Retro style has another round at the computer world and certainly, quite a few writers are taking noice. Reporting on a new addition to that world, a typewriter-style keyboard that even reproduces the clatter of the now seemingly obsolete device, “Wall Street Journal’ says in its subtitle that it will make you “feel like a high-tech Hemingway.” [A Computer Keyboard That Reminds Us How Typing Should Feel — WSJ](https://www.wsj.com/articles/a-computer-keyboard-that-reminds-us-how-typing-should-feel-1522768128?redirect=amp) Since all the typewriters I ever owned were long gone, to remind myself instantly of that clatter, I put on “The Blue Notebooks,” one of the best Max Richter albums, where qt one point the typewriter sounds could be heard. While the typewriters might be gone, my hard pressing the keyboard buttons is still around from all those years behind the ‘original stuff, and this nostalgic trip brought along a few questions — does ‘nostalgic’ typing bring along ‘nostalgic’ writing? Do younger writers even know what it is like sitting behind a typewriter, or even what Hemingway writing style is like and do they want to feel like a high-tech Hemingway after all? For those writers that still remember both the typewriters or Hemingway (or Hemingway’s writing, at least), writing on those clattering machines used to be like a ritual — the moment you sit down in front of a blank piece of paper with coffee and already typed pages scattered around, the ideas would start flowing, or at least the whole setting would be some form of conduit that would bring ideas no matter what. At some point anyway. It all brought along a certain style of writing. Like Hemingway, among the multitude of great writers. There was no flash fiction (or at least it wasn’t called that anyway), or if we have Hemingway’s news reporting career, no fake news, or at least there weren’t supposed to be any. Still, would an old style clattering typewriter lookalike keyboard bring back such writing or, after all, should it? All this is open to discussion. What I do know personally is that I intend to get my hands on one of those, it brings back memories, both good and bad. And memories do come up with some good writing. “Shall I tell you about my life
They say I’m a man of the world” So sang Peter Green when he was leading Fleetwood Mac back in the late Sixties. As writers, we usually tell about our life as it was or as it is, as events unfold the way we feel and see them. It is all our projections. Sure, this is no way a revealing or an unknown concept. Usually, when we project the possible events or developments in our writing they call it science fiction. With the accent usually on science. It is mostly based on conjecture, and it can be more (often) or less (even more often) be based on science. Somebody recently wrote on Medium what (and if) science starts to imitate that kind of fiction. But then, here’s another question — what if, and possibly when, our life, or the life of others, these immediate lives of ours, start imitating the fiction we write? It can, and certainly does happen. Just have in mind that Oscar Wilde quote: “Life imitates art far more than art imitates Life.” Maybe just an opinion, but in these times, particularly political times, it has become a daily task to compare yesteryear’s fictional writings with the events that are evolving. Here’s an example from a few years back to which “New York Times” devoted a story: With Conspiracy-Minded Intrigue, Life Imitates Fiction in Turkey Hoping to slow the leaks and regain the upper hand, Mr. Erdogan's government has taken a series of authoritarian…www.nytimes.comWe can always ascribe such writings to clairvoyance and premonitions. It doesn’t really matter whether you believe in those or not. But with writing it is, always a matter of our personal projections, thoughts, feelings, moods… In many ways, it is connected with our, fifth, sixth or seventh sense. But what happens when our written words have such an impact that they influence ours and actions of others. It is certain that finding ample examples of such ‘life imitates fiction” situations. One thing though is certain. It is always an approximation, it can be quite close, but certainly an approximation, nonetheless. Things sometimes do turn out the way we wrote about them, always just to prove the rule. Even more, a reason to sing (and write) to sing your version of Peter Green’s lyrics. What is the first thing that comes to mind when a word mill is mentioned to you? I usually immediately think of windmills and particularly “The Windmills of Your Mind,” that beautiful Michel Legrand composition for Steve McQuinn’s Sixties thriller “The Thomas Crown Affair.” But then, mills do not usually have such a positive connotation. After all, it is a hard-working mechanism that is supposed to grind something to a wheat. Or a messy pulp. Like rumor mills, Jonathan Nightingale wrote about on Medium. To writers, particularly freelancers working on all sorts of copywriting all connotation work with the so-called content mills. Or like for coffee or meat, in that case, should we use the term grinder? It usually doesn’t matter what kind of content mill is concerned — fiction ghostwriting, all those SEO copywriting mass-production sites, startups that answer silly or not so silly, undefined or very defined business questions, so-called ‘academic’ sites that do