My Bad, You’re Bad
Published December 4th, 2009 | 
I was feeling a little ambitious lately — a bit of a departure for me as I’m one of the most unambitious people I know. Anyway, a couple months back, I’d decided that before the end of the year, I would not only write a novel, I would publish two new issues of my ezines, The 13th Warrior Review and Gnome. Well, I did manage the first during NanoWriMo and I was on my way to accomplishing the latter two items on my list, but then problems arose to thwart my efforts yet again.
The first thing that happened was my mistake — a big mistake, actually. See, I had these two poems I was going to publish in Gnome and I thought I’d actually accepted them months ago as I had them in my folder to the upcoming issue and, as per my normal routine, only accepted submissions end-up in the folder for upcoming issues. What I realized was that I’d accidentally sent this poet a rejection instead of an acceptance. Now, I’ve made some mistakes in the past. In fact, by my calculations in the last twelve years, I’ve averaged at leasts half a dozen mistakes a year. But I’ve never done anything this stupid before. Of course, I feel like a huge honking tool and of course, after all this time the poems in question are no longer available. My bad, I guess . . . really and truly.
And then we come to the submission withdrawals which have been coming en masse of late. Remember my little hissy fit a while back about simultaneous submissions and how I hate it when writers don’t inform me about that then pull the rug out from under me later? Well, in the last two weeks, no less than five writers have pulled this crap — the latest just yesterday. I’m especially disappointed about yesterday’s loss because that was a fucking awesome story. More importantly, though, I now have two issues with major holes in them, so the likelihood that I will be able to publish both of these ezines before the end of the year is less likely than it was two weeks ago. It’s very frustrating. Especially considering that with maybe one exception none of these writers waited more than a couple of weeks for a response from me. You would think with all I’ve said and written about simultaneous submissions, these people would know better. Anyway . . . <sigh>
Posted in Current Events, Happy Horseshit, Magazines, Publishing, The Writing Life, editing, ezines, poetry, short stories, websitesLit Fun #4: Alliteration
Published November 24th, 2009 | Yesterday’s excursion into puns got me thinking about another literary device that’s been with us a long time: Alliteration.
Alliteration — commonly defined as a repetition of consonant or vowel sounds as in the following tongue-twister:
Fred Faraday fixed four furnaces for freezing Fanny Fredericks’, fitting four furnace filters on Friday.
As a poetic device it can often be much more sophisticated and subtle. Many famous examples of alliteration in poetry include William Langdon’s "Piers Plowman", Shakespeare Sonnets, Poe’s "The Raven", John Keats "Ode to a Grecian Urn" and T.S. Eliot’s “Journey of the Magi” to name just some of the many instances alliteration has appeared in literature.
It’s hard to say exactly how long alliteration’s been around. The word itself and its definition first appeared in the mid-1600’s, but, as a literary device, it’s been around much longer. The use of alliteration spans many countries and cultures, most prominently in the Germanic tribes of old England and surrounding areas. One of the earliest examples of alliterative poetry in the English language is a love song from the late 11th century, included in the famous Harlian Manuscripts in the British Museum:
Blow northerne wynd,
Sent thou me my suetynge;
Blow northerne wynd,
Blou, blou, blou.
Ich-ot a burde in boure bryht
That fully semly is on syht,
Menskful maiden of iuyht,
Feir ant fre to fonde.
In al this wurhliche won,
A burde of blod and of bon,
Never zete" y nuster non
Lussomore in Londe. Blow, fyc.
With lokkes lefliche* and longe,
With front ant face feir to fonde;
With murthes monie mote heo monge
That brid so breme in boure;
With lossum eie grete and gode,
Weth browen blysfol underhode,
He that rest him on the rode
That leflych lyf ho-ioure. Blau,’ fyc.
Hire lure lumes liht,
Ase a launterne a nyht,
Hyre bleou blynkyeth so bryht
So feyr heo is ant fyn,
A suetly suyre heo hath to holde,
With armes, shuldre ase mon wolde,
Ant fyngres feyre forte folde:.
God wolde hue were myn.
Middel heo hath menskful smal,
Hire loveliche chere as cristal;
Theyes, legges, fet, and al,
Ywraught wes of the beste;
A lussum ledy lasteles,
That sweting is and ever wes;
A betere burde never nes
Yheryed with the heste,
Heo ys dere-worthe in day,
Graciouse, stout, and gaye,
Gentil, jolyf, so the jay,
Worhliche when she waketh,
Maiden murgestw of mouth
Bi est, bi west, bi north, bi south,
Ther nis ficle ne crouth,
That such murthes maketh.
