Does anyone else notice when there are glitches in television shows and movies? I'm talking about the verbal equivalent of a typo or editorial mistake in writing. I find those all the time when reading, whether its the newspaper (the biggest culprit for typos and just plain poor writing), magazines or books. One time, I bought a second-hand book from a thrift store and found a woman had written on the inside back cover, in neat Spencerian handwriting, a list of all the typos she had found in the book, each mistake with its corresponding page number. But, I digress.
It bugs me when I watch a movie and notice that so and so's shirt was wet, then dry two minutes later or the cup that the person drained in the first scene is now half-full again seconds later. Those glitches irk me.
The same is true for television. Now, I don't watch much t.v., in fact, I am only really watching one show right now-V on Tuesday nights. I like anything with vampires or aliens in it; this show has aliens, lizard-like creatures covered with a human skin, so they look like us, but underneath are these kind of green, slimy things with hidden tails and tons of teeth. Anyway, this is the one show I seemed to be hooked on at the moment. Last week's episode had the head alien, Anna, telling her subordinate that the human teenage boy whom she has been trying to convince to mate with her lizard daughter was no longer that necessary for the aliens plan of attack on the humans. Now, this has been an underlying theme for the entire season, that this kid, Tyler, is vital to the V's and their domination of the human race. So, it came as a surprise that suddenly Tyler was not needed, as there were other humans in line for the job. Okay, that came as a surprise, but I was willing to go with it.
Then, this past Tuesday's episode had Anna telling her subordinate that Tyler's parents needed to be killed somehow so that Tyler would turn to her, Anna, for comfort, at which point she could lead Tyler to the daughter as he is vital to the alien attack. That switch was not cool and I realized that somewhere, some writer/editor did not keep track of an important thread in the overall arc of this story.
It's sloppy mistakes like that one that make it hard for me to continue with a show or in the case of a book, reading it to the end. I stopped reading Stephen King for years because I found so many editorial mistakes in his book, The TommyKnockers.
Does anyone else get bugged by stuff like that or am I just being picky?
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
February 15, 2011--Flexibility is a must...
I think the biggest strength a person can have is flexibility in this day and age. Life changes so rapidly, sometimes hour by hour, that if a person isn't able to flex with the flow, then that person winds up being hurt, either emotionally or physically or both.
Take for example the events in Egypt--did any of us think this would happen a month ago? Did any of the Egyptians? Probably not, but thanks to people being flexible, that country is hopefully on the road to something better.
Having kids, trying to meet their needs in amongst your own or those of a spouse all requires flexibility. So many times, especially when my boys were much younger, I'd make a plan for the next day only to throw it all away as one of the boys would be sick in the night and need special attention the next day.
Flexibility is needed in this writing life we are all struggling with, too. Days planned for writing or revising suddenly get sucked up by other factors, unavoidable things that can't be put on hold, so the writing goes on later at night or earlier the next morning. It still gets done, just at a different time slot.
I wonder what the world would be like if everything had more of a give and take to it, if all people could flex a bit more, if things had more of a plastic, fluid motion to it than some of the rigidness we find ourselves in at times. I'd like to think it would be a better world, but maybe that is just wishful thinking on my part. It feels like it would be more harmonious, more in tune with nature--I guess I'm thinking this because the wind is blowing fiercely tonight and yet the tall maples, white pines, and birch outside my window just flex and bend in the stiff breezes; they don't crack and break off instantly the minute the first gust hits them. People could take a lesson or two from that.
Take for example the events in Egypt--did any of us think this would happen a month ago? Did any of the Egyptians? Probably not, but thanks to people being flexible, that country is hopefully on the road to something better.
Having kids, trying to meet their needs in amongst your own or those of a spouse all requires flexibility. So many times, especially when my boys were much younger, I'd make a plan for the next day only to throw it all away as one of the boys would be sick in the night and need special attention the next day.
Flexibility is needed in this writing life we are all struggling with, too. Days planned for writing or revising suddenly get sucked up by other factors, unavoidable things that can't be put on hold, so the writing goes on later at night or earlier the next morning. It still gets done, just at a different time slot.
I wonder what the world would be like if everything had more of a give and take to it, if all people could flex a bit more, if things had more of a plastic, fluid motion to it than some of the rigidness we find ourselves in at times. I'd like to think it would be a better world, but maybe that is just wishful thinking on my part. It feels like it would be more harmonious, more in tune with nature--I guess I'm thinking this because the wind is blowing fiercely tonight and yet the tall maples, white pines, and birch outside my window just flex and bend in the stiff breezes; they don't crack and break off instantly the minute the first gust hits them. People could take a lesson or two from that.