the student’s homework. Makes no difference. It usually means a lot of hard work, with plausible and quite implausible rules. And as a writer, being underpaid. And actually being exactly as the term implies — ghostwriter. Usually, there’s nothing of Casper, the friendly ghost there. Except being a ghost. An underpaid ghost. With most of these organizations, with three parties involved, the employers, writing customers, and writers, the key benefits are for the two of them — employers and customers. The writers are not third, they are last, and the whole of the system is set up like that. Of course, there are exceptions, and it is usually online sites and PR organizations that engage selected writers with a track record, do jobs for a specific, well-paying customers, where there is a thorough selection and vetting process when the writers are concerned. But what about the rest, usually a majority of writers? As a fresh writer (let’s forget the term beginner here), you are often eager to start working for any of these ‘writer grinders’. After all, they pay, and often, any pay seems better than no pay. But soon enough, in most of the cases, the pay is too small, the rules and regulations are too restrictive, and your writer’s identity is nowhere in sight. Still, what if there are very little as far as paying choices are concerned? Well, than you have to look at all the negatives of these content mills (those are usually predominant) and see which of them you can bear the most. For a while. In time, when you get a chance, you can move to those with high reputation (and pay) and/or establish your name (and identity) and get paid well. Maybe at that point, you will be able to put on Legrand’s soundtrack and enjoy “Windmills of Your Mind”, without being reminded of ‘writer grinders’, and possibly turn them into ‘writer’s grinders’. What is the first thing that comes to mind when a word mill is mentioned to you? I usually immediately think of windmills and particularly “The Windmills of Your Mind,” that beautiful Michel Legrand composition for Steve McQuinn’s Sixties thriller “The Thomas Crown Affair.” But then, mills do not usually have such a positive connotation. After all, it is a hard-working mechanism that is supposed to grind something to a wheat. Or a messy pulp. Like rumor mills, Jonathan Nightingale wrote about on Medium. To writers, particularly freelancers working on all sorts of copywriting all connotation work with the so-called content mills. Or like for coffee or meat, in that case, should we use the term grinder? It usually doesn’t matter what kind of content mill is concerned — fiction ghostwriting, all those SEO copywriting mass-production sites, startups that answer silly or not so silly, undefined or very defined business questions, so-called ‘academic’ sites that do the student’s homework. Makes no difference. It usually means a lot of hard work, with plausible and quite implausible rules. And as a writer, being underpaid. And actually being exactly as the term implies — ghostwriter. Usually, there’s nothing of Casper, the friendly ghost there. Except being a ghost. An underpaid ghost. With most of these organizations, with three parties involved, the employers, writing customers, and writers, the key benefits are for the two of them — employers and customers. The writers are not third, they are last, and the whole of the system is set up like that. Of course, there are exceptions, and it is usually online sites and PR organizations that engage selected writers with a track record, do jobs for a specific, well-paying customers, where there is a thorough selection and vetting process when the writers are concerned. But what about the rest, usually a majority of writers? As a fresh writer (let’s forget the term beginner here), you are often eager to start working for any of these ‘writer grinders’. After all, they pay, and often, any pay seems better than no pay. But soon enough, in most of the cases, the pay is too small, the rules and regulations are too restrictive, and your writer’s identity is nowhere in sight. Still, what if there are very little as far as paying choices are concerned? Well, than you have to look at all the negatives of these content mills (those are usually predominant) and see which of them you can bear the most. For a while. In time, when you get a chance, you can move to those with high reputation (and pay) and/or establish your name (and identity) and get paid well. Maybe at that point, you will be able to put on Legrand’s soundtrack and enjoy “Windmills of Your Mind”, without being reminded of ‘writer grinders’, and possibly turn them into ‘writer’s grinders’. It seems that the word order strikes fear in somebody, who swims in the waters of freelance work, but particularly among writers. Is not order exactly what you wanted to escape or what made you run away from a ‘regular’ weekday to weekday job? Haven’t you seen too many episodes of any variant of “Law and Order”, or did the band that called itself New Order hit the exact spot when they called one of their (best) songs “Blue Monday”? Well, it certainly what you think order represents. If you think of it only in terms of restrictions, rules, and regulations that are imposed on you. But then, if you think of it in terms of having a set of standard steps and procedures which you apply to your writing and your daily routine in general, in