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Perfection can NEVER be achieved, to be sure, but it is better to aim for it and get half way there, than it is to aim for "half way there" and only get a quarter there.
There isn't a writer in the English language who doesn't screw up. The six letters A-T-W-O-O-D don't constitute some kind of magic spell that exorcises her work of demons. "Flaws" can be anything from lousy spelling and grammar all the way up to an inability to "do men." Even mediocre writers will have conquered the basic flaws of shitty spelling. One notch up, and they've conquered the bugbears of grammar. One more notch, and their logic is clear.
--?
Raising children is like . . .
. . . nailing a poached egg to a tree
--Kimberlee Andrews
. . . nailing Jello to a tree.
. . . herding cats.
--Michael Tauson
They are not mutually exclusive, you know. The best cynicism often masquerades as infantile silliness.
--Sondra Ball, 19 February 1997
Religious and ethnic prejudice is as alive as ever in our world. It's form merely shifts with the political sands of time.
--Bob Bonomi, 08 Feb 2000
Trust me, you are the innocent victim of the evil "publishing fairy," who goes around urging editors who know that their publications are collapsing to buy your pieces anyway. :)
--Michelle Bottorf, 18 October 1996
I suspect that getting all wrapped up with lust and passion is a very good way to overlook the fact that you really don't have much in common with a person, and/or don't know them very well.
--Michelle Bottorf, 10 December 1996
I always say that I don't *want* a perfect husband, because then I would compare myself to him, and feel completely inadequate, instead of somewhat inadequate.
My husband isn't comparing, but only worried about effectivenes. Naturally he would like a perfect wife. But that doesn't seem to make him any less happy with me, presumably because he knows there ain't no such critter. I am the most perfect wife for him he can have, therefore how could he possibly be less than happy, (or something to that effect.)
I want as good as I deserve (and fortunately think that I mostly deserve him) and he wants the best he can have (and for some reason has decided that is me.) These are two totally different approaches to life, but Both approaches have some vital weaknesses, if I had decided that I didn't deserve much, or if he had decided he could get more than was truly possible, then neither of us would be as happy as we are.
"Sense" aka "wisdom" isn't in the method, it's in the application. Ouch. Mine ego has been cut to the quick by thy sarcasm. May a herd of hemp-chewing Moose river dance through your shorts. You have been blessed with a Brasseur original. I expect my name to be prominantly displayed during attribution and I'll accept my royalties in the form of single malt scotch. I really should not attempt to answer mail prior to becoming at least marginally awake.
I watched a woman give birth in a tobacco field. It was hot, smelly, messy, and she yelled a lot. It was no different than watching a mare drop a foal. I missed the primal beauty part and the strength and power were washed away by the screams and tears. I find the very idea of a codified heterosexual marriage law to be a sign of mental damage in our legislative body. Pieces of legal paper don't decide who loves each other and who doesn't - pieces of legal paper decide who is socially acceptable and who is not. It's asinine to condemn a portion of the population to social unacceptability because of consensual sexual practices. The dumber people think you are, the more surprised they're going to be when you kill them. Blessed is he who knows and knows he knows, for he is a teacher. Follow him.
Help him who knows not and knows he knows not, for he is a student. Teach him.
Avoid him who knows not and knows not that he knows not, for he is a fool. Shun him. Those who are not widely read are doomed to being narrowly suspicious. In May of 1992, I nearly succeeded in killing myself. At that time, despite having been clean -- sober nearly ten years, relatively happily married for 17 years with three wonderful sons (ages 7, 5 and 3 today), a job that paid well, the standard things folks look for when they look in from the outside and say "he's doing ok", the inside view was dead and miserable. I was aware of my sexual abuse issues, my codependency and all the other psychological twists that were a part of my
construction, and had been in therapy for them as well, with little in the way of relief. One night at work, I'd had it with the internal dialogue and said something unprintable, and drove my forklift gas tank first towards a barrier with every intention of ending my life.