Monday, February 14, 2011
February 14, 2011-- Happy Valentine's Day....
Today we woke to gray skies that let loose slow drifting flakes of snow. But, that did not put a damper on the day, it being Valentine's and all. According to my mom, who should know, I was conceived on Valentine's Day--a planned pregnancy, right down to the day. So, I have always had a soft spot for this romantic holiday. And, I was not let down today. I stumbled down the stairs, still a bit bleary-eyed from lack of sleep as we stayed up to watch the Grammy's last night, to find a miniature red rose plant at my place at the table. As well as a bag of Ghiradelli dark chocolate and raspberry candies, two Danskin purple shirts to wear while exercising and a card. The card happened to be the exact same one I had picked out for Jeff! Which was not unexpected as the picture on the front is of two cats, all snuggled together. And, at the time I bought mine for Jeff, I thought he would wind up seeing the card and getting it for me. We had a good laugh over the whole thing while munching on chocolates after lunch. And this afternoon, I donned one of my new shirts to wear while riding my exercise bike and watched the snow continue to fall and thought about where I will start a miniature rose garden in the spring, now that we have two plants in the house.
Friday, February 11, 2011
February 11, 2011--Friday at last...
At long last, it is Friday. I am not sure why this week has seemed so incredibly long. Maybe because I have things I want to do, but can't because of work, shopping chores, shoveling and the like, all of which draw me away mentally and physically from the many ideas I have playing in an endless loop in the back of my head. I am afraid I will forget some of these brainstorms before I have time to write them all down, so have snippets of paper all over my desk with ideas scribbled on them. Just a word or two is all it takes to catch the idea and hold it until there is time for something longer.
Last night's poetry reading was a delight. Despite the bitter cold, the need to drive 2 and a half hours round trip to listen to an hour's reading; it was well worth the effort. Not only did Erika Meitner read well but her poetry was accessible at the reading. I wasn't left wondering what the hell she was talking about as there weren't obscure references to long dead white men in anything that she read, nor obtuse referrals to Greek and/or Roman mythology. I liked that. I came home with my head reeling with the sweet sounds of words playing against one another in long rhythmic waves that rocked me on the way home and spurred me to jot down some lines of my own once back in the house and in reach of a pen and paper.
As always, I purchased a book last night and had it signed. So, now I can curl up in bed, under the fluffy down comforter, with pen and paper close at hand and read again the poems we heard last night. I am curious to figure out the arc of this book, which is divided into two parts. On first glance at the titles, there is no really obvious arc, but it is there, I am sure. Wishing you all warm thoughts on this cold night.
Last night's poetry reading was a delight. Despite the bitter cold, the need to drive 2 and a half hours round trip to listen to an hour's reading; it was well worth the effort. Not only did Erika Meitner read well but her poetry was accessible at the reading. I wasn't left wondering what the hell she was talking about as there weren't obscure references to long dead white men in anything that she read, nor obtuse referrals to Greek and/or Roman mythology. I liked that. I came home with my head reeling with the sweet sounds of words playing against one another in long rhythmic waves that rocked me on the way home and spurred me to jot down some lines of my own once back in the house and in reach of a pen and paper.
As always, I purchased a book last night and had it signed. So, now I can curl up in bed, under the fluffy down comforter, with pen and paper close at hand and read again the poems we heard last night. I am curious to figure out the arc of this book, which is divided into two parts. On first glance at the titles, there is no really obvious arc, but it is there, I am sure. Wishing you all warm thoughts on this cold night.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
February 10, 2011-- Thursdays...
Thursdays can be some of the most irritating days during the week. It's not Monday, when one is psyched up to go back to work, it is not Wednesday when one feels the week is half over and it's not Friday when one can relax, knowing the work week is done, the evening and weekend lie ahead in a seemingly limitless number of luxurious hours. No, it is Thursday, just another day to be done with, with yet another to go before the horizon of possibilities opens up. I think I really dislike Thursdays!
Good thing tonight there is a poetry reading at UMF that we are willing to venture to, despite the cold and late hour we will return home. I am not sure what the poetry will be like, as I have not read this woman's work, but that is part of the appeal of going-- a surprise package on an otherwise dreary day. Although, the sun was out, so that was good. The poet is Erika Meitner. I will probably buy one of her books, I usually buy a book and have it signed. It is a great way to increase my library, I get to personally hobnob with a published author (which renews my faith that getting published can be done) and by having a signed copy of the book, I am reminded of the evening again whenever I happen to crack the spine again. Plus, all the authors I have had sign books in the past have been very generous in their comments, usually directed towards my own writing and wishing me luck. Although one young writer's comments did raise my husband's eyebrows as the man thanked me for a wonderful evening. Several interpretations could have been read into his comments, none of which, I rapidly assured my husband, had any significance to what actually transpired that night. So, off for a glass of wine, a bit of roasted chicken, warm bread and a stir fry of veges before braving the wind and cold for a (hopefully) good reading of some fine poetry.