the sense of being order(ly), isn’t that something that you must have if you want to do something that is actually very serious work? No matter how easy, inspiring and leisurely it comes to you personally. No, by the order I don’t mean having a messy pile of books, magazines, notepads around your workplace or food and drinks next to your keyboard, writing pad, whatever. That can actually be exactly a part of your personal order that you set up because it actually stimulates your process of reading, thinking and ultimately writing. It is exactly that personal set of steps, procedures, ultimately order that you yourself set up to make you think and work isn’t the best manner you can. But it is also setting up an order during your day where you devote time also to your other obligations, family, sleeping eating… This is actually the best way to stimulate your creativity, just as long as it is personal, something you have optimally set for yourself. Devoting specific time to thinking, whether it is on a run or just simply sitting by yourself does produce ideas, even so, they come at a completely different point. After all, you can always note them down’ “out of order”. Anything else is just ultimate chaos, doing things at a whim or being pulled by other people at any undefined point, or just simply letting events and things pull you any which way. For a writer, that is exactly the thing that actually creates a chaos in thinking and writing. So don’t call it order, but do make it your own. Then no Monday will be blue, no matter how good the New Order song is. When Janis Joplin sang “Piece of My Heart” way back in 1968, she really did exactly that. It gave all her listeners a piece of her heart, and probably more than that. She obviously had no second thoughts about it — she had to express all she felt and wanted in that song. Did it cost her later? That is impossible to say what leads to what, the fact is she didn’t care what anybody was to think about it, she didn’t care about any risks or personal vulnerability, she just had to get it out of her. Absolutely no difference when you dabble in committing words to something that is not just inside your head. You can try to give it all, or you can try to control it, curb as much risk as you can, show how much you know and how intelligent you are, but try not to expose any of your personal vulnerabilities. Some writers try to put in that control by not writing about anything that deals directly with themselves personally or even anything that can remotely be connected to them. They pick up writing non-fiction, science fiction or as the French would call it ‘beaux arts’ poetry about the beauty of nature. The only problem is it never works. Not even if you’re writing some content copy or preparing an advertising campaign. Whenever you commit a single word to anything that makes it readable or audible, like Janis, you give a piece of you, no matter how minuscule it is. As it usually turns out, the Repeated Wordfurthermore you try to restrict it, the further clues you are bound to leave about who you are and where you come from. But then you have to ask yourself one key question — isn’t that exactly the reason why you picked up writing, any writing, after all? The thing is, the more you express yourself without constraints in your writing, the more you don’t think how much you are going to uncover yourself to others, the better your writing is going to be. Even if it is just a copy where your customer sets the parameters. Then, at some point, you might even come up with a piece of marvelous art like Janis Joplin did. There’s a sentence that writers encounter in any written contract they sign that goes something in the sense “Any copying of other texts, will immediately…”. There’s nothing debatable there. And there shouldn’t be. Copying is cheating in any shape or form, sometimes even with quotes. But what about originality? It certainly isn’t the same thing as copying, and can it occur every single time you commit words to paper/word processor? It can’t and in these modern times, it certainly doesn’t happen. In any art form. And sometimes for the ‘writing customer’ originality is certainly the one thing he doesn’t want — it is a well-trodden formula with certain thematic and stylistic patterns that is exactly what he needs and wants. But what happens when that ’customer’ is a very undefined reader you as a writer want to reach and you don’t want to conform to any pre-set formats? I’m afraid that there, again, particularly in these modern times when you are able to receive practically any piece of information almost instantly, there isn’t much space for true, unique originality. It usually turns out that somebody has already done it before you. Often, even better than you would have done it. But is that a reason to exclude yourself from everything in hope that that spark of originality will suddenly hit you? Not really. Actually, it is more often the case that the more you inform yourself, the more you read, better words, better ideas will come out of you as a writer. The key point there as far as I’m concerned lies in the following — when you encounter an original idea, style that suits you, do you simply slavishly copy it or used as some sort of a springboard, inspiration that will enable you as a writer to enrich an existing idea, give it another outlook, add to it if you will? Examples of