Exactly what happened I still don't know -- though I think fear of death -- self-preservation kicked in and overrode the insanity. A period of hospitalization followed shortly thereafter in a place far removed from where I live. Two weeks after my return, I suffered a heart attack. While I was in Cardiac Intensive Care, the irony hit me -- my efforts were based on emotions, the coronary from a combination of stress, heredity and delayed reaction to lifestyle choices . . . but I had the
freedom to choose my future from that point on within the limits we all live under.
Of all the things I've ever wanted to do, writing was the one that I hadn't even given myself a chance on. Self-esteem measured in negative numbers played a part in that, as did knowledge that this field is both a critical and rejection-strewn one. Other things that I'd wanted to do, other ways I've tried to make friends with happiness (elusive nymph!), I'd had moderate successes with; this one way I wouldn't even approach due to fear.
Something had to change for me -- and so it did. Long discussions with my wife about leaving a job I'd grown to hate from the moment I was moved to night work, but paid better than any other job I'd held previously. Talks with the kids about how the money was going to get tight while Daddy looked for a new job. My last night with the company, during my last break, a voice inside said "You've been walking around with a story to tell for nearly thirty years. Write!" I felt like Scrooge did
when confronted with the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come -- terrified beyond all reason of what the attempts to write would reveal, fearful of seeing my epitaph writ in mine own hand on immutable stone (corny, eh No one here -- whether published in print or electronically, or not published yet, for that matter -- can tell me that I am not a writer. My work may be panned, my punctuation ridiculed, my grammar deplored and my ability to tell even a simple tale scorned as delusional, but what others say does not change who I am or what I do. I *still* have moments of grave doubt myself -- after all, I've only been writing since April, and have yet to draw a check from any of my work. My education in the
craft is on going, my interest hasn't waned, and the comments from those who've read my work so far have been positive. There *has* been minor criticism and questioning, but it has all been for my growth, and none of it was delivered in a flaming or rude manner. I want to offer you my history in hopes of encouraging you to stay with both the work and with the conference; if this particular one is not to your taste, find another. Don't give up, and do not permit anyone else to cause you to
consider it seriously. You want silly? Imagine a nobody telling me, teacher, editor, and author of over 20 books, that I'm not qualified to hold an opinion on the craft I make my living with. This is not silliness. It is delusion on a grand scale. I have no less than three printers in my office now. They all work, to some degree (though the laser needs a new drum). I keep buying printers, and there's nothing as useless as old computer equipment. They just sit there and seem to grumble, "You paid top dollar for me, and you let me =sit= here?" And you can't bring yourself to tell them, "Listen, you were good in your time, but, jeez, I can't sit around all day waiting for one document to print. I mean, daisy-wheels were high-tech once
-- " But you don't say it. Because it would be cruel. Hmmm . . . Are you expressing doubts as to my manhood? Time for a testosterone laden display of strength, skill, and stupidity, methinks! Well, my first day of teaching is over. And the one phrase that sums up the day's events is: "Are you SURE it's not okay to shoot sophomores?" I love my country. Another thought about competition. I don't believe other good writers in my field are competition. The competition are the many other forms of entertainment. The more good writers working, the better. When more good writers are working, literature is more attractive to consumers and the market is larger. Good writers ought to be happy to see other good writers. A person who buys a book and find the money and the time reading it well spent is likely to buy another book. The real enemy
of a good writer is the hack who palms second-rate work off on the public. Prozac. There's always time for cyanide later. Those who do not understand history, are doomed to celebrate the Millennium twice. Heroin is the opiate of the chic. Q. How did the dwarf make love to the giantess?
