So, it being All Hallows Day, I'm thinking about the events of yestreen.  (Carved a pumpkin for the bewilderment of Genius Child).  

While guessing at the spelling of the jack-o'-lantern, ("Jack-o'-lantern", apparently) I stumbled across this image of a traditional Irish turnip-based jack-o'-lantern from the earliest part of the 20th century.  (The original, larger image is here under GNU license).



(!)

Turnips are, possibly, the most frightening of vegetables.

~Dave

PS: 

~Dave

I have often participated in parent/teacher conferences (on the teacher side of the equation).  I have learned to approach the catastrophic defects of other people's children with tact and official government statistics.  

Today, however, I was asked to appear at a parent/teacher conference with the lead daycare teacher at my Genius Child's daycare.

The lovely woman was kind enough to call the Genius Child an "Excellent Baby" who is very interested in exploring.

Her parents were well pleased, let me tell you.

~Dave

PS: We popped the kid in a pink tartan skirt today.  She bustled around daycare with the skirt flying.  Daycare teacher's note was that Genius Child had attempted revolution at daycare and been rebuffed only through serious Cheerio bribery.  (These tiny people seem to have an inexplicable fondness for bland oat O's).

Wow.  Holidays aren't quite what they're cracked up to be when you're a parent.

(I had no idea!)

The daycare shut on Colobus Day.  There I was planning to mark a heap of gigantic student projects, complete a monstrous print-out for the admin types at the school, and spend a little time writing a book, when suddenly...  there I was with the Genius Child from 1 in the morning.

I ended up doing a fair bit of work standing at the kitchen counter with a laptop plugged in an overhead outlet while the Genius Child circled my ankles.

At one point she smashed a hairbrush against the floor, causing a bit of razor-sharp glass-hard plastic to spall off the edge.  I found her making smacking noises and smiling up at me.  A careful investigation revealed that she'd been on the point of swallowing this evil little bit of pseudolithic edged weaponry when I realized what was going on.

(!)

I will happily return to the world of other people's kids tomorrow.  

~Dave

PS:  Book neglected over weekend.  Netbook ordered.  (It's blue).  Must take my place at the Irish "cafe" after work come Infernal Regions or high water.

Finally brought my laptop with me to write at the local Irish cafe after work.  (For several days, I've been working with pen and paper).  Lugged the little laptop with me all day: meetings at Teachers College.  Up and down subway stairs.  Back to school.  Up the seven stories of granite steps between the 1 line and Riverdale.  

Ordered a strengthening beverage.  Switched the little computer on.  Set same on the table in front of me -- and phbbt.  It seems the minute shock of the aforementioned "setting" jarred the loose battery.  (A catch was undone).  And so the power blipped.  And my little computer had a bad moment.

Now Windows cannot reboot.  Not in Safe Mode.  Not in its Normal mode.  Not in any ModeM.  

The poor little thing tried and tried until finally, the only compassionate course was to push the power button and close the lid.

Now, I must find a reliable technical person who will exchange time, expertise and a boot disk for the meagre pittance I am willing to pay. 

(Wife) Anne is canvassing the neighbourhood.  Angie's List was not as helpful as I'd hoped.

Phbbt.

~Dave

 A wee film project completed with the assistance of the dedicated folks at the old day job.  

6th Graders can be kinda cute (especially the little ones who are still learning English!)



Note: among the Dominican-Americans of Washington Heights, it is entirely all right to wear both straps of a book bag.  (Where I grew up, you can only ever use one -- even as an adult.  Similar cultural chasms exist around cap brim bending).

~Dave

 

There are words rarely heard, but sometimes read.  "Aigue," for example, seems to afflict the denizens of historical and fantastic fiction from time to time, the poor things.  But what does it sound like, one wonders?  (I've checked.  Arrange for a Pittsburgher to say "egg-you" before your mind's ear and you're halfway there).  Another such word is the extravagantly onomatopoeic "sussurus" which stopped me cold one day at a reading -- there was far more of Theodor Geisel in the word than I had ever anticipated.  (Even more alarming was the peculiar way in which the emphasis landed on the second syllable).   Who knew?

