But she never questioned — could we try to understand? — if sodden or dry, frozen, or assaulted by softball-sized hail, her children lagged, remained silent, while ours, leaping from puddle to puddle, snowbank to frozen pond, fearless and weatherproof, soaked, sweaty, exalted: “Alive! Alive! We’re alive!”
So good! With the nonlinearity of the sentence, there is a sense that the narrator, too, can't explain the children's opposite responses to the weather. The parenthetical rhetorical question reinforces this interpretation. I love the great build to the end and the vibrancy of the dialogue and the string of adjectives, "fearless and weatherproof, soaked, sweaty, exalted." By leaving out the final conjunction, you capture the exalted state.
i wish i had been taught grammar better so that the technical aspects would make more sense.
But then --and would I curse the fulfilment of a wish? --would the subtle, magical music of a sentence, singing its way, subtle and soft into the paintwork of consciousness be lost; and would I cry out beneath the harsh light of literary vivisection: "Bliss! Bliss! Give me back bliss of ignorance!"
Wonderful! So much music with the alliteration, "magical music," and then the "s" sound rings out with "sentence/singing/subtle/soft." It's a great build-up to the final dialogue, which is full of emotion due to the repetition and exclamation points. I love exclamation points. What a great way to convey tone and big emotion. And as Kevin noted, "literary vivisection" fits this lament/concern perfectly.
This morning's journal entry prodded into a new shape (I do in fact talk to myself sometimes, but don't know that that dialogue was spoken aloud):
Sometimes I am most like myself—in the place I’m most at ease—when I’m settling into myself, allowing my mind to wander at will, shy of alertness, relishing its freedom from constraints, and I look over drawings pinned to the pin-board, consider the one of the door—never liked it, anyhow—and after review, pick up the sketch of the buckle shaped like a Wind-bringer that Gevehard hands Aiken before he leaves on the boat, and say to myself, “ Yes. Much better. Now, I can make breakfast and drink a cup of tea.”
Great! I love how the sentence tracks the narrator's mind that is looking at the narrator. It feels distinctly human. The parentheticals work so well, almost an inner inner voice. You've managed to illustrate the private self.
I need to get into your live meet ups, just to sit there and be steeped in the brilliance. LOL! Let me know your Aug. date and I'll get you on the date book.
Now, on this post: "I love this sentence because of the horizontal movement that’s depicted at the end. More generally, this sentence syntactically mimics the feeling of when things don’t unfold in the expected way." So true. Pure momentum.
Thank you, Jennifer! So kind! Our next gathering is scheduled for Saturday, August 16th, at 11:00 a.m. Pacific Time. It would be wonderful to have you there!
But getting an absolutely straight line of the riders, arms spread out, balancing with small movements back and forth on ten unicycles, for the one-hundred-yard dash—you know that’s important right—tested the starter’s patience, while at last night’s carnival, rifle in hand he shot and knocked down duck after tin duck moving across the booth.
“Hey, that guy’s wheel is over the start line.”
“Give number 28, third from the left, more room.”
“You, starter, we want a fair start, not one of your quick start counts.”
From the PA system, “All squared up ready to go, set tightly, and they‘re off!”
This is great, Norm! I see these ten unicyclists trying to balance and stay behind the start line. The parenthetical with the "you" feels like a direct address to the reader, and for me, I'm pulled in closer, as if someone is telling me this story. The "while" clause opens up a new storyline, weaving in a past event from last night. It establishes the starter's competency to some degree (at least with shooting)>
Oh, boy. I have no English background to understand the various components of a sentence, much less what they are called. Still I enjoyed your piece. I write from an emotional place, my instinct. My characters are pieces of me. But it could be useful to have some English background also lol
But always still—without movement—when the lights went out, power winking out with the weather, interrupting the steady hum of data, across the rolling expanse that surrounded the house, blinking out all other signs of life, only the irregular cadence of headlights, all at different heights, indifferent, and the first thing would be to still to reach for the phone, recognise that all forms of connection were gone, but still hold it to the side of your head and say: “Hello? Hello?”
So good! I love the horizontal movement that starts within a house or apartment, the "interrupting steady hum of data" then moves outward beyond the house. I begin to feel the world itself with the electricity out, "blinking out all other signs of life." The isolation, then; you have that word "indifferent," as if the world without electricity has turned its back, which makes the ending so poignant--the need for connection, for someone to exist.
But she never questioned — could we try to understand? — if sodden or dry, frozen, or assaulted by softball-sized hail, her children lagged, remained silent, while ours, leaping from puddle to puddle, snowbank to frozen pond, fearless and weatherproof, soaked, sweaty, exalted: “Alive! Alive! We’re alive!”
