THE STORY SO FAR: PART 222

THIS CARTOON IS RATHER TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT

I LOVE IT!

It is extremely satisfying to create a home—no matter how modest. Though my personal circumstances were decidedly spartan while at my expensive boarding schools—which enforced the notion that hardship and discipline build character—I was exposed to considerable luxury both while growing up, and afterwards when I was in business armed with a generous expense account. Nonetheless, I have gradually grown to want less and less in material terms. Also, I have stayed in too many expensive hotels, and eaten in far too many overpriced restaurants, to regard them as luxury.

This hasn’t stemmed from any conscious philosophy—or religious conversion—but more from the realization that the main focus of my life is writing, and that anything which distracts from that is almost certainly unnecessary. Having time to myself to write—now that really is luxury.

It is also salutary to have to go through the belongings of someone who has died—as I have done twice in the last few years. Somehow, as you mourn the person who has passed on, material possessions seem trivial.

This isn’t to say that I don’t appreciate nice things. It is much more a feeling that I don’t need them. I admire works of art and fine craftsmanship, but if someone else wants to own them—providing I have reasonable access to some of them, so I can keep my artistic sensibilities exercised—that’s fine by me.

I make an exception where my work is concerned. There I like to be as well equipped as I need, and can afford. I also like to be reasonably comfortable.

That phrase reminds me of the story of a British Army officer who even when sleeping in the field, in a trench, insisted on sleeping in silk pajamas. If necessary, he would wear his uniform over them, but he always insisted on changing into them before closing his eyes. When asked about this eccentricity, he commented: “Any fool can be uncomfortable.” He was killed in the endless battle of Monte Cassino—and was buried in his silk pajamas. True story? Supposedly yes—but if it is not, it should be.

My friend Tim has just tend me a particularly cheering quote.

"Saints are sinners who kept on going."

--Robert Louis Stevenson,
Scottish novelist, poet and essayist

How encouraging!

THE STORY SO FAR: PART 206

TO WRITE IS TO LEARN—WHICH IS ONE OF ITS PLEASURES

MIND YOU, I NEVER THOUGHT I WOULD SAY THAT ABOUT PUNCTUATION

I learned most of my punctuation nearly 60 years ago—a sobering thought—and didn’t enjoy the process. Still, I must have been taught fairly well because my essays ceased being returned looking as if they had been savaged by a maniac with a red pencil, though my spelling still left a lot to be desired. Frankly, it still does; but, fortunately the gods invented spell-checkers so my inadequacies in that area are largely hidden.

Recently—somewhat to my amazement—I have become interested in punctuation, and actually enjoy it because Jane Strauss teaches it in such a cool way. Yes, that is her below—and I cannot recommend her too highly. Somehow she makes sense out of her arcane area, and she writes with a light touch.

Still, I had never heard of the term ‘Oxford Comma’ until her mailing arrived today. I am now enlightened.

Are grammar and punctuation important for a writer to master? Many young writers seem to think their raw writing talent will compensate for any deficiencies in that area.

The masters—like James Joyce—can break the rules and get away with it; but as far as the rest of us are concerned, let me give you a simple answer: Yes.

 

 

THE STORY SO FAR: PART 193

THEMOTH.ORG—TALES OF THE MOTH—REPRESENTS THE HUMAN CONDITION, AND THE POWER OF RADIO, AT THEIR FINEST.

IF YOU ARE NOT MOVED BY SUCH TRUE STORIES, YOU ARE MADE OF STONE

I commented some time ago that, as I have been getting older—within the limits of being a member of a different sex—I have been turning into my much loved grandmother in terms of beliefs and lifestyle. Would it were so, in many ways, because she was an admirable human being with a big heart, but I fear my flaws exceed hers.

Nonetheless, there are similarities to our lifestyles—quite a few, in fact—apart from the fact that we both lived, or live, alone. One of them is that we both share (or shared) a passion for the radio. It’s informative, companionable, thoroughly entertaining, and remarkably inexpensive. Here I am referring to NPR in its various forms—not corporate radio (which has pretty much trashed a great medium).

One of the most impressive programs is TALES OF THE MOTH. These consist of nothing more that a single person telling a true story from their own experiences to a small audience—which is then recorded and transmitted. Many are extremely funny. Some are desperately sad. All are moving.

Stories are innate to the human condition. They give us identity, make us laugh—and give us hope. TALES OF THE MOTH represents the zenith of storytelling.

They make me proud to be a teller of stories, part of a fraternity that may just be—though the competition is formidable—the oldest profession.

 

 

THE STORY SO FAR: PART 190

TRYING TO EXPLAIN THE LURE OF A WRITING CAREER—WITH ALL IT’S INSECURITIES—TO PEOPLE WHO MOSTLY HAVE REGULAR JOBS—IS AKIN TO TRYING TO DEFY GRAVITY

LIVE WITH IT

THE PLEASURE OF WRITING IS MORE THAN ADEQUATE COMPENSATION