Today’s Update

Hail all who dare read:

I am letting you all in on a little secret today: writers have bad days. In fact, some days we feel like just curling up into bed, and not waking till tomorrow; or perhaps the day after that; or perhaps, even, sleeping there for all eternity, lost in a plethora of infinite dreams.

Indeed, I was attempting to write a post on dreams today. Unfortunately, I am finding it very difficult. I suspect I waited too long since my strange, vivid dream three nights ago; I have lost the thread of memories and emotions that came with it.

Such is the nature of dreams: powerful in their time, but ephemeral; forgotten easily, and remembered with great difficulty.

Anyway: this is my update for today. I do apologise for my lack of alacrity in posting as of late. Firstly, I had my exams; then came this unusually pleasant weather; and yesterday I was in Oxford, as my father had a job interview there. (Alas, it was not successful. However, it was too far away regardless.)

Despite this, I am ploughing on—difficulties in writing be damned—and shall soon be posting on... the essence of a great tale.

There are two reasons for this: firstly, I shall be finalising my edits for the Necromancer (and could do with a clear direction in that); and, secondly, it will act as a good primer for future posts on Aristotle’s Poetics which I’ve been reading.

I am also collecting more good music to add to my collection (a non-trivial task, believe me) which—despite being close to 3000 songs now—has started to feel inadequate in supplying my musical hunger.

If it is of any interest to you, my newly discovered Interesting Musician is Roger Subirana Mata—see his Jamendo page.

Very well, I need to get working. I have a bunch of eager-looking baggage to pack as well; I’m going to Holland on Sunday, if you aren’t aware.

(Of course you aren’t aware. Who follows Stargazer’s crazy life anyway?)

Oh, they’ve gotten restless from the lack of attention now...

‘When will that idiot come and pack us up?’ asked the big suitcase.

‘When he feels like it, duh. Don’t you know he has to write all that bullshit for his blog?’ replied the little suitcase.

The big suitcase only said: ‘I bloody hate the narcissistic bastard...’

Good Books... Are Hard to Find

I’m a little sad today. I’ve been looking for a good book to read, and have been unsuccessful in my efforts.

I find it ironic. We writers—especially those of the self-published persuasion—strive for ‘exposure’ as its known. We want our books to be found, and we want them to be read. All artists crave it: being seen (or heard), and being appreciated.

Yet somehow, even those of us searching for good Indie books seem to have trouble finding them. You can imagine why not many average Joes get contact with the Indie world. But, hey; there’s no point being glum about life. And possibilities do exist—from venerable book bloggers, who do almost as much review writing as we do fiction writing; to all those free social networking sites that let you find more readers; and even to things like reasonably affordable advertising (online ads are cheap compared to traditional alternatives like newspaper ads—let’s not even go into TV).

Part of an artist’s job is to promote, not merely to create. In some ways it is a curse—it can be emotionally draining, tiring and not always easy—but: so is the creating. Success requires work. Art requires passion. If you don’t have that—well, this world may not be for you.

For those of us who succeed, however, the gains can be great.

For now, I shall be reading a well known author: Aristotle. Specifically—his Poetics. It should provide much food for thought, and may even bring with it some practical use, i.e. improve my writing. It’ll give me more background for my A-level philosophy, as well.

If any of you reading have a book they’d like to share—whether it’s your own or not—please do so.

And to finish on a lighter note—here’s a screenshot of my latest desktop theme. I’ve found it very inspiring, especially for the Poem of the Week which I’ve just written. (It’ll be posted tomorrow!)

Apologies for the Absence

Dear readers:

I apologise for my absence in blogging. I’ve had my third migraine in the past two years. It knocked me out of commission for a day—afterwards I was busy with a bunch of other important things that prevented me from blogging.

Anyway: I shall be in Holland (on a trip; not moving) soon. I may be a little erratic with my blogging then—I’ll be rather busy, you see. However, I shall be in Romania by about the 14th of July. There I shall have plenty of time to entertain you lot...

