical Society of America in New York City.

1948 – The National Association for Stock Car Auto Racing (NASCAR) is founded by William France, Sr.

1952 – The British government, per Winston Churchill, abolished identity cards throughout the United Kingdom to "set the people free."  Remember that when the issue of a nation identity card is brought up by our government.

1953 – Francis Crick and James D. Watson co-discovered the structure of DNA, for which they both received the Nobel Prize nine years later.

1958 – Designed by British artist Gerald Holtom, the Peace Symbol [pictured] was commissioned by the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament, in protest against the Atomic Weapons Research Establishment.

1962 – David Foster Wallace was born in Ithaca, New York.  Once called "one of the most influential and innovative writers of the last 20 years," Wallace was best known for his '96 novel Infinite Jest, which TIME magazine included in its "All-Time 100 Greatest Novels" list (from 1923-2006).  Having suffered from severe depression, he ended his own life in 2008.

1965 – Malcolm X (born Malcolm Little forty years earlier in Omaha, Nebraska) was assassinated at the Audubon Ballroom in New York City by members of the Nation of Islam.  The movie about his life remains Spike Lee's magnum opus.

1979 – The bubbly and vivacious Jennifer Love Hewitt was born in Waco, Texas.  I think she's wonderful.

Sunday, September 5, 2010

Sundays' Quote: Reinventing the steal

Everything came to a head five years ago today.  To summarize a brutally long story -- one that required 17 pages to explain adequately -- I spent almost a year writing a 200-page screenplay for a group of people I had known since 1982, only for it to be stolen by the very individuals who introduced me to the project.  Needless to say, I was irate.  You already have a good idea of how pissed I was if you've heard the infamous Mel Gibson tapes.

Durwood Fincher could not have spun half as well as they did.  The men of that family have no conscience.

I must've written one helluva script because these people, for whom I exhibited more respect and trust than they ever deserved, went above and beyond to keep the whereabouts of my work a closely guarded secret, which was compounded by a network of Pavlovian dogs -- my closest confidant included, much to my chagrin -- who evidently refused to believe that such a Stepford family would commit this unnerving act.  Yet because infinitely worse tragedies occur everyday, I will abstain from rambling any further.  My only advice: don't be shocked by anything that anyone does, ever.

"The bands of the wicked have robbed me: but I have not forgotten thy law."
-- Psalm 119:61, KJV

Illegitimi non carborundum

Sunday, April 25, 2010

Sunday's Quote: Carpe noctem

I've been something of a night owl since my earliest days of college when I was allowed (per my "legal adult" status) to stay up past 10:00 p.m. for the first time.  Sheltered child or not, my new found freedom quickly became an abused privilege.

By age 20, the oncoming threat of an early class at Fogelman with an instructor who had less than a full grasp of our native tongue never once stopped me from staying out past 3:00 a.m. during the week.  So I suppose it's little wonder that my occupation over the previous five years doesn't get started until well after the Sun has set.

Entrained circadian rhythms became the main side effect of many late nights and early mornings that go back nearly a decade and a half.  Yet the opportunity afforded by these odd hours, if only to think and process a considerable variety of thoughts, has proven a blessing in disguise that has led, in part, to posts like the one being read right now.

Even when not at work, maintaining these hours in my personal life also allows for the embellishment of an increasing desire for aloneness.  Although I am anything but a hermit, I have become, nevertheless, an undependable social commitment with those for whom I was once automatic.  Instead of showing up as expected, I am now more likely to jump in my ride with a fully charged iPod and drive for hours, oftentimes ending up in different counties and even States (Arkansas and Mississippi).  Perhaps the quotes below explain why.

"When from our better selves we have too long
Been parted by the hurrying world, and droop,
Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired,
How gracious, how benign is Solitude."
-- from the fourth chapter of William Wordsworth's "The Prelude"

"Solitude offers a double advantage to the thinker: the first in being with himself, the second in not being with others."
-- François-Marie Arouet (1694-1778), French writer and philosopher better known by the pen name, Voltaire

Seize the night indeed.