One runs into those sort of thing in medievally fantasy all the time.  Men in hauberks fence with falchions in the clerestory of the cathedrals.  (Often with coifs tied under their chins).  It is awkward.

I wonder.  Is there a name for all of the words we've read and not heard, the mispronunciations of those well-read and tin-eared?

Must be.  But I'm not sure that I could pronounce it correctly.

~Dave

A friend of mine, Josh Kane, is touring the stages of the great Untied States, and he spotted a copy of Dave's Second Book (paperback edition), valiantly sitting face out in an airport in Atlanta (Terminal A).

I wish it well, that copy. I would sign it, if I could reach it. Us writers who have not achieved instant, overwhelming popularity need such news from time to time.

Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport, I salute you.

~Dave

PS: Now, you 90 million passengers.  If just, say, a third of you grabbed the book (give it to a dweeby relative -- or present it as a joke to an elderly and religious aunt who has led a quiet life), we might get this party started....

As the traditional means of correcting classroom misbehaviour are largely banned from modern teaching (the dunce cap, the strap, the cane, the long detention, enforced solitude, lines, etc.) a teacher is inspired to creativity.

I wondered if I could arrange for the school to hire a fellow like this (that was a link just then) to entertain and encourage those children most inclined to challenge the modest constraints of the mild mannered English teachers.  I kinda like it (which means I could easily endure hours more of it than the average repeat offender).

Or something relatively simple, like:



Or, for especially persistant sinners, a pair like these:

</lj-embed>
This last, however, might be going too far: A Rare Musical Performance 

Yours thoughtfully,

Dave

Very briefly:  I found myself opening a new box of diapers with a foot-long dagger this evening.  In my own defense, the weapon was a gift -- (wife) Anne visited Toledo (in Spain) where they have a booming tourist trade in ornamental ironmongery.  Also, a person with a half-changed baby and a closed box really needs to use whatever comes to hand. 

Still, I can't help but think that as I baby proof the kid's bedroom, I need to consider which weapons come to hand.  

~Dave

(Wife) Anne stumbled on a lovely infomercial/article in the latest Discover magazine: A product under the trademark "Vinotrol" promises pills with the potency of 278 glasses of Pinot Noir. You pop the pill, it seems, and experience all the cheery benefits of an ocean of grapy goodness.

But is this progress, I wonder? What if it's a warm day and you would really prefer 278 glasses of a nice light rosé? Is it 278 glasses of a good Pinot Noir? (Bad Pinot Noir smacks a bit too much of the rubber ball, does it not?) And where is the snob appeal of drinking 278 glasses of Pinot Noir with a swig of Poland Spring? If you can get the equivalent of 278 glasses of Chianti at some future date, will it come with that charming, rustic basketwork? And what are you meant to do with your deft little French waiter's corkscrew in this bleak future? A child-proof cap is just not the same.

The hangover must also be a worry. (The traditional Worcester sauce, raw egg, and red pepper hardly seem sufficient).

~Dave

PS: Is it too late for us to market a similar pill focusing the benefits of chocolate into a narrow beam of atom smashing healthiness? (A big seller at Easter, I'm sure).

And for those real writers out there: those with monomaniacal attention spans, those without day jobs: 

If your book is really worth writing, why then I say it's worth writing right.  (And don't let anyone tell you different!)

Your words, your beautiful words!  Should they be scattered upon the face of a cheap LCD screen?  Should they sink into the white curds of chain-store-bought, machine-bleached pulp?  I say no, for I am your friend and I respect your art!

For your consideration, the gentle (and traditional) French method of making real linen paper.  It might take a little time and effort, but aren't your readers worth it?



You owe it to yourself: slow down.  Build a mill of some kind in a European country with high labour costs and sophisticated environmental protections.  A good writer has his (or her) little rituals.  A good writer has standards.  Write it right.  The process is the thing.

