First Published: 2018 October 24
As I’ve mentioned more than a few times, I do music. However, I doubt myself a lot when it comes to music. Part of this is that I have a bad ear, especially among my music friends.
Now, this isn’t a disparagement of myself in an attempt to get sympathy. Rather, it’s a prelude for what follows. As we all know, it’s horrible when you have a song stuck in your head. As I’ve learned, it’s even worse when the song is written in Irish Gaelic, and so you can’t search for the song by lyrics. But recently, I realized that the worst way to have a song stuck in your head is a melody that you haven’t heard.
That is, a tune started playing in my head, coming from the sounds I’ve heard and wanted to hear. But, although I believed the melody was a certain series of notes, I didn’t believe that it would be true, and so changed the notes when I transcribed it. When I eventually played it back to myself, I realized I’d written a different melody.
It took me just ignoring my mind, and trusting my instincts to get the melody I’d heard. And, now the tune isn’t stuck in my head anymore. Yay!
Yeah
First Published 2018 October 23
Consider the word diary. What does that concept encompass? Is a series of thoughts about life, such as Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations a diary? Or, would an autobiography be considered a diary? Through a series of dichotomies, the form of a diary is more easily shaped. While there are many paths, this tree will be explored only in the route that leads to a diary. Other limbs are pruned in the interest of time.
The first division in this tree is that of reality. Writing either has a goal of portraying reality, which is writing realis, or does not, writing irrealis. However, addressing reality can be a goal of a work even if it isn’t the the sole, or even primary goal. As long as a goal of the work is the representation of reality, the work falls into the realm of writing realis. As diaries nominally take the form of a chronicle of life, they are concerned with reality.
Within writing realis, another dichotomy can be drawn. This new dichotomy is the break between writings that are concerned about a single person, writings solus, and writings that are not, writings multis.
In the interest of fairness, there is a reasonable rebuttal to this dichotomy. Many works are not entirely about a single person, but contain sections that are. Should these writings, therefore, lie somewhere between a writing solus and writing multis? In this example, the key to understanding the dichotomy lies in the scope of observation. While the work at a whole would be a writing multis, the sections concerned with a single person are writings solus.
This idea of the classification of works changing based on the scope they are viewed through is important piece in defining a diary. Certain sections of a diary may place focus off of the author, and therefore belong as writings multis, but the diary as a whole has its focus on the author, and so belongs as a writing solus.
We again cleave the category of writings realus solusque. Writings solus are either presented as written by their subject, writings sui, or presented as written by another, writings alius. The important distinction to make here is the word “presented.” Although a “blurb” (short pre-informative piece explaining a person’s expert status before a presentation) may be written by its subject, it is still phrased in the third person as a literary convention. As a diary is generally seen to be a record of self, it belongs in writings sui. Here, we see Meditations fall off the branch of diary, as it is written in the second person as a form of address, rather than the first person style of sui.
All writings sui either attempt to convey the passage of time, as writings tempus do, or do not, as writings atempus do. Although a given entry in a diary may not convey the passage of time, and therefore be a writing atempus, the chronicling of dates conveys the passage of the subject’s life, making the diary a writing tempus.
The final division to define diary is that of chronology. Writings tempus can be written after the bulk of their narrative has occurred, in writings praeter, or written as the narrative progresses, writings iam. That is, autobiographies are written as a retrospective account of life, as if weaving the threads of an author’s life into a coherent tapestry. Diaries, as a contrast, may attempt to weave this tapestry, but as they chronicle events as they occur, the tapestry woven lacks a pattern. So here again, although each entry in a diary may be a writing praeter, as it presents the threads of the day after they’ve occurred, in a neatly bundled piece of time, each entry is written before the tapestry as a whole can be seen, making it writing iam.
By exploring the definition of the literary form of “diary,” the value of dichotomizing writing becomes apparent. Through finding the definition of a form through defining what it is not, it becomes easy to decide whether a work belongs in that form. That is, to see if a writing is a diary, one must simply ask whether it meets the requirements above: if the work focuses on expressing the reality (realis) of a contemporaneous account (iam) of the author’s (solus suique) passage through time (tempus), we will call it a diary. If not, we will choose another term.
Consider the word diary. What does that concept encompass? Is a series of thoughts about life, such as Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations a diary? Or, would an autobiography be considered a diary? Through a series of dichotomies, the form of a diary is more easily shaped. This tree will be explored only in the route that leads to a diary. Other limbs are pruned in the interest of time.
The first division in this tree is that of reality. Writing either has a goal of portraying reality, which is writing realis, or does not, writing irrealis. However, addressing reality can be a goal of a work even if it isn’t the the sole, or even primary goal. As long as a goal of the work is the representation of reality, the work falls into the realm of writing realis. As diaries nominally take the form of a chronicle of life, they are concerned with reality.
