In Pursuit of Eschewing Surplusage

A co-worker recently directed me to Mark Twain's criticism of James Fenimore Cooper's "Leatherstocking Tales," a series about one ridiculous Natty Bumppo and quite a few historically inaccurate American Indians. I confess, I've never read much of Twain's work in general (aside from "Pudd'nhead Wilson," which I thoroughly enjoyed), so his criticism was a delightful surprise.

Twain's essay, titled "Fenimore Cooper's Literary Offenses," outlines a series of guidelines or prerequisites for "literary art in domain of romantic fiction" and one by one describes how Fenimore Cooper failed to even comprehend these guidelines.

I think what I love about Twain is his flexibility:
- He can be long-winded and blustery: "when the personages of a tale deal in conversation, the talk shall sound like human talk, and be talk such as human beings would be likely to talk in the given circumstances, and have a discoverable meaning, also a discoverable purpose, and a show of relevancy, and remain in the neighborhood of the subject at hand, and be interesting to the reader, and help out the tale, and stop when the people cannot think of anything more to say" (paragraph 8)
- He can be incredibly to the point: "Eschew surplusage" (paragraph 18)
- He uses sarcasm and irony incredibly well: "I wish I may never know peace again if he doesn't strike out promptly and follow the track of that cannon-ball across the plain in the dense fog and find the fort. Isn't it a daisy?" (paragraph 25)
- He is generally in complete earnest beneath all the language and humor he employs: "I may be mistaken, but it does seem to me that "Deerslayer" is not a work of art in any sense; it does seem to me that it is destitute of every detail that goes to the making of a work of art; in truth, it seems to me that "Deerslayer" is just simply a literary delirium tremens." (paragraph 51)

The above are just samples of Twain's wit and devotion to beautiful literature. For the full piece, visit it at the University of Virginia Library: Fenimore Cooper's Literary Offenses.

Very well then I contradict myself...I contain multitudes.

I was re-reading a few of my last posts and noticed the theme of not being myself, not being clear or feeling unable to think clearly.

That's gone! It happened the Monday after the honeymoon: I was working remotely from a hotel room in Georgia, and I woke up that morning feeling rested, energetic, and creative. And since then, I've been clear-headed and myself again. And on the backside of everything, finally, people are coming out of the woodwork to agree with me: when you get engaged, you literally lose your mind. What I ask now, is why didn't someone warn me?!

For as much as I've been reading lately, I have little to report. I'm researching content: what is content? How do you manage it? What content is relevant to me? To my business? To my friends? How do you plan for future content? When does content expire? It's pretty fascinating stuff, to be honest. The expert people in this field are generally well-written and fun to follow on Twitter - an added bonus. I'm looking forward to finding some conferences to attend.

**Title line from "Song of Myself," by Walt Whitman

Now that you've said, "I do..."

There are so many things I like about being married. Things I'd never thought of, but have already made me laugh (and sometimes cry). For instance:

Dave was out of town for work Monday through Thursday, and I had the weirdest, inescapable back pain for most of the week. I just felt generally unwell and went to work from home Wednesday afternoon. Around 3:00, someone came in the back door. I assumed it was the landlord (we're expecting a new roof any day now), and called, "Hello?" Dave came around the corner! His bosses asked after me and sent him home when they found out I was sick! I bawled my eyes out on and off all afternoon.

We've only been married three weeks, and there are a lot of "single person" habits we're having to break. My favorite one of Dave's is turning the bathroom light off on me as we get ready for bed. Cracks me up every time!

Last night, around 2 a.m., I woke up in an instant and sneezed violently. I felt Dave jerk next to me, and heard a very bleary "bless you." I can't put into words how grateful I am for this wonderful man.

So have a little grace for me if the next couple of WriteMe posts have more to do with marriage anecdotes than actual writing. I'm hoping to strike a balance soon.

Intermission

I'm getting married!! So as you can imagine, my brain is fried. This morning, Dave watched me stand on the sidewalk next to his car, looking for him and talking to myself. I hope he's ok with batshit crazy. Conversely, I hope I get my brain back. I'm scared it's lost to me forever.

All that to say, I'll be back, but pardon the interruption. We've got things to do!

Lies "breathed through silver"?

A tribute to Myth, as eternal, as archetype, as reminder of what was and what we hope for:

Man, Sub-creator, the refracted light
through whom is splintered from a single White
to many hues, and endlessly combined
in living shapes that move from mind to mind...

Blessed are the timid hearts that evil hate
that quail in its shadow, and yet shut the gate;
that seek no parley, and in guarded room,
though small and bate, upon a clumsy loom
weave tissues gilded by the far-off day
hoped and believed in under Shadow's sway.

Blessed are the men of Noah's race that build
their little arks, though frail and poorly filled,
and steer through winds contrary towards a wraith,
a rumour of a harbour guessed by faith....

Be sure they still will make, not being dead,
and poets shall have flames upon their head,
and harps whereon their faultless fingers fall:
there each shall choose for ever from the All.

From JRR Tolkien's "Mythopoeia"