A. Nose to nose, toes in; toes to toes, nose in. Keep your present tone and attitude and you will be soup.
You have been kindly warned by a powerless commoner; this is bloodless and bearable and should suffice, although I guiltily admit to hoping it's futile since I rather enjoy the occasional act of terrible violence. Many people can't imagine why a person would lead an honest life and practice kindness unless some monolithic authority is standing over them with threats of Hell and damnation. I find this to be deliciously excruciatingly funny in an ironic, bitter sort of way. I make it a point to be unbiased if it's convenient. There are several things I like about writing. First, I don't have to consult a committee for every important decision I make. Secondly, I can be at work ten minutes after I wake up, and I can work whatever hours I want to work and sleep whatever hours I want to sleep. Sometimes I think maybe I like those parts of the job more than the actual writing. (Of course, that probably depends on how well the writing has been going...) BTW, is it your sick, disgusting, perverted project that is inciting whats his name to belch forth with sarcasm and bile?
God, but I do admire you for that! Way to go! But don't you hate it when you stomp a cockroach in the kitchen and the sucker still squirms around across the floor? EXCUSE ME, BUT I OBLITERATED YOUR GANGLIAL CLUSTER! DIE, YOU MORON!!
Some bloody people, eh? The great thing about story rejection is that it's impersonal; no one will ever say anything nasty to your face. The terrible thing about story rejection is that it's impersonal; no one will ever say anything nice to your face.
There is, however, no excuse for not submitting material: you wrote it, now get it out there! Who are you calling lit'rary? Most of us are just your average, work- a-day types with an uncontrollable urge to place ink on paper and phosphors on screen. Have actually been writing down good and useful words in a row. Am happy. We just bought a house with the new "paperless" transaction. "It's great!", the lawyer tells me. "It's marvellous", the real estate agent purrs. "It's crap", the curmudgeon (me) growls. "What's wrong with it? It's all automatic; you just type in your PIN number and computers do all the record changes and there's no need for a printout!"
A slight pause for effect here, then I lean in close. "The maximum proven life-span for electronic records is 15 years. I intend to own this house for a lot longer than that. I want a notarized printout with your signatures on it."
It had actually never occurred to any of them that an electronic record made 15 years ago (pre-CP/M!) is utterly unreadable by ANY computer in business use today. They were also incapable of extrapolating that situation 15 years into the future.
Rule 2: If it ain't on paper, it doesn't exist and it never happened. OTOH Perhaps I should learn in life to keep silent and draw one's own confusions. There now, I didn't intend to preach (G), but sex is a singular attraction, it starts the fire, it doesn't do the cooking. Ha! It is always the best policy to tell the truth, unless of course, you are an exceptionally good liar. Also, there's such a thing as being too sensitive. It is a polite, decent person's responsibility to avoid being blatantly offensive, but is *not* that same person's responsibility to appease those who are offended by unreasonably trivial things. F'rinstance, Bill Buckley published in National Review a letter he received from a representative of a group called Against Defamation (or Resisting Defamation, or some such). The writer called him to task for using the term "scot-free," claiming
it was a deliberate slur on Scottish people, with all the usual accompanying "hurtful-speech" hypersensitivity. (Buckley's full response was "Dear sir: Kindly bugger off. Cordially, WFB.")
Listeners do not have the right to demand that speakers say only what suits them (the listeners). Common courtesy is enough to define reasonable standards of conduct. Anything beyond that is the responsibility of the listener to deal with. Yesem' there was and according to Mr. Verra (sic) the last one died in 1724. Wonder what it was...You reckon it was something fatal? I'm really good at math 80% of the time, but the other 35% of the time, I'm no good at it at all! Sorry. I was listening so fast I guess I missed the fine points of the message. Truth is double-edged -- but reality has more spikes than a caltrop. Me? Rich and famous? Ha, ha, ha. I tell my friends that they'll find me in the alleys of Houston begging just to survive. I'll be writing till the day I starve to death. I make it a point to stay on the good side of anything bigger than me: basketball players (no football at my school), woolly mammoths, and dragons. If you know someone of the opposite sex well, you're likely able to follow their thought processes to the conclusions they draw on a daily basis. If you can do that, you can imagine how they would think or act in various other situations. The male mind is a fascinating thing to study, if you can get them off the subject of sex, anyway. When it comes to sex, they're just plain weird. In that case, you can pretty much write anything bizarre and it'll work. I for one value hearing what anyone has to say. I'm sensible enough to weed through the "garbage" or hurtful things. I research, and research more, and draw my own conclusions when all is said and done. By listening to men (and women, children) you can learn how they think, what they think and often why.