Within writing realis, another dichotomy can be drawn. This new dichotomy is the break between writings that are concerned about a single person, writings solus, and writings that are not, writings multis.
In the interest of fairness, there is a reasonable rebuttal to this dichotomy. Many works are not entirely about a single person, but contain sections that are. Should these writings, therefore, lie somewhere between a writing solus and writing multis? In this example, the key to understanding the dichotomy lies in the scope of observation. While the work at a whole would be a writing multis, the sections concerned with a single person are writings solus.
This idea of the classification of works changing based on the scope they are viewed through is important piece in defining a diary. Certain sections of a diary may place focus off of the author, and therefore belong as writings multis, but the diary as a whole has its focus on the author, and so belongs as a writing solus.
Again we cleave this twice divided category. Writings solus are either presented as written by their subject, writings sui, or presented as written by another, writings alius. The important distinction to make here is the word “presented.” Although a “blurb” (short pre-informative piece explaining a person’s expert status before a presentation) may be written by its subject, it is still phrased in the third person as a literary convention. As a diary is generally seen to be a record of self, it belongs in writings sui. Here, we see Meditations fall off the branch of diary, as it is written in the second person as a form of address.
All writings sui either attempt to convey the passage of time, as writings tempus do, or do not, as writings atempus do. Although a given entry in a diary may not convey the passage of time, and therefore be a writing atempus, the chronicling of dates conveys the passage of the subject’s life, making the diary a writing tempus.
The final division to define diary is that of chronology. Writings tempus can be written after the bulk of their narrative has occurred, in writings praeter, or written as the narrative progresses, writings iam. That is, autobiographies are written as a retrospective account of life, as if weaving the threads of an author’s life into a coherent tapestry. Diaries, as a contrast, may attempt to weave this tapestry, but as they chronicle events as they occur, the tapestry woven lacks a pattern. So here again, although each entry in a diary may be a writing praeter, as it presents the threads of the day after they’ve occurred, in a neatly bundled piece of time, each entry is written before the tapestry as a whole can be seen, making it writing iam.
By exploring the definition of the literary form of “diary,” the value of dichotomizing writing becomes apparent. Through finding the definition of a form through defining what it is not, it becomes easy to decide whether a work belongs in that form. That is, to see if a writing is a diary, one must simply ask whether it meets the requirements above. If the work focuses on telling a contemporaneous account of the author’s passage through time, it is a diary.
Consider the word diary. What does that concept encompass? Is a series of thoughts about life, like in Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations a diary? Or, is every autobiography a diary? Through a series of dichotomies, the form of a diary is more easily shaped. This binary-branching tree will be explored only in the route that leads to a diary. The other limbs are pruned from this discussion.
The first division in this tree is that of reality. Writing either has a goal of portraying reality, which is writing realis, or does not, writing irrealis. Of course, just because addressing reality is a goal of a work doesn’t mean it’s the sole, or even primary goal of the work. As long as the goal of addressing reality is a goal, it falls into the realm of writing realis.
Diaries nominally take the form of a chronicle of life, and are thus concerned with reality. Within the division of writing realis, another dichotomy can be drawn. This new dichotomy is the break between writings concerned about a single person, writing solus, and the writing that is not, writing multis.
Now, a rebuttal as to the validity of this dichotomy may be posed. Most works are not entirely about a single person, but do contain sections that are. In this example, the key to the dichotomy lies in scope. While the work at a whole is a work multis, the sections concerned with a single person are writing solus.
Now, this idea of works changing based on scope is an important piece in defining a diary. Although certain sections of a diary may place focus off of the author, and therefore belong as writings multis, the diary as a whole has its focus on the author.
Again we cleave this twice divided category. All writings solus are either presented as written by their subject, writings sui, or presented as written by another, writings aliud. The important distinction to make here is the word “presented.” Although a “blurb” (short pre-informative piece explaining a person’s expert status before the aforementioned presents) may be written by its subject, it is still phrased in the third person as a literary convention. As a diary is generally seen to be a record of self, it belongs in writings sui Here, we see Meditations fall off the branch of diary, as it is written in the second person, as a form of address.
All writings sui either attempt to convey the passage of time, as writings tempus do, or do not, as writings atempus do. Although a given entry in a diary may not convey the passage of time, and therefore be a writing atempus, the form as a whole conveys a passage through the life of the subject, making it a writing tempus.
The final, and most difficult to convey division is that of chronology. Writings tempus can be written after the bulk of their story has occurred, writings praeter, or written as the story takes place, writings iam. To explain, autobiographies are written as an account of life, trying to weave the threads that had occurred in the author’s life into a coherent tapestry. Diaries, as a contrast, attempt to weave a tapestry without a pattern, chronicling the events as they occur. Although each of the entries may be writing praeter, since the writing is not attempting to outline the whole of the author’s history into a coherent thread, rather simply chronicling the events as they occur, the diary as a whole remains writing iam.
