Tag: writing

Job

She stared for what seemed like hours. Her teammates approached, and stood in silence, watching her battle in rumination. None dared disturb her in mid-contemplation.

They had seen her fierce side before.

And yet, they wondered why she pondered over the line running across her otherwise blank screen. They saw no issues with it; nothing offensive, aggressive, or vague — not boring either. Perhaps she saw something they didn’t?

At last, Shane faced her. “Let it go, Bess” he said with a gentle smile. “It’s just the title of a blog. And just the first draft.”

Curse of the content marketer.

Modern Talk

lol

English, for me, is a second language. A lot of the things that come as instinct for native speakers come to me only if I’m attentive and careful. And every day, every time I speak, I strive to get to right. I consider it my worst nightmare if I make a silly mistake that I know I shouldn’t have. And that obsession has made me who I am today: a sucker for proper grammar. Whenever I hear someone misuse grammar rules and diction, it makes me recoil in horror.

Nowadays, though, people seldom speak with context. It’s all just text-speak. Consider Lol, TGIF, and ROLF. To me they’re just random letters put together, but to a lot of people, these are essential words in a conversation. Even without much of an effort, these words have crept into our everyday communication. HashtagReality. And anyone who doesn’t know the meaning of these words are old-fashioned and unfit for the age of the social media, where people speak face to face like they speak on Facebook walls.

Facebook, in particular, has kindled this rise of new words and trends. So much so that, “facebooking” has become a verb and “friending” someone on Facebook is an actual action. Earlier, when someone moved into town they’d say, “I’ll make friends.” Now, though, “I’ll friend you.” Friend has become an easier term, a more ‘natural’ verb. On a side note, though, if anyone ever says that to me, they’ll never be my friend. I’ll accept their request on Facebook, but will never consider them a friend. Which leads me to say, Facebook has decimated our language in such a way, that even “friend” doesn’t mean “friend” anymore.

Here’s the weird part, though: A lot of people don’t even know that there’s another word for “friending.” A word that’s been around even before Facebook came into the picture. It’s almost as if people don’t remember the word, “Befriend” anymore. I think it’s a beautiful word. It fits the situation, and we should use it to say we’re adding someone as a friend on Facebook. I don’t see why people choose to cut out two letters of the word — which are not even prefixes — for no proper reason. Maybe this lack of basic knowledge is what’s making us a dumber generation. We only know words that appear on our Facebook feed and news that show up under the Trending section. We neither think beyond that nor do we explore further than that.

The way our current world works, if we don’t know the proper word for something, we can create another. It’s fine to create words at will. Will Shakespeare did it, we’d argue. After all, the main purpose of language is to communicate with each other. As long as the other party understands what we’re trying to say, we can speak in any way we like — that’s the modern mentality. And the reality is that I can’t say it’s wrong.

What I can say, though, is that just because “lol” is shorter and more common than “That’s funny” or “Good one, Bess” it doesn’t mean we should use them all the time. It’s time we paid some attention to our language because we’ve taken it so much for granted, that it’s losing its essence. “Befriend” gone unnoticed is just the start.

There’s a reason English has prevailed throughout the years. We still have 400 year-old Shakespearean words etched deep in our lives. Well, we don’t have to use them in our everyday speaking; we don’t have to adhere to Elizabethan English. However, even though we can’t uphold the traditional recipe for communication, the least we can do is respect it. We should at least know what’s available to us, and use them when we can. Because no matter how much we advance in technology, we are naught if we let the subtleties of our languages disappear in a wave of text-speak.

Unlikeable Reading

I’m reading “Tribes, We need you to lead us,” by Seth Godin. And I’m impressed with the way he’s written his text. It’s easy to read, full of matter, and so much inspiration.

And yet, there’s no excitement. At least not for me.

I’m surprised I didn’t realise this sooner, but every book I read for pleasure has a unique style and writing sense. And every book I read for knowledge lacks that element in every syllable.

Seth Godin’s book is great. I breezed through page after page without ever having to stop for a moment to appreciate the beatuty of his weaving — because there was none. His book is worth quoting, sure, but only for what he says; not for how he says it.