I for one want to know what people are thinking and why they think that way. I think curiosity is a healthy trait, and one that many writers share. If more people were verbal about their thought process, we would all have a clearer view of the human psyche. Some things in life make absolutely no sense, and they are impossible to define. My mother is one of them. My favorite of all my English teachers ever, Dr. Janet Piper, (at the time a late-middle-aged, prim-looking but very liberated woman) had an answer for the question of how long any work should be: "Like the proverbial skirt -- long enough to cover the subject but short enough to be interesting." ...and there is no truth to the rumor that my ego is ten-feet-tall and bullet proof... Being an introspective sort and one who is always suspicious of his own judgement where his efforts are concerned, I appreciate the rejection slips that have something more to say "Thank you, but drop dead." In fact, I have run into a problem with my current main effort because everyone I have read it tell me "This is great! Have you written any more?" It is hard to get constructive criticism from your fan club. Perhaps we are both the same person on two sides of a swinging door. It is nice to know that someone else is doing what I am. We will either succeed together or share a seat on the bus to oblivion. Though there are benefits to living in a locale where the nearest grocery store is a 20-minute drive. there are disadvantages too. Especially in a local culture where hard reading is considered to be the local 6th grade level newspaper. I own two cats and they've both gagged up enough hairballs to construct at least a dozen other cats. It's been great to be able to focus on studies for the last couple of years and my hubby is working full-time now but our debt load is a leettle too heavy to be comfortable. Don't let the hardcore feminists fool ya though, it's not a bad gig being a kept woman. I kept my husband during his 15 years of schooling, now it's payback! Trying to survive when chronically and desperately poor seems to entail breaking the law and widely accepted social codes quite often. If poverty is generational, then a different sort of mindset is passed on to the next generation which have the attitude that if I can get away with it, it must be okay. I think that there is a certain amount of inability to grasp the current reality because grinding poverty, I would imagine, leaves a person thinking no further ahead than the next meal or the
next score, or whatever. Thankfully, I've never had to experience real poverty firsthand, but I worked with a woman who grew up in the Downtown Eastside of Vancouver (Skidrow) and her husband works in one of the seedy hotel pubs in that neighbourhood. Some of the stories she told me stood my hair on end. I came to realize that Skidrow culture, the culture of grinding poverty is dramatically different than the culture, society, mindset, of the middle-class/upper-class culture society, and
mindset. I don't see it as wrong, it is just vastly different and I believe that's why so many policies and initiatives on "cleaning up" the Downtown Eastside don't work. The well-heeled people who create the policies really don't understand the situation that they are trying to "fix". There is a different language, modes of acceptable behaviour, etc. It's like a different country. In NO [New Orleans], that "different country" is no longer under the constant and controlling gaze of authority so
the citizens are doing things which look crazy and counter-intuitive to us. Hotshots like you always auger in and leave a smoking hole in the ground. I hope you don't mind, but I told our buddy G.S. that you had more brains in your shit than he had total. Success is an attitude. Get yours right. It's not often you can package thunder in a pop bottle. When I do approach a poem, I feel much like Casey at bat. I step up to the plate with every intention of putting one out of the park. Of course, more often than not, there is no joy in Mudville... I think there's something to being "warmed up" when you feel the muse call. Many times I have had a great opener flash through the doorway of perception to disappear by the time I've had time and opportunity to pursue it as a theme (even if I have, by great serendipity, managed to remember it at all). Sometimes I think of poems as little shrines to the strangeness always around us which goes unnoticed, ignored or camouflaged by the mundane flags to which we are accustomed to respond. [Sometimes I don't know which is worse -- to be overcome by morbid cynicism, or to indulge in attacks of infantile