I have also, I can inform you, set up a dual monitor configuration. Here it is:

(I apologise for the dodgy quality: I ain’t no photographer, oh no.)

I shall now proceed to bore you with a brief analysis of why I think dual monitors are overrated—and in some cases, a downright bad idea. Skip the subsection if it doesn’t interest you.

Dual Monitors…

Let’s start with the obvious: having two monitors requires a lot of space. If I weren’t such a suckish photographer, you’d be able to see that one 22" and another 23" monitor combine to take up most of one pretty big table.

If—like my grandma dilligently waiting for me in Romania (no, I have’t forgotten you; but you can’t understand this, can you?)—you’re someone who doesn’t have much desk space or indeed space in general: dual monitors are a suckish proposition.

That’s bad brownie number one. Bad brownie number two are the cables. You need more of ’em, and you need ’em long. Not good.

There’s also the wee little issue of having the right cables. You see, many computers have integrated graphics (that means there is a small GPU embedded within the CPU; if that sounds like gibberish, you probably shouldn’t be reading this, but I digress).

Anyway, integrated graphics solutions rely on the motherboard providing the right outputs. Most mobos usually only have two outputs: one DVI and another HDMI.

Trouble is, most monitors don’t support HDMI, so you’re left needing an HDMI to DVI (or whatever) cable.

Besides the fiasco with space and cabling (making all of this seem increasingly impractical) there’s also a myriad of other issues. Many operating systems don’t allow per-monitor configuration of pixel densities; this means that if, like me, you like to have a secondary satellite monitor—a smaller one—then your text on the second monitor will look scaled down and be painful to read.

(You may observe that I am writing this in a Linux virtual machine that runs on the second monitor. Virtualising another OS is currently the only way round this.)

Finally, after all that, I’ve realised that having two screens isn’t such a big boost to productivity. Most of the time I’m doing one task; and having a second monitor just gets in the way. I usually turn it off.

Dual monitors are indeed good for doing certain kinds of multitasking. I sometimes do web coding, for example: I find it quite useful to have a monitor open with the language’s documentation, and another open for the text editor.

Still, dual monitors are if anything productivity degrading to many of us (rarely as a writer do I have to do two things at once; I’m usually trying to focus on writing).

And let’s face it: it’s not impossible to work with two windows at once on a single monitor—especially if your OS is designed to maximise available screen space à la OSX or Ubuntu Unity.

So there you go. My suggestion is to spend your money on a super wide screen monitor, or maybe even just on a monitor with a very high resolution. I find that pixels help almost as much as inches when it comes to running two apps side by side.

Moving on

I am finishing off a review of Faefever (by Karen Moning) on Goodreads. There is a lot to say, and I was interrupted by my awful migraine in writing it. Please bear with me—the review will be the basis for a post on what bad writing can be. Stay Internet-tuned...

(Ouch. Still have’t come up with better marketing lingo.)

PS: I shall be restarting the Poem of the Week and the Three Days’ Word properly soon. Just give me a bit more time, okay?

Keyboards, And A Cool Photo

Okay, let me start by saying that keyboards are important. Very important, even. You’re probably thinking: yes, genius, we get that. You’re a writer, right?

Now, I should probably mention that I always knew keyboards were important—the real question, of course, is how important.

My old keyboard—a Dell one (yes, Dell from Hell and all that)—was actually a very good keyboard. It had a nice, strong feel to it; it made a nice, big CLANK when you hit it; it had nice, big keys; and it was black; and it was a great keyboard. It even had really tall keys, that required a fair bit of effort to press.

It’s weird, huh? You’d think that a keyboard should be easier to press, not harder—but actually, I find that keyboards lacking in attack (is that what it’s called?) have a tendency to provoke errant keystrokes, which are very annoying!

