Recently in Writing Category

I am trying to understand why the commenting feature on weblogs seems to be such a hot topic. Diane argues against them (permalinks please?). I am not sure if I really understand the problem or why some have such a phobia around them. Diane writes:

"Mike takes an interesting position on blog comments, one with which I substantially agree. What he doesn't talk about is how comments perniciously give the appearance of a "dialogue" but in fact are just another vehicle for one person, the commenter, to speak past another in the interest of, in his words, "a tiny spasm of assertion that fails to engage with any other perspective."

Mmm. Where to begin. The appearance of a "dialogue"... just another vehicle for one person... is the problem that people change the original topic, misunderstand the topic, disagrees... or a fear of the other person behind the comment?

Martin Spernau who is writing an (very exciting!) article for TEKKA, gives me some praise for my editorial efforts in helping him with his writing, over at Traumwind. In this context, he mentions that "Blogging will not teach you how to write, because it lacks (constructive) feedback."

So what do we learn from blogging?

...requested by Jeffrey!

Now this is a topic I could write a book about. And if, at the last page, I could give the answer to complete heartache recover.... I'd buy it too.

There are so many kinds of heart aches. My grandfather once gave me a ring, with a purple dog made of ceramics, which fell off the base of the ring during play. One of the older boys in my street found it but didn't return it. "It must still be in the grass" he said, hiding his fist behind his back. And so I spent an entire summer aching for this purple, spotty dog, longing to find him in the grass and glue him back onto the ring so that I could restore this lovely gemstone. But the summer ended, the snow came, and still no dog. He must be freezing somewhere! I worried, although I knew very well who stole him away from me.

Later, during my first school year, my grandfather gave me a mirror. It was small, round, and had a black background with tiny pink roses on the back, held together by a transparent plastic frame. Until then, I had only seen square mirrors, so this was a facinating thing for me, leading me to fantazise about triangular mirrors....

My grandfather died of a heart attach soon after, and so the mirror became a treasure. I didn't let anyone touch it, until... that fatal day in sixth grade, when the hottest guy in my class asked for it: Our teacher had just confiscated his own mirror for blinding him during class.

Now, any smart young girl would have known what not to do, right?

Wanting to win his heart, I caved in and lent him my mirror, which soon ended up confiscated in the teacher's drawer, locked away. When I came to pick it up at the end of the day, it was stolen. I was devastated. The world had just changed, and nothing could be the same, unless that mirror came back.

But these are things, you might think. What does this have to do with heartache?

Things that we treasure, carry memories. Memories that we need, memories that we worry we otherwise worry we will loose. I didn't want the mirror back, I wanted my grandfather back. My grandparent's dog died just before I lost the purple ring, and somehow, that little piece of ceramics to me became Rexi, the loving, red and fluffy Norwegian Elkhound, lost and nowhere to be found.

Romantic relationships are like this, too. It's a thrill when love goes well - love bring hope, promise and excitement into our lives, and we spend endless amounts of energy protecting us from that day it might end. And so it seems, if we're unlucky and loose, it is not just a person walking away, but our dreams, or hopes, desires, our wishes for the future. Oh torture!

My grandfather won't come back, my mirror is probably broken and thrown away years ago, and who knows where my poor purple dog is at the moment you're reading this. While all these things small or large happens, it seems to me that no matter how much heartache we're destined to endure, there is always a new beginning to the end. All you need is time is to remember yourself: Your dreams, your hopes, your desires, and goals.

Someone might not come back into your life, the world has changed, and nothing might be the same, but you're still there to enjoy a new beginning. Perhaps what you want back, is not another person, but you. And when you realize that you've still got you, and you'd like to share that you with someone new, that's when you'll finally recover from heartache misery.

...requested by Nick!

Once upon a time, there was the tiniest little Breiflabb (Anglerfish), swimming along with the other fish in the fjord. It was a happy Breiflabb, for he owned a funicular.

"Aieressera, oi' ne', me ne sagliette, tu saie addo'? Addo' 'stu core 'ngrato cchiu' dispietto farme nun po'!" he sang, of the top of his lungs, squinting his eyes and pouting his lips as much as he could in order to reach the highest note. Judging by the waves in the ocean, you could sense that the Breiflabb had to be some sort of professional amateur.

"Will you shut it up, please!" begged the Eel. "My skin is literally crawling here." He wriggled in the waves, to prove his discomfort. The Breiflabb lost his voice for a moment. What could this be about? Was the Eel envious of his beautiful, big voice? Surely, he had to be lying about the crawling skin. What nonsense.

"You should try singing, too" suggested the Breiflabb with a friendly smile on his lips. "Of course, your voice would be nothing like mine, but hey, perhaps you'd sound like a trumpet?" Or, more likely, like a terse clarinet, thought the Breiflabb, snickering to himself.

"Nah," said the Eel, his head drooping towards the rocky bottom of the sea. "I'd just sound like... like one of those sour clarinets. I'm afraid I have no musical talent."

The Breiflabb was flabbergasted. Did the Eel read minds?

You see, in spite of his foul arrogance, the Breiflabb was a compassionate type of fish. He swam closer to the Eel. "Listen," he whispered into the Eel's petite ear, "You and I could do business. All we need to do is to set up shop, and we'd be rocking. See, I've got this funicular hanging around, and just thinking of this damned fine thing makes me sing. You and I could fix it up and get something going."

The Eel, inspecting the old, scruffy>, "fine" thing, swam from one end of the funicula to the other, then shook his head.

"I'd say it's a slim chance we'd get that going on this foundation" he thought, tapping his tail into the slammy sea bottom. "Foundation is everything. Without a good foundation, no business."

"You misunderstand!" The Breiflabb's eyes where shining. "Our brains and smarts are the foundation! Now, YOU tell me: What's the purpose of a funicula?"

The Eel wrinkled his body, unsure. "I'd say it's to bring someone from one place to another?" he guessed.

"EXACTLY!" Now brimming over with excitement, the Breiflabb flapped his big tail back and forth, swimming to the front of his Funicula where he stopped briefly: "Ne'... jammo da la terra a la montagna! no passo nc'e'!!" sang the Breiflabb, not his best performance, admittedly.

The Eel sighed: This was torture, again.

But then the Breiflabb swam through the funicular and ended on the other side where he paused again to sing.

"Sto core canta sempe nu taluorno Sposammo, oi' ne'!!" he sang, warmly, and to the Eels surprise, it sounded... better?

"I know what you're thinking," exclaimed the Eel suddenly. "The Transformation Ride!"

"Exactly" smiled the Breiflabb."You'll charge them up front, I'll flatter them at the end."

And should you ever peek into the ocean on a clear, sunny day, you might see the Eel and the Breiflabb doing business together with a busy crowd of sea creatures. The Transformation Ride is particularly popular with Crabs and Octopuses, all of whom are incurable dreamers. And if you listen carefully, you might even agree that their voices are as beautiful as their dreams, regardless what end they're at.

(based on a conversation with a friend late one evening at Harvard House of Pizza. I had a palm zire, she had the story..)

I was waiting and waiting. I can't believe that he didn't call me. It was Christmas & everything, and not a single phone call.

He didn't call me until after New Years eve.

Actually, I called him.

"Is this normal behavior in your culture?" I asked.

"No, I'm just very self-centered," he said. Can you believe that? That's what he said!

I should have hung up right there and then.

And then he said he didn't call his parents until 2 days after Christmas. And that's when I freaked out.

I didn't say anything, but I was like freaking out, my jaw dropped! He didn't call his parents for Christmas!