Then I understood why text books never get the appreciation they deserve. Who’d read a book that’s full of facts void of facets? But every school teacher insists on reading those textbooks, and likewise, every manager insists on reading “how-to-best-do” books.
The former will help get more marks and the latter, more strategies, and therefore, more money.

And yet neither of these make us skip a heartbeat, keeping us in mild excitement throughout the length of the book. These are more like medicines; a necessary evil. They communicate, but they don’t make us appreciate the art of communication. They convince because the name on the cover is already an established authority. No one questions it, no one contradicts it.

A lot of people I know who don’t like reading say so because they’ve never read anything apart from their school textbooks. No wonder they hate reading. If I had to read only titles that read “Ways to leverage your writing potential,” but have zero writing potential in them, I’d hate reading too.

But when reading for pleasure, everyone contradicts the author. Every reader, novice or expert, has an opinion to cast at the story. And that’s why writers adopt the more proven way of persuading readers. They makes us fall in love with what they have to say. Every sentence, every word choice is so deliberate that it sparks a myriad of emotions in us.

This brings me back to textbooks. If knowledge-intensive, preach-oriented books are interesting enough, perhaps more of us would enjoy reading. Perhaps then, we’d be happy to learn from what we read.

What do you think? Have you read instruction pieces with enjoyable narratives?

Cease, Cows, Life Is Short

Once in a lifetime, if you’re lucky enough, you manage to finish reading a book that’d make you wish you had read it sooner.

For me, it was One Hundred Years of Solitude.

one-hundred-years-of-solitude-cease-cows-life-is-short

I had begun reading the book as soon as Amazon delivered it to me — about two years ago. Then we had a falling out. I read through about sixty pages before I realised it was too complex and too “out there” for my intellect. I felt intimidated. I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t understand the narrative. Maybe it was the fine print and the font that I didn’t admire, I told myself.

Thinking I’d read it later, I cast the book aside waiting for motivation to strike me hard enough to pick it up again. Some time that time, a friend wanted a book. I suggested One Hundred Years of Solitude, but I also warned her that it had given me a block. She took it nevertheless.

That was the last I saw the book until last month, almost a year and half later.

One cold morning a line from the story popped into my mind: “Colonel Aureliano Buendía was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice.” Even though the book had thrown me off, that queer line had stayed with me. That’s when I realised I should give the book another chance. I got the book back from my friend and dove in right away.

It took me a good one week to finish the book. I whizzed through over half of the story, slowing down as the narrative progressed. Many times, I went back two pages to make sure I followed which Aureliano did what. I had to scan the family tree hundreds of times before I understood who’s child Amarantha was and who her child was.

I speed-read some parts while I cherished other parts of the story. I stopped at beautiful turns of phrases, and gawked at clever word choices. And then I paused and took pictures when I saw words of wonderment.

When I did finish reading it, however, I wanted to kick myself. I chided myself for missing out on so much pleasure the first time I tried reading it. If only I had tried harder to endure the initial confusion, I would’ve enjoyed a glorious read much sooner.

Perhaps it was meant to be. Perhaps I couldn’t read it then because I wasn’t mature enough. Maybe now was the time I needed it the most. Just like the Buendía family had waited a hundred years to decode the prediction of their fortunes and misfortunes, I had let history repeat itself before decoding the joys of One Hundred Years of Solitude.

You should read this book, if you haven’t already. If you have, however, tell me, what was your initial reaction?

Making People

I felt god-like.

I injected emotions and stamina into nothingness to create Ben. I had complete control. I could twist his arm and his fate anyway I wanted. His life relied on my mood swings and caffeine intake. It was a responsibility I took light, though shouldn’t have.

Affection surged through me when I realised his evolution from a violent thought to a violent person.

I introduced Ben to my friend. Matt’s a lawyer, he knows people and what makes them tick. He’s had experience dealing with ruffians like Ben.

“Well, Matt?”

“Good. Except for one serious plot hole.”