I wish I could talk smart

When I'm writing, I'm generally pretty articulate, due in no small part to the ability to pause, think, then type whatever bit of nonsense is on my mind at the time. I can be picky with words. Words are important, and while I know a lot of them, I'm a little insecure with them. I want to be a hundred percent sure of a word's very most precise definition before I use it (I think that's why I admired The Road's vocabulary so much; Cormac McCarthy's language is eerily specific).

When I'm writing, I like to think of this as a talent. Generally I don't overstep my pathetic little shack of knowledge in the sprawling city that is the English language, and when I do, it is very carefully, usually with a friend, and I go equipped with only the very best anti-"You just made an ass of yourself" arsenal courtesy of the Oxford Dictionary.

When I'm speaking, it tends to be a problem.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not inarticulate (I hope). In fact, on some days I can get downright annoying (proven positive by several co-workers) in my attempt to keep expanding my vocabulary. You can never have too many words: never.

But other days my brain just completely shuts down. Or rather, my mouth does. I have all these really clever, salient things to say, and what comes out can often sound scarcely better than what might come out of a preschooler.

Example: The other day, I was trying to describe a scene in Amelie, and defaulted to the word "funnest" (which, I know, doesn't exist, or if it does, exists in a very shady back-alley of that city of language, one you wouldn't want to be lost in without a weapon or very large friend). Someone challenged me on it, and while mentally I was going "Yeah, absolutely.", what came out of my mouth was something like "Arg words hard today Matt not want."

I think it's because, when I think, I don't necessarily think in precise language so much as big nebulous clouds of vaguely connected intuitive bubbles. Which sounds ridiculous now that it's written down, but there you have it.

I'm not sure why I wrote this, except maybe as a brief apology for any time when I've ever A) started rambling incoherently or B) reduced to some kind of caveman-like grunting in the middle of conversation.

By the way, did you know what a "catamite" is? Me neither, 'till I read The Road. Apparently it's a young child in a relationship with an older man.

Seriously, McCarthy, now you're just showing off. We all get how smart you are.

I am what I am

Remember the blog post where I rambled at length about how I don't actually sit down and do enough writing?

I actually followed my own advice! Which is more than a little uncharacteristic, but I'm rollin' with it. That's also, coincidentally, why I haven't been posting on the blog quite as frequently as I would've liked to. Been busy actually writing things.

The first thing I've been working on is a science fiction short story called Caretaker. It's honestly an idea I've had for a while, and I love the idea. Consequently, I've started writing it about a half-dozen times, edited those, looked at it again, then reconsidered. But I'm having fun writing it.

Meanwhile, I'm also trying to write a short story in a loose fantasy world, called With Kindness. That one I'm enjoying, but as the idea hasn't been bouncing around in my head for the better part of two years, I'm not quite so obsessive in absolutely nailing it. Hell, I might post it on this blog, once I'm finished.

I've also got a couple of other writings projects, but those are the "serious" ones I'm focusing on right now. The other thing I'm doing, really mostly for fun, is a bit of shameless Mass Effect fanfiction. I don't think I'll ever be accepted within any fanfiction community since I opt not to pound out page upon page of relationship-drama between two hot characters, but I'm still having fun.

I have no idea what this blog post is about, now it comes to it. I guess I'm just rambling ... at what point did a blog become a public journal, anyhow?

But I guess that is what it is.

Oh my God heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

"Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee" being more or less the only noise that can approximate the glee that explodes in my chest every time I watch this:

Anyone who knows me knows I am a huge fan of George R.R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series, and also that I'm not honestly that into T.V. shows unless there's something exceptional to get me interested.

This, we will categorize as "exceptional". Sean Bean--who I'll confess to have more than a minor mancrush on--and Peter Dinklage notwithstanding, the cast kind of has me queasy--the guy playing Jaime Lannister in particular, but then again, this is a character who did say "There are no men like me. There's only me"--but I'm hoping I'll be pleasantly surprised. I've never been a TV guy, but, well. I can be.

Fingers crossed. C'mooooooon, 2011. What with the release of The Wise Man's Fear, and what looks like a viable possibility of seeing A Dance For Dragons in print, next year promises to be a biggun.

This is What Me Writing an Essay Looks Like

This post was written while writing an essay for my American Literature course. Images and anything in brackets were added afterwards for clarity. The rest is full-grade I-shit-you-not serious.

Lime energy drink. Oh God mistake.

Blue energy drink. Much better.

Oh God the aftertaste. The aftertaste.

Water. Lots of water.

Revisiting one’s origins to discover oneself … I need to watch cartoons.

Pokemon! Gotta catch ‘em all!

Oh my God I am writing the wrong essay. Pokemon and Oscar Wao would’ve been brilliant.

Too late now. This is why I shouldn’t wait so long to write my essays.

The first season of Pokemon probably doesn’t count as American Lit. anyway.

The first season of Pokemon definitely doesn’t count as American Lit.

Okay that is the third time Milkman’s name became Ash Ketchum.

Pokemon is way better than I remember.

Also way worse.