Good thing tonight there is a poetry reading at UMF that we are willing to venture to, despite the cold and late hour we will return home. I am not sure what the poetry will be like, as I have not read this woman's work, but that is part of the appeal of going-- a surprise package on an otherwise dreary day. Although, the sun was out, so that was good. The poet is Erika Meitner. I will probably buy one of her books, I usually buy a book and have it signed. It is a great way to increase my library, I get to personally hobnob with a published author (which renews my faith that getting published can be done) and by having a signed copy of the book, I am reminded of the evening again whenever I happen to crack the spine again. Plus, all the authors I have had sign books in the past have been very generous in their comments, usually directed towards my own writing and wishing me luck. Although one young writer's comments did raise my husband's eyebrows as the man thanked me for a wonderful evening. Several interpretations could have been read into his comments, none of which, I rapidly assured my husband, had any significance to what actually transpired that night. So, off for a glass of wine, a bit of roasted chicken, warm bread and a stir fry of veges before braving the wind and cold for a (hopefully) good reading of some fine poetry.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
February 8, 2011--Tamales...
For the past several days, I have been craving tamales. Not just any tamales mind you, but the ones from Doña Ámes tamale shop on one of the side streets in San Cristóbal de las Casas in Chiapas. I had the good fortune to be part of a research team that went down to Chiapas last June for two weeks. We had our base camp in downtown San Cristóbal and ventured out into the surrounding towns to do research on fair trade coffee and its effects on the local population. Most of the time we were there it was overcast and several times, the whole group was caught in torrential downpours, as June is the start of the rainy season. And it means business high in those mountains. They build the sidewalks over a foot off the ground for a reason we discovered as the streets quickly filled to flash flood stage in a matter of twenty minutes or so.
It was after one of these torrential rains, when the skies had lessened a bit that I ventured out for a walk.I needed a break from entering survey data into the computer and we needed food for dinner that night, so I set out to find Doña Ámes tamale shop, as we had read about this place in our guide book.
Keeping my book handy in my backpack, I dodged huge puddles of water, wandering the streets, looking for what turned out to be a tiny place behind huge wooden doors. If I hadn't smelled food cooking, I probably would have walked right by the place. Inside, a man was wiping down tables with a small rag, while behind him, large stainless steel pots sent up bursts of steam. The tamales were still cooking; I needed to come back later, when they were done. Disappointed and now facing a wet walk home, I had another crew member return to the site later to actually collect the tamales. But, because they were so good, we wound up having them again and this time I arrived at the right time.
Doña Áme herself was behind the bubbling pots this second time and I watched while she picked out a sortido of tamales. Some were wrapped in the traditional corn husks and tied with pieces of corn husks while other tamales were wrapped in banana leaves and tied with string. Like a chocolatier knows the flavor of the insides of a chocolate by the design drizzled on its top, Doña Áme knew which tamales were which based on the wrappings.
We wound up with an assortment of house specialties. My favorite turned out to be the pulled chicken, fig and green olives bundled inside the sweet, steamed cornmeal. Others were spicy combinations of roasted pork in a fiery red chili sauce that was just a bit too hot for me to fully enjoy and a mild chicken and cheese tamale. Really, they were all good and at about 80 cents each, how could any of us complain? Combined with a salad a friend invented of thinly sliced onions, chopped tomato, sliced avocado, and sliced mango drizzled with fresh lime juice and a pinch of salt, it was a colorful, flavorful meal that will not be easily forgotten.
And because I have been reading a lot lately about the Mayans, doing research for a new book, I discovered that tamales were/are one of the staple foods of the Mayan people, just like tortillas were/are for the Aztecs and Mexicans of northern Mexico. Which led me to thinking about those tamales we ate in Chiapas and my longing to eat some again...
It was after one of these torrential rains, when the skies had lessened a bit that I ventured out for a walk.I needed a break from entering survey data into the computer and we needed food for dinner that night, so I set out to find Doña Ámes tamale shop, as we had read about this place in our guide book.