Heo is corall of godnesse,
Heo is rubie of ryht fulnesse,
Heo is cristal of clairnesse,
Ant baner of bealte,
Heo is lilie of largesse,
Heo is paruenke of prouesse,
Heo is solsecle of suetnesse,
Ant ledy of lealte,
To lou that leflich ys in londe
Ytolde as hi as ych understonde, &c.
As you can see, it’s written in Old English and, therefore, is not entirely comprehensible to the uneducated reader, but you can clearly see the use of alliteration in it even if you cannot understand some of the words. Beowulf, which also uses alliteration and is also written in Old English is probably much older as it’s exact date of creation cannot be determined and could have been written as early as the 8th century.
Did You Hear About the Man Who Lost His Whole Left Side? Now He’s All Right.
Published November 23rd, 2009 | Cindy Rosmus in this month’s Amsco Extra blog takes on puns. It’s an article on a most hated/most beloved subject. She doesn’t fancy them and while it’s true that most puns are groan-worthy, I’m not inclined to lump all puns into the same big pile of steaming, corn-infested horseshit. I make a huge distinction between the puns most of us use in everyday life — which are usually clichés in addition to being puns (the fact that they’re clichés is a big part of why we hate them). Take the example Cindy gives: "Thank mew very much." I can’t tell you how many times someone’s used that one on me this year alone. And here’s a pun I overheard some guy say to another guy at the DMV: "U.S. money is tainted — it ‘taint yours and it ‘taint mine." Yeah, right? Corny, sure, but it’s true enough to be at least momentarily smirk-worthy before it settles into groan-worthiness.
Cindy says the definition for the pun has been around since 1662. I’d say it was around since maybe a century or so prior to that, but okay, that’s neither here nor there. The point is puns have been around a long time. Even before the pun got it’s name it was part of human language, spanning many cultures and countries. Puns have been around — oh hell, since the Neolithic Age probably. As a literary device it dates back to Gilgamesh the King, the epic poem from Mesopotamia. There is an almost endless list of writers throughout history who’ve used puns in their writings: Aristotle used puns (he called them "paragrams" if I recall), the Latin poets Virgil and Ovid, and Catullus was rather infamous for his sexual puns. The Metaphysical poets loved puns. The Japanese poet, Basho, fer Christ sakes! Mark Twain used puns — even Sam Clemens’s pen name is a pun. Chekhov and Pushkin used puns. In more contemporary literature: Hemingway, Faulkner, Steinbeck,Nabokov, Vonnegut,Joseph Heller,Tom Robbins, Douglas Adams, etc., etc., and so on.
And let’s not forget Shakespeare, the mac daddy of all literary punsters. Cindy isn’t a fan of the Bard or his puns. (Say it ain’t so, Cindy!) How could one not appreciate Willy Shakespeare’s wordplay:
"She made great Caesar lay his sword to bed; / He plowed her, and she cropped" — Anthony and Cleopatra
HAMLET Are you fair?
OPHELIA What means your lordship?
HAMLET That if you be honest and fair, your honesty should admit no discourse to your beauty.
OPHELIA Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than with honesty?
HAMLET Ay, truly; for the power of beauty will sooner transform honesty from what it is to a bawd than the force of honesty can translate beauty into his likeness: this was sometime a paradox, but now the time gives it proof. I did love you once.
OPHELIA Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so.
HAMLET You should not have believed me; for virtue cannot so inoculate our old stock but we shall relish of it: I loved you not.
OPHELIA I was the more deceived.
HAMLET Get thee to a nunnery: why wouldst thou be a breeder of sinners? I am myself indifferent honest; but yet I could accuse me of such things that it were better my mother had not borne me: I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious, with more offences at my beck than I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them shape, or time to act them in. What should such fellows as I do crawling between earth and heaven? We are arrant knaves, all; believe none of us. Go thy ways to a nunnery. Where’s your father?
OPHELIA At home, my lord.
HAMLET Let the doors be shut upon him, that he may play the fool no where but in’s own house. Farewell.
OPHELIA O, help him, you sweet heavens!
HAMLET If thou dost marry, I’ll give thee this plague for thy dowry: be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny. Get thee to a nunnery, go: farewell. Or, if thou wilt needs marry, marry a fool; for wise men know well enough what monsters you make of them. To a nunnery, go, and quickly too. Farewell.
Of course, in Elizabethan times, "nunnery" in addition to it’s obvious reference was also a slang term for a brothel. See, not all puns are bad or unsophisticated. And what can we do about puns anyway? They are as human and as ubiquitous as farts. And who doesn’t love a good fart?