I bet Junot Diaz (pictured right) is a cool guy.

Probably a bit of a dick though. No one reclines like that in the real world. Look at me, I’m cool and post-modern and bald!

I wonder if I can slip in the term bildungsroman without researching it.

If I wanted to be a clever asshole and risk getting skewered I’d put in one of those Diaz style footnotes and explain I know what bildungsroman means because as a twelve-year-old a doctorate student gave me a blistering criticism of my “Trite run-of-the-mill bildungsroman trash.” I was twelve.

And seriously, is that the best a goddamn postgrad student can muster? Against a twelve year old?

Probably wasn’t even a real postgrad student.

I mean seriously, I was a twelve year old writing about dragons.

Is that a Simpsons Christmas episode? Awesome!

Carol of the Bells is possibly the best Christmas song ever.

I wonder if anyone actually knows the lyrics to it.

I remember once I thought to myself “Only douchebags use words like limning and subverting and juxtaposing.” That thought has prevented me from using each of those words about three times each, thanks to some weird sense of loyalty to pastMatt. PastMatt was an idiot.

Third time I called Song of Solomon by Native Son. (Two novels we studied on the course).

Oh my God is it three thirty AM? I still have two paragraphs to write.

Better put in A New Hope. That’ll help me write.

Holy shit I love Star Wars.

“And these blasters, too inaccurate for Sand People. Only Imperial Storm Troopers can miss this damn badly.”

Maybe I just lack the capacity to be a woman, but Robert Pattinson does not seem attractive. I mean, I can look at a guy and say “That’s a good lookin’ fella.” But at the wrong angle ol’ Robert’s face looks like a foot. Particularly that pouty angle he’s always doing for Twilight.

Yeah, I know what bildungsroman means

One of the definitions that may appear on my American Literature final is bildungsroman.

For reasons exclusive to my own past, this is all at once a giveaway mark and a horrible, horrible memory that scars my consciousness to this day.

When I was twelve, I was--if you can believe it--an aspiring young writer. I was also, one will note, twelve. My age might've varied anywhere from 12-14, but it was certainly not much out of that range. As any 12-14 year old who read fantasy with a love bordering on the obsessive, I wrote simplistic, childish fantasy: you know, swords, dragons, elves, dwarves, that stuff. Mine were tinged by a subtle undercurrent of JRPG trends, since at the time I played more or less nothing but JRPG videogames, but the differences were mostly aesthetic.

Anyway, like a good many young, aspiring writers, I posted my stories on Fictionpress, in the hope of receiving some constructive criticism, and praise. Okay, let's face it: I wanted praise real bad. I wanted people to be like "Dude, you should get published right now."

Unsurprisingly, this did not happen. There was a fair bit of praise, though, which naturally swelled my little head like an overblown balloon. Little did my poor, balloon-headed 13-year-old self know that a post-graduate needle was hurtling towards my ego at ramming speed.

One day, I log on to my fictionpress account and check my reviews. One new review, the counter says! "Yay!" I think. I then read the review.

What followed was to be an absolutely blistering criticism of just about every word that I had written. Naive kid that I was, I endeavoured to contact this person and try and benefit from their insight: they were, you see, a post-graduate student.

Actually, I don't even know if they were postgrad. I just know they had some sort of degree in English.

Anyway, this person proceeded to sneer, snark, and generally mock my genuine attempts to understand just what the problem was with dragons and elves and dwarves and whathaveyou. At one point came the somewhat illuminating phrase: "You've basically written another generic bildungsroman, and not even a good one."

Not wanting to be a fool, I feverishly googled bildungsroman and learned all I could about it.

So, yeah. That's how I know what bildungsroman means. (Also, if you check the wiki for bildungsroman, The Name of the Wind is listed as an example. How cool is that?)

Discrepencies

What I SHOULD be doing: writing my final essay for my American Lit. course.

What I AM doing: watching the first episode of Pokemon.

My Attraction to Squiggly Things

Today, I spent the better part of an hour fiddling around with the gadgets and layout of my blog page. The changes are, no doubt, nearly unnoticeable. There's now a "Popular Posts" section, which really just gives me fodder for self-deprecating humor about the relative popularity of a blog with a readership of perhaps four people. I added a Search bar, because while I doubt anyone else has this frustration as much as I do, I hate when I can't just search for something on any given web page.

I also tinkered with how my labels appear, and added the "Reactions" bit to my post, mostly so that I can see how high the "sexually explicit" numbers can get. However, these are all late additions. The first thing I added to my blog was a pageview counter.

Why did I add it there? I really don't need it. I mean, I can guess the average daily pageview right now: one or two friends who I bully into reading, a couple people who see it on facebook, maybe one or two who get there from my NaNoWriMo page, and me, refreshing about fifty times or so.

Honestly, I added it because it's a funny little line. You'd see a Simpsons character sliding along one in a slightly more surreal segment of a financial episode, or something. And I've always loved those funny little lines with an absurd devotion.

And that's pretty much the reason I need to do anything. Now, it's time for ice cream and A Clash of Kings.