By exploring the definition of the literary form of “diary,” the value of dichotomizing writing becomes apparent. Although a dreaded prospect by many, the idea that genres can be grouped into mutually exclusive categories makes defining a given work as belonging to that genre easier. So, to see if a writing is a diary, one must simply ask whether it meets the requirements above. If the work focuses on telling a contemporaneous account of the author’s passage through time, it is a diary.
Of all of the writing that is, was, or will be, only two kinds exist. All writing is either non-fictive (concerning itself with reality) or fictive, which does not. Now, to address the inevitable rebuttal of writing that concerns itself somewhat with reality, imagine a lamp. A lamp is either lit or not. Even though it may not burn its brightest, it still burns, and is lit, or is completely extinguished.
Diaries nominally take the form of a curriculam vitae, and are thus concerned with reality. Within the division of non-fictive writing, another dichotomy can be drawn, that which is biographical (concerned with a single person’s life), and that which is not. Again, a rebuttal as to the nature of this dichotomy may be posed. There are writings that contain a series of biographies. Each of the biographies within the whole are biographical, while the sum work is not. In such a way, a writing can be biographical or not, depending on the scope with which it is viewed.
Oddly, the question of scale makes the defense of a diary as biographical more tenable. Certain entries in a diary may focus on others, but the diary as a whole still focuses on the author.
Again we cleave this twice divided category. All biographical writings either find themselves as narrative (expressing the life through time), or not (expressing life atemporally). Many non-narrative biographies take the form of a “blurb,” or short pre-informative piece explaining a person’s expert status before the person presents. At the peak of the genre, the blurb expresses no notion of time, only of accolades. Again, although any given entry in a diary may be non-narrative, the diary as a whole conveys the life of an author through time.
Up to now, the divisions of writing into a tree have not followed typical genre listings. This next division, however, is a common one. Narrative biographies are either autobiographical or not. That is, narrative biographies are either written by the subject or not.
Here, the objection may be raised that the division between self and not should be placed above that of narrative, since blurbs are often written by their subject. However, since blurbs are written in the third person, tend to convey only publicly available knowledge, and portray the subject as a platonic ideal, good blurbs look the same, regardless of authorship.
Now, one of the less controversial pieces of typical diary writing is that a diary is written by a self about a self. This lends it nicely into the autobiographical category, and sets up for the final binary division of writing needed to specify the diary.
All autobiographies are either retrospective, concerned with chronicling the events before them, or not, and are concerned with recording the events as they happen. Here, we again confront the issue of scale. While each entry of a diary is written retrospectively, the diary as a whole is not. That is, although entries are written after the events, the aftereffects of the events recorded occurs after the entry is scribed.
With these divisions in mind, a a diary is a non-retrospective, autobiographical, narrative, biographical, non-fictive piece of writing. Now, the question may be raised as to the purpose of defining a diary, and what goals were meant to be achieved. As today’s political climate shows, without consistent definitions, no debate can be fruitful. In giving a specific definition for diary, a more fruitful debate as to the merits of diary as a form can be explored.
If we look at all writing that is, was, or will be, there are only two kinds of writing. There’s non-fictive writing, writing that concerns itself with reality, and fictive writing, which does not. As a metaphor, think of a lamp. A lamp is either lit or not. If it is slightly lit, it is still producing light.
Diaries nominally take the form of a curriculam vitae, and are thus concerned with reality. All writing concerned with reality is either biographical (concerned with a single person’s life), or not. Now, here a potential division can occur. What about, for instance, a series of biographies? To me, each of the biographies should be seen as their own work. In such a way, a writing can be biographical or not, depending on the scope with which it is viewed.
But, since diaries are a single person’s record of their own life,1 it seems fair to say that diaries are still biographical. Now, all biographical writing is either narrative or not. A narrative biography is concerned with expressing a life through time.
Many non-narrative biographies take the form of a “blurb,” or short pre-informative piece explaining a person’s expert status before the person presents. While each entry in a diary may be non-narrative, the diary as a whole conveys information through time.
Now, the divisions so far have been fairly novel.2 All narrative biographical non-fictive writings are either autobiographical (focusing on the life of the author), or not. Now, some might argue that a blurb can also be autobiographical or not. However, since blurbs are written in the third person, and tend to convey only publicly available knowledge, a good “autobiographical” blurb should be indistinguishable from a good non-autobiographical blurb.
So, since a diary, as mentioned above, is a writing by a self about a self, it is autobiographical. Finally, all biographies are either retrospective, where the idea is to record events after they’ve happened, or not. Now, again we run into the problem of scale. While each entry of a diary is written retrospectively, the diary as a whole is not. That is, although entries are written after the events, more events take place and are recorded after the writing. In general, the diary takes place contemporaneously.