Keeping my book handy in my backpack, I dodged huge puddles of water, wandering the streets, looking for what turned out to be a tiny place behind huge wooden doors. If I hadn't smelled food cooking, I probably would have walked right by the place. Inside, a man was wiping down tables with a small rag, while behind him, large stainless steel pots sent up bursts of steam. The tamales were still cooking; I needed to come back later, when they were done. Disappointed and now facing a wet walk home, I had another crew member return to the site later to actually collect the tamales. But, because they were so good, we wound up having them again and this time I arrived at the right time.
Doña Áme herself was behind the bubbling pots this second time and I watched while she picked out a sortido of tamales. Some were wrapped in the traditional corn husks and tied with pieces of corn husks while other tamales were wrapped in banana leaves and tied with string. Like a chocolatier knows the flavor of the insides of a chocolate by the design drizzled on its top, Doña Áme knew which tamales were which based on the wrappings.
We wound up with an assortment of house specialties. My favorite turned out to be the pulled chicken, fig and green olives bundled inside the sweet, steamed cornmeal. Others were spicy combinations of roasted pork in a fiery red chili sauce that was just a bit too hot for me to fully enjoy and a mild chicken and cheese tamale. Really, they were all good and at about 80 cents each, how could any of us complain? Combined with a salad a friend invented of thinly sliced onions, chopped tomato, sliced avocado, and sliced mango drizzled with fresh lime juice and a pinch of salt, it was a colorful, flavorful meal that will not be easily forgotten.
And because I have been reading a lot lately about the Mayans, doing research for a new book, I discovered that tamales were/are one of the staple foods of the Mayan people, just like tortillas were/are for the Aztecs and Mexicans of northern Mexico. Which led me to thinking about those tamales we ate in Chiapas and my longing to eat some again...
Monday, February 7, 2011
February 7, 2011--The difference between a groove...
Okay, sorry I didn't write for a couple of days--just too much going on this weekend...
So, I've read a couple of blogs by fellow writers and several times now have found that they complain of their writing, what a slog it is to write anything, how their thoughts are unimaginative, etc. I wonder why they feel the need to express all this in their blogs--are they hoping for sympathy from their followers?
All this got me to thinking about the difference between a groove and a rut.
The slang definitions of a groove are "a very pleasurable experience." Or "a settled, humdrum routine; rut."
And the definition of a rut is "a fixed and usually boring routine."
Now, those writers who keep complaining about the staleness of their work are in a rut. Nothing works for them and they are in a mode of self-doubt, stuck with their wheels spinning like so many cars have been this winter with all the storms we've experienced.
The writers who are working steadily on various projects are in a groove-writing is a pleasurable experience. They are sailing along with the top down with a crisp clean blue sky overhead, a favorite tune on the radio, with the open road stretching limitless ahead of them.
I am somewhere in the middle right now, not quite in a groove, but no where near a rut. I think it's because when I get stuck on something I'm working on, I just switch to another project and let the one that was bugging me simmer by itself for a bit. It eventually calls to me again and I go back to it with fresh ideas and a better sense of direction.
Writers are bound to fall into both categories at different times; it's part of the whole process, I think. The only thing you can do in either scenario is hold on tight and keep on writing. Either you'll pull out of the rut and regain smooth ground or eventually touch back down to ground once you worn out that groove.
So, I've read a couple of blogs by fellow writers and several times now have found that they complain of their writing, what a slog it is to write anything, how their thoughts are unimaginative, etc. I wonder why they feel the need to express all this in their blogs--are they hoping for sympathy from their followers?
All this got me to thinking about the difference between a groove and a rut.
The slang definitions of a groove are "a very pleasurable experience." Or "a settled, humdrum routine; rut."
And the definition of a rut is "a fixed and usually boring routine."
Now, those writers who keep complaining about the staleness of their work are in a rut. Nothing works for them and they are in a mode of self-doubt, stuck with their wheels spinning like so many cars have been this winter with all the storms we've experienced.
The writers who are working steadily on various projects are in a groove-writing is a pleasurable experience. They are sailing along with the top down with a crisp clean blue sky overhead, a favorite tune on the radio, with the open road stretching limitless ahead of them.
I am somewhere in the middle right now, not quite in a groove, but no where near a rut. I think it's because when I get stuck on something I'm working on, I just switch to another project and let the one that was bugging me simmer by itself for a bit. It eventually calls to me again and I go back to it with fresh ideas and a better sense of direction.
Writers are bound to fall into both categories at different times; it's part of the whole process, I think. The only thing you can do in either scenario is hold on tight and keep on writing. Either you'll pull out of the rut and regain smooth ground or eventually touch back down to ground once you worn out that groove.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)