("Unsilent Night" © Dallas Observer, December 2009)

Saturday, March 6, 2010

If I could only get there

I visited the Ole Miss campus in Oxford, MS earlier this afternoon.  Having arrived too late to catch the last portion of the Oxford Conference for the Book (John Grisham spoke Friday), I decided to make the most of my southward journey by exploring the campus and surrounding area.

Depending on where you're coming from, Oxford is one of the few places by which the quickest way there requires perhaps the most asymmetrical path.  Common sense for the average Memphian insists that a straight shot down I-55 South would be easier than taking the back roads of US-78.  But that, of course, is wrong by upwards of 20 miles (no matter what Google Maps discloses), and I should know better.

Time spent on campus during football seasons past has afforded a firsthand knowledge of the alluring intangibles that make Ole Miss both comfortable and exceptional, whereupon I was pleasantly reminded as I parked in front of Farley Hall and the Overby Center for Journalism and Southern Politics, which stand adjacent to a 10-acre patch of sweet Mississippi goodness known simply as "The Grove."

Last Monday's unexpected passing of renowned author and Ole Miss MFA program director Barry Hannah almost brought the conference to a halt before it was scheduled to start.  Organizers ultimately moved forward in Hannah's honor, and though I had intended to hear at least a few of the lectures -- especially the ones centering upon writing about politics and racial identity -- I suppose my intrinsic longing to get back to Oxford after a longer-than-expected hiatus fueled my return as much as anything else.

I gleamed with a possibly misplaced sense of delight amid my campus stroll, almost placing myself in the shoes of an alumnus, as I observed the new and in-progress buildings that compliment signature establishments such as The Lyceum, Ventress Hall, the Barnard Observatory, and Vaught-Hemingway Stadium.  I'm assuming the nonchalance I have always felt at Ole Miss inspires an affinity that wouldn't otherwise be present.

I eventually made my way off-campus to The Square not long after an exchange at the student union with a delightful Southern beauty, the kind which a guy such as myself aspires to one day bring home to mom.  The vestiges of winter began to linger as the sun descended while I casually floated from Square Books, to Off Square Books, to Oxford city hall where I finally came across that statue of William Faulkner sitting on a park bench that, for some reason, had eluded me for so long.  And somehow, that was the ideal way to end my brief time in Lafayette County.

Having read this far, you are likely wondering why I place the Ole Miss establishment on such a high pedestal.  Some of the reasons have been explained in the preceding paragraphs, but there also exists an academic angle of which I've rarely spoken.

I have a degree from Southern Illinois University ('04) hanging in front of me as I write this, which I look upon with some level of contempt because it serves as a reminder of mistakes and misfortune that cost me a fulfilling "college experience."  In short my best college memories have little to do with the University of Memphis (where I did most of my undergrad work), and they have nothing to do with Southern Illinois -- a campus I've never visited.  Believe me, it's a long story.

Even as a lifelong devotee to the University of Tennessee (the flagship school of my home State), I can say unreservedly that to do it all over again -- as if that were possible -- would have me battle against any obstacle to get myself down to Oxford to make the most of what the University of Mississippi has to offer.  I can only ponder what might have been, and while there are infinitely worse tragedies in this world, this is one instance for which the only reality, despite my daydreaming, is regret.

Sunday, October 11, 2009

Sunday quotables

Having decided to follow through with this writing thing once more, I've opted to start each week with a set of quotes. And befittingly, I will draw this time from "A Writer's Commonplace Book" by Rosemary Friedman, which I recently completed and suggest without reservation to anyone looking for a penetrating set of reflections from some of the greatest minds of all-time:

"We do not receive wisdom; we must discover it for ourselves after a journey that no one can take for us or spare us."
-- Marcel Proust [1871-1922], French novelist

"Genius is partly a matter of choice."
-- Colin Wilson [1931-], British writer and philosopher

"Education has produced a vast population able to read, but unable to distinguish what is worth reading."
-- George Macaulay Trevelyan [1876-1962], English historian

"Pay no attention to what the critics say; no statue has ever been put up to a critic."
-- Jean Sibelius [1865-1957], Finnish symphonic composer

"Television is a fantasy which destroys everything."
-- Malcolm Muggeridge [1903-1990], British journalist, author, and satirist