And so, a diary is a non-retrospective, autobiographical, narrative, biographical, non-fictive piece of writing. In the interest of length, the rest of the tree remains unfilled, though it is fillable.
Diaries, like many aspects of stereotypical female adolescence, are a nebulous concept.3 But, like any scientist, I hate undefined concepts.4 So, I’ve been thinking about what a diary really is.
I tried defining it a few different ways. First was through exclusion. In A Brief History of Diaries, Meditations by Marcus Aurelius is considered a diary, as is a shopkeeper’s logbook. Both of those didn’t seem to fit what I would consider a diary, but I couldn’t figure out why.
Then came the idea of5 splitting all types of writing into binary divisions. It took a few tries, but I think I’ve gotten something that works. Of course, writers hate dichotomies,6 so I needed to make sure that each category was a real dichotomy.
If we look at all writing that is, was, or will be,7 there are only two kinds of writing.8 There is writing concerned with reality,9 and writing that isn’t concerned with reality.10 Of course, an immediate push back to this would be “what about writing that is partially concerned with reality?” That’s non-fictive. It is concerned with reality. It’s like saying “a room either has some form of lighting, or it doesn’t.” Dimmer lighting, or lighting only in one corner still satisfies.
Obviously,11 diaries have a focus on reality, so they are non-fictive. Next, all non-fictive writing is either focused on a single entity, with the rest of creation12 serving as a backdrop to it, or not doing that.
It may be helpful to give examples of writing in each category. In the biographical category, there are diaries and biographies. In the non-biographical category, we see things like epic poetry.13
So if I ignore that, all writing concerned with reality is either narrative or not.
BREAK
Narrative writing is writing concerned with telling a story. Think about a typical biography. Conversely, there are non-narrative writings, such as instruction manuals.
Within narrative writing, there is autobiographical and not. Autobiographical writing is writing concerning the author. So, a member of an ethnic group writing an ethnography of the group, or authors writing about themselves.
Finally, all autobiographical writing is w
To me, a diary14 is a non-retrospective, autobiographical, narrative, biographical, non-fictive piece of writing. In order, I’ll explain each of these pieces, from least to most specific.
As a person who’s taken Linguistics, I understand the importance of grouping things into dichotomies. As an artist, I understand the frustration of false dichotomies. So, I’ve attempted to group all writings into mutually exclusive categories. First is fictive and null-fictive writing.
Confusingly, my definitions are based the opposite way here. Null-fictive writing is writing concerned with portraying reality, while fictive writing is not.
All writing concerned with reality either has a singular entity at its focus: biographical, or not, null.
All biographical writing is either narrative: biographies and whatnot, or null: blurbs.
All biographies are either autobiographical: about self, or not: all other biographies.
Finally, all biographies are either retrospective: all the action takes place before writing, or not: diaries.
What’s a diary? To me, a diary15 is a non-retrospective, autobiographical, narrative, biographical, non-fictive piece of writing. In order, I’ll explain each of these pieces, from least to most specific.
As a person who’s taken Linguistics, I understand the importance of grouping things into dichotomies. As an artist, I understand the frustration of false dichotomies. So, I’ve attempted to group all writings into mutually exclusive categories. First is fictive and null-fictive writing.
Confusingly, my definitions are based the opposite way here. Null-fictive writing is writing concerned with portraying reality, while fictive writing is not.
All writing concerned with reality either has a singular entity at its focus: biographical, or not, null.
All biographical writing is either narrative: biographies and whatnot, or null: blurbs.
All biographies are either autobiographical: about self, or not: all other biographies.
Finally, all biographies are either retrospective: all the action takes place before writing, or not: diaries.
at least in common definitions↩︎
at least as far as I could see↩︎
what differentiates a horse from a pegasus from a unicorn? If a unicorn has wings grafted on, does it stay one?↩︎
well, hate’s the wrong word, maybe “am uncomfortable with”↩︎
like a good little linguistics child↩︎
not that they’re special, just that the two English people I said the idea to were immediately hostile, and I’ve never tried grouping music into categories, although the pushback to the Hornbostel–Sachs doesn’t seem to be very major to me (although I’m also almost 60 years late to that fight [wow the 1960’s are more than 50 years away] so what do I know)↩︎
as far as I can guess↩︎
ooh maybe this would make an opening line↩︎
non-fictive writing↩︎
fictive writing↩︎
wow, the more I write the more I realize how dangerous that word is. Just because I’m finding something obvious as I write about it doesn’t mean that everyone ever will↩︎
another word I’m realizing may be taken differently than intended↩︎
ok so this one may be a bad kind of dichotomy, because it seems completely arbitrary. I can’t think of anything that I couldn’t argue isn’t concerned with a single entity unless I don’t allow breaking, which doesn’t work later. I also got into the whole internal dialogue of “if you believe that God is completely incomprehensible, and that we only see aspects, and every religion sees its own aspect, why do you believe you’re in the ‘One, Holy ... Church’?”↩︎
in order from most to least specific↩︎
in order from most to least specific↩︎
First Published: 2018 October 22
Tofay I had the wonderful opportunity to see Antony and Cleopatra as performed at the National Theatre. It was really well-staged and lit. The sounds were amazing, with one exception.