silliness. We raised rabbits when I was a kid. They were the best tasting pets I ever had. My general rule is if it smells good, poke it. If it doesn't twitch, taste it. If it tastes good, eat it. Many things taste better after being cooked. This also tends to reduce twitching. To think too deeply about these things is to invite starvation. Even with all us carnivores and scavengers around, some things are better left to just rot in peace. Let's see what I can dredge from the top of my head, besides dandruff. Okay, so I don't just stretch the limits, I play cat's cradle with them. Mentioned you guys as my longest term friends now and one of my internet savvy friends and coworkers told me she doesn't see online friends as real. I told her that she was deceived by all the twits in chatrooms, or the equivalent. You know, comic book readers learned one lesson over the years. Don't wear a tie to a fight or anything else that can be grabbed and used against you. Not that I fight with anything but words. On rhyme, some not-very-organized thoughts:
I like rhyme -- in it's place. Like anything else in art, it has to be applied sparingly, or the effect will backfire. I often have rhyme in my work -- but seldom or never hard end-rhyme. I like discovering internal rhymes which often seem to happen of their own accord. And I don't think rhyme is any hallmark of poetry -- merely another tool. There are forms of poetry that are defined, at least in part, by their use of rhyme; even then, the success of the work is partly in how the rhyme
is handled. The difference here still can range from the musicality of a Rilke to the umm-pa-pa of lesser lights. Quality is contingent on skill of the poet, not on the technical fact and presence of rhyme.
But generally, hard end-rhyme most often seems forced or contrived to me, and usually detracts from the work over all. (I'm speaking of modern poetry here.) In other words, if the rhyme scheme is the most salient aspect of the work, I'll probably be uncomfortable with it. Like any other tool, rhyme requires a learned touch.
I dismiss the term "clipped prose" -- I find it irritating. If one arranged a news item "poetically" on a page, it would be no more poetry than if one contrived to insert rhyme at the ends of random lines. Poetry doesn't reside in any single rule, tool, or form, but rather in an ultimate use of language, which may utilize all, some, or none of convention. Sorry to have been so long answering your note. Got sick with the cold-sore throat-yukky aches crud during the bridge tournament, kept right on playing through the weekend, ended up spending this past Monday and Tuesday off work sick in bed, didn't even look at echomail or e-mail until Thursday night, and am just now starting to answer a little of the backed up stuff but can't do much because I have to get the new issue of Canine Classified underway and finishing gathering the income tax
stuff for my CPA and -- oh woe is me -- this is a *short* month and I'll never get everything done in 28 days when I can't do it in a normal 31 day period. For features, fun stuff, profiles... nah. You want to be left be, you got it. Cheerfully.
For tragedies, it varies. Sometimes it helps to be able to talk, sometimes people NEED to talk, sometimes they need a shoulder or a hug or someone who cares, sometimes they need to be left be.... a whole raft of things can happen. It's not quite "Do unto others..." because I'm a very private sort personally. More in the line of "Do unto others as they seem to need but don't be a jerk about it," I suppose.... Do the best I can, balance the various interests... Comes down to something
resembling, I dunno, integrity maybe?
Tears help wash away the deep grief. The pain doesn't go away, but it becomes more bearable after a good cry. A friend of mine many years ago wrote an article about her favorite dog's life with cancer and eventual death that I published. The title described the depth of her grief when the dog died. "Beyond Tears is a Terrible Place!" It's too easy to just blame voters or budgets. I spent most of my teenage years in a reformatory with a bottom of the barrel "school", little budget, and barely qualified teachers....and yet, I've a sterling vocabulary, and a high degree of competence in nearly all areas currently addressed in the American school system. How is that possible? Books.
Everywhere you look there is a Library filled with the sum total of human knowledge. There for the taking. It's always easier to blame someone, (or something), else for why a person is ignorant than it is for that person to get off their butt and aggressively go after it. Learning begins at home.
