Stuart Aken's Blog, page 280

Stuart's Daily Word Spot: Pathos

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Pathos: noun - an attribute in speech, writing,events, persons, which can excite pity or sadness; the power to stir tender ormelancholy emotion.



'You write with all thepathos of a sufferer; it's as though you've experienced all the many tragediesyou describe in your work. I find myself moved to tears so often by the powerof the pathos in your words.'
16 Nov 1961 – Great Britainbegan limiting immigration from the Commonwealth. Until this point, almost anycitizen of the Commonwealth could legitimately come to live in these smallislands. It was more or less inevitable, given the relative sizes of thecountry and the Commonwealth, that such restrictions would eventually be imposed.Overcrowding is a major cause of civil unrest and the increasing influx ofnon-native settlers was bound to become a major issue once full employment wasno longer assured.

#NaNoWriMo progress, day 15 = 62084 words.

Should have been at work (the day job, that is) today. But a visit to the docs confirmed my sinus infection and resulted in antibiotics. The chest infection is a virus, however, and due to my history, best if I rest for a couple of days to deal with it.
But I can't sit and do nowt all day. So, had a couple of short sessions and turned out another 2,523 words for NaNoWriMo, taking the total to 62,084, which is about 52% of my personal target. Resting in between and will be again once I've finished this.
The story is moving along well, with a couple more comic incidents and a hint of more danger to come. I really love my two main characters but their romance is going far too well for it not to be disrupted some time soon, I fear.

The pic is a Wordle diagram of the latest complete chap, Chapter 18, and the prominence of the word, 'car' indicates how much travelling is going on at present.

Stuart's Daily Word Spot: Obàtálá

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Obàtálá: Another in my occasional introductions to various godsworshipped the world over.According to the Yoruba people, Obàtálá isthe creator of human bodies, which arethen brought to life by the breath of Olorun.Obàtálá ownsall ori or heads. Any orisha (a spirit or deitythat reflects one of the manifestations of God) in the Yoruba religious system canclaim an individual, but until the person is initiated into the priesthood ofthat orisha, Obàtálá continues to own that head. In this religious system, the soul is believed to reside in the head.It's an interestingpoint that variations of this African religion now exist in many parts of theglobe and it's estimated there may be as many as 100 million adherents to thevarious cults and sects involved. But I'm willing to bet that most peoplereading this have never heard of the god or his religion. It's just anotherelement in my search for the reasons why religion has such a hold over manypeople. If an individual knows only about the god they were brought up to believein, how can they be sure that their god is the 'one', when they remain ignorantof all the others that exist with equal potency for those worshippers? Just athought.

#NaNoWriMo progress on day 14 = 59561 total

Poor day, health-wise. Had to leave the office an hour early (had 1 1/2 hours time built up, so used some of that), as I've got some winter bug - probably just a virus, but it's playing havoc with my sinuses and chest.
So rested on arrival home and then did a short session and managed 2,195 words to take me to a total for the NaNoWriMo of 59.561, which is just short of 50% of my personal target. I'll be resting for the remainder of the day. And I've no energy to write anything interesting or amusing here today. Sorry. See what the morrow brings, eh?

Pic: Barmouth Beach in Dorset, where we spent a holiday a few weeks ago. Included simply to cheer me up.

Stuart's Daily Word Spot: Nag

Nag: noun - a pony or small horse suitable for riding; colloquially, anyhorse; the penis; an act of nagging; something or someone that nags; a person whonags persistently, especially a woman.
'You've never put money onGlorious Failure to win, have you? That old nag won't even make the firstjump.'
'You know what you are,don't you? You're nothing but a nag: nag, nag, nag, all the time. You'll be thedeath of me with your eternal carping, you evil little nag.'
Pic: The waterfall at Goredale Scar, North Yorkshire.

#NaNoWriMo Progress on Day 13 = 57366 words

Been another good day, with 4,407 words added to the total for NaNoWriMo to bring it to 57,366. Almost halfway to my own target now. Today I've robbed a couple of gays, stolen a car and taken a ride in a lorry. But are those buggers who are chasing me any nearer to catching me? We'll have to wait, I guess.