In the script, it calls for the predecessor of the oboe and bassoon to be playing, as it’s an eerie sound. Instrad, the show chose to use cello. It was certainly a different effect, and not one that I personally was a fan of. But, overall, the sounds were fantastic.
The show was a modern adaptation, and was skillfully executed. The stage continually amazed me, and was hard for me to even comprehend how it some of the changes might be done.
First Published: 2018 October 21
Isaiah 53:11 “Because of his affliction he shall see the light in fullness of days; Through his suffering, my servant shall justify many, and their guilt he shall bear.”
Today is the 29 Sunday of Ordinary Time in Year B.
Today’s first reading speaks about how someone will bear the sins and burdens for others. In doing so, he will “justify many.”
I don’t know why, but I really appreciate the imagery in the first reading.
First Published: 2018 October 20
Prereading note: Draft 0 of this post is much more rambly and ranty than normal.1
A common comment about internet subculture is that it fractals infinitely. That is, within any interest group, you can always find divisions, going down as far as you’re willing. So, I feel better about complaining about this niche dispute, that of citation. There are two normal ways of citing in academic writing.2 There’s in-text, and there’s footnoting. For a variety of reasons, I find footnoting to be the objectively better form.
To me, the most important part of an essay is the flow of the prose. I’d much prefer to read an essay with a poorer argument, but a better cadence and rhythm.3 Footnoting encourages this flow, because shifting citations doesn’t affect the cadence of a sentence. Conversely, if an in-text citation changes position, or if the citation itself changes, the cadence of the sentence changes.
Second, in-text citations serve as a distraction. If you know me at all, you probably know that I’m incredibly distractible. When I see an in-text citation, I’m reminded of the fact that the argument comes from somewhere else, and feel an urge to read the initial argument. Or, at the very least, I stop reading the paper for a second, and start seeing the paper. That is, I stop seeing the symbols as a dialogue with the author, and start seeing blobs of ink on paper.
A third reason is completely arbitrary and subjective. In-text citations are associated with poor quality prose for me, if only because they were required in my formative years. We would be required to use all of the different kinds of citations,4 regardless of which would flow better.
Finally, footnotes allow the author to make notes that may not be useful in the argument, but could still be useful to the reader. In almost all of the semi-academic5 reading I’ve done, the footnotes contain information that was useful to me as a student, even though it didn’t have any direct relation to the core thesis. If using in-text citations, one is forced to either leave out the information, try to work it into the argument, or use footnotes and in-text citations. I have problems with each of these options.
The first option, excluding the information, makes the reading harder for a reader, and often contains prose that has sent me down wonderful educational explorations. The second, working it into the argument, bloats the prose and renders the initial argument harder to discern. The third option, that of mixing both styles, is just ugly to me.
Now, a fair complaint here is that in-text citations don’t deal with parenthetical expressions, and so focusing on that is unfair. Another complaint may be that good writing doesn’t need asides, as all relevant information should be in the text.
I’d dispute both of these responses. To the first, I believe that6 an option that is more robust while not sacrificing any usability7 is a better option. To the second, I believe that it presents a limited view of good writing. If in doing research on a topic, and finding that a certain path of inquiry may be interesting, but no longer relevant to the central argument, putting the information in a footnote can help a future scholar. I know that footnotes have also been useful to me in understanding the main text. When I was unsure about the meanings, I was able to consult footnotes to read what they meant. However, to rebut the response that the information should just go in a real parenthetical,8 if I don’t need to read the information, then the parenthetical adds words that I have no need to read.
So, in conclusion, I much prefer reading my citations like this9 than like this (Rebelsky 2018).
There are two normal ways of citing in academic writing.10 There’s in-text, and there’s footnoting. For a variety of reasons, I find footnoting to be the objectively better form.
For me, the most important part of an essay is the flow of the prose. I’d much prefer to read an essay with a poorer argument, but better flowing prose. Footnoting allows this very easily, because shifting citations doesn’t affect the cadence of a sentence at all. Conversely, if an in-text citation changes position, the cadence of the sentence changes.
Second, in-text citations serve as a distraction. If you know me at all, you probably know that I’m incredibly distractible. When I see an in-text citation, I’m reminded of the fact that the argument comes from somewhere else, and feel an urge to read the initial argument.
A third reason is completely arbitrary. In-text citations are associated with poor quality prose for me, if only because they were required in my formative years. We would be required to use all of the different kinds of citations,11 regardless of which would flow better.