music prove that it is possible. Back in 1980, David Bowie came up with “Ashes to Ashes”, one of the best songs in his opus, with so many musical elements that did not crop up in that shop and form until then. In 1982 The Psychedelic Furs came up with one of their better songs in “Love My Way” and in 1985 Bryan Ferry recorded the excellent “Don’t Stop The Dance”. Consciously or unconsciously, both the Furs and Ferry used elements of Bowie’s “Ashes To Ashes” to come up with their gems, The Furs gave it an additional rock touch, Ferry gave it a bit of (then) slow, modern dancehall touch. Sure, both of these two songs had melodic and rhythmical touches Bowie already used in his. But neither Richard Butler nor Bryan Ferry could be labeled copycats — they just gave Bowie’s ideas new touches and shapes and made two great songs in the process. Why should there be a difference when writers use already existing ideas as their springboard, inspiration, to give them yet another angle? Probably not, just as long as it is not copying, and that can be easily detected and almost always is. Yes, working online has made it easier to work and communicate for both writers and editors/publishers. You can communicate with anybody, anywhere, send your work, get feedback, get your work accepted or rejected. Often, more of the latter than former. Still, the accent should be on “easier to communicate”. Unfortunately, with greater capabilities to do so, that seems to be less and less the case, particularly when the “person responsible” has to give a negative comment or reject your work. And that is a shame. Somehow, from “The Shadow of Your Smile”, the title of that great song Tony Bennett made popular, smile is nowhere to be seen, the only thing that remains is the shadow. Certainly, part of the problem lies in the fact of the online communication itself. It has become a standard habit that a writer doesn’t even get a polite, or not so polite, NO. There is practically almost no direct contact, you don’t have even an inkling what the other person even looks like, let alone a bit more. And that is mostly on the part of the editor/publisher, since the writer is usually required to send a plethora of information, along with his work. Ok, so they’re busy. And the writer is not? Most of the editors and publishers were writers themselves at one point or other, they should know better. So, they don’t like your work, or they think it does not sufficiently satisfy their strict (or not so strict) criteria. They still, need an answer, even if it is the one they don’t want to hear (read). Most of them would say that they are swarmed with work offers, queries, solicitations… What about the assistants, or if you don’t have anybody, a rejection template? As long as you don’t get an answer, as a writer, you are still in the unknown territory, you can still expect a positive response, you usually do, or you can have a feeling that it is a no. But having a feeling is not an answer after all. Some of the people that have to make a decision on somebody else’s work would try and explain that they’re trying to be polite and politically correct, not trying to hurt the writer’s feelings. But that is usually just a cheap excuse. Most writers probably are aware of the rejection JK Rawling got at one point when she was told that she should get a day job since she won’t be able to earn any money by writing children’s books. Of course, we all know what happened to her afterwards. Nothing is known about the editor who wrote (spoke) that rejection. Such negative responses and rejections can certainly be inspiring to writers, if the editors and publishers really care about the writer’s inspiration. But the key still lies in the fact that no matter how negative the answer is, the author can definitely move on. Do the work again, scrap it, get inspired. Move on. They do need to move from that shadow and have a smile on their face. And truly enjoy Tony Bennett, I guess. Picking out songs about dreams is an easy task. You can do a good job just by picking a few good pop/rock ones that have dreams in their title. Whether you opt for the sultry vocals of Stevie Nicks in Fletwood Mac tune, or sonorous tones of Grace Slick, or the Southern rock stylings of Allman Brothers Band or the rocking stuff of Van Halen, you’re there. And the theme is essential covered. As in music, or any other art form, dreams in writing have been one of the authors’ staples. Not only have they have been used (and misused), but they have been discussed countless times. Here’s countless and one. It doesn’t really matter how anybody as a writer stylistically approaches that ‘other reality’, ‘surreality’, or whatever we experience in our sleep, it is how it should be approached as a source of writing. From experience, it usually turns out that when we wake up, it turns out that we can only remember the contours or pieces of pleasant dreams and we almost feverishly try to remember it all, or try to extract a positive course of the ‘real’ life ahead. On the other hand, it seems that bad dreams, nightmares are the ones that easily get stuck in our memory, and we can hardly shake them off. Sometimes, no matter how hard we try, there like pieces of sticky sellotape that keep on hanging on to us no matter what. That is why probably it is often quite easy to transform nightmares into coherent writing. The images could be