There is nothing more irritating than typing away at your latest scene (‘The dragon made its lair, in much the same way an oversized, carnivorous bird would’) and then—BANG!—you’ve accidentally changed to a different window and all your prose is on the web browser!

Or—my personal pet hate—you’re typing away, and a bad keystroke sends your writing on the previous paragraph, in the middle of a sentence... heck, in the middle of a word!

(You must be thinking I’m really weird after all that...)

Anyway, I broke the Dell keyboard in a fit of rage. It wasn’t directed at the keyboard, mind you: I had to edit my Drama essay to hand in the next day, and LibreOffice writer had, for some unfathomable IT reason, decided that the particular paragraph I was trying to edit should be read-only.

I still don’t why it was doing that; instead I saved the doc, and worked on it from Word.

But not before I broke the keyboard.

(I would have broken the monitor, but that would have been rather more expensive to replace.)

Anyway, I bought a BenQ keyboard thereafter.

I’m not naming and shaming here. The keyboard was actually pretty decent: it had lots of buttons—like this one—whose purpose I have never ascertained; it had big keys; and plenty of spacing; and it was a decent enough keyboard.

But it didn’t have attack. It was too soft.

So, I am now writing this on a different keyboard which I managed to find buried in the house. I’m not sure who made it, because the only branding is a funny little blue thing that looks kinda like an ‘E’. Regardless, I can smash the keys with abandon and they CLACK! nicely, and it has everything the other ones do, so I’m happy.

The keyboard is also UK, so I don’t have to deal with all that no-pound-or-euro-sign bullshit the US ones give. (I’m not too keen on the placement of the @ and # signs either. Oh, Americans...)

What About That Photo

I was always confused about what you call pictures and images and photos in the English language. In Romanian, we just have ‘imagini’ and ‘poze’. ‘Pictures’ is kind of a grey area with me.

Anyway, take a look:

‘It’s a landscape!’ you say; ‘It has snow and mountains and trees and shit’.

Well, that is correct. However, it looks eerily similar to a major setting in my novel, the Necromancer. Specifically, it looks like the ‘Northern Mountains’; a mountain range—who would have thought?—towards the north of Arachadia—surprise!—in which the Necromancer has his lair.

So there you go. A little, pale view into my imagination.

Update: had to fix some typos. Sorry for that.

Three Days’ Word & Poem of the Week

Hello everyone!

After having done quite a bit of science and history revision—and now being occupied with maths revision (algebraic fractions, hurray!)—I have been lax in my blogging. Sorry.

Anyway, I decided to give you a little treat: the three days’ word and the Poem of the Week! Aren’t you so lucky?

Egregious

Pronunciation: /əgrɛdʒiəs/

Etymology: From LATIN ‘egregius’ meaning ‘illustrious’. (Note: etymology is a weird thing—don’t be surprised if it sounds tenuous or questionable!)

Definition: quite apparently and rather shockingly bad.

Examples:

‘Such egregious publications from vanity presses; you’d think a 10 year-old could do a better job.’

‘Egregious is neoclassical economics—how anyone can take it seriously, I know not.’

‘Egregious teaching from a pedagogy obsessed with tests and league tables.’

And now...

Poem of the Week: The Little Pink House at the End of the Lane

Now, I should warn you: this poem is a little odd. It doesn’t entirely make sense. And if you want to get something out of it—well, there is a message, but it’s very subtle and embedded within the narrative’s arc. Mostly, the poem was my first attempt at rhyme.

The Little Pink House at the End of the Lane

There once was a little pink house:
It had cake-brown walls,
And a toffee-coloured roof;
It had cute, square little windows,
And it was small,
And it was the little pink house at the end of the lane.

Near the little pink house,
There lay a wood—
Its name was funny,
Because it sounded like eerie.
Wolves played at night there,
And caught naughty boys who stayed to listen.

In the little pink house,
There lived a woman and a mouse.
The mouse was pretty and white;
But the woman, oh dear oh dear,
She fed the mouse to the cat.
Such a nasty rat.