So good! With the nonlinearity of the sentence, there is a sense that the narrator, too, can't explain the children's opposite responses to the weather. The parenthetical rhetorical question reinforces this interpretation. I love the great build to the end and the vibrancy of the dialogue and the string of adjectives, "fearless and weatherproof, soaked, sweaty, exalted." By leaving out the final conjunction, you capture the exalted state.
i wish i had been taught grammar better so that the technical aspects would make more sense.
But then --and would I curse the fulfilment of a wish? --would the subtle, magical music of a sentence, singing its way, subtle and soft into the paintwork of consciousness be lost; and would I cry out beneath the harsh light of literary vivisection: "Bliss! Bliss! Give me back bliss of ignorance!"
Wonderful! So much music with the alliteration, "magical music," and then the "s" sound rings out with "sentence/singing/subtle/soft." It's a great build-up to the final dialogue, which is full of emotion due to the repetition and exclamation points. I love exclamation points. What a great way to convey tone and big emotion. And as Kevin noted, "literary vivisection" fits this lament/concern perfectly.
'the harsh light of literary vivisection': fantastic!
kind of you to say!
A non-sequitur but I’ve just noticed they are republishing your How to write stunning sentences next February. Great news.
Thank you, Anton! It's a second edition, meaning I've added about 8-9 more essays with more prompts. And I got to go through it again and clean it up.
This morning's journal entry prodded into a new shape (I do in fact talk to myself sometimes, but don't know that that dialogue was spoken aloud):
Sometimes I am most like myself—in the place I’m most at ease—when I’m settling into myself, allowing my mind to wander at will, shy of alertness, relishing its freedom from constraints, and I look over drawings pinned to the pin-board, consider the one of the door—never liked it, anyhow—and after review, pick up the sketch of the buckle shaped like a Wind-bringer that Gevehard hands Aiken before he leaves on the boat, and say to myself, “ Yes. Much better. Now, I can make breakfast and drink a cup of tea.”
Great! I love how the sentence tracks the narrator's mind that is looking at the narrator. It feels distinctly human. The parentheticals work so well, almost an inner inner voice. You've managed to illustrate the private self.
Fab. Right smack in the middle, waking up to what is being yelled as we almost don't. That's the way it always feels. Cheers.
I need to get into your live meet ups, just to sit there and be steeped in the brilliance. LOL! Let me know your Aug. date and I'll get you on the date book.
Now, on this post: "I love this sentence because of the horizontal movement that’s depicted at the end. More generally, this sentence syntactically mimics the feeling of when things don’t unfold in the expected way." So true. Pure momentum.
Thank you, Jennifer! So kind! Our next gathering is scheduled for Saturday, August 16th, at 11:00 a.m. Pacific Time. It would be wonderful to have you there!
On it! 📆
But getting an absolutely straight line of the riders, arms spread out, balancing with small movements back and forth on ten unicycles, for the one-hundred-yard dash—you know that’s important right—tested the starter’s patience, while at last night’s carnival, rifle in hand he shot and knocked down duck after tin duck moving across the booth.
“Hey, that guy’s wheel is over the start line.”
“Give number 28, third from the left, more room.”
“You, starter, we want a fair start, not one of your quick start counts.”
From the PA system, “All squared up ready to go, set tightly, and they‘re off!”
This is great, Norm! I see these ten unicyclists trying to balance and stay behind the start line. The parenthetical with the "you" feels like a direct address to the reader, and for me, I'm pulled in closer, as if someone is telling me this story. The "while" clause opens up a new storyline, weaving in a past event from last night. It establishes the starter's competency to some degree (at least with shooting)>
Oh, boy. I have no English background to understand the various components of a sentence, much less what they are called. Still I enjoyed your piece. I write from an emotional place, my instinct. My characters are pieces of me. But it could be useful to have some English background also lol
But always still—without movement—when the lights went out, power winking out with the weather, interrupting the steady hum of data, across the rolling expanse that surrounded the house, blinking out all other signs of life, only the irregular cadence of headlights, all at different heights, indifferent, and the first thing would be to still to reach for the phone, recognise that all forms of connection were gone, but still hold it to the side of your head and say: “Hello? Hello?”
So good! I love the horizontal movement that starts within a house or apartment, the "interrupting steady hum of data" then moves outward beyond the house. I begin to feel the world itself with the electricity out, "blinking out all other signs of life." The isolation, then; you have that word "indifferent," as if the world without electricity has turned its back, which makes the ending so poignant--the need for connection, for someone to exist.