The Wordle at the right is from the latest completed chapter, chap 17. If you want to create a similar word pattern yourself, go to http://www.wordle.net/ and paste in the text you want to use. You can alter the font, colour, orientation and layout to suit yourself. Why not have a go? It's easy and fun and actually has a practical application, in that it shows you how often you use certain words, since those are the ones that appear largest and most boldly.

A Commemoration of my father at 100

Mum & Dad on their wedding day, 1953.My real father, the man whogave me life, died less than 3 weeks before I was born and I know him onlythrough the memories of others, as a good man. But my mother, who died a weekafter my 16th birthday, married Richard Allison when I was about 5years old. On the occasion of what would have been his 100th birthday,this short piece commemorates the very special man who raised me as his ownson.
Richard Herbert Allison,to give him his full name, would have been 100 years old today. He died, aged92, on July 13th 2004, following a fall. An only child, at 18, helost his own father to cancer. A man who could not live without a woman in hislife, he married 4 times; my mother, May, being his 3rd wife. Whenhe married May, he took on my older sister, Denise, and me. May took on hisson, Barry, who is 6 weeks my senior. Later, they both brought the youngestmember of the family, Stephen, into being. We were a real family, with nodelineation caused by different parentage, and, as children, we all receivedequal love from both parents. In fact, I had what I consider an idyllicchildhood, characterised by love, adventure and humour. Richard worked at two jobsfor most of his life. He was initially a dental technician, making false teeth,and later a travelling salesman, representing a national dental supply companyand visiting customers all over Yorkshire. His second job was as a wedding photographer,often for his own business but sometimes as a stringer for other weddingphotography businesses. He loved his photography, or, more accurately, he lovedhis cameras. Not a particularly creative man, he was an excellent technicianand, in spite of a lifetime with poor eyesight, always ensured his pictureswere pin sharp. Image via WikipediaIt was from Richard that Igained an interest in photography when he rewarded me with a folding camera fora good school report at the age of 11. My mother, a talented painter, gifted mewith an eye for a picture, so I had both technical and creative influences formy photography.Richard had an interestingwar (1939-45); beginning as a medic with the army, stationed at Spurn Point andBull Fort in the mouth of the Humber Estuary. He soon went on to become a firefighter and rose to the rank of Captain, taking his regiment to France on D Dayand then travelling to Belgium and Holland, earning a 'Mention in Despatches'on the way by rescuing one of his men from a booby-trapped and burningbuilding.He was well-read, with aparticular liking for the novels of Ryder Haggard and other adventure tales. Hetaught himself French and Dutch and could still speak both even at the end ofhis life. It was from Richard that Ilearned my love of astronomy. He could point out all the major and some of theminor constellations and recognised the planets as they wandered across ourheavens. A nature lover, he could name any bird he saw, either at rest or onthe wing. And he knew all the butterflies and most moths we ever came across. Buthe had no idea about wild plants and only a basic knowledge of trees. Richard, me, Stephen, May, Barry, Denise. Beverley Westwoods, 1959A walker, he enjoyedroaming the countryside and often took us on walks, pointing out the variousbirds and insects we encountered. He'd been a cyclist for many years and,through this, developed a great fear of wasps. On one occasion, when the M1motorway had just opened, I was travelling with him when a wasp flew into theold Morris Minor he was driving. He stopped the car where it was and got out,refusing to return until the offending insect had been ejected. That there wasvirtually no traffic on the road made this more a humorous than an anxiousepisode. It was only later that I learned he'd been cycling through a piece oflocal common ground, speeding downhill across the Beverley Westwoods, when awasp had lodged itself behind his glasses and stung his eye. He'd come off thebike at speed and ripped all the muscles in his back: hence his loathing of thestriped peril.On another occasion, wewere driving in the local hills and he got out of the car and walked alongsideit as it slowly motored up the hill by itself, his skill in judging its abilityto travel with minimal power demonstrated. He took us all to the Lake Districton one memorable day. A family of five plus a Welsh Corgi, we travelled 365miles that day. At one point, we were climbing a very steep hill (1:3) and thecar stopped. We had to get out and walk as he drove up by himself, the reducedload enabling the old car to make it to the summit. He was a good, if fast,driver who'd learned his skill in the army, driving a fire engine, which healways called an 'escape'; a vehicle with a 14 foot overhanging ladder which hedrove around Birmingham during the blitz. Only once did he manage to swipe aset of traffic lights off their pole with the ladders as he swept around acorner in a hurry. And he spoke with amusement of the time he'd been given thechance to drive a tank and had managed to crush a 3 ton truck in the process.In Belgium, his adjutant had come across an abandoned US Jeep, which hadapparently simply run out of fuel. He commandeered it and used it as a staffcar for the rest of the war.He possessed a phenomenalmemory and could recite verse after verse from The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám,quote a nonsense piece of Victorian gobbledegook (In promulgating your esoteric cogitations and articulating yoursuperficial sentimentalities and philosophical and physiological observations,beware of platitudinous ponderosity.  Letyour extemporaneous decantings have intelligibility, sagacious facility, anelegant rapidity and ventriloquent verbosity. Shun pestiferous profanity both obscure and apparent.In other words, speak plainly, briefly, naturally and truthfully.  Say what you mean and mean what you say.  Do not swear or use big words.) and analternative version of 'Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star (Scintillate, scintillate globule vivific, fain I ponder thy purposespecific – is all I can recall, but he could quote the whole thing).In short, Richard Allisonwas a pretty remarkable man and I'm both proud and pleased that he chose totake me as his own son and raise me. He wasn't without fault and could be both dictatorialand severe at times. But he was a damned good father and I have every reason tothank him for taking that role seriously and for loving me, my siblings and mymother.