~Dave

I am enclosing a wonderful bit of real writer's craft. The kind of thing we all should emulate, I think. Bringing ourselves closer to the real process of really writing: the real and ancient movement of real ink on real paper. Not this high tech mumbling with its lightning edits, frenetic perfectionism, and shiny techy phoniness.

Try it.

It's about being grounded*.

Pen and Ink, the Real Thing.

or perhaps, for variety:



I have to get back to my day job and I need the competition to slow the heck down.

~Dave

*Or possibly grounded to a halt. I don't want to read about anyone whipping off a couple of quick chapters in a morning.  Don't make me break fingers... 

A couple of posts back, I mentioned Death God's Doom. (It was one of the five books using lovely dripping purple adjectives nacreous and gelid together, as I recall).

It's cover is amazing. As a public service, I enclose same. You must see it.



~Dave

PS: Book has more Amazon stars than mine. (Who's counting?)

I am scribbling at the local pub/cafe. (Monkish knights, damnation and fortresses high among the haunted mountains). It is the last effective day of summer for a school teacher with optional staff meetings Friday at 8am. The day job looms. (Nothing truly optional starts at 8am on a Friday).

And two old ladies are flirting aggressively with the guy who's waiting tables.

This is him: http://www.myspace.com/marccampbell He knows my drink. And he's playing tonight.

I will miss the summer.

~Dave

By way of Wordle, a visual representation of Mr. Urdanger's masterwork on modifiers (see previous post). (Click to zoom in, right?)

Purpletives. Every genre writer should be able to squeeze most of these between the covers, right?



Sincerely working to find a spot for "acrolithic,"

~Dave

In a fit of fantasy sadomasochism, I searched Google Books for works including such standout fantasy purpletives as "gelid", "pellucid" and "nacreous".   

Nobody managed the trifecta.  

A small group hit both gelid and nacreous:  Thomas Harlan (fantasy), Michael John Harrison (basically fantasy), Dore Ashton (art critic), a deceased poet by the name of Marsden Hartley, E.C. Tubb in Death God's Doom (fantasy),  and in Laurence Urdang's enticing Modifiers: A Unique Compendious Collection. 

I want to own Laurence Urdang's enticing Modifiers: A Unique Compendious Collection.  (I hope Laurence Urdang spends a happy life in a natty smoking jacket curating interesting things somewhere, I really do). 

Sigh.

~Dave

PS: I have invented the word "purpletives", I believe.  Are there royalties?  (Does a tree falling in a forest make a sound when there's no one is in earshot?  And other badly paraphrased koans to that effect.)  Maybe I should have gone with superple-atives?

Tragedy of timing!  (Follow me on this one).  Disney just grabbed Marvel. (See stories such as this, if you haven't).  Until only a few* years back, Disney controlled the Mounties' trademarks.  

Marvel Mounties!  (Missed by mere moments...)

Lindsay Lohan could have been involved. There might have been capes.

Sigh.  

~Dave 

* Ten! 

It's "child's play", as it happens.

A little background: automatic spell checking has just returned to Dave's Third Book, after MS Word declared that it would not longer provide me with red squiggly spelling hints saying that the book was too long -- which it ought not to have been, fear not dear prospective reader. 

To the point: I had foolishly typed "childsplay," intending "child's play" but thinking that English had, by now, completed its word-welding trick.  (Is there a name for the gradual welding of words: teen-ager to teenager, for example?) 

It's suggestion for "childsplay" was disconcerting in the extreme.  Apparently, it wants me to split the word just before "splay" and after "child".  

The mind boggles.

~Dave 

I begin to suspect that the mysterious Tusken Raiders of Star Wars fame are in fact not from Tuscany at all!  

I'd pictured the streets of Florence, Pisa's cathedral and its famous bell tower; the Chianti; Sienna!  All populated by cheerful, braying sand folk trotting about the place on those large hairy elephant-oxen of theirs.

But now, I notice, that there is a subtle difference in the spellings.

The world is a sadder place.

~D 

PS: Tusk