The woman was a little old:
She had faint wrinkles around the eyes,
(Of which were grassy green)
But people said she had always been like that.
She had her black and nasty cat,
And a broom as well.

She wore black;
She had a knack for that.
Children did not like her,
Because she gave out sweets,
That smelled like feet;
But the grown-ups thought she was a breeze.

One day,
She started to sneeze.
She had horrible green snot:
It was gooey and yucky, and we
Wouldn’t go near.
But one day we heard her singing, and we went.

It was rather frightening, what she said:
‘Eye of newt, and feet of toad;
‘Fur of rat, and feathers of owl;’
And then she did a funny little dance
And said:
‘Childrens’ teeth.’

She, the woman, then turned:
‘Hello my darlings! What doth thee do here?’
And we said:
‘Lady, lady, are you a witch?’
She laughed merrily, and said,
‘Why no. I’m only a baking a cake!’

And so we saw,
The delicious gingerbread men,
At the little pink house at the end of the lane.

The Three Days’ Word has Restarted

Good day, members of the blogosphere!

I can announce that the Three Days’ Word has begun again. This time, we have a word called ‘ubiquitous’, courtesy of Karen from Joie de Mid Vivre. I don’t think it the most interesting word ever conceived by the English language—or indeed foreigners, from which we stole—but that’s a different matter altogether. I’m sure you’ll like it.

(If you have some better examples than me, please comment them. Although, I doubt it.)

Ubiquitous adj

Pronunciation: /ju:bɪkwɪtəs/

Etymology: From LATIN, ‘ubique’ (meaning everywhere).

Definition: Being everywhere at once; octopus-like characteristics.

Examples:

‘Ubiquitous was he; a madman, seemingly capable of teleportation.’

‘You are most ubiquitous—are you quite certain you can’t fly?’

‘No one is ubiquitous. Prioritise.’

Good day. I have poems to write...

Three Days' Word: Iniquity

Iniquity noun

Pronunciation: /ɪnɪkwəti:/

Etymology: From OLD FRENCH ‘iniquite’; originally from LATIN ‘iniquitas’.

Definition: A form of grossly unfair immorality.

Example Sentences:

‘Dictators often show great iniquity.’

‘Iniquity is a feature of bad teachers; it is because they hate their job, and wish to bequeath that to their pupils.’

‘Your accrasial iniquity can only harm your political image.’

Three Days' Word: Maledict

Maledict noun, verb

Pronunciation: /mælədɪkt/

Etymology: From LATIN ‘maledictus’ meaning ‘cursed’; past participle of ‘malidicere’ meaning ‘to curse’.

Definition: Verb: the act of cursing someone. Noun: the state of being cursed.

Example sentences:

‘The necromancer made maledict to all his enemies.’

‘You are in maledict, for no other reason can explain these terrible boils.’

‘A maledict of vengeance and fury.’

Word of the Day: Vituperation

Vituperation noun

Pronunciation: /vɪtju:pəreɪʃ(ɘ)n/

Etymology: From LATIN ‘vituperat’ meaning censured; vituperat is from the verb vituperare, meaning to find fault.

Definition: Excessively abusive, critical and offensive speech (though may refer to written text as well).

Example Sentences:

‘Your accrasial vituperation helps no one.’

‘Anarchists frequently spew vituperation when anyone dares mentioned the European Union.’

Any good sentences of your own? Comment them!

Poem of the Week: The Winter Sun

To anyone foolish enough to be reading this:

I am starting the Poem of the Week... thing. Anyway, I’ll be writing poems, one per week. (That seems kinda obvious, doesn’t it?) These poems will be about stuff. I can’t tell you exactly what stuff, because they’re all different—and besides, I don’t really know it that well myself. (You might want to check out my ‘On the Nature of Writing’ post.)