Another reason is that footnotes allow the author to make notes that may not be useful in the argument, but could still be useful to the reader. In almost all of the classics and linguistics semi-textbook12 reading I’ve done, the footnotes contain information that was useful to me as a student, even though it didn’t have any direct relation to the text. If using in-text citations, one is forced to either leave out the information, try to work it into the argument, or use footnotes and in-text citations. I have problems with each of these options.
The first option, excluding the information, makes the reading harder for a reader, and often contains prose that has sent me down wonderful educational explorations. The second, working it into the argument, bloats the prose and renders the initial argument harder to discern. The third option, that of mixing both styles, is just ugly to me.
Now, a fair complaint here is that in-text citations don’t deal with parenthetical13 expressions, and so focusing on that is unfair. Another complaint may be that good writing doesn’t need asides, as all relevant information should be in the text.
I’d dispute both of these responses. To the first, I believe that14 an option that is more robust while not sacrificing any usability15 is a better option. To the second, I believe that it presents a limited view of good writing. If in doing research on a topic, and finding that a certain path of inquiry may be interesting, but no longer relevant to the central argument, putting the information in a footnote can help a future scholar. I know that footnotes have also been useful to me in understanding the main text. When I was unsure about the meanings, I was able to consult footnotes to read what they meant. However, to rebut the response that the information should just go in a real parenthetical,16 if I don’t need to read the information, then the parenthetical adds words that I have no need to read.
So yeah, footnotes are great and I hate in-text citation.
One thing that I’ve begun to notice in a lot of English essays,17 is the tendency for the titles to be alliterative. And, that’s something that frustrates me for a few reasons. First,18 the titles tend to be much harder to speak aloud. Second, they tend to be less descriptive. But, that’s not the point of today’s post.
Rather, it’s an internal complaint about my own inability to write an assigned essay. As I mentioned yesterday, I don’t tend to find myself unable to write anything. Rather, it tends to be the issue of writing the correct thing. And yet, with a paper that’s currently assigned, I find myself with the problem of being unable to find anything to write about.
I’ve tried to force myself to write anything, and it’s been some of the most strained, painful writing I’ve done in a while. There’re probably many reasons for this. I’m going to try to go through them, and see if I can’t resolve them internally. Partially it’s due to the fact that the prompt for the essay is so vague as to allow almost all writing, while specific enough to limit any of the pieces of critical analysis I would’ve enjoyed doing.19 Partially it’s that this week’s meeting of the class felt painful to everyone involved. Partially it’s that I have so many other assignments, which are so much more fun to do. Part of it is that I’m not allowed to cite the way that I prefer,20 and am instead forced to use in-text citations.
Now, I guess an aside, I should mention why I hate in-text citations. Or, I could just write today’s post about that. Yeah that sounds better than whining. I’ll still leave this as Draft 0 in the interest of full disclosure.21
apparently I’m slowly shifting into my inspiration↩︎
at least as far as I’ve seen↩︎
and is part of the reason I have a problem with a lot of academic writing, which ignores the importance of this↩︎
using titles, author names, and page numbers in varying locations both in the general prose, and also in the parentheses↩︎
i.e. works that are meant for use in by academics, but aren’t meant to be published in a journal and can be done as somewhat pleasurable reading↩︎
in general↩︎
which feels the case to me in footnotes↩︎
i.e. in parentheses↩︎
Rebelsky 2018↩︎
at least as far as I’ve seen↩︎
using titles, author names, and page numbers in varying locations both in the general prose, and also in the parentheses↩︎
i.e. works that are meant for use in a classroom, but aren’t tertiary, and rather are the author’s own research↩︎
ooh is that the right word here? They aren’t in parentheses, but it feels right so I’ll keep it↩︎
in general↩︎
which feels the case to me in footnotes↩︎
i.e. in parentheses↩︎
especially mediocre ones↩︎
I still find it odd that I was conditioned to use “first” instead of “firstly” in such a short time↩︎
so really anything on music↩︎
i.e. with footnotes↩︎
or something↩︎
First Posted: 2018 October 19
One of the most dreaded occurrences in a writer’s life is writer’s block. Now, I never really have that problem. I never look at a blank page thinking “I have nothing to say.” What I get instead,1 is the idea that nothing I have to say can be expressed in less time than I want to spend expressing it.
That happened a few times for me today. I’m working on another paper about diaries,2 and in theory working on a paper about theatre. My creative juices are flowing, just not how I’d like. I thought about trying to teach what I’ve learned in my Polymers class, but that seemed like the wrong idea for a Friday.3 So, I decided that I would write about writer’s block. Of course, as I did so, I realized that I could do a journalling prompt that I’d been given, and so did it. It’s in Draft 1, if you’d like to read it. I expect this will happen again.
In what’s likely to be the first of many installments, today I couldn’t think of anything to write. Now, other days that has also been true. Somehow I persevered and found a topic to write about. Not so today.