phantasmagoric, but they are clear and ‘writeable’. What you as a writer see in their purpose is up to you — to dispel your fears, present them to your audience, shake off a bad experience, or simply scare your readers is not the primary thing. Nightmares are just so impressive that they often seem to be writers’ perfect material. So, what do you do when you want to recount those pleasant dreams, give them strength, present them as a kind of hope to your readers? Do pleasant dreams present just a base for bad writing? Of course not. If you, as a writer, ever wanted a solid, positive, encouraging idea, there isn’t a better source than those bits and pieces positive, pleasant dreams leave behind them. They’re perfect starting points for any kind of a story, even if the rest of it is something you thought up in reality. Essentially, pleasant dreams can be a perfect base for some good writing. So keep a notebook by your bedside and have a music playing device close by with a dream song of your choice ready to play… A decade before “Forrest Gump” hit the screen and Tom Hanks kept on uttering that now almost colloquial phrase, “Life is like a box of chocolates…”, a man I worked with, who had enough of school after his sophomore year at high school, came up with a similar phrase, one I keep quoting quite often, probably boring people that heard it before to death. In one of his contemplative modes, sitting at the wheel of the official vehicle which it was his job to drive, he went: “You know, life is like a vinyl record. When you put it on the player and let the needle hit the groove, it keeps playing at a constant speed. But, if you take a closer look, at the start it seems like it is playing sluggish. As it approaches, the end it seems like its playing faster and faster. That’s life for you, right there.” I went home and put on David Bowie’s “Ashes and Ashes” right on. He was definitely right! I don’t know, maybe as the years pass by you get writing ideas faster, it is just that your hands might be slowing down a bit by bit. But that is not the point I’m trying to make a connection between time and writing. It is that writing is actually so consuming that the thinking process, research and the act of writing itself that once you enter, you get a feeling as if time is put on hold. Writing becomes so engaging that you have a feeling that like in almost every single “Star Trek” episode you get pulled into a wormhole at one point in time and you exit in another. No, I’m afraid writing cannot stop time, but it can certainly preserve it. Whether it is just a few seconds or a series of lifetimes. Makes no difference. It is definitely preserved. And with it, the speed with which the vinyl record plays is not only constant, but seems to be too. Even if you are a music listener that belongs to a younger generation you certainly know that song “My Sharona”, that peppy song with some great crunchy gears and breaks they sometimes use to define the term powerpop. Great song that will surely go down in the annals of rock music. Along with it, everybody surely remembers the band that composed and played it, The Knack. Still, ask anybody, even a devoted follower of powerpop to name you anything else the band did, they would certainly have a hard time. That is why The Knack is usually quite often named as one of the best examples of ‘One Hit Wonders’. The same one hit wonder analogy can easily be transposed to writers and their works. While it was not really based on real life facts, they say that the movie “Finding Forrester” is based on J.D. Salinger and the fact that after the success of “Catcher In The Rye” he became very reclusive and he barely wrote much afterward. But then, they could have modified the storyline a bit and used somebody like Joseph Heller, who actually wrote more than Salinger, but everybody remembers for his true masterpiece “Catch 22”. Or even more so, Umberto Eco, a brilliant, educated, and astute writer of non-fiction, who also wrote a masterpiece novel in “The Name of The Rose”, with all his other fictional work never even getting close to it, or his non-fictional work ever getting the attention beyond the circle of dedicated fans and experts. Unfortunately, none of these writers are among us anymore, but we still remember them, cite them, analyze their ‘one hit wonders’ in minute detail. And there lies a point. Everybody who seriously works on being a writer always has somewhere in the back of his mind that he will leave behind a body of work that will be remembered exactly as such — body of work. But does it have to be so? What is wrong with being a writing ‘one hit wonder’? Nothing. As writers, there’s always a possibility we will say the main thing we have to say simply in one go, or it can be in pieces, we can be inspired over and over, and sometimes we simply won’t. But that light of inspiration is there somewhere all the time, just waiting to be put into words. And if you, for example, go through Umberto Eco’s non-fiction a bit more thoroughly, you’re certainly bound to realize that he did not have to write another “The Name of The Rose”. His non-fiction is that good. The point is not the shape or form or how voluminous your writing is, but how much it counts, even if it’s just for a small circle of people around you. In those circumstances, that circle is bound to spread. |
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