Parents who do not imbue their children with the importance of an education, who do not demand that their children Learn, who are too self-centered to set the proper examples, who do not read nor encourage reading, who expect the schools, the courts and the government to properly raise their children, who constantly make excuses for their abdication of responsibility, condemn both their children and society to a new, ever expanding Dark Age.
But even with all this against one an education is possible. I, and millions like me, are living proof that even when all else fails -- from parents to governments -- there is still No excuse for being ignorant in this country. I'm 72 years old and still don't know what I want to be when I grow up. :} I always say, "My mind has more ambition than my body can handle." Cold snow beats outside my window. My heart lies heavy on the cold, cold, ground. Moving to a foreign country will not solve the problem of being surrounded by idiots. It merely complicates the problem. Instead of being surrounded by idiots that you can mostly predict, you will be surrounded by idiots that are completely incomprehensible to you.
But sometimes it's just fun to go and find out for yourself. ;-) A writer writes it down, and the writer who wants to see his story published had better attend quite closely to *all* the details. That's what all his competition is doing. All the time. To do otherwise is to court disaster. Remember, ONE intolerant, closed-minded individual in the wrong place can do more damage than 1000 tolerant, open-minded individuals can prevent, or make up for. Many moons ago -- when my logbook had less entries than there were lines on a page -- my then instructor did a wing-over with a Cherokee 140. I cast imprecations on his head and my breakfast in his lap! And as a quondam teacher of Language Arts, I tell you that that which is yclept SAG is merely a way to force creative minds into un- productive molds. SAG may work quite well for business and technical writing -- examples of both reside in my portfolio -- but, in my opinion, it should never be the benchmark by which personal communications or creative writing are measured. Any 'educated' person can put words together in grammatically, syntactically correct sentences. A writer uses words as a painter uses paint -- to create an image which had no existence until that moment. Maybe we can all get together and try to figure out a way to pull the sun out of the sky without freezing to death.... Always find the exception. It annoys people. A mind's journey begins with a single, "Why?" Brilliant ideas are cheap, but to recognize the brilliance in an obviously stupid idea . . . that's what geniuses are for. In my experience, being odd is a good disguise for intelligence. Otherwise, the idiots defend themselves by attacking the intelligent physically and emotionally. Take my coworkers, please! :) It's a wonderful world when honesty is stupid isn't it?
Mr. Darcy will climb to where the cans of Pounce are kept and deliberately pat them off the table. Sometimes a top will come off, spilling treats everywhere, but he ignores that. The idea is for a treat to be thrown so he can do the chase and pounce thing not the treat itself.
If I put the cans back on the table without throwing one he'll leap back up, sigh heavily, and knock them off again. Visitors are impressed with this clever trick. I don't point out that, in this case, the creature being trained is me (and I get no treat <g>).
Many years ago (very late '50s) I knew a team of physicists who sent a large hunk of photo emulsion into the atmosphere via balloon to study cosmic rays. The rays make a path through the emulsion which can then be sectioned and the result studied through an electron microscope.