Anywho, time to try out some writing prompts I’ve been given. One is to describe an old barn as if you are an old man whose recently learned that his son died in the war, but not mentioning the son, war, or death. Here we go!
The barn looked much like it always had, and yet somehow different. The bright red had faded over the years, into the color of dust. Strange how dust was featuring so much in his mind today.
The doors creaked when you opened them, as if they’d been forgotten about over the years of milling the field. Vines had started growing up the sides, unchecked by their normal pruning.
What used to seem as a deep, dark black roof had shifted overnight. Whether it was the dust in the air or something else, they’d faded almost instantly into a grey, almost unnoticeable color.
Ok wow that was a downer. But, I got almost 200 words out of that whole shebang.4 So yeah, if I run out of things to write about in the future, I’ll likely try creative writing prompts. Sorry in advance to future readers.
First Posted: 2018 October 18
So, as I’ve mentioned before, I’m taking a class on polymers. And, so far I’ve learned1 that the most important property of a polymer is its “glass transition temperature.” That is, the temperature when it changes from being stiff to being not stiff.
Different polymers behave differently after the glass transition temperature. Some become rubbery. Some, the more crystalline ones, stay stiff. Some turn into a liquid.2 Some probably do something else.
But! Apparently that temperature is also time dependent. That’s weird to me, since melting doesn’t feel like the sort of thing that is affected by time. But, the longer that the time frame is, the more like a liquid a polymer acts, and the shorter, the more like a solid. So, for short enough time frames, things with a glass transition of very low can remain undeformed at high temperatures. Contrastingly, pitch, which my professor describes as “hard and brittle,” flows over long enough time frames.
So, that’s why silly putty is stretchy when you stretch it, breaky when you smash it quickly, and pancakes if you let it sit. I thought it was cool.
Post Script: As I reread the title, I now am thinking of a musical piece featuring silly putty. I’ll keep y’all updated on the future of that.
First Posted: 2018 October 17
Today I began another form of record keeping: a “Sinister Diary.” Now, for those of you who don’t know,1 sinister is the nominative masculine singluar Latin word for left.2 So, what is a “left diary”? It’s just a diary that I’m writing with my left hand.
In my diary making class, we talked about different ways of sparking creative journal keeping. One of these is to make a diary entry with your non-dominant hand. Now, I have always wished I could write ambidextrously, so this was a good spark to me.
Of course, calling anything written in my left hand’s3 penmanship implies that that written in my right hand is “dextrous.” Dextrous is the British form of the American “dexterous,”4 coming from the Latin “dexter,” meaning right5 or skillful or proper.6
Now, far be it from me to describe anything written I do as skillful, but it’s certainly easier to read than my left-handed writing. Also, I ran into another problem while writing sinisterly.
When I was a young, impressionable freshman,7 I took Latin.8 I had the brilliant idea to write all of my Latin with my left hand, so as to embed it more deeply in my mind.9 Of course, the professor shut that idea down on the grounds of legibility.10 But, today, when I tried writing with my left hand for the first time in a while, I noticed that I was thinking of the Latin11 translations for a lot of what I was writing. This continued to the point where I began thinking, and even writing in in12 Latin. As bad as it was, it was certainly fun.
So, I think I’ll continue my sinister diary, if only to have that as a conversation starter.
Today I began another form of record keeping: the “Sinister Diary.”13 Now, for those of you who don’t know,14 sinister is the Latin15 word for left.16 So, what is a “left daily allowance”?17 It’s just a diary that I’m writing with my left hand.
In my diary making class,18 we talked about different ways of sparking creative journal keeping. One of these is to make a diary entry with your other hand.
Of course, calling anything written in my left hand’s19 penmanship implies that that written in my right hand is “dextrous.” Dextrous is apparently the British form of the American “dexterous.”20 Dexterous comes from the Latin “dexter,” meaning right21 and also skillful or proper.22
Now, far be it from me to describe anything written I do as skillful,23 but it’s certainly easier to read than my left-handed writing. Also, I ran into another problem while writing sinisterly.
When I was a young, impressionable freshman,24 I took Latin. I had the brilliant idea to write all of my Latin with my left hand, so as to embed it more deeply. Of course, the professor shut that idea down on the grounds of legibility.25 But, today, when I tried writing with my left hand for the first time in a while, I noticed that I was thinking of the Latin26 translations for a lot of what I was writing. This continued to the point where I began thinking in27 Latin. But, I did certainly enjoy it.