This poem is, as you can probably guess, called the Winter Sun. I concocted it on some random impulse; it’s about a metaphorical being called the Winter Sun. It makes various observations on humanity, and asks rhetorical questions. (Poems always ask rhetorical questions, in case you don’t know.) I don’t really know who the hell the Winter Sun actually is: you can figure that out for yourself.

So, here it is. Note that it can also be downloaded in PDF form. (For copyright information, see the Copyright Information page.)

The Winter Sun

I am the Winter Sun;
And I gaze upon humanity.
I am often glorified and demonised,
In equal measure.
Yet I do not concern myself;
For I am the Winter Sun.
Always watching,
Revealing myself when the time is right.

At the beginning,
At the ages before ages, before aeons, before life,
I was there.
I saw that little rock,
Burning not too far away,
And not too close, either,
For I am a sun.
The Winter Sun.

I thought little of it then:
Many such rocks had formed,
And many had been destroyed.
But this was different.
Life was its first visitor—
Tiny things even for me,
Then bigger things, monsters—
And yet they held no interest.

It was they who captured me.
Who? The ones with minds,
The ones who turned away from the ground,
To look at me.
Vain was I then; vain I still am.
I liked this, and so I watched.
They made replicas of me,
They worshipped me.

Then they fought.

Causes were difficult for me to comprehend:
I saw the floods, and the wrath of their planet,
Destroy their livelihoods.
That I could partially understand,
Even if I thought it futile.
For even I shall die, one day,
And I do not attempt to evade it.
But they did.

They fought, and they fought;
They did so over ever trivial things—
I saw their proud sultans, their power-hungry kings,
Their high priests.
Many things they did for power,
But they too died under cold fingers.
They fought battles,
Where I did the killing.

Longswords met scimitars;
Arrows met shields;
Guns met cannon;
And tanks met planes.
They had their revenge on their planet,
Decorating it in bright red blood,
And screams.
I finished those who I could pity.

They invented many wonderful things,
Humankind, as they called themselves:
Medicines to combat their illnesses (and my tantrums),
Buildings against my mourning,
Entertainment for their treachery.
I did not mind.
They provided amusement, these strange creatures,
Of which I had little of.

More battles.
This time, I could not figure it out:
They had gone to the moon,
Yet when they came back,
They fought themselves across their planet.
They died terribly, in screams and in agony,
Until I deprived them, and they stopped.
But they did not learn.

Men in white clothes,
With odd wooden guns,
Fought other men wrapped in steel,
With black guns.
Even their women—their overlooked half—
Were there, copying me from their atmosphere,
Ending their enemies in fire.
Sometimes, I destroyed them.

They had begun to anger me,
The one who did not care.
They built ever greater things:
Computers, and books, and televisions.
But it would not last long.
It would not be me that would destroy them:
It would be a parody,
Their own invention.

The one who cannot be named,
Ravaged their planet, killed billions,
Decimated so much.
It all happened under mushroom clouds;
Under my own watchful gaze!
I shake, and I weep,
For now I am alone once more.
Why did they not learn?

Download PDF

Word of the Day: Accismus

Hello to all reading.

I have decided to make a word of the day post. These posts will be made... every day, and will be about an obscure word (like accismus) and will also include its etymology, pronunciation, and, of course, usage!

Words are randomly selected by me. They have to be obscure—or, in fancy terms, defined as rare or very rare by the lexicographers. (I’m very proud of that word.) They can even be archaic; if they’re interesting enough, they’ll go!

Accismus noun

Pronunciation: /æksīsmλs/ (see: IPA)

Etymology: From GREEK ‘συστολή’ meaning ‘coyness’.

Definition: To pretend you are not interested in something, when in fact you are very interested.

Example Sentences:

‘Her accismus did not fool him; that girl wanted him.’

‘The spy displayed great accismus in the diplomats’ conversation.’

‘Your accismus is deceptive—and yet I know something must interest you deeply for you to be here at this hour.’

Have any example sentences of your own? Post them in a comment!