The balloon finally had to be shot down because the not-quite-bright folks who ran the balloon operation had only one method of getting it down. That method, I forget what it was, ran on a couple of D batteries. They froze. The mind of man is wonderful to behold as it cheerily makes assumptions. Reminds me of a former student. We were discussing monogamy one time and this sweet 15 yo piped in, "I'm monogamous with my boyfriend. I was monogamous with the last one, too!" Naw...look out on the branches of that family tree...that's always where the ripest fruits and I have these little brownies that sneak down to my den and rearrange the keys on the keyboard CONSTANTLY...what can I say. No, he's not unlucky. But if complete and utter chaos were lightning, he would be standing on a hilltop in a thunderstorm wearing wet copper armor, waving an iron mace, and screaming "all gods are bastards." -- I believe it's Rincewind the wizard commenting upon his newfound friend Twoflower. I didn't say there was anything wrong with her at all. Just that she was bad. You know, like the damp, rich cake in Peter Pan - delightful, but dangerous to eat. Try your library, it's a great source for unknown info! . . . but now I suppose you'll tomb me up with my guilt? I am an Australian. This humour is too subtle for me. I hope to have as many echo Aunties and Uncles as possible. A child can never have too many insane influences in its life. So, what attracts you to this weird tavern? Are you a writer, or just insane like the rest of us? Why do people always assume that humans became twisted recently? Stereotyping is one of the worst forms of discrimination I know of. Sometimes we never know where this stuff comes from. But now you have a good basketful of images and ideas to winnow through to find a poem -- or not. My obtuseness has been known to ruin even the best of jokes... Know the difference between an expert and an idiot? An expert knows more and more about less and less, until he knows everything about nothing. An idiot knows less and less about more and more, until he knows nothing about everything. Uneasy lies the crown that wears the head. Men are like French pastry -- many layers, all alike, and all flaky. Life is like espresso: it's only dark and bitter to those who cannot find the cream and sugar. I find that what was once supposed to be a brilliant idea, would tend to lose it's luster when written on a piece of paper/entered in a word processor. I just don't understand why it happens. Is this a way that our brain tells us, Hey, you moron! This idea stinks like yesterday's pampers? You ain't lived until you spend five hours trying to toast bread by holding it up to the sun. Writing is a stew which each flavors to their own taste. I am yet unfinished, unpublished, unread and unknown, that seems like a rather impressive achievement to me. I love you all, even if you are part of the human race. The most troubling thing to me is that with the economic problems everyone is experiencing, new scapegoats are found everyday. But only rarely do you hear people say that many of the problems are the result of bone-dumb managers. IMHO, if business is bad it's because business does business so badly. When I'm stuck, I usually find that getting away from writing stimulates writing. As I've mentioned elsewhere, I seem to be on a bit of a binge right now. I think it's because, for various reasons, I stopped writing for a time. Maybe it's a variation on the old cliche, "Absence makes the heart grow fonder." I think the most astonishing thing about silence is how loud it is. I think my problem (if it's a problem at all) is that I'm a politician in matters like this. When it suits me I'm for it, when it doesn't, I'm against it. :-) I'm sure that if someone were to follow my posts for any length of time they would find them jam-packed with contradictions. Maybe that's poetic license. :-) (Return to Quotations Files Index)
--Michelle Bottorff, 07 Jan 2000
--Jean Brasseur, 04 Dec 1998 [to Michael Nellis]
--Jean Brasseur, 10 Dec 1998
--Sharon Carrigan, 26 September 1997
--Sharon Carrigan, 08 Oct 2004
--Joe Chamberlain, June 1993
--Cinnabari, 11 Aug 2003
--William Clayton
--contributed by Clayton Davis
--Clayton Davis, 17 September 1996
--Rick Dawson 24 October 1993
--John DeChancie, 12 May 1996
--John DeChancie, 17 Aug 1998
--Pat Dewey, 24 September 1996
--Melissa Dispralto, 08 Sep 1999
I support our troops.
I OPPOSE THIS WAR.
--attrib. Melissa DiSpralto, 24 Mar 2003
--Lars Eighener 11 February 1993
--Tim Esaias, 12 March 1995
--Tim Esaias, 10 September 1998
--Tim Esaias
--contributed by Beth Freidman in the Writing Echo.
