My First-Born Son

26 Letters

Language.

Foul language, foreign language, body language.

"Communication of thoughts and feelings through a system of arbitrary signals, such as voice sounds, gestures, or written symbols."

Whatever the fuck that means.

It's all inadequate; feeble, really, when you think about it. In English we have 26 characters mashed together into combinations that are supposed to represent everything - every object, every distance, every thought - every emotion, sensation, color, sound - every vein of every leaf, every crest of every wave, every sea creature, mammal, alien creature imagined or real. EVERYTHING that ever was, is and will be.

That's a lot to ask from 26 letters. But it's what we have, so it's what we use.

As for what we will teach Jack the one topic that seems to come up most often is swearing. I have to admit I'm torn. As anyone who knows me can imagine, I believe words have massive power (for both good and evil) so they must be wielded with caution and as much precision as possible.

At the same time, I'm not particularly enamored of the parochial and hypocritically pious nature of American society and am just as inclined as anyone (more inclined) to say fuck-all in front of anyone I goddamn well please.

I'm not going to encourage it, but I don't plan on making a big deal out of it the first time Jack says 'shit' in front of grandma or 'fuck' in front of the neighbors. If he's a perceptive kid he'll learn how and when to use it, just like you and me and millions of other verbally responsible adults.

Crossover post.

Writing Is Re-writing

Keep saying it to yourself. Writing is rewriting.

When the inspiration seems to have drifted away, or to another idea, remember: Writing IS rewriting.

Pick an inspirational font, put a fancy border around the page, and in 120-point letters type it and print: Writing ... is rewriting.

Put it on a bracelet: W I R

Whatever you do...don't forget it.

Writing. Is. Rewriting.

The End Is Very Fucking Nigh*

Thanks to Cormac McCarthy (the greatest living American writer) I’ve been on a bit of a post-apocalyptic bender lately.

I’m reading The Road for the third time in the last two months. I’ve never read a novel more than once, though I’ve re-read parts of books, namely Walden. I’ve re-read short stories and poems, I’ve watched a handful of movies multiple times, but the time investment for a novel is so massive and there are so many books I’ve never read that the impulse to go back to a novel I’ve read simply isn’t that strong compared to the impulse to read one of the thousands of great books I haven’t gotten to yet.

28 Days Later (which I loved) was recently on television in anticipation of the release of the sequel, 28 Weeks Later (which I can’t wait to see).

Though I’m a (relatively) firm believer that there’s an impending global catastrophe on the way, I can’t say that I’ve been doing much planning for it. I’m not hording water, I haven’t collected a cache of weapons, I don’t even own one of those batteryless, hand-cranked flashlights.

The impending apocalypse has not dimmed my enthusiasm for the future, as evidenced by the fact that we recently got a puppy and we’re having a baby. Babies and puppies have a way of softening the blows of harsh reality.

What would I do if hordes of marauding cannibals or troops of zombies began shambling through the streets of the world?

Frankly, I have no fucking clue.

But I have some great fiction to offer me some suggestion.

*Graffiti on a church wall from 28 Days Later

I have an idea...

...for this novel. Maybe it would work better as a screenplay, or a stage play.

There's probably only enough material for a short story.

Now that I think about it, maybe I should just write some notes and see how I feel in a couple of days.

Now if I can just find a pen, and some paper.