Hence, I’ll be continuing my sinister diary.
most likely, if you’re right handed, haven’t taken Latin, and lack pedantic friends↩︎
sinister,sinistra,sinistrum↩︎
lack of↩︎
apparently I’m becoming British more than I thought. Next thing you know I’ll be spelling it oxydized↩︎
like the hand↩︎
I shamelessly use wiktionary↩︎
as opposed to the young, impressionable junior that I am now↩︎
no this story doesn’t end poorly↩︎
the inner workings of my mind are a mystery even to me↩︎
or, more precisely, the lack thereof↩︎
and also Spanish because my mind groups things oddly↩︎
broken↩︎
ooh, does the go in the quotation? If so it should be capitalized↩︎
so, if you’re right handed, haven’t taken latin, and also not pedantic↩︎
latin?↩︎
sinister,sinistra,sinistrum↩︎
also, note that diary comes from the word for daily allowance↩︎
liberal arts are weird↩︎
lack of↩︎
apparently I’m becoming British more than I thought. Next thing you know I’ll be spelling it oxydized↩︎
like the hand↩︎
I shamelessly use wiktionary, like all real scholars↩︎
I might make the claim about my music, especially when asked↩︎
as opposed to the young, impressionable junior that I am now↩︎
or, more precisely, the lack thereof↩︎
and also Spanish because my mind groups things oddly↩︎
broken↩︎
First Posted: 2018 October 16
Today, I tried platform diving for the first time. For those unaware,1 there are two types of competitive diving.2 There’s springboard3 and platform.4 I got to try 1, 3, and 5 meters today. It was much different than springboard, and I kind of like it more. We’ll see how the rest of the semester goes.
First Posted: 2018 October 15
Today, I had the incredible opportunity to see Kwame Kwei-Armah and Shaina Taub’s adaptation of Twelfth Night at the Young Vic Theatre. It compresses the entire show into 90 minutes, including all of the1 musical interludes From the opening until the curtain call, I was almost overwhelmed with joy.
Now, onto a description of the show itself. The show opens with an old man handing out jerk chicken.2 At least I hope that was part of the show, and it wasn’t just a random stranger giving me food.3 The set is a beautiful one point perspective feeling city street. In the middle of the thrust, a van is parked. The show begins with the van slowly moving upstage while mourners come out and soulful saxophone plays. However, that is the first and last time the show is anything less than overwhelmingly energized.
The biggest uniting thread in the show, other than the comic ridiculousness, is the women’s chorus. After every major plot point, they come out, singing “What’s the word on the street?” before explaining what just happened, in case we had somehow missed it.
Then, when Malvolio sings his song about becoming Count, it felt like the quintessential musical number, but something I couldn’t name was missing. All of a sudden, he does a magic trick and has a cane in his hand, and the chorus comes out in top hats. The tap dancing interlude that follows was exactly as fun and cheesy as it4 sounds. That was a hallmark of the show, honestly: the cheesy, over the top fun.
Another musical highlight for me was the scene where Viola5 and Andrew are preparing for the fight. I had equal parts Rocky and Meatloaf coursing through my head in the song, where the cast starts air punching and jump-roping to fast paced electrical guitar and strong drums.
I left the show the happiest I’ve been after a theatre production in a while. And really, what more can I say? If you get a chance, I would highly recommend watching it
Today, I had the incredible opportunity to see Kwame Kwei-Armah and Shaina Taub’s adaptation of Twelfth Night at the Young Vic Theatre. It, like all good adaptations, takes the best parts of the original show and leaves out the bad. From the opening until the curtain call, I was star struck for the entire show.
Now, for those of you who don’t know, I sometimes just have a great time. As the diving coach mentioned, I have an expression of joy when I’m doing things I enjoy, there diving. This weekend, I had the chance to climb around Arthur’s Seat, and had a great goofy grin on. And, tonight, my cheeks were almost sore from how much I was smiling.
Now, onto a description of the show itself. The show opens with an old man handing out jerk chicken.6 At least I hope that was part of the show, and it wasn’t just a random stranger giving me food.7 The set is a beautiful one point perspective feeling city street. In the middle of the thrust, a van is parked. The show begins with the van slowly moving upstage while mourners come out and soulful saxophone plays. However, that is the first and last time the show felt anything but energized to me.
When Malvolio sings his song about becoming Count, it felt like the quintessential musical number, but something I couldn’t name was missing. All of a sudden, he does a magic trick and has a cane in his hand, and the chorus comes out in top hats. The tap dancing interlude that follows was exactly as fun and cheesy as it8 sounds. That was a hallmark of the show, honestly. It was a cheery, fun, lively show.
Speaking of the chorus, they were another highlight of the show. After every major plot point, a women’s chorus came out, singing “What’s the word on the street?” before explaining what just happened, in case we had missed it.
But, throughout the show, every actor was as over the top as they could possibly be without making it into a farce.
Another musical highlight for me was the scene where Viola9 and Andrew are preparing for the fight. I had equal parts Rocky and Meatloaf coursing through my head in the song, where the cast starts air punching and jump-roping to fast paced electrical guitar and strong drums.
I left the show the happiest I’ve been after a theatre production in a while. And really, what more can I say?