Stuart's Daily Word Spot: Machete

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Machete: noun - a broad, heavy knife or cutlass,used as a tool or weapon.
'You'll need more than amachete to cut a way through that jungle; there's no discernible path formiles.'
'Swinging the macheteswiftly around his head, he sliced down and took off his victim's right arm.'

#NaNoWriMo Progress, Day 12 = 52959 words total

NaNoWriMo sets a challenge of 50,000 words, so I've hit that target today, with an extra 4,937 words taking me to a grand total of 52,959. As my personal target is 120,000, I'm about 44% into that.
But it's not all about word counting, of course. My characters are taking me on a fun and exciting journey, with many events and hitches along the way. The humour continues, as does the thrill element. I just hope both elements will gel well once I've finished the editing, which will start a few weeks after I've finished the first draft. I prefer to leave the new creation for a few weeks to mature, so I can return to it with a more or less fresh mind and therefore see the faults more easily.
I'm enjoying this challenge and the book still feels good to me. I'm growing rather too fond of a couple of the characters, so the direction may well change before I get to the end. I love having a vague idea of the ending but allowing the characters to do their own things and direct the story where they want it to go. Sometimes they fight, of course, but, as in life, the strongest usually wins; but not always: Sometimes it's the cleverest one who gets their own way. And sometimes the feminine wiles can influence me as well. But, as long as I keep my theme in mind all the time, I won't let them take me too far off track.

The picture is derived through the website Wordle - http://www.wordle.net/
Try it, it's great fun.

Stuart's Daily Word Spot: Labour of Sisyphus

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Labour of Sisyphus: KingSisyphus, a noted ancient Greek trickster, was made to roll a huge boulder up asteep hill, but before he could reach the summit, the rock always rolled backdown, and he had to begin again. The exasperating nature of this punishment wasvisited on King Sisyphus because of his arrogant belief that his clevernesssurpassed that of Zeus. The king of the gods, Zeus, therefore demonstrated hisown cleverness by forcing Sisyphus to labour for eternity at this pointlesstask. It's an interestingillustration of the ancient Greek's attitude to deities and might even explainto some extent the peculiar attitude held by some modern religious groups aboutthe nature of their particular gods.As a result of this myth,pointless or interminable tasks are often described as Sisyphean.
'When Julie announced herdetermination to turn her four acres of wilderness into a modern garden withnot a weed in sight, Terrence laughed and told her she'd set herself a Labourof Sisyphus.'