--Rocky Frisco; 28 August 1996
--Rocky Frisco, 26 September 1996
--Stephane Gautier, 07 January 1995
--William Greenleaf 07 November 1993
--Dave Hembroff, 12 March 1994
[to Michael Nellis, on the occasion of a politically correct idiot threatening me with violence if he went ahead with a story idea about gassing neo-nazis. --MN]
--Robert Jackson, 20 Mar95
--David Jacklin 08 October 1996
--David Jacklin 08 October 1996
--David Jacklin; 21 August 1996
--David Jacklin, 03 December 1997
--Don James, 20 September 1997
--Don James
--Jerome K. Jerome
--Jon Jerome, June 1993
--Dalton Kidd, 21 June 1997
--Chris Kling, 14 June 1997
--Fern Lebo, 01 March 1995
--Yoon Ha Lee, 14 October 1996
--Yoon Ha Lee, 14 August 1996 (Age 16)
--Yoon Ha Lee, 21 February 1997 (Age 16)
--Joyce Leeth, 29 May 1997
--Joyce Leeth 08 June 1997
--Joyce Leeth, 03 July 1997
[This is part of a positive assessment. -MN]
--Larry Linson, 05 August 1997
--Calvin Littlefield, 09 September 1996
--Calvin Littlefield, 09 September 1996
--Calvin Littlefield, 03 November 1996
--Calvin Littlefield, 05 October 1996
--Craig Loewen, 15 November 1997
--Craig Loewen, 30 June 1998
--Loriat, 24 Jun 2004
--Loriat, 03 Sep 2005
--Vern Lougee
--Vern Lougee, (to Michael Nellis)
--Lesley Martin 20 November 1993
--Dean McCollaum (on successful poetry), 05 February 1997
--Dean McCollaum, 11 February 1997
--Dean McCollaum, 17 February 1997
--Dean McCollaum, 17 February 1997
--Dean McCollaum]
--Robert McKay, 07 September 1997
--James McNeil; 11 August 1996
--James McNeill, 07 May 1996
--Peter McNeill, 13 February 1997
--MockYeti, 16 Oct 2002
--MockYeti, 11 Jul 2003
--MockYeti, 11 Jul 2003
--Scott Ogle, 22 January 1995
--Anne Page, 16 February 1997
--Anne Page 16 Dec 1999
--Hal Rhoads; 18 July 1993
--Dorothy Reynolds, 13 March 1996
--Dorothy Reynolds, age 80
Wind driven, it seeks to get inside somehow.
Small white flakes, like falling ash,
like falling dreams,
like flaming snow,
like ice...
scraped across a wintry Texas sky.
But my hope...
still seeks the starry night.
--Richard Rogers, 01 Feb 2003
(copyright 2003)
--Richard Rogers, 28 May 2008
--Susan Setley
--Kay Shapero, 16 Sep 1999
--Nolan Shapiro, 18 November 1996
--Nolan Shapiro, 30 November 1996
--Nolan Shapiro, 26 November 1996
--Alex Silverblaze
--Alex Silverblaze
--attrib. Neal Bouffard, AKA Alex Silverblaze
--Tony Simmons, 20 October 1993
--Mike Simonton, 08 No 2002
--Sally Springett, 14 Dec 1999
--Sally Springett, 24 Sep 2002
--Sally Springett, 08 Sep 2004
--Ken Staley, 21 June 1997
nuts are.
--Ken Staley, 10 October 1997
--Ken Staley, 05 April 1998
--Benjamin A. Studmann
--Teddy, quoting her friend Lewin
--Terry Toomey, 08 September 1996
--Terry Toomey, 08 September 1996
--Felicity Walker
--Felicity Walker, 28 April 1997
--Felicity Walker
--James Walton, 29 June 1997
--Nancy Ward, 08 May 1996
--Marilyn Warner, 07 February 1997
--Lee Widener, 25 September 1996
--contributed by Ken Wolf
--Ken Wolf, Canis Lupus Domesticus, 01 May 1997
--Ken Wolf, Canis Lupus Domesticus, 23 October 1997
--Ken Wolf
--Edmund Wong, 08 Apr 2001
--Terry Woodward
--Terry Woodward
--Cheri Woodruff
--Vicki Wooton; 11 August 1996
--Bill Wren, 07 May 1996
--Bill Wren, 10 February 1997
--Bill Wren, 10 February 1997
